Rotten Luck!

by Peter Bently

  But Maud spoke too soon. At that moment a horse and cart trundled out through the castle gates. It was laden to the brim with what looked like a week’s worth of poop from the castle stables. As the cart moved slowly over the drawbridge, I heard a horribly familiar voice.

  “Blistering breastplates! As if it isn’t bad enough missing another day’s boar hunting, I have to get stuck behind a stinking stack of manure! Get a move on, dung-cart driver!”

  My heart sank. Following the dung cart out of the castle were Sir Roland and Walter!

  Walter squealed with glee. “Look, Sir Roland!” he cried. “It’s Sir Percy and Fatbottom!”

  Uh-oh, here comes trouble, I thought, as Sir Roland and Walter strode over to Lurk.

  “What’s going on?” Sir Roland said. “The sheriff told me he’d caught the Ghost and his gang. So why’s that pompous twit Sir Percy in the stocks?”

  “Sir Percy is the Ghost, Yer Honour,” said Lurk. “He’s a dangerous villain!”

  “Percy? A dangerous villain?” Sir Roland roared with laughter. “He’s about as dangerous as a bowl of porridge!”

  (Actually that made Sir Percy sound pretty scary. Sir Roland had clearly never tried Mouldybun Margaret’s porridge.)

  “Ooh no, Yer Honour,” said Lurk. “He’s had you fooled all along. He’s a master o’ disguise, yer see.”

  “A master of disguise? Don’t be ridic—” Sir Roland suddenly stopped. “Hold on, though. He did sneak into a princess’s castle in disguise… Hmm. I’m not likely to forget that little episode in a hurry.” He glowered at Sir Percy. “I don’t think I ever got you back for that, did I, Percy?”

  Sir Percy smiled weakly. “Now, now, Roly old chap,” he said. “Let bygones be bygones, eh?”

  “Can I throw a rotten cabbage at Fatbottom, Sir Roland?” asked Walter.

  “A cabbage?” said Sir Roland, with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Oh no, Walter. I’ve got a much better idea, hur-hur.” He turned and bawled across the square. “Hey you! Dung-cart driver! Wait!”

  The dung merchant had stopped nearby to let a cartload of timber go past. He looked rather startled – but then Sir Roland shouting at the top of his voice would probably have startled a statue.

  Sir Roland grabbed an empty basket from a nearby stall and thrust it into Walter’s hands.

  “Walter, take this to that dung cart and fill it up,” he ordered.

  “Who me, Sir Roland?”

  “Yes, you!”

  “With poo?”

  “Yes, poo!” said Sir Roland. “And be quick about it!”

  Walter reluctantly took the basket to the dung cart. I couldn’t help laughing at the sight of him staggering back with a stinky basket of horse manure that he’d just filled with his bare hands. But I wasn’t laughing for long.

  “Right, Walter,” said Roland, scooping out a handful of manure. “Let ’em have it!”

  “I say, Roland,” said Sir Percy in alarm. “Surely you’re not going to— Aargh!”

  Sir Roland hurled a big dollop of doo-doo that hit my master in the face with a loud SPLAT!

  “That’ll teach you to make a fool of me, Percy!” jeered Sir Roland.

  “Your turn next, Fatbottom!” sneered Walter.

  I tried to dodge out of the way, but it was impossible to move. SPLOP! – my nose took a direct hit.

  “Hey, Percy, how are you doing?” laughed Sir Roland, landing another manky missile on my master’s head. “You look a bit pooped!”

  They carried on pelting us with poo until the basket was empty. While Walter was off fetching another load, I saw that a cart of timber had stopped next to the stocks and the sheriff had returned with several workmen to unload it. They began to build some sort of raised platform. It looked like the stage for a travelling show – until I saw two of the sheriff’s men lugging a fat wooden block off the back of the cart.

  Uh-oh. I’d seen one of those blocks before, all covered in cobwebs in the dungeons of Castle Bombast. It was a chopping block, and not the kind that Mouldybun Margaret uses for chopping up turnips. This chopping block was for heads!

  While I was watching, another cart rolled up to the platform. It was carrying straw.

  Lurk chuckled unpleasantly. “That’s ter soak up all the blood!” he said.

  Yikes!

  Then the sheriff came over to the stocks, carrying a sheet of parchment and a quill. “Lurk, why don’t you wun along and fetch your axe,” he said. “While I tick evewyone off my chopping list, heh, heh!”

  “Yes, Yer Honour!” said Lurk and lumbered off.

  “Lurk’s a good fellow,” said the sheriff. “You could say he’s a chip off the old block!”

  “I wish the Ghost would hurry up and rescue us!” I whispered to Jack.

  “Me, too,” said Jack. “I’m not sure I can take any more of the sheriff’s terrible jokes.”

  Speaking of bad jokes, I wondered what had happened to Patchcoat.

  Just at that moment, Lurk returned with a large and rather nasty-looking axe. And to make things worse, Walter was on his way back with a fresh basketful of poop. But he was having a job pushing through the growing crowd of onlookers.

  Among them was the short peasant with the hood pulled over his eyes, who had called out earlier. I watched as he sidled over to a big heap of straw that had just been unloaded from the cart. Checking to see no one was looking, he quickly took something out of his pocket and knelt beside the heap. After a few seconds he disappeared back into the crowd.

  The sheriff was still ticking us off his list. “Wight then, who’s necks?” he said. “Geddit? Necks? Heh, heh, heh!”

  “FIRE! FIRE!” one of the sheriff’s guards suddenly cried out.

  Flames licked at the heap of straw. Within seconds the crowd started running to get away from the great clouds of smoke that filled the air.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, you mowons!” the sheriff barked to his guards. “Put it out before it spweads to the platform! Lurk, give those fools a hand to fetch water. And move that blasted stwaw cart before the whole lot catches!”

  “Yes, Yer Honour!” said Lurk. Still clutching his axe, he ran off – and barged straight into the hooded peasant. They both tumbled to the ground.

  “Idiot!” grunted Lurk, getting to his feet. “Mind where you’re goin’!”

  “Beg pardon!” said the peasant.

  As Lurk lurched off into the smoke, I was surprised when the peasant ran up to me. But not half as surprised as I was when he pushed back his hood to reveal…

  “Patchcoat!”

  “At your service, Ced,” he grinned. “I thought I’d create a little distraction. Lucky I still had my tinderbox, eh? Now let’s get you all out of these stocks.”

  “But how?” I said. “Lurk has got the keys!”

  Patchcoat chuckled. “Not any more, he hasn’t!” he said, holding up a fat bunch of keys.

  “Patchcoat, you’re a genius!” I said, as he fumbled through the keys for the one that fitted my padlock. Within seconds I was free. My wrists and neck were a bit stiff but there was no time to lose.

  Under the cover of the smoke, we released the others one by one, while Patchcoat quickly explained how he’d slipped behind a tree when the sheriff had turned up. He’d found his way back to the road by following us at a distance.

  Sir Percy was the last out of the stocks.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Now, Cedric, kindly fetch a handful of straw to wipe all this muck off my armour.”

  “No time for that, Sir Percy!” said Maud. “We need to get out of here!”

  Even as she spoke, the smoke cleared for a moment and a voice hollered, “Sheriff, the prisoners are escaping!”

  “Run!” I yelled. “Lurk’s spotted us!”

  “Head for the city gate!” called Maud, as we bolted across the market square, dodging through stalls and peasants hurrying the other way with buckets of water.

  “Stop them!” roared the sheriff.

  W
e weren’t far from the gates, but we still had to get past the guards on duty, and the sheriff’s men were catching up fast. Then I spotted the straw cart. The driver was nowhere to be seen – he’d probably gone to help put out the blaze. An idea flashed into my head.

  “I know!” I said. “Hide in the straw cart!”

  “Good thinking, lad!” said Maud. “Jack, you drive.”

  We clambered on to the cart and dived under the straw. My plan was working brilliantly. But hold on – where was Sir Percy?

  I heard a sudden cry nearby and popped up from the straw to see my master sprawling in a collapsed pile of baskets. He obviously hadn’t spotted the basket-seller’s stall in the smoke.

  “Over here, Sir Percy!” I shouted. “Hurry!”

  Sir Percy got up and tried to run for it. But he had a basket stuck on his head and the basket seller wasn’t keen to part with it.

  “Stop! Thief! ’E’s nicking one o’ me baskets!” she hollered. She did an impressive dive and clasped Sir Percy’s left leg.

  “My good woman, kindly let go!”

  “Not until you gimme back that basket!”

  A cloud of smoke hid them from view. And then I heard a horribly familiar whiny voice.

  “Fatbottom!” It was Walter, still carrying his basket of poop. “Trying to escape, eh? We’ll soon see about that!” He plonked down the basket and jumped on to the cart.

  “Gerroff, Wartface!” I cried, as he grabbed hold of me.

  Jack was already in the driver’s seat and saw what was happening. With a crack of the reins he cried, “Giddy up, Dobbin!” and the cart lurched forward.

  Walter lost his balance and loosened his grip just enough for me to give him a well-aimed kick in the shoulder.

  “Waah!” he wailed, disappearing over the side of the cart.

  I quickly checked to make sure he wasn’t going to try again. I needn’t have worried. He had tumbled off the cart head first into his basket of poop. Ew.

  I dived back under the straw and we all lay very still as the cart trundled through the town gates, just as the church clock struck midday.

  Close by, I heard the sheriff shouting to his men. “What do you mean, vanished?” he raged. “Impossible! Search the town, you bwainless boobies!”

  Tee-hee! I thought. We did it!

  But then the sheriff spoke again. “At least they didn’t all escape. We still have the most important pwisoner – the Ghost!”

  I’d forgotten about Sir Percy! I dared to peek out of the straw one last time. There was my master, standing by the basket-seller’s stall, his arms firmly held by two guards. He still had the basket on his head.

  “That widiculous attempt at a disguise didn’t fool anyone, Sir Percy!” snarled the sheriff. “Even if we can’t catch the others, at two o’clock you will be executed!”

  I guessed it wouldn’t be long before Walter blabbed to the sheriff about how we’d made our getaway. So as soon as we reached the forest, we leaped from the cart and headed into the trees. Sure enough, we could already hear the sound of galloping hooves coming from the direction of the town.

  “The sheriff will never find us in the forest,” said Maud. “We know lots of secret paths. Come on!”

  Maud and the outlaws led the way along an unfamiliar track.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Our secret hideout,” said Maud. “We never normally let strangers come near it. But I think you and Master Patchcoat have earned our trust, eh, lads?”

  The other outlaws happily agreed.

  “Once we’re at the hideout we’ll work out a way to save your master,” Maud went on.

  After half an hour or so we stopped to rest. I flopped down gratefully against a tree. I’d gone for a whole night without sleep and it had been ages since any of us had eaten properly. The only thing that stopped me dropping off was my grumbling tummy.

  “I’ll show you that new juggling trick again,” said Patchcoat. “It’ll take our minds off food.” He rummaged in his pocket. “Bother. I seem to have lost one of my juggling balls. I wonder where—”

  “Shh!” Billy suddenly put his fingers to his lips. “What’s that sound?”

  “Voices!” hissed Maud. “Coming this way!”

  Sure enough, we caught the glint of metal through the trees.

  “The sheriff’s men!” said Billy. “How did they know which way we came?”

  “Dunno,” said Jack. “But I ain’t waiting around to find out. Down here, quick!”

  We scrambled off the track down a rocky bank and picked our way through mossy boulders until the track was well out of sight. It was then that I saw a dark, narrow opening almost hidden among the rocks and trees.

  “Hey, a cave!” I said. “We can hide in there until the coast is clear.”

  One by one we ducked into the narrow entrance. While the outlaws kept a lookout, Patchcoat and I explored the cave to see if there was another way out. As our eyes got used to the dim light we saw that it was actually much bigger than it looked. And then we saw something that made our hair stand on end. A bear!

  We froze.

  The bear appeared to be standing up, ready to pounce – but then nothing happened.

  “Hold on,” said Patchcoat. “There’s something fishy going on here.”

  He walked coolly up to the bear, and lifted it off the wall!

  “Look, Ced!” he laughed. “It’s only a costume!”

  I sighed with relief. And then something else caught my eye. Piled up near the bear costume were dozens of bulging sacks.

  “What’s all this?” I said.

  I tried to pick up one of the sacks, but it was surprisingly heavy and slipped from my fingers. It fell on to the floor of the cavern, spilling its contents. I gasped in amazement. What tumbled out wasn’t grain or flour but … coins! Bright, shiny gold and silver coins.

  The outlaws came running up.

  “Phew!” said Maud. “Where’s this lot come from, then?”

  “It looks like someone’s secret stash of loot,” I said. “Someone who’s a famous robber, maybe?”

  Patchcoat held up the bear costume. “Yeah, and a robber who’s a master of disguise and likes to scare people off if they get too close! Raahh!”

  “Aha! So there was a bear,” said Jack. “But not a real one. Sorry for not believing you.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “Are you saying this loot has nothing to do with you?”

  “No way,” said Jack, picking up the empty sack. “This is tax money. Look.”

  He pointed to the words on the side of the sack.

  “Tax money?” I said. “Doesn’t that belong to the sheriff?”

  “Oh no. It belongs to the king,” said Maud. “The sheriff only collects it. He keeps it all locked up at the castle until the king’s men come for it.”

  “We’d never steal off the king,” added Billy.

  “So you’re saying someone stole this from the castle?” I said. “From right under the sheriff’s nose?”

  “That’s right,” said Jack. “Though I don’t see how. The sheriff’s men guard it day and night.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “Unless the thief is … the sheriff himself?”

  “Vewy clever, boy,” said an icy voice. “Vewy clever indeed. But not clever enough. You’re all under awwest. And this time you won’t escape!”

  “How did you know which way we’d come?” said Maud.

  The sheriff’s men had dragged us outside the cave and were busily tying us up.

  “Easy,” smirked the sheriff. “We weren’t sure which path to take. But then we found this.”

  He held up Patchcot’s missing juggling ball.

  “Whoops,” said Patchcoat. “Sorry, guys.”

  “So, you found my little nest egg, eh?” said the sheriff. “Of course, I send the king most of the taxes I take off those stupid peasants. But I think it’s nice to put a little aside for a wainy day, don’t you?”

  “But you’re cheating the ki
ng!” I blurted. “That’s treason!”

  “Tweason shmeason,” smirked the sheriff. “The king is never going to find out about the stolen taxes. And if he does, I’ll just blame the Ghost. Like with that peasant you wobbed the other night, eh, boys? The Ghost may be a hewo now, but a few more stunts like that and the peasants will soon change their tune.”

  His henchmen laughed nastily.

  “The king will never believe you!” said Billy.

  “Won’t believe me, eh?” snarled the sheriff. “Well, if he was stupid enough to believe the forged letter that got Sir Worthington sacked, he’ll believe anything! Mind you, it was a rather bwilliant forgewy, if I say so myself! Heh, heh, heh!”

  “So it was you!” said Maud. “But why? Why did you want the sheriff’s job so badly?”

  “So I could steal all this loot, of course!” said the sheriff. “And once I’ve stolen enough I shall be able to pay for my own army. Then I shall march out of Fleecingham, overthwow King Fwedbert and the kingdom will be mine, all mine! Hooway for King Cwawliegh the First!”

  He threw his head back and let out a long, shrill cackle.

  “You’ll never get away with this!” I said. “We’ll tell the king!”

  “What?” the sheriff chortled. “Do you think the king will believe a boy, a jester and a bunch of outlaws? Especially when they haven’t got any heads! Heh, heh, heh! I hope Lurk’s axe is nice and sharp! Which weminds me, it’s time to be heading back. Geddit? Be heading? Beheading? Heh, heh, heh! Men, bwing the pwisoners. Chop-chop! Geddit?”

  THUNK!

  An arrow landed right between the sheriff’s feet. He squawked in fright and leaped into the arms of the nearest henchman.

  I gasped as out of the trees rode …the king and queen! The queen was just notching another arrow to her bow.

  “Nice shot!” said Billy.

  “NOBODY MOVE!” boomed the king. “We have you surrounded!”

  With the king and queen were Sir Spencer and Algernon, several other knights and nobles, plus a bunch of royal guards on foot.