Feast Fight!, page 3
I told him about my trip to the village – and how I’d chased the robber through the market.
“Really? The – er – market, you say?” he said, putting on a hat with a bright green plume. “Good for you, Cedric. Didn’t catch him though, did you, eh?”
“No, I didn’t,” I said, surprised. “How do you know?”
“Ah – oh – I just – er – assumed,” he said airily. “You’d have told me straight away if you had, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” I said. “But shouldn’t you try and catch him now? Organize a search party or something?”
“No time, dear boy, no time!” said Sir Percy, trying the hat at various jaunty angles. “I have far too much to do before the king and queen arrive. Perhaps after Their Majesties have left.”
“But what if the thief tries to break into the castle again?” I pleaded. “Won’t you be upset to lose any more silver plates? They’re very valuable.”
“Ah, yes, alas,” said Sir Percy. “But after all, plates are only – er – stuff, dear boy. A noble knight such as myself has very little concern for such shallow worldly things.” He swapped the hat with a bright green plume for another with a fluffy purple one. “Now, which of these goes better with my eyes?”
It was late by the time Sir Percy had decided which hat to wear. I helped him into his nightgown, and then fetched his warm milk and honey from the kitchen.
“Goodnight now, Cedric,” he said. “You run along. I’ll see myself to bed.”
“Are you sure, Sir Percy?” I said. Normally he says he can’t get to sleep unless someone (me) plumps up his pillows and tucks him up for the night.
“Quite sure,” he said cheerily. “You need an early night, Cedric. Big day tomorrow, eh? Speaking of which, I need to make one more trip to the village before the king and queen arrive. Wake me early, will you?”
“Yes, Sir Percy,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Goodnight, Sir Percy.”
I went to my own little room and flopped on the bed, thinking about everything I had to do for the royal visit. I still had to prepare the best guest bedchamber for the king and queen. And what about Mouldybun Margaret’s horrible banquet menu? With no peacock pie my only hope was to add a bit of that new spice I’d bought. And I’d have to do that while Margaret wasn’t looking…
My mind was buzzing so much I couldn’t sleep. So I decided to nip to the kitchen again and make myself a warm milk and honey.
I left my room and slunk down the main stairs towards the kitchen. The castle was dark and silent.
Silent, except for – what was that?
The door to the Great Hall was slightly ajar. I stopped and listened. There was definitely a noise coming from inside. I peeped through the door. Probably just rats, I thought. But then I saw something move. A shadow, over by Sir Percy’s chest of silver. It was the thief! I couldn’t let him get away again.
I crept into the Great Hall and slipped as silently as I could past the long banqueting table towards the hunched figure.
Then I tripped on something. I managed to stop myself from crying out and bent down to see what it was. It was Sir Percy’s big leather sack. Why had he left it there? And then I had an idea. A silly, crazy idea – but one that might just work.
Silently I picked up the sack and tiptoed towards the thief. When I was right behind him I held the sack open, raised my arms, and took a deep breath.
Here goes. Ready – NOW!
In one fast move I whisked the sack down over his head and arms.
“MMMPPPHHH!” The thief gave a muffled roar and dropped the silver plates he was holding. He struggled to his feet – and I promptly pulled the sack down to his knees.
“Got you!” I yelled. But the thief shook me off and started running – straight into an old suit of armour.
“MMMOUCH!” he wailed, as the armour collapsed noisily on top of him.
I lunged for the robber, but slipped on the spinning breastplate. To stop myself falling, I reached for the corner of Sir Percy’s new tapestry. It came away from the wall and collapsed on to me, knocking over several more suits of armour.
“Help!” I yelled, but I was drowned out by the deafening din of helmets, breastplates, greaves and gauntlets clattering to the stone floor.
I freed myself from the tapestry and saw the thief blindly bumbling his way through the door and disappearing.
“Stop! Thief!” I cried, but I knew it was no use. He had escaped again!
Then I heard a loud CLONK! and I was surprised to see the thief staggering back into the hall. He stopped, groaned, swayed for a moment – and toppled on to the crumpled tapestry.
I gasped in astonishment as Mouldybun Margaret marched into the Great Hall in her nightdress. She was holding a large iron frying pan.
It was still ringing.
“Gottim!” she said, as Patchcoat appeared behind her.
“We heard the commotion and came as quickly as we could,” he said. “Blimey, Margaret, that was a fair old wallop. He’s not dead, is he?”
As if in answer, a long muffled moan came from the leather sack.
“No,” said Margaret, “but he’ll wish he was when Sir Percy gets hold of him.”
“Shall I fetch Sir Percy now?” I said.
“Nah, wait till the morning,” said Margaret, tying the drawstring of the sack tight round the thief’s knees. “This scoundrel ain’t going nowhere. But we can’t leave him here. You two grab a leg each and I’ll take the other end.”
“Where are we taking him?” I asked.
“Best place for him,” said Margaret. “You’ll see. It ain’t far.”
Between the three of us we lifted the robber. We lugged him out of the hall and across the landing, to a flight of stairs I’d never used before.
“Down here,” she said. “I’ll go in front.”
It was tough work manhandling a grown man down a narrow spiral staircase. The walls and steps were slippery and we were soon in total darkness.
“Nearly there,” said Margaret.
“Good,” I panted. The place gave me the creeps. It was chilly and dank, and dripping noises and strange scuttlings echoed in the darkness.
“Eek!” I yelped, as something squeaked and ran across my foot. I put out a hand to steady myself, but it just slid down the slimy wall. I fell forwards – and the next thing I knew we were all tumbling head over heels in the dark.
We came to rest in a big tangled heap.
“Everyone all right?” said Patchcoat.
“I-I think so,” I said. I freed a hand and felt under me. “I seem to have landed on a couple of big cushions.”
“Oi! Those ain’t cushions!” bellowed Margaret right in my ear. “Gerroff me, will yer?”
Eeeewww.
Margaret gave me a hefty shove on to the damp stone floor. I looked around. A barred window let in a tiny patch of moonlight. In the dim light I began to make out strange shapes hanging from the wall.
“So, what is this place?” I said. “Is it one of the storerooms?”
“You could say that,” said Patchcoat. “Except it’s for storing people, not things. Welcome to the castle dungeon!”
I peered again at the shapes on the walls and realized they were rusty old chains and manacles. In one corner I could make out a huge scary axe with a curved blade. Even under all the cobwebs it still looked pretty sharp.
“Yikes,” I shivered. “I didn’t even know Castle Bombast had a dungeon.”
The thief groaned again.
“Come on,” said Margaret. “Let’s get this villain locked up before he comes to.”
At one end of the dungeon was an ancient door with heavy iron bolts. With a screech of rusty hinges, Margaret hauled it open.
“Sling him in ’ere,” she said.
The cell was narrow, dank and pitch-black. We dragged the thief inside and dumped him on what smelled like a pile of mouldy, stinking straw. He moaned groggily as Margaret whipped off the leather sack, shut the door and slammed the bolts into place.
“Right,” she said, wiping her hands on her nightdress. “The master can deal with him in the morning. I’m off back to bed. I’ve got a bloomin’ royal banquet to cook tomorrow!”
I hauled the thief before the king. I had single-handedly captured the most notorious robber in the kingdom. As the master-thief was led away in chains, the king drew his jewelled sword. He ordered me to kneel before him. Then he touched the blade on each of my shoulders and declared: “Arise, Sir Cedric!” Arise… Arise… Arise…
Arise? I opened an eye. What time was it? The sun was pouring through my window. Yikes! After all the shenanigans of the night I’d overslept badly – it was late morning and I’d promised to wake Sir Percy early!
I leaped out of bed, pulled on my clothes and dashed to Sir Percy’s door. I knocked but there was no answer.
I knocked again. “Sir Percy?”
Again no answer. I opened the door and went in, ready to say sorry for not waking him sooner. Once I’d told him about the thief, I was sure he’d understand. I only hoped he hadn’t missed an important appointment in the village.
To my surprise, Sir Percy wasn’t there. Not only that, he’d even made his own bed, which is normally my job. And his nightgown was on the bed, so he’d even got himself dressed. I usually helped him with that, too.
Sir Percy wasn’t in the Great Hall, either. (All I found there was the mess from the night before, so that was another chore to add to my list.) He must have left for the village. His appointment was obviously pretty important if he’d got himself ready without any help from me!
I went to the kitchen to see how the food for the banquet was coming along. I arrived just in time to see Margaret scraping a pile of plucked crows (eeww!) and a mountain of cabbage (yuck!) into a large cauldron of water. Patchcoat was telling a joke to two large cabbages wearing crowns made from old parchment.
“Ced!” he grinned. “Say hello to Their Majesties. I’m just practising some warm-up gags for tonight.”
“Just as long as you don’t call them a pair of vegetables,” I laughed.
“’Ere, you seen Sir Percy, Master Cedric?” said Margaret, chopping a turnip in half with a single blow of her knife. “Where’s he been? It’s nearly lunchtime. His porridge is all cold and lumpy.”
“Even colder and lumpier than normal, you mean,” quipped Patchcoat. He ducked to avoid a large slice of turnip that Margaret hurled at him.
“Oi! Less o’ your cheek,” she snapped.
“I think he went out early,” I said. “He had something to do in the village.”
“Went out?” said Margaret, offended. “Without a bowl of my delicious porridge? That’s impossible!”
Patchcoat winked at me. Anyone who’d actually tasted Margaret’s porridge knew that it was totally possible.
“Oh, well, I may as well tidy the Great Hall while I’m waiting for him to come back,” I said.
“I’ll come with you,” said Patchcoat. “I need to work out where old Perkin can do his play.”
In the hall I pieced all the suits of armour together and hung The Triumph of Sir Percy back on the wall. Meanwhile, Patchcoat cleared a space at one end of the hall for the players. It was well past lunchtime by the time we’d finished, but Sir Percy still hadn’t returned.
After a late lunch of bread (stale) and cheese (mouldy) in the kitchen, I returned to the Great Hall to prepare the banqueting table for the evening. First I put out Sir Percy’s five remaining silver plates – one for each of our royal guests, one for Sir Percy, one for Sir Spencer and one for the Baron. Anyone else would have to make do with our usual plain old pewter.
Then I went back to the kitchen to get the cutlery, including some newfangled eating tools called “forks” that Sir Percy bought a couple of months back. (Waste of money if you ask me. Why bother with forks when you can spear your food on the end of your knife? They’ll never catch on.)
The kitchen was starting to fill up with steam and the stink of boiling crow and cabbage. Pooh! Then I had an idea. All this steam provided the perfect chance to pep up Margaret’s foul-smelling stew…
While she wasn’t looking, I grabbed my sack of curry powder from behind the logpile. I quickly untied the sack and tiptoed up to the fireplace. Then, under the cover of the steam, I shook a bit of powder into the bubbling cauldron.
“Oi! Fingers out of my stew!” said Margaret. I was so startled that I jumped – promptly tipping most of the powder into the pot. Yikes! Oh well, it would definitely be tastier now. I hastily stuffed the almost-empty sack up my jerkin before turning round.
“Sorry, Margaret,” I said. “I couldn’t resist tasting it. It looks so delicious!”
Margaret smiled, then her face fell.
“Hold on,” she said suspiciously. “You’ve got something up your jerkin. You been nicking my turnips?”
ROOT-I-TOOT-I-TOOT!
Before I could reply, the sound of a trumpet drifted through the window.
“Whassat?” said Margaret.
There was another ROOT-I-TOOT, closer this time and accompanied by the pounding of hooves.
Margaret and I ran to the window to look. Riding into the castle courtyard was Baron Fitztightly, plus two junior heralds blowing trumpets.
“I’d better go and greet them,” I said. “I expect they’ve come to tell us when the king and queen are arriving.” It was only teatime and the royal couple weren’t due for another two hours.
I ran outside and bowed to the baron.
“Good day, Master Cedric!” said Baron Fitztightly. “Kindly fetch your master.”
“Er – well, I would, your lordship,” I said. “But I’m afraid he’s – um – not here.”
“Not here?” said the baron. “I’m afraid Their Majesties get very upset if their host isn’t present to greet them.”
“Their Majesties, your lordship?” I said. “You mean to say—”
“Yes,” said the baron. “They’re early.”
I gulped as, over the baron’s shoulder, I saw a whole procession come clattering across the drawbridge. In front rode eight palace guards, while two trumpet-tooting heralds brought up the rear. But it wasn’t the soldiers and heralds that made me gasp. In the centre of the procession was a splendid gold coach drawn by four magnificent white horses. It stopped right in front of me and one of the coachmen hopped down to open the door. As he did so the heralds blasted out a fanfare and the baron bellowed, “Pray welcome to Their Majesties the king and queen!”
I watched in awe as the king stepped down from the coach. He turned to help the queen, but she brushed away his hand.
“Out of my way, Fredbert!” she cried. Then she hitched up her skirts and leaped out of the coach.
“Better now, Malicia dear?” said the king.
“Much better,” she said. “I needed a jolly good jump after so long in this rotten coach. My bones have been rattled to bits!”
The king drew himself up to his full height. “Greetings, one and all!” he boomed. Then he saw that it was just me. “Oh. Where’s that old rascal Sir Percy, boy?”
I bowed and said, “I-I’m not sure, Your Majesty.”
“What, boy? Not here to welcome his sovereign?” said the queen.
“Quite so, Your Majesty,” said the baron. “Disgraceful!”
“Steady on, you two!” said the king. “Don’t terrify the poor lad. After all, it’s not Sir Percy’s fault we left our last host early. I’m sure he’ll be along directly. Why don’t you show us to our chambers, boy?”
“Must we stay here, Fredbert?” said the queen sniffily. “It’s a frightfully small castle.”
“Don’t fret, my dear,” said the king. “I’m sure Sir Percy has given us the very best rooms, eh, boy?”
“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” I stammered. “Follow me, Your Majesties.”
Yikes! In all the palaver I had forgotten to prepare the Royal Suite, which was right next to Sir Percy’s chamber.
“Slow down, boy!” the queen called after me, as I hurried up the stairs. But I had to get to the room first.
I reached the Royal Suite and flung open the door. The last king to stay in it was King Ogbert the Odd back in Sir Peregrine’s day – and it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since. No way could I let the king and queen set foot inside there.
I swiftly shut the door and stood in front of it as the royal pair caught me up.
“Well? Come along, boy,” frowned the queen. “First you hurry and now you keep us waiting. Open the door!”
I desperately played for time. “Er – perhaps Your Majesties would like to see Sir Percy’s new tapestry first?” I said brightly. “It’s in the Great Hall.”
“Thundering thrones, boy!” said the king. “You mean you’ve made us dash up here and now you want us to go all the way back down?”
Eek! This wasn’t going well.
“Stuff and nonsense,” snapped the queen. “If you won’t open the door, boy, I will.”
I thought she was going to push past me to open the door of Royal Suite. But instead she opened the door right next to it.
“Wait, Your Majesty!” I blurted, as she strode haughtily into Sir Percy’s own chamber. “I wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t what, boy?” said the king.
“Er – that chamber, it’s – it’s—”
“Small and poky,” said the queen. “Yes, boy, I can see that. The bed looks barely big enough for one. And someone’s left a disgusting old rag on it.”
“S-sorry, Your Majesty,” I said, whipping Sir Percy’s nightshirt off the bed.
“Now run along and fetch our trunks, boy,” said the queen.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, bowing. With a sigh of relief I left the room and hurried to get their luggage from the carriage.
Then I went to help the royal coachmen with the coach and horses, and after that I ran around trying to find somewhere for the coachmen to sleep, as well as the soldiers and heralds. When I’d got them all sorted it was nearly seven o’clock. The time for the banquet was approaching fast – and there was still no sign of Sir Percy!
