Authors: Peter Bently
Feast Fight! (6 page)
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!
I went to the Great Hall to see how Patchcoat was doing with his preparations for the entertainment. On the landing outside I heard a strange noise. It sounded like somebody shouting. Patchcoat came out of the hall. He’d heard the noise, too.
“The prisoner in the dungeon!” I gasped. “I’d forgotten all about him!”
“He’s woken up, by the sound of it,” said Patchcoat. “Come on, let’s go and see who it is.”
I grabbed a torch off the wall and we
went down the steps to the dungeon.
“Let me out of here!” shouted the prisoner from his cell. “Who’s there? Can anyone hear me? Let me out!”
Was there something familiar about that voice?
In the door of the cell there was a small iron grille. The prisoner was peering through the bars. He looked jolly cross. And no wonder. It was Sir Percy!
Sir Percy was furious.
“Outrageous!” he spluttered. “A valiant knight, locked in his own dungeon! The humiliation!”
We were at the top of the steps to the dungeon, outside the Great Hall. Patchcoat had slunk off to continue his preparations.
“I’m
so
sorry, Sir Percy,” I tried to
explain. “We thought you were the thief who’s been taking the silver plates.”
“What? Oh, well, if you must know I was merely, er,
checking
the silver,” he said. “To – um – make sure the rest of it was still there.”
I was just thinking that it was a bit odd to be checking the family silver at midnight – and why would he need his leather sack? – when Baron Fitztightly came striding down the stairs.
“There you are, Sir Percy,” he said. “Where the blazes have you been? Why weren’t you here to greet Their Majesties?”
“Greetings, baron,” Sir Percy began, bowing. “I can assure Their Majesties that
I have an
excellent
explanation…”
“I’m sure you have, Sir Percy,” sighed the baron. “And they’ll be delighted to hear it later. They’re dressing for the banquet right now. I trust everything is ready?”
“Of course, baron! Just as soon as I’ve changed out of these clothes,” Sir Percy beamed. But then his face fell. “Oh! I’ve just remembered there’s something I need to get from the village!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” said the baron. “There’s no time. It’s almost seven o’clock and Their Majesties are starving.” With that he swung round and marched back upstairs.
“This is all your fault, Cedric,” said Sir Percy. “Bashing me on the head and
locking me up. Why, I’ve a good mind to—”
Sir Percy was interrupted by a knock at the castle door. I went to open it and in swaggered Sir Spencer. He was accompanied by his squire, who looked like a miniature version of himself – right down to the emerald-green riding cape and toothy grin.
“Hey, Percy!” he said. He swished off his cape and flung it to his squire. In one movement the boy caught it, swished off his own cape – and then threw both capes to me.
“Oof!” I gasped, only just catching them.
“Whoops-a-daisy!” drawled the squire. I glared at him.
Sir Percy looked enviously at Sir Spencer
and his squire. They were both wearing identical new tunics of green and orange velvet. Sir Spencer looked at Sir Percy.
“Wow, Perce!” he giggled. “Where’ve you been sleeping? A dungeon?”
“That’s a good one, Sir Spencer!” said his squire, tittering behind his hand.
“Thank you, Algernon,” smirked Sir Spencer.
Algernon!
“Hello, Spence,” said Sir Percy with a rather fixed grin. “Delighted you could make it.”
“Oh, I get it, Perce,” Sir Spencer went on. “It’s a fancy-dress banquet – and
you’ve
come as a scarecrow!”
Sir Spencer and his squire fell about laughing.
“Ah. Very amusing, Spence, very amusing,” said Sir Percy through gritted teeth. “Now do make yourselves at home in the Great Hall. I need to – er – go and change.”
“Really, Perce?” sniggered Sir Spencer. “I’d never have guessed!”
Spencer and Algernon headed for the hall, tears streaming down their faces.
Sir Percy made for the stairs. Before I could tell him that the king and queen were in his chamber, there was another knock at the door. I opened it and Perkin’s Players bustled in with chests of props and costumes. I sent them to find Patchcoat in the Great Hall and dashed upstairs after Sir Percy. I caught him at the door of his chamber.
“Sir Percy, wait!” I called. “You can’t go in there!”
“Don’t be absurd, dear boy,” he said. “A squire does not tell a knight that he can’t enter his own room!”
“But Sir Percy—”
It was too late. Sir Percy opened the door and strode into his chamber. I tried to cover my eyes in time, but I wasn’t quick enough. For one terrible moment I glimpsed Their Most Noble Majesties, King Fredbert and Queen Malicia, in their Royal Underwear.
There was an ear-splitting screech and then the king roared, “Great suffering sceptres! Sir Percy, what is the meaning of this?”
“S-so sorry, Y-your Majesties,” Sir Percy spluttered. “I didn’t know—”
“GET OUT!” shrieked the queen.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” burbled Sir Percy, bowing so low that his nose almost touched his knees.
“NOW!”
“At
once
, Your Majest-OUCH!”
A jewel-encrusted hairbrush bounced off Sir Percy’s head as the door was slammed firmly in his face.
“Sorry, Sir Percy,” I said. “I tried to tell you. Their Majesties are using your room. You see, the Royal Suite wasn’t ready, and…”
“Oh, don’t worry, Cedric,” winced Sir
Percy, as he rubbed the new bump on his head. “If Their Majesties wish to use my chamber, that’s fine.”
“Really, Sir Percy?”
“Yes. I shall simply sleep in
your
room, Cedric,” he said. “But I shan’t forget this. Because of you I can’t even get into my chamber to have a shave, never mind change into something decent. Sir Spencer will never let me live this down. It’s a dress
disaster
, Cedric. A fashion fiasco.”
Sir Percy’s door opened again. The king and queen stood before us in magnificent robes. I was so star-struck I only just remembered to bow.
“Still here, Sir Percy?” said the king.
“In that case you can escort us to the banquet.”
“Personally I would prefer it if you
weren’t
dressed like a haystack,” said the queen. “But it seems we have no choice.”
“Sir Percy, lead us to the Great Hall,” the king demanded. “Let the banquet commence. And it had better be good!”
Sir Percy and I showed the king and queen to their seats in the Great Hall. They were obviously still grumpy with him and things didn’t get any better when I served up Margaret’s starter. She called it turnip “salad”. A slightly more accurate name would be “peelings”.
“Splendid weather we’re having, isn’t it,
Your Majesties?” said Sir Percy cheerfully.
“Hmph,” snorted the queen. “Certainly better than the food.”
Sir Percy gave a funny, high-pitched laugh. “Ha-ha-ha! Excellent joke, Your Majesty!”
The queen glared at him. “I
wasn’t
joking.”
There was a low rumble.
“Hear that?” said the king. “That was my tummy. When’s the main course coming, Sir Percy? I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
“Probably be a lot tastier than this muck,” said the queen.
“Ah. Er – have Your Majesties seen my new tapestry?” said Sir Percy, quickly changing the subject. “Rather splendid, don’t you think?”
“It’s all right, I suppose,” said the queen. “What’s it about?”
“Why,
me
, Your Majesty,” said Sir Percy proudly. “It shows my defeat of Sir Roland in the tournament.”
“Really?” said the king. “I’m not sure I
quite
remember Sir Roland falling off his horse.”
Sir Spencer sniggered.
“Besides, the victorious knight in the tapestry looks like a smart and noble hero,” said the queen. “Not a shabby, unshaven tramp. Now look at Sir Spencer. That’s how a knight
should
dress.”
Sir Spencer gave a gracious nod, somehow managing to flash his teeth,
shake back his golden locks and show off his new tunic all at the same time.
At that moment, Margaret stepped into the hall and announced, “Main course comin’ up, Yer Majesties!”
“At last!” declared the king.
I went to help her bring in the crow and cabbage stew.
“Smells slightly funny,” whispered Margaret, as she handed me two steaming bowls. “I think I might’ve left a few feathers in by mistake.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said.
Maybe best not to mention the curry powder
, I thought.
The king and queen gasped as I placed their bowls before them.
“And
what
, pray, is
this
?” the queen said.
“Looks delicious, doesn’t it, Your Majesty?” said Sir Percy. “There’s nothing like a good wholesome stew!”
“I totally agree,” hissed the queen. “And this is nothing like a good wholesome stew.”
“Wholesome?” barked the king. “Well, it certainly looks like it’s come out of some hole.”
Sir Spencer guffawed loudly.
“Go on, Sir Spencer, try a bit,” ordered the king. “Tell us if it’s as delicious as Sir Percy says it is.”
“Ah – of course, Your Majesty,” said Spencer. He scooped up a spoonful, held his nose – and golloped it down in one gulp.
“Well?” said the king.
“Actually,” said Sir Spencer, breathing again. “It’s really not that b-AAARGH!” He suddenly clutched his throat and leaped to his feet. “AAARRGHHH!!!!”
“Good gracious, Sir Spencer,” cried the king. “What on earth is it?” Sir Spencer had gone bright red. His eyes were popping like a frog.
“AAARRRGHHHH!!!!
AAAAARRRGHHH!!!!!!”
he spluttered, hopping up and down and pointing frantically at his mouth. “F-F-FIRE! MY M-M-MOUTH’S ON F-FIRE!”
“Don’t just sit there, Sir Percy!” cried the baron. “Do something!”
“WATER!” wailed Sir Spencer. “WATER!”
Sir Percy picked up a large jug of water – and hurled the whole lot in Sir Spencer’s face.
SPLASH!
Sir Spencer stopped dancing about.
“Is that better, Spence?” asked Sir Percy innocently. “Do you need another jug?”
Sir Spencer shook his head. He flopped back into his chair and sat there groaning. His hair and his splendid clothes were drenched.
Sir Percy looked like he was trying not
to laugh. But then the king turned to him.
“Sir Percy, this is an outrage!” he thundered. “Are you trying to poison us? And where’s my peacock pie?” He stood up. “Come on, Malicia dear. We’re leaving.”
“L-leaving, Sire?” stammered Sir Percy.
“Yes, leaving,” said the king. “This is the most miserable banquet I have ever been to!”
“I entirely agree,” snapped the queen. “Our room is terrible, the food’s terrible, you haven’t bothered to dress properly and one of the knights hasn’t even bothered to turn up. What was his name? That great hairy one who looks like a bear.”
“Ah, yes, Sir Roland,” said the king. “Why isn’t he here? I sent him a personal invitation.”
Eek!
Sir Percy glanced at me. “Oh – I – um – well, of course Sir Roland would have loved to come, Sire,” he fibbed.
“Yeah, right,” muttered Sir Spencer.
“But – he – er – um – he’s got a tummy upset.”
“Really?” said the baron sharply.
“A tummy upset? Is that all?” frowned the queen. “What a wimp.”
“Indeed,” said the king. “Seems a feeble excuse to me.”
“Ah, well, it’s a very bad case,” said Sir Percy. “Nasty touch of the trots. How can
I put it? His rear is – er – exceedingly
dire
, Sire. Probably something he ate.”
“What, like a
porky pie
?” said Sir Spencer.
“I’ve had quite enough of this,” growled the king. He turned to me. “You, boy. Come up and fetch our trunks.”
“Won’t you stay for the play?” said Sir Percy. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it—”
“Silence!” said the king. “We’re leaving and that’s final.”
“But Sire?” said Sir Percy. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
The king thought for a few seconds. “Well, now,” he said. “As a matter of fact there is something, Sir Percy. I’ve got just
the job for you.”
“Of course, Sire!” said Sir Percy. “Anything you want, Sire.”
“I’m adding a new lake to the royal zoo,” the king went on. “I need someone to catch me a couple of animals for it.”
Sir Percy perked up. “Certainly, Sire,” he said. “A pair of ducks, perhaps? Or swans? Or maybe a couple of large goldfish, or… or—”
“Crocodiles.”
“C-crocodiles, Sire?”
Sir Percy went rather pale. And then somebody knocked on the door of the hall.
“Excuse me,” I said, bowing to the king and queen, and hurrying to answer it.
To my surprise it was Simon the Pieman, smartly dressed in his best white apron.
“Oh, hello,” I said. “Can I help you?”
“You already did,” beamed Simon. “You saved my stall yesterday. I could have lost everything. We’ve come to thank you.”
“Well, it was nothing really,” I said. But I was pleased all the same. “How did you find me?”
“I heard you and that jester chappie talking,” said Simon. “You said something about the castle and Sir Percy, and I just put two and two together. Me and the missus and the kids wanted to bring you a little – er –
reward
.”
“A reward?” I said.
Simon called over his shoulder. “All right, folks,” he said. “Bring ’em in!”
Simon heaved the doors wide open. Then everyone gasped as half a dozen sturdy boys and girls in gleaming aprons marched into the Great Hall. Each was carrying a large tray piled high with fabulous savoury pies, mouth-watering cakes, tarts, puddings and pastries, and several jugs of cream.
But that wasn’t all. At the head of the procession, Simon and his wife were carrying a great platter. On it was the most splendid thing of all.
A huge, steaming, golden-crusted peacock pie.
