Life Stinks!

by Peter Bently

  I stood there opening and closing my mouth like a fish.

  “Now, be a good chap and close the door on your way out.” Sir Percy yawned. “If we’re leaving before dawn I’d better grab a bit of beauty sleep.”

  When I got back downstairs, the dog and one of the old peasants were snoring loudly. The other was nodding off to sleep.

  “I’ve just got time for one more joke,” said Patchcoat. “Who invented King Arthur’s Round Table? Sir Cumference!”

  The other old peasant shut his eyes and started to snore.

  “You’ve been a great audience,” said Patchcoat. “Thank you and goodnight!”

  While Patchcoat packed up his jester’s bag, I told him what Sir Percy had asked me to do.

  “The cheating chiseller!” Patchcoat said. “He should do his own dirty work!”

  “I know,” I said. “But maybe he’s right. It might be easy for me to slip in unnoticed.”

  “Don’t be daft,” said Patchcoat. “You saw the fort. It’s surrounded by sheer cliffs. There’s only one way in and that’s across the drawbridge and through the front gate. There are bound to be guards. You’ve as much chance of slipping in unnoticed as an elephant with bells on.”

  “Maybe there’s another way in,” I said. “A secret passage or something…”

  “Secret passage?” chuckled Patchcoat. “I think you’ve been reading too many fairy tales, Ced.”

  “No, seriously,” I protested. “There’s a bit in The Song of Percy where Sir Percy finds a secret passage into an enemy castle and single-handedly defeats a whole army.”

  “Just like I said, you’ve been reading too many fairy tales,” said Patchcoat. “But look, if there is another way into Blackstone Fort, there is someone who might know. That smelly peasant who works for Sir Roland.”

  “Good idea!” I said. “But how will we find him?”

  “Easy, just follow our noses!”

  We found the smelly peasant snoozing in the yard under a window. I tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Urrngh? Whassup?” he grunted. “It weren’t me, Sir Roland, honest!”

  “It’s not Sir Roland,” I smiled. “We met earlier, remember?”

  The peasant blinked and peered at us by the dim light from the window. “Oh aye,” he grunted. “You’s them as didn’t know about Blackstone Fort.”

  “Unlike your good self,” said Patchcoat. “You said you worked there?”

  “Aye. Well, I works at the fort, but not in the fort,” said the peasant. “I works in a bit of the fort that’s on the outside of the fort.”

  “This bit where you work – can you get into the rest of the fort from there?”

  The peasant scratched his chin. “I s’pose so,” he said. “You could work your way up from the bottom to the top. Or from the bottom to the bottom, if you’re unlucky. Hur-hur-hur!” He cackled so violently that several flies flew up into the air.

  I didn’t have a clue what he was on about. I looked at Patchcoat and he gave me a shrug.

  “So if I wanted to get into the fort that way, could you let me in?” I persisted.

  “Well now, p’raps I could,” said the peasant. “That depends, don’t it?”

  “Depends on what?” I asked.

  But Patchcoat knew what he meant. He took a silver fourpenny piece out of his pouch. “Perhaps if I were to give you this?” he said, showing the coin.

  The peasant fixed Patchcoat with a hard, beady stare. “Tuppence!” he said.

  “A penny!” said Patchcoat.

  “Ha’penny!” said the peasant. “And that’s me final offer.”

  “Very well,” sighed Patchcoat. “It’s a deal. You drive a hard bargain, Mister…”

  “Pugh,” said the filthy peasant. “Hugh Pugh. But you can call me Stinky, like everyone else.”

  Patchcoat handed over a halfpenny coin.

  “Shake on it,” said Stinky Pugh, holding out a filth-encrusted hand.

  Patchcoat shook it reluctantly.

  “Wish me luck, Patchcoat,” I said.

  “Eh?” said Patchcoat. “No way am I missing out on a bit of fun in Sir Roland’s castle. I’m coming with you!”

  “Right, gentlemen,” said Stinky Pugh. “Ready when you are. Foller me.”

  The moon was hidden behind some clouds and obviously we couldn’t take torches, so we set off from the inn in pitch-darkness. But as we headed uphill, Patchcoat and I had no trouble following Stinky Pugh. As long as the stench was in front of us, we knew we were going the right way.

  To avoid bumping into a patrol of Sir Roland’s guards, Stinky Pugh led us on a path well away from the main road to Blackstone Fort. It was rough and steep, but eventually we turned a corner and there was the fort itself, huge and menacing against the night sky. All that stood between us and the main gates was a wooden drawbridge. There was no moat, because Blackstone Fort didn’t need one. It was surrounded on all sides by a sheer drop to the valley far below.

  I seriously thought about turning round and heading straight back to the inn. It would serve Sir Percy right if he had to go through with the joust. But then again, if I disobeyed him I’d be breaking the Squire’s Code. And if he lost the joust (I was beginning to suspect that those magic underpants might not be so magic after all), I’d probably lose my job. If that happened, who would take on a disobedient squire? I’d never get to be a knight!

  We tiptoed over the drawbridge. At the end we saw a light coming from a window by the great wooden doors of the fort.

  “That’s the guardroom,” whispered Stinky Pugh. “Make a sound and we’re done for.”

  Just before the gates he led us down some steps on to a narrow ledge that ran round the base of the castle walls.

  We were as quiet as mice as we ducked past the guardroom window. From inside came the sound of iron being sharpened on stone.

  “Give it some elbow grease, lad!” said a voice. “That sword wouldn’t slice a cucumber in ’alf, never mind an intruder!”

  “Yes, Sarge,” said another voice.

  We hurried on and followed the ledge round the fort. I stuck close to the wall and tried not to think about the sheer drop below.

  After a while Patchcoat whispered, “Is it just me, or is Stinky Pugh getting even stinkier?”

  It was true. We were now round the back of the fort, and the stench was getting stronger and stronger. A few steps more and the ledge stopped at a narrow tower that jutted out of the wall. The stink was almost overpowering. It seemed to be coming from somewhere very close by.

  “Here we are, gentlemen,” grinned Stinky Pugh. It was then that we noticed a small door in the base of the tower. “The back way in. What yer might call the back passage. Hur-hur!”

  “Thank goodness,” I said. “The sooner we’re inside, the sooner we can escape this terrible smell.”

  I spoke too soon.

  Stinky Pugh heaved the door open and the stench that hit us was so bad it nearly knocked us over.

  “Phwoargghhh!”

  I can safely say it was the most EVIL smell in the world. Even thinking about it makes my nose want to jump off my face and hide.

  “Welcome to my place of work, gentlemen,” said Stinky Pugh. “Or should I say – welcome to the gents, gents. Hur-hur!”

  “What?” I gasped, trying not to breathe. “You actually work – in there?”

  “Aye,” said Stinky Pugh proudly. “It’s called a Sanitary Tower. It’s the latest posh thing. Not like yer normal old-fashioned garderobe, where you sit with yer rear end dangling over the outside world in all weathers. In one o’ them you does yer business and you never know where it’s going to end up. ’Specially if it’s a bit windy. And you get a chilly bum into the bargain. Now here” – he nodded at the tower – “it’s all self-contained, see. Everything drops to the bottom of the tower. No chance of it blowing in through a downstairs window.”

  “So what’s your job, then?” I asked.

  “I’m the Nightman,” said Stinky P
ugh. “One night a month I comes along with me spade and empties out the tower.”

  “What a terrible life of human waste,” said Patchcoat.

  Stinky Pugh pointed to a lit window at the top of the tower.

  “See up there? That’s the garderobe. It’s got two doors. One leads into a corridor and the other into Sir Roland’s bedchamber. It’s what them posh folks calls an en suite. So when you gets to the top, make sure you takes the door into the corridor.”

  “Is it the left door or the right?” I asked, then suddenly realized what Stinky Pugh had said. “Hold on – what do you mean, when we get to the top?”

  “When you gets to the top of the tower, of course,” grinned Stinky Pugh. “Lucky for you I emptied it only last week.”

  “You mean we have to go – in there?”

  “Aye,” said Stinky Pugh. “It’s the only way into the fort. Unless you wants to go back to the gate and ask the guards nicely? Hur-hur!”

  “Looks like we haven’t any choice, Ced,” sighed Patchcoat.

  “But how do we get up there?” I said. “Is there a ladder?”

  “Nope,” said Stinky Pugh. “You’ll ’ave to climb.”

  “Don’t worry, Ced, I’ve got these,” said Patchcoat. He rummaged in his jester’s bag and pulled out two clothes pegs.

  “But how do we get out at the top?” I asked. “Isn’t there a loo seat in the way?”

  “The seat’s only a plank with an ’ole in it,” said Stinky Pugh. “You can just push the whole thing to one side.”

  “All right,” I sighed, putting the peg on my nose. “Let’s do it.”

  “You go first, Ced,” said Patchcoat. “That way I can catch you if you fall.”

  “But what if you miss?” I said.

  “No problem,” he chuckled. “There’s a soft landing at the bottom.”

  “Cheers, Patchcoat,” I said.

  As it turned out the tower was narrow enough to climb up by bracing our hands and feet against the sides, and it was fairly easy to get a grip on the rough stone. The inside was faintly lit by candlelight shining through the loo seat at the top. As we climbed higher and higher, and the circle of light grew bigger and bigger I began to feel a surge of excitement.

  “Almost there!” I panted. “I can’t believe we’ve nearly done it!”

  “Shh!” said Patchcoat suddenly. “Listen!”

  There was a noise above us. Someone had just opened one of the doors into the garderobe!

  We stopped dead.

  “Suffering siege engines!” boomed a voice. “Walter!”

  I was so startled I nearly lost my grip. It was Sir Roland! Had he heard us? I held my breath as I heard Walter Warthog’s familiar whine.

  “You called, Sir Roland?” said Walter.

  “There’s no blasted hay in here,” boomed Sir Roland. “Fetch some at once! Hurry!”

  “Yes, Sir Roland,” smarmed Walter. “Of course, Sir Roland.”

  We heard Walter running off and returning a short time later. “Your hay, Sir Roland,” he said.

  “About time, too,” barked Sir Roland. “The next time I come in here and there’s no hay I’ll use one of your stockings. Is that clear? Now get out!”

  I heard Walter shuffle out of the garderobe, closing the door behind him. There was a rustle of clothing and then, without warning, the circle of light above us vanished. We were plunged into pitch-darkness.

  “Uh-oh,” I whispered. “I hope this doesn’t mean what I think it means…”

  There was a strange grunting noise, like Sir Roland was trying to lift a very heavy weight. After a few seconds the grunting stopped.

  “Watch out!” hissed Patchcoat. “Backs to the wall!”

  I pressed my back as flat as I could against the wall of the tower. And not a moment too soon.

  Something whizzed past my face so close that it knocked the peg off my nose. A couple of seconds later there was a faint PLOP at the bottom of the tower.

  Ewww.

  “That was close!” I whispered.

  But Sir Roland wasn’t quite done yet. There was a funny scraping sound and before I realized what it was, a scrunched-up ball of hay bounced off my head and plummeted into the smelly depths below.

  The circle of light suddenly reappeared. There was another rustle of clothing, and the sound of the door opening and closing.

  As soon as the coast was clear, Patchcoat burst out laughing.

  “Well, Ced,” he giggled. “I hope you don’t get hay fever!”

  “Ha-ha,” I groaned. “Come on, let’s get out before Sir Roland hears us.”

  We inched our way to the top of the tower. Like Stinky Pugh had said, it was easy enough to shove the loo seat out of the way and climb out. The worst bit was trying to do it quietly.

  That and the fact it was still warm from Sir Roland’s bottom.

  “I’ve just realized something,” I said, as Patchcoat climbed out after me and put back the loo seat. “We don’t actually know where Sir Roland keeps his rat!”

  “That’s not even our first problem,” muttered Patchcoat. “Stinky Pugh never did tell us which of these doors was the right one.”

  My heart sank. If we opened the wrong door we’d be face to face with Sir Roland!

  It was Sir Roland himself who helped us out. “Walter!” he boomed from behind the left-hand door.

  “You called, Sir Roland?”

  “Fetch me some warm milk and honey from the kitchens,” growled Sir Roland. “My tummy’s playing up. It must be the excitement at the thought of beating that idiot Sir Percy tomorrow!”

  “Of course, Sir Roland,” said Walter.

  “And while you’re at it, nip into the Great Hall and give Bubo a bit of cheese,” said Sir Roland. “The plumper he is, the more luck he brings!”

  And that answered the other question. But where was the Great Hall?

  “Very good, Sir Roland,” said Walter. “At once, Sir Roland.”

  A few seconds later we heard Walter hurrying past the garderobe, muttering something about stupid rats.

  “Quick,” said Patchcoat. “Let’s follow him!”

  “But why?” I said. “He’s going to the kitchens.”

  “I know,” said Patchcoat. “And the kitchens are always next to the Great Hall, right? With a bit of luck we can nip into the hall and grab the rat while Walter’s busy heating up Sir Roland’s milk.”

  We slipped quietly out of the garderobe and into the dark corridor. The only light came from Walter’s candle, some way ahead. Keeping to the shadows, we followed him down a long corridor lined with the heads of stags, boars, wolves and other startled-looking creatures unfortunate enough to bump into Sir Roland when he was out hunting.

  I ducked under the outstretched claws of a whole stuffed bear – only for Patchcoat to grab me by the collar and stop me in my tracks. I soon realized why. Walter had suddenly halted just ahead of us. If I’d carried on I’d have walked straight into him!

  “Pooh,” Walter grumbled, sniffing the air. “What’s that awful smell?”

  Eeek! I guess after our climb up the tower, Patchcoat and I didn’t exactly smell like roses. I just hoped Walter wouldn’t try to find out where the stink was coming from.

  “Probably Sir Roland’s new hunting dogs,” he muttered, as he turned a corner. “Filthy mutts. And no prizes for guessing who’ll have to clear up after them.”

  After a few more passages and winding stairways, we reached a wide landing. The moon had come out now and it shone through the high windows on to a pair of huge wooden doors decorated with Sir Roland’s coat of arms.

  “The Great Hall!” whispered Patchcoat.

  We hung back as Walter passed the hall and disappeared down a narrow flight of steps in a corner of the landing.

  “That’ll be the way to the kitchens,” said Patchcoat. “Come on. We haven’t got long!”

  The door to the Great Hall opened with a loud creak. I crept inside – and jumped with fright to see a doze
n knights staring back at me!

  It took a moment to realize that the hall was lined with empty suits of black armour, gleaming in the moonlight. And that wasn’t all. I stared in amazement at the racks of shields, swords, spears, lances, bows, arrows and other fearsome weapons.

  “Yikes,” said Patchcoat. “That’s one way to impress your dinner guests! One look at this lot would put you right off your roast boar.”

  “Too right,” I shuddered. “He’s got enough weapons for a whole army!”

  A long wide table ran down the entire length of the Great Hall. In the middle stood several large travelling chests, packed with weapons and armour.

  “Well, well, well, what have we here?” chuckled Patchcoat. “Looks like Walter’s been doing a bit of packing for the tournament.” He opened his jester’s bag. “Right, Ced, you grab the rat while I have a quick peek inside Sir Roland’s trunks!”

  Peering round the hall I spotted a large gilded cage tucked between suits of chainmail and some particularly vicious-looking battleaxes.

  I tapped the cage and a pointy, whiskered nose poked out of a nest of straw.

  “Hello, Bubo!” I said.

  I carefully opened the cage and reached in to pick him up. The rat eyed me suspiciously, bared its sharp yellow teeth and then went straight for my finger. I quickly whipped my hand out of the cage. “Vicious little so and so,” I muttered.

  “Try one of these,” said Patchcoat.

  He chucked a gauntlet from a suit of armour over to me. I pulled it on and this time made a grab for Bubo. He squirmed and bit at the metal glove, but I managed to lift him out and slip him into a large leather pouch I’d brought with me.