Authors: Peter Bently
Feast Fight! (2 page)
“Of course, Cedric,” said Sir Percy. “It’ll be good practice for overtaking an enemy army. And then all you have to do is simply – um – retrieve the invitation from the baron.”
“But Sir Percy!” I blurted. “Isn’t that …
stealing
?”
“Nonsense!” said Sir Percy. “If Sir Roland never
has
his invitation, how can you
steal
it? Now go and saddle Prancelot for me. I have to pop into the village on – er – urgent banquet business. Hurry now!”
I was about to ask how I was supposed to take the invitation without the baron noticing, but Sir Percy had already loped off into the castle.
I stashed away the archery stuff in one of the castle cellars. Then I hurried to saddle Prancelot and Gristle. I was about to leave when Sir Percy came in with a large leather sack hoisted over his shoulder.
“Prancelot’s all ready for you, Sir Percy,” I said from behind the door.
“Oh!” he cried in alarm, dropping the
sack. It landed on the cobbled floor with a clang. “I thought you’d already left!”
“Sorry to startle you, Sir Percy,” I said. “One of Gristle’s stirrups was broken. I had to hunt for a spare. Here, let me pick that up.”
“No!” said Sir Percy, hastily snatching up the sack and clutching it to his chest. “I mean, no – no need to bother, dear boy,” he added breezily. “Anyway, hadn’t you better be off?”
“Yes, Sir Percy,” I said. I bowed and led Gristle from the stable. Sir Percy saw me out with a fixed smile. He was still standing there, clutching the sack and grinning at me over the stable door, as I rode across the courtyard and out of the castle. What was all that about?
I’d assumed that Sir Percy’s “cut through the woods” was an actual path. But oh no. The only way to get to Spiffington Manor, Sir Spencer’s castle, was through a thick tangle of trees and undergrowth. Before long Gristle refused to go on, so I tied him to a tree and continued on foot. When I finally saw the gates of Spiffington Manor I’d been battered by branches, shredded by shrubs and scratched to bits by brambles.
It had taken me an hour and a half and I was certain I’d missed the baron. As I walked up to the castle gates I saw a rider leaving, escorted by one of Sir Spencer’s
guards. But as I got closer, I saw it wasn’t the baron at all but some kind of travelling merchant.
“We ain’t interested,” I heard the guard say. “Now clear off.”
“But my Bottom-Boil Balsam is the best in the kingdom,” said the merchant. “It cures all pains in the posterior!”
“I said clear off,” barked the guard. “Now!
Or I’ll give
you
a pain in the posterior – with me pike!”
“Tell you what,” said the merchant. “I’ll leave you this leaflet with my special offers.”
He handed a scroll of parchment to the guard – who just tossed it over his shoulder. The wind caught it and carried it off.
“I said
now
!” he glowered.
“All right, all right! Please yourself,” said the merchant, riding across the drawbridge. As he passed me he said, “Good morning, young sir! Master Botolph’s the name. And how is your bottom today?”
“Fine!” I said, and hurried to the gate.
“Halt!” said the guard. “If you’re sellin’ something then you can blinkin’ well—”
Before he could finish, who should come striding out of the castle but Sir Spencer the
Splendid himself – with Baron Fitztightly!
“Great to see you, Fitznicely!” said Sir Spencer, slapping the baron on the back so hard that he almost fell down the steps. “And a big thumbs-up to His Maj for the cool invite. Now, are you sure you won’t stay and see my collection of embroidered cloaks?”
“Er – no,” said the baron, dodging another back-slap. “Thanks for the mug of mead but I must get going. Have someone fetch my horse from the stables, will you?”
I suddenly saw the perfect chance to get my hands on Sir Roland’s invitation.
“I’ll do it, sir!” I exclaimed.
The guard barred my way. “Oi, not so fast, sunshine!” he said.
“Whoa! Easy, Sergeant, easy!” said Sir Spencer. “This chap looks kind of familiar.”
“I believe it’s Sir Percy’s squire,” said the baron. “Didn’t I see you earlier, lad?”
I bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Of course!” said Sir Spencer, flashing me a dazzling smile. I’d never seen such amazing teeth. Hardly any of them were rotten and only one or two were missing. “I saw you at the tournament. Hold on, I never forget a name … it’s … Cecil, right?”
“Um,
Cedric
, Sir Spencer.”
“Er, yeah, I knew that!” he beamed, flicking his long golden locks out of his eyes. “So, Frederick, what brings you solo to Spencer Central?”
Yikes! I’d spent so long thinking about how to take the invite that I hadn’t even thought of an excuse for my visit.
“Well, I-I…” I stammered. “Er – Sir Percy wants to know what you’re wearing to the banquet. Um – just so you don’t clash.”
“Good man, good man!” said Sir Spencer. “Tell him I’m coming in my new green and orange velvet dinner tunic. Green and orange is
definitely
the new yellow and scarlet. Hey, baron, how about I show it to you before you go?”
“
No
,” said the baron firmly. He turned to me. “Thank you for offering to fetch my horse, young man.”
Sir Spencer pointed me towards the stables. With no one to see me, it was easy to slip the invitation out of the baron’s saddlebag. But something bothered me. When the baron found the invitation was missing, wouldn’t he simply
tell
Sir Roland about the banquet? Somehow I had to stop
the baron going to Blackstone Fort. So much for Sir Percy’s simple plan!
And then I spotted something just outside the stable. It was the merchant’s scroll, lying on a pile of horse poo where the guard had tossed it. Checking that no one was looking, I snatched it up.
Hmm
, I thought, flicking off a stray bit of poo.
I wonder
…
I steadied the baron’s horse as he swung himself up into the saddle.
“And you’re sure you don’t fancy another mug of mead?” said Sir Spencer.
“Certainly not,” said the baron. “That
first one has made me rather sleepy. The last thing I feel like doing is riding up that hill to Blackstone Fort.”
“Um – excuse me, your lordship?” I said.
The baron turned to me. “Yes, young man?”
“Perhaps you don’t need to ride
all
the way,” I said.
“Eh?” said the baron.
“There’s a village at the bottom of the hill,” I said. “You could ask a villager to take the invitation up to Sir Roland.”
“That would certainly save time,” smiled the baron. “But how do I know if some random villager will actually deliver the invitation?”
“Tell them Sir Roland will be angry if he doesn’t get it,” I said. “That should do the trick.”
The baron nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “Thank you, young Cedric. Oh, and talking of being angry, I forgot to tell Sir Percy that the king’s favourite dish is peacock pie. His Majesty will be very cross if he doesn’t get it. Farewell!”
Eek!
I suddenly remembered I had a royal banquet to organize. I took the road back to Castle Bombast this time and collected Gristle on the way. As I strode along I wondered who would be angrier. The king if he didn’t get his peacock pie? Or Sir Roland when he
opened a scroll from the king to find a two-for-one offer on Master Botolph’s Bottom-Boil Balsam?
“No!”
“Please?” I begged.
“No way.”
“Pretty please?”
Margaret glared at me over the pot of stoat and turnip stew she was stirring for Sir Percy’s supper. He still wasn’t back from the village.
“I said no,” she barked, shaking her head so much that several drops of sweat flew off the end of her red nose and plopped into the stew. “I ain’t cooking no fancy rubbish. Even if I wanted to, the master couldn’t afford it. He ain’t got a brass farthing left after paying for that bloomin’ tapestry.”
After returning from Sir Spencer’s, I’d dashed to the kitchen to discuss the banquet menu with Mouldybun Margaret, Sir Percy’s cook. Actually there wasn’t much of a discussion. Margaret isn’t exactly the top chef in the kingdom. Her idea of a banquet fit for Their Majesties looked like this:
Yum!
“Sir Percy can’t be
that
skint,” I said. “He’s just bought an expensive new hunting cap.”
“Well, I dunno how he paid for it,” grumbled Margaret. “And I dunno how he’s going to pay for this banquet, neither. Peacock pie indeed!”
“But it’s the king’s favourite dish!”
I pleaded. “If he doesn’t get it he’ll be really annoyed with Sir Percy!”
“Ced’s right,” said Patchcoat the jester, who was in the kitchen trying out a few new jokes on Margaret. “Didn’t you hear about the time the king stayed with Sir Nigel de Ninkham-Poope?”
“No,” I said. “What happened?”
“Sir Nigel’s jester told me all about it,” Patchcoat went on. “The cook dozed off and burned the king’s peacock pie to a crisp. What a waste!”
“Gosh,” I said. “So what did the king do to Sir Nigel?”
“Well, the king was all very nice about it,” said Patchcoat. “Told Sir Nigel not to
worry, it was a mere trifle, that kind of thing.”
“Trifle?” said Margaret. “I thought you said it were a peacock pie?”
“No, I mean – well, never mind,” said Patchcoat. “But then, a week later, the king suddenly announced that he wanted a bear for the royal zoo. And guess who was given the honour of going into the depths of Grimwood to catch it? Sir Nigel.”
“Yikes!” I said. “Did he come back alive?”
“Oh, Sir Nigel is alive all right,” said Patchcoat. “He just sent his squire instead. He’s buried not far from here. The bits they found, anyway. What’s wrong, Ced? You look a bit pale.”
I turned to Margaret.
“Are you
sure
you can’t cook a peacock pie?” I said weakly.
“Sir Percy ain’t even got any peacocks, and that’s just for starters,” grumbled Margaret.
“I thought it was for the main course?” quipped Patchcoat.
“Less o’ your cheek, Master Patchcoat,” she snapped. “We can’t afford a peacock pie and that’s that. Now, I’m busy, so you two can clear off out of my kitchen. Unless you fancy helpin’ me polish up the master’s best silver plates for the banquet?”
“No thanks,” said Patchcoat. “I think I’ll practise my jokes in the castle gardens. Coming, Ced?”
“Er – all right,” I said, following him. “But I can’t stay long. I’ve got tons to do before tomorrow. It’s not just the food for the banquet. Sir Percy wants me to sort out all the entertainment as well.”
“Eh?” said Patchcoat. “Why didn’t you say so? If you need an evening of amusement I happen to know the very person.”
“Really?” I said eagerly. “Who?”
“
Me
, of course!” said the jester. “I’ve always wanted to try out a few jokes on a royal audience.”
“Er – don’t you think the king and queen might want more than just a few jokes?” I said. “Even if they’re brilliant ones like yours,” I added quickly.
“Don’t worry, Ced,” grinned Patchcoat. “We’ll give them a right royal feast of fun. But I might just do a few gags to warm them up.”
“Thanks, Patchcoat,” I said. “It would be great if you could help.”
“That’s settled then,” said Patchcoat. “Leave it to me.”
“Cedric!”
I turned to see Sir Percy coming up the garden path. He had the (now empty) leather sack over one shoulder and a big
grin on his face.
“He looks very pleased with himself,” said Patchcoat. “Where’s he been?”
“The village,” I said. “Something to do with the banquet.”
“Really? So what’s with the empty sack?” said Patchcoat. “Doesn’t look like he’s done much shopping.”
Sir Percy reached us before I could answer. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Now run along, Patchcoat. I need to talk to Cedric in private.”
“Yes, Sir Percy,” said Patchcoat. “See ya, Ced. And by the way, why is a measuring stick like a king?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“They’re both rulers!”
Patchcoat wandered off, tittering to himself.
Sir Percy looked around to make sure we were alone. “So, did you manage to take it?” he hissed. “The invitation?”
“Yes, Sir Percy.”
“Excellent! Good work, Cedric,” he said. “Now I can look forward to the banquet without worrying about Sir Roland showing up to spoil the fun. I can’t wait!”
“Oh, that reminds me, Sir Percy,” I said. “Sir Spencer told me what colours he’s wearing tomorrow. Just so you won’t clash.”
“Good old Spence,” said Sir Percy. “He really needn’t worry, though, as I shall be
wearing a tunic in the
very
latest fashion. Orange and green velvet.”
“But that’s what Sir Spencer’s wearing!” I said.
Sir Percy stared at me in horror. “But – that’s impossible!” he spluttered. “I mean, he can’t… Oh, bother! Cedric, I’ve just realized something I – er – forgot to do in the village. Tell Margaret to keep my supper warm.”
“Yes, Sir Percy,” I said.
As he turned and hurried off, I had an idea. Today was market day. Why not nip into the village myself and see if I could
buy
a peacock pie?
Suddenly Margaret came hurtling
towards me in a panic. “Master Cedric!” she shrieked. “Fetch Sir Percy! Quick!”
“I think he’s just left for the village again,” I said. “Why, what’s happened?”
“It’s the silver plates!” she panted. “Half of ’em’s disappeared! There’s a thief in the castle!”
