Feast Fight! (7 page)

Chapter Nine

An Unexpected Guest

“Great blithering battering-rams!” bellowed the king. “My pie! My peacock pie!”

He strode over to Sir Percy, ruffled his hair and clouted him on the back so hard Sir Percy almost fell over.

“Why, you scheming old devil!” he roared in delight. “What a fantastic surprise! So
that’s
what you were up to when we arrived!”

“It was? I mean, yes, Sire, it was!” said
Sir Percy brightly. “I had this – er – little surprise planned all along, didn’t I, Cedric?”

“Er – yes, Sir Percy,” I fibbed.

“And – and – of course! – that’s why I had to pop to the village, right Cedric? To – er – make sure the peacock pie was going to be perfect for Your Majesty! Isn’t that so, Cedric?”

I nodded, grinning so hard I thought my face would snap.

“Well, well!” guffawed the king. “He certainly had us fooled, didn’t he, dear?”

“Oh yes!” the queen laughed. “For a moment there, Sir Percy, we really thought your terrible banquet was
genuine
!”

“Oh! Er – did you?” beamed Sir Percy.
“Good gracious! Ha ha ha! Perish the thought!”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” bellowed the king, rubbing his hands with glee. “Let’s tuck in!”

Simon and his family placed the trays on the table, and the king and the queen dived in.

“Ahem!” said a voice. Everyone turned to see Patchcoat’s head poking through the stage curtain.

“Your Majesties,” he declared. “How about a little entertainment?”

“Splendid idea!” said the king through a mouthful of peacock pie.

“Very well,” said Patchcoat, stepping through the curtain. “Tonight, for your delight and delectation, we have a very special play. But to begin with, Your Majesties, where does a king get crowned? On the head!”

Patchcoat waited for the laugh. Silence.

“Here’s another!” he said. “What’s the first thing a king does when he comes to the throne? Sit down!”

The king raised an eyebrow. The queen sighed.

“Just one more!” Patchcoat tried again. “What has four ears, six legs and a crown?
A king on horseback!”

The queen yawned. The king took another bite of peacock pie.

“Thank you, Your Majesties! You’ve been a wonderful audience. There’ll be more jokes later. Now, please welcome the admirable, the awesome, the astounding –”

“Get on with it, man,” said the king.

“– the
amazing
– Perkin’s Players!”

There was a round of applause as Master Perkin entered the Great Hall. He was dressed as a knight, with a wooden shield painted with a peacock.

“Psst! Cedric!” Sir Percy called me over, as Perkin stepped forward and bowed. “What’s this play about?”

“It’s all about you bashing up Sir Roland,” I whispered.

“Excellent!” beamed Sir Percy. “Well, I don’t know how you did it, Cedric, but – um – um –” he fumbled for the right words. “Um – well done. The evening has turned out splendidly!”

“Thanks, Sir Percy,” I said.

“Your Majesties!” Perkin began. “I am proud to present the premiere of our brand-new production—”

He was interrupted by a thunderous knock on the door. I ran to answer it.

“Who is it now?” smiled the queen. “Another of your delightful surprises, eh, Sir Percy?”

I opened the door and nearly fainted. It was a surprise all right. But not a delightful one. Oh no. I stepped aside as into the hall strode – Sir Roland the Rotten!

Everyone stared at Sir Roland. Sir Roland glared at Sir Percy. Sir Percy looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. I gulped. How had my plan failed?

“You made it after all!” boomed the king. “Good man!”

Sir Roland bowed.

“And how is your tummy?” said the queen.

“My
tummy
, Your Majesty?” Sir Roland looked confused.

“Sir Percy said you weren’t coming because you had a tummy bug,” said the king.

Sir Roland looked fiercely at Sir Percy. “Oh, did he now?” he muttered. “Well, he’ll be delighted to know that I’m
perfectly
well, thanks very much.”

“Good!” said the king. “I’d hate to catch a dose of the trots. I spend enough time on the throne as it is! Get it? The throne? As in the loo? Anybody?”

Everyone laughed politely at the king’s joke.

“Well, Sir Roland, now you’re here, help yourself to Sir Percy’s delicious banquet,” said the king. “And you’re just in time for a play!”

“Oh! Ah! Y-your Majesty,” said Sir Percy hastily. “Perhaps we should have a few more – um – jokes first?”

“Later, Sir Percy,” smiled the king. “I love a good play. Master Perkin, carry on!”

As Perkin returned to the front of the
stage, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me to one side. It was Walter Warthog, Sir Roland’s sneaky squire.

“So, Fatbottom,” he sneered. “Perhaps you’d like to explain
this
?”

He pulled a crumpled scroll of parchment out of his tunic. My heart sank. It was the leaflet for Botolph’s Bottom-Boil Balsam.

“What is it?” I said, as innocently as I could.

“Don’t try that with me, Fatbottom,” said Walter. “Sir Roland was out boar hunting yesterday and who should come riding by but Baron Fitztightly?”

“Oh, really?” I said. “What a lucky coincidence.”

“Yes,” spat Walter. “
Very
lucky. The baron told us all about the banquet. He also told us he was going to ask a peasant to take this so-called
invitation
–” he held up the scroll – “to Sir Roland. Of course, if he’d done that, we’d have thought it was just some kind of silly joke. And we’d
never
have known about the banquet.”

“No, I suppose not,” I squirmed. “Good job you bumped into the baron, then.”

“The thing is,” said Walter. “
Someone
must have swapped Sir Roland’s genuine invitation for this stupid leaflet. I wonder who that could have been, Fatbottom?”

“N-no idea,” I said.

Walter pressed his greasy face right up to mine. “Well, whoever it was had better watch out,” he hissed. “Because by the time Sir Roland has finished with him he’ll have such a sore bottom he’ll be needing a year’s supply of this stuff!”

He crumpled up the scroll and stuffed it down my jerkin.

“Shh, you two!” said the king. “The play is about to start! Sir Percy, where are you going? Sit down, man.”

“Er – nowhere, Sire,” said Sir Percy, although it looked distinctly like he was trying to sneak out of the Great Hall. Given what was coming next, I wasn’t surprised.

“Your Majesties, my noble knights and squires!” announced Perkin. “We proudly present –
The Ruin of Sir Roland
!”

Chapter Ten

Food Fight

“WHAT THE—” snarled Sir Roland.

“Shh!” hissed the queen, as Perkin began:

The tubby actor playing Sir Roland lumbered on stage to a ripple of titters. He had a ridiculous false beard and several cushions stuffed up his costume to make him look even fatter. For the next half hour “Sir Roland” suffered a string of mishaps at the hands of the dashing “Sir Percy”. Finally “Sir Percy” knocked “Sir Roland” off the stage on to a pile of brown gloop. With a great howl “Sir Roland” declared:

There was a great burst of laughter.

“Brilliant! Bravo!” exclaimed the king, clapping loudly.

“Funniest thing I’ve seen in ages!” the queen squealed in delight.

Everyone except the real Sir Roland thought it was hilarious. With the king and queen there, all he could do was smile politely. But I noticed with alarm that he kept fiddling with the hilt of his sword, and turning a deeper and deeper shade of red.

“Hey, I guess that’s why they call you
Roland
,” said Sir Spencer. “Because you
rolled
in the poop!”

“Good one, Sir Spencer!” laughed the king. “Now, how about some pudding?”

“Of course, Sire,” said Sir Percy. “But no cakes for Sir
Roland
, or his squire will have to
roll
him home!”

Sir Roland finally snapped. He seized the nearest thing to hand – a jam tart – and hurled it at Sir Percy. Unfortunately, it
was at the very moment that the king was leaning forward to take the jug of cream. With an explosion of pastry and jam, the tart hit the king on the side of the head.

Everyone gasped. There was a deathly silence. Sir Roland stared in horror.

“So,” said the king gravely, “you’d assault your king, would you, Sir Roland?”

“Y-your Majesty – Sire – I-I…” Sir Roland started to mutter an apology.

The king cut him short.

“There is only one penalty for throwing a jam tart at the king,” he said in a dangerous voice. The tension was so thick you could cut the air with a knife. The king stood up. “Sir Roland, I hereby sentence you to – THIS!”

In one swift move, the king picked up a large custard pie and lobbed it across the table. It hit Sir Roland in the face with a loud SPLAT!

The king gave a great guffaw – and then everyone collapsed in fits of laughter.

“I say!” said Sir Percy between giggles. “Sir Roland’s been remanded in custardy!”

“What a terrible joke!” laughed the king. “You’re almost as bad as that jester of yours. Take that, Sir Percy!”

He hurled an apple pie at Sir Percy – who promptly ducked. The pie exploded all over the queen’s crown.

“My crown!” she yelped. “I’ll get you for that, Fredbert!”

She flicked a ladleful of cream across the table, but the king skilfully dodged behind Sir Spencer, who took half of it in the left ear. The other half splattered all over Algernon.

“My outfit!” they wailed together.

“Missed!” said the king. “Come on everyone. Feast fight!”

Within a few seconds there was utter mayhem as pies, cakes, tarts and puddings were flying all around the Great Hall. Soon even Perkin’s Players were hurling food, and all the actors gave a huge cheer when the baron tried to dodge Master Perkin’s cream puff and fell bottom-first into a giant trifle.

Amid all the chaos I spotted Sir Roland creeping up behind Sir Percy with a large blackberry tart in one hand and a wobbling pink blancmange in the other. I was about to call, “Look out, Sir Percy!” but had to swerve to avoid a large dollop of custard thrown (complete with bowl) by Walter.

“Percy!” roared Sir Roland. “This’ll teach you not to insult me!”

Then, as Sir Roland ran past a suit of armour, a leg shot out and tripped him up. He gave a great “Whaaaaa!” and fell headlong, sending both his missiles high into the air. They landed one after another on Walter, who was aiming another bowl of custard at my head. Patchcoat slipped out from behind the armour and gave me a big thumbs up.

“What fun!” said the king, clapping Sir Percy on the back. “I’ve never enjoyed myself so much in my life.”

“Nor me,” said the queen. “This has been the best banquet ever. Thank you, Sir Percy!”

“Nothing but the best for Your Majesties!” said Sir Percy with a bow. “It’s all down to my perfect party planning!”

It was well after midnight when we saw the guests to bed. Tired, happy and covered from head to toe in dessert, the king and queen went up to Sir Percy’s chamber. Sir Roland had already ridden home, vowing revenge for the way Sir Percy had insulted him.

“Saddle the horses, Walter,” he’d growled. “I don’t care how far it is, we’re going home.”

“But it’s dark, Sir Roland!” whined Walter.

“What? Are you saying I’m scared of the dark, Wimpface?” he roared. “The dark
is scared of ME! I’m not staying another second under Percy’s roof!”

Wimpface
. Nice one, Sir Roland!

Sir Percy had my bedroom, but Patchcoat said I could sleep in his small room off the kitchen. The baron and Sir Spencer – despite much grumbling – had to share the dusty bed in the Royal Suite, while Perkin’s Players made themselves as comfortable as they could in the Great Hall.

I went to help Sir Percy out of his sticky, splattered clothes.

“Just one more thing, Cedric,” yawned Sir Percy, as I tucked him up in my bed. I thought he was going to say something like,
Thanks for all your help
and
If it hadn’t
been for you I’d be off catching crocodiles
. “Bring me some warm milk and honey, would you? And don’t forget to tidy up.”

On the way down to the kitchen I looked into the Great Hall. The tapestry had fallen off the wall again during the food fight and the players were using it like a big blanket. Half of them were already snoring while others cracked jokes and helped themselves to all the leftovers.

The clearing up would have to wait till the morning. But I thought I’d better just gather up Sir Percy’s silver plates – after all, that thief was still on the loose.

I was on my way back to the kitchen with the plates when there was a knock at the castle door.

Who can that be at this time of night?
I thought wearily.

It was a small man with a beard and eye-glasses. He was carrying a large bundle under one arm.