The Knight of Spurs and Spirits

by Terry Deary

  Illustrated by Helen Flook

  A & C Black • London

  First published 2009 by

  A & C Black Publishers Ltd

  36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY

  www.acblack.com

  Text copyright © 2009 Terry Deary

  Illustrations copyright © 2009 Helen Flook

  The rights of Terry Deary and Helen Flook to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  eISBN 978-1-40819-800-1

  A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems – without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.

  This book is produced using paper that is made from wood grown in managed, sustainable forests. It is natural, renewable and recyclable. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain

  by CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading RG18EX.

  Contents

  Chapter One: Drafts and Deer

  Chapter Two: Wine and Warmth

  Chapter Three: Whip and Wrath

  Chapter Four: Straw and Sneezes

  Chapter Five: Heaven and Hell

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Drafts and Deer

  England, 1609

  The castle is grim. The castle is grey. And the castle has a gruesome tale to tell.

  The castle is known as Hylton Castle and it stands – grim, grey and gruesome – on a hillside by the River Wear in the north of England. You can see it there today – a sad shell of a hollow hall.

  The castle is cold. The roof is gone, but the sun never shines inside the grim, grey, gruesome walls.

  But when the last knight lived there, the castle could be warm. When the fire was lit in the Great Hall, it was warm there by the fire. Tapestry curtains hung on the walls and kept out the draughts.

  Chairs had cushions high and soft to keep out the draughts as you sat by the fire … if you were one of the lucky ones that sat by the fire.

  Lucky – like the last knight of Hylton, Sir Robert.

  Logs as large as dogs flared in the fireplace and sparkled on the tapestry walls. Sir Robert took an iron poker and pushed it into the fire. Then he took a flagon of wine and emptied it into his silver cup.

  When the poker was glowing red, he pushed the tip into his wine and watched it bubble and boil, spit and sizzle.

  Sir Robert sat back in the chair and sipped the warm wine.

  “Marvellous!” he smiled. It was a fat-faced, well-fed, red-cheeked smile.

  Sir Robert stretched out a lazy hand and pulled on a rope that hung beside the fire. Somewhere in the castle halls, a bell jangled.

  Moments later, the door opened and a girl hurried in. She was dressed in a fine, grey dress with a white, linen collar and an apron as white as snow.

  Sir Robert, the last knight of Hylton, looked up. “Ah, Mary!”

  “Yes, Sir Bobbert!” said the girl in a voice as dry as hay. Her throat went dry when she stood in the piggy-eyed gaze of her lord, and the words got jumbled in her mouth. “I mean … Sir Robert, sir, sorry, sir.”

  “The weather, girl.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Mary, and bent her knees in a low curtsey.

  “Yes, sir what?” the knight rumbled.

  “Yes, sir, whatever you say, Sir Bobbert … Robbled … Bobbit.”

  “I asked you about the weather. What’s it like outside?” Sir Robert could have pushed open the shutters on the windows of the Great Hall, but he was too lazy for that.

  “Sunny, sir,” Mary panted, trying to remember.

  “Sunny, eh? Marvellous!”

  “And cloudy,” she wittered.

  “Uh? How can it be sunny if it’s cloudy?”

  “Sometimes it’s sunny and sometimes it’s cloudy. It changes. When a cloud crosses the sun, it stops being sunny and when…”

  “Enough!” roared Sir Robert.

  Mary trembled.

  “Is … it … raining?” the last knight of Hylton asked slowly, as if he were talking to a slow and slightly stupid snail.

  “Not today, Sir Bobble … but it might rain next Tuesday, the wise woman of Wearside said in the market…”

  “I … do … not … want … to … know … about next Tuesday!” he said. “If it is a fine day today, the deer will be out. Tell the Master of the Hunt I will go hunting this morning. Catch us a nice fat deer for dinner.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Mary. She bobbed a curtsey and turned towards the door … both at the same time. Her ankles became tangled, and she almost tripped over. “Ooopsy-daisy! Sorry, Sir Rubble!”

  “And tell that useless stable boy … Skeleton…”

  “It’s Skelton, sir. Roger Skelton.”

  “Whatever his name is … tell Skeleton to have my bay mare ready, brushed and saddled.”

  “Yes, your lard-ship … your lord-shap…”

  “And take this wine away … it tastes of burnt wood,” said Sir Robert, passing the silver cup to the girl. “A quick nap and then I’ll be ready to ride,” he sighed. “Ma-a-a-a-rvelous!”

  Chapter Two

  Wine and Warmth

  Roger Skelton sat at the kitchen table. He supped at a bowl of broth that was hot from the pot that hung over the fire. His thin, round shoulders were covered in a thin, round jacket of green and his skinny hands trembled as he held the spoon. “I’m cold, so cold!” he murmured to himself.

  The fire burned brightly and a whole pig hung on a spit over the flames. The spit had a wheel at one end, a wheel like the one on a watermill. Inside the wheel was a small, brown dog. The dog walked forward inside the wheel. As it walked, it turned the spit. As the spit turned, the pig turned over the fire.

  The roast-pork smell filled the castle kitchens. The pig fat dripped into the fire and spluttered and spat and burned with a fierce flame.

  The door crashed open and Mary the maid ran in.

  “Oh, Roger, there you are. His lordship is going hunting in a while…”

  “I’m cold!”

  “He wants his best bay mare made ready,” the girl went on.

  “But I’m eating me dinner! I need it to warm me up. Didn’t I tell you, I’m cold?” he whined. Roger was a whiner.

  Mary placed the great goblet of wine in front of the boy.

  “Sir Robert has just heated up this goblet of wine,” she said. “Now it’s wasted. Drink it and it may warm you up.”

  Roger wrapped his hands around the silver cup and felt them glow. “Ooooh! Warm.”

  “And it’s warm inside if you sip it,” Mary said. “Otherwise, I’ll just have to throw it away.”

  Roger put the silver goblet to his lips and sipped. It was a mixture of fine wine and ash from the poker. It warmed his mouth, warmed his throat, then warmed his gut. The warmth began to spread over his body. “Ahhhh!” he sighed. “Lovely.”

  The warm spirit of the wine went up Roger’s nose and made him a little dizzy. “Ooooh-eeeeh!” he said, and wobbled. A silly smile spread over his face and his eyes closed. Slowly, slo-wly, s-l-o-w-l-y, s-l-o-o-w-l-e-e-e-ee, his face fell forwards onto the table.

  “Poor Roger,” Mary sighed. “It’s good to see you happy and warm for once, but I can’t let you sleep.” She rested a hand on his shoulder and jiggled it. “Wake up.”

  The boy opened his bright eyes.

  “Hello, Mary!”
he said. “I must have dropped off.”

  “Sir Robert wants you to saddle his bay mare.”

  “Does he?”

  “Yes, I told you. He’s going hunting. You’d better hurry. You know how he hates to be kept waiting, especially when he’s off murdering little deer.”

  Roger rose to his feet and wobbled a little. “Ooooh! That soup’s made me all giddy,” he giggled. “I’ll go and saddle that grey mare now.”

  “Bay mare,” Mary moaned. “Get it right, Roger, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Bay … grey … play … day … way … hay!” Roger grinned and wobbled towards the door. He pulled it open.

  “No, Roger!” Mary cried.

  Roger walked through the door and slammed it behind him. There was a crashing and a clattering, like a knight in armour falling off his horse and into a bucket of nails.

  Mary tore open the door and said, “Oh, Roger, that’s the pan cupboard!”

  “Ooooh!” said the boy, and wobbled towards the other door.

  “Wait!” Mary sighed. Roger stood as still as he could. Mary walked across to him and pulled the saucepan off his head. “Now, Roger, off you go and saddle Sir Robert’s bay mare.”

  Roger dragged his feet into the stableyard. The feet didn’t seem to want to go where he wanted them to go. He stepped into the stable and saw the pile of hay in the corner, ready to feed the horses.

  “I’m cold,” he said, as he sat in the hay and pulled some over him to keep warm. “Sir Robert likes a little rest after his breakfast.” Then he lay back in the tickly bed.

  Roger’s eyes closed…

  The horses snorted. Roger snored. A sparrow twittered in the rafters. Peace fell on the stables of Hylton Castle … for a little while.

  Chapter Three

  Whip and Wrath

  Sir Robert, the last knight of Hylton, woke from his nap. Hunting horns were blaring outside his window and that was what had roused him.

  He opened the shutters and saw a grey sky as dull as the water in the castle pond.

  “The girl said it was a sunny day,” he growled. “I must remember to give her a thrashing when I get back.”

  He stamped across the room and bellowed like a bull for his servants. “My riding boots! Where are my riding boots?”

  When a boot boy ran along the passage with the big, brown boots, the lord roared, “And I hope they’re clean. One speck of mud and you’ll be thrashed.”

  “Clean as a raindrop, Sir Robert,” the boy said proudly.

  “Marvellous!” the last knight of Hylton chuckled, as he pulled them on. “And my spurs – fetch me my best silver spurs!”

  A groom of the chamber brought in the shining spurs, a heavy, green cloak and a riding hat with a pheasant feather stuck in the side. “Your riding clothes, sire,” the man bowed and bobbed.

  “Marvellous! Now I am ready to go!” said Sir Robert.

  The groom of the chamber gave a slippery smile. “Haven’t we forgotten something?” he asked in a teasing voice.

  Sir Robert hated that. He hated it when servants were smart and smug. He kept his temper. “I have forgotten something … I was just seeing if you remembered, George.”

  “Geoffrey.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Geoffrey, sire!”

  “Whatever your name is … you have forgotten something,” the knight said sharply.

  The servant brought his right hand from behind his back. “I don’t think so. Here it is!”

  Sir Robert looked at the stick with the large, silver knob on the top. “My hunting whip. Ah … yes … of course!” he said, snatching it from the slippery servant’s slimy hand. “You’ve passed the test, George. Well done!”

  “Thank you, sire,” the servant bowed.

  “Marvellous! Now,” the knight said, as he marched through the hall and threw open the front gate, “I’m ready to go. Lead on, huntsman!”

  The huntsman stood by a pair of grey deerhounds. “I think you have forgotten something, sire,” he said.

  “I think not! I have my boots, my cape, my hat and my whip. What more do I need?” shouted Sir Robert. “What more? Eh? Tell me!”

  The huntsman coughed into his hand. “Ahem … your horse, sire, your horse!”

  Sir Robert turned redder than a robin’s chest. “Yes! Yes! I know that! I know. No need to tell me…” He looked around wildly. “I … I told that Mary girl to tell the Skeleton boy to bring it round to the front door, didn’t I?”

  Mary the maid was standing at the kitchen door, just along from the main gate. She turned pale.

  “Oh, no, Sir Blobber! You just said get it beddy … I mean ret it geddy! I mean…”

  Lord Hylton hated to look a fool. He strode toward the maid and raised his whip. “First … first you tell me it’s a sunny day…”

  “It was when the sun set this morning … I mean when the rose shine sunned this…”

  “And then … then you failed to tell Skeleton to fetch my horse!”

  “Skelton, Roger Skelton, sir…”

  “And now … now!” he said, and raised the whip. “Now you call me a liar!”

  The whip came down. Mary raised her hands to her head and turned away. The whip caught her across the shoulders and made her sob.

  “I will go and ask Skeleton myself,” the knight raged. “I will ask him if he was told to bring the horse to the main gate. I am a knight! I don’t walk around getting my own horses, do I?” he asked and raised the whip again.

  “Please, sir, no, sir!” Mary cried and scuttled back into the doorway.

  The whip came down and missed her fleeing form. It hit the doorpost and made Sir Robert madder … madder than a wasp with toothache.

  “Someone will pay for this!” the knight screamed, and the ravens on the castle roof rose into the air in panic. “I’ll kill Skeleton the skiver!” he roared.

  Sir Robert Hylton marched off to the stables.

  Chapter Four

  Straw and Sneezes

  Roger Skelton was dreaming of eating a warm pie in a warm bed. As he was about to eat it, the pie was snatched from him by a skeleton…

  “Skeleton!” came the loud voice. Roger knew that voice. “Skeleton!”

  Roger stirred in the hay and slowly woke up.

  Sir Robert Hylton was looking over the stable door at his bay mare. “Not saddled! Not even brushed!” he shouted. Wait till I get my hands on the boy … Skeleton!”

  Roger slipped deeper under the hay and tried not to breathe. But a sneaky seed of hay slipped up his nose. “Atch…” Roger almost choked as he tried not to sneeze. “Atch…” His nose tickled till his eyes wept. “Tchooooo!”

  The hay blew away and Roger Skelton looked up at his master. “Good morning, Sir Robert,” he said with a simple smile on his simple face. But it simply wasn’t enough.

  Sir Robert’s face had been red with rage. When he saw the stable boy, it wasn’t red any longer. It was purple as a ripe turnip. But his voice was soft. “My horse is not ready, Skeleton.”

  “Lame, Sir Robert. You can’t ride her today. I was just coming to tell you.”

  The knight stood over the boy and let his riding whip swing loosely by his side. “What’s wrong with the mare?”

  “Loose shoe.”

  “Let me tell you what I am going to do, Skeleton. First I am going to beat you for lying to me. Then I am going to beat you for not having my horse ready. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir… No, sir!” Roger cried.

  In the castle kitchens, the servants heard the screams and covered their ears to shut out the sound.

  Then the knight did a stupid and evil thing. He turned the whip around so he was holding the tip, then he struck the stable boy with the large, silver knob on the handle.

  Roger had just turned to see why his master had stopped, so he caught the blow on the side of his head. If there had been a light in his eyes, it went out like a candle in a storm. He fell to the floor. Lifeless.


  Sir Robert panted. “That will teach you, Skeleton. Now don’t think a beating means you’ve been let off your duties. I still want that horse saddled, eh, Skeleton?”

  Roger Skelton would not be saddling any more horses.

  Sir Robert lowered the whip and spoke in a quiet, friendly voice. “Come on, Skeleton … you’ve taken the punishment, now let’s forget about it and carry on, eh?”

  Roger Skelton would not be carrying on any more.

  The purple face of the knight turned pale. He grasped the boy’s thin, green jacket and pulled him up. Roger hung limp as wet washing on a line.

  “It’s all right, boy, I forgive you,” said Sir Robert. “Skeleton? You can’t be dead … no, you can’t! I hardly touched you.” The knight’s face turned red again. “How dare you die … you … you … miserable little worm! This sort of thing causes so much trouble!”

  The knight dropped the whip in the straw and carried the stable boy to the door. No one was in sight. Sir Robert looked out at the horse pond. He picked up a couple of old horseshoes and slipped them into the pockets of the boy’s green jacket. Then he carried the little body to the pond and threw it out into the deepest part.

  The knight wiped his hands on his hunting jerkin, then marched back to the castle, silver spurs jangling on the cobbles, to where the huntsmen were waiting.

  “Hunt’s off today,” he said. “Horse is lame – lost a shoe.”

  Mary the maid peered around the door. “Where’s Roger, Sir Pobble?”

  “Eh? Oh … ran off … thought I was going to punish him because the horse lost a shoe! Ha! Simple boy. I wouldn’t touch him. No … ran off. That’s the last we’ll see of him!”

  But Sir Robert Hylton was wrong…