by Peter Bently
“Not much further now, chaps,” called Sir Percy cheerfully, as we passed a signpost that said LADYBURG 5 MILES.
I turned to Patchcoat. “I wonder what the challenge will be.”
“No idea,” said Patchcoat. “But I’m surprised Sir Percy sounds so jolly. If there’s a test of bravery you’d think he’d be getting a bit nervous by now. I wonder if he’s up to something.”
Hmm. It was true. Whatever it said in The Song of Percy, my master normally tried to wriggle out of anything that was actually dangerous. Could he be planning to cheat? It didn’t take long to find out.
“Cedric,” said Sir Percy. “I trust you have The Song of Percy in your saddlebag?”
“Of course, Sir Percy,” I said.
“Excellent,” said Sir Percy. “The moment we meet the princess I will simply slip her my book. She will read it and see at once that I am the suitor for her. Although of course she probably has a copy already. Pass it here, would you, Cedric?”
I opened my saddlebag and took out the small leather-bound book. As I handed it over a sharp pong from inside the bag reminded me of Margaret’s pie.
“Oh, Sir Percy,” I said. “I forgot to mention – Margaret’s made you a pie.”
“Goody!” said Sir Percy. “Kindly pass it over. I’m ravenous!”
I gave Sir Percy the cloth bundle.
“Um – rather interesting aroma, Cedric,” he said, unwrapping the pie. “What’s in it?”
“It’s Margaret’s own – er – special recipe, Sir Percy,” I said.
Sir Percy hungrily wolfed down a huge chunk. As he swallowed it he went cross-eyed and gave a shudder. He tried to speak but all that came out was “Whauugh!” “Eeeesh!” and “Gaaah!”
“Are you all right, Sir Percy?” I asked.
He belched very loudly. A foul blast of cabbagey-sewery-fishy breath blew over me and Patchcoat.
“Pardon me!” gasped Sir Percy. “Gosh! Well, that’s – er – certainly cured my appetite, Cedric.” He passed me the pie. “Here. You’re – um – most welcome to finish it. One doesn’t like to be greedy.”
“Er – thanks, Sir Percy,” I said, stuffing what was left of the pie back in my saddlebag. “I’ll save it for later.”
As we neared the top of the hill, a rather ominous glooping and gurgling noise started to come from Sir Percy’s tummy. It got louder and louder. And then Sir Percy began making some other very loud noises, too. Let’s just say Patchcoat and I were glad the breeze was coming from behind us.
We reached the crest of the hill. About a mile ahead, down in a broad valley, a jumble of roofs and spires peeped up over the walls of a small town.
“That’s Ladyburg right in front of us!” called Patchcoat.
Ladyburg stood on the shores of a wide lake. From the island in the middle of the lake rose a castle. It was surrounded by trees and its six tall pointy towers glistened in the sunshine.
“And that must be Noman Castle,” I said.
“Marvellous!” said Sir Percy. “We should easily get there by midday.”
But as we headed down the hill we saw that the road in front of us was crowded with men all the way to the gates of the town.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” called Sir Percy, as we came to the back of the line. “Kindly let me past. I have – er – important business at the castle.”
The man at the end of the line turned round. He was wearing a cracked old chamber pot on his head.
“The castle, eh?” he said. “Yer better join the queue then, mate, ’adn’t yer?”
“Queue?” Sir Percy puffed out his chest. “My dear sir, I will have you know that I am riding to see Her Royal Highness Princess Fel – Astral— OOOH!”
Sir Percy groaned as his tummy gave its loudest grumble so far.
“Astra-Felicia, Sir Percy,” I said.
“Precisely, Cedric,” said Sir Percy, recovering. “And I’ll have you know, sir, that I have every intention of becoming her husband!”
Chamber-pot man roared with laughter and several other men turned round.
They were also wearing pots and buckets on their heads.
“’Ear that, lads?” said chamber-pot man. “We’re all wastin’ our time! This joker reckons she’s already chosen ’im!”
The men nearby tittered.
“Just cos ’e’s splashed out on a proper knight’s costoom,” jeered a man squinting out from a hole in the side of a rotten old bucket.
“How rude!” said Sir Percy. “Don’t you— OOOH!” He grimaced as his tummy gave an even louder grumble. “Don’t you know who you’re talking to?”
Chamber-pot man screwed up his eyes and stared closely at Sir Percy. Then he grinned.
“Arrr! Of course!” he declared. “You’re that ratcatcher from up Little Piddlington way.”
“I – ooooh! – most certainly am not!” snorted Sir Percy. “My dear sir, I am a real knight. In fact, I am none other than Sir Percy the Proud!”
“Arr, me, too!” said a man sporting a battered old sieve with a leafy twig stuck in the top. “Do ’ee like me plume?”
“An’ I’m Sir Roland the Rotten!” said the man in the holey bucket. He lifted it to reveal a moustache made out of straw and tied under his nose with string.
“So yer see, mister, we’re all waiting to see the princess,” said chamber-pot man. “Yer’ll just have to join the queue.”
“Oh, Cedric, this is ridiculous!” said Sir Percy. “I refuse to be held up by a crowd of peasants shamelessly pretending to be knights. It’s against the law, for one thing. It’s also jolly unfair. I do hate cheating.”
Yeah, right, I thought.
“It’s nearly midday and they’re going to make me late. Cedric, please get rid of them and— OOOOH! AAAAH! Oh dear. I think I’m going to … I need… Oh no. ARRRGH! GET OUT OF MY WAY!”
In a flash Sir Percy slid off Prancelot and bolted into the woods, clutching his tummy.
“Where’s ’e off to then?” asked chamber-pot man.
“Oh, he’s given up and gone home,” said Patchcoat.
“Huh?” I began. But Patchcoat quickly dug me in the ribs.
“He knew that costume of his wouldn’t fool anyone,” Patchcoat went on. “You see, it’s only made of shiny paper.”
What on earth was Patchcoat playing at?
“Arr, I could tell!” said chamber-pot man. “Looks right cheap ’n’ nasty!”
“Yeah, doesn’t it?” chuckled Patchcoat. “Not like that helmet you’ve got there. That looks really fireproof.”
“Eh?” said chamber-pot man. “What d’yer mean, fireproof?”
“Well, it’ll be useful when you fight the dragon,” said Patchcoat.
“Dragon? What dragon?” said chamber-pot man.
Aha. Now I saw what Patchcoat was up to. But would they believe him?
At that moment there was a tremendous exploding noise from the nearby woods, accompanied by a wild, blood-curdling howl.
“WAAAARRGGGGH!!!”
The crowd shuffled nervously.
“That dragon,” said Patchcoat. “You know, the one the princess has got chained up in the woods.”
There was another thunderous explosion and an even more terrifying howl.
“’Ere – that there poster only says there’ll be a challenge. It don’t say nothin’ about fightin’ no dragons!” said the man in the holey bucket.
There were murmurs of agreement.
Patchcoat hesitated.
“Um – of course not,” I piped up. “There’s no need. Real knights don’t mind what challenges they face. Fighting a terrifying fire-breathing dragon? That’s all in a day’s work for a real knight.”
“Er, yeah! That’s right,” smiled Patchcoat. “But don’t worry, lads. Those helmets of yours should last a good few seconds before you’re burned to a crisp.”
More mutterings among the crowd were interrupted by a third resounding blast and the most terrifying roar yet.
“That does
it,” said chamber-pot man in alarm. “I’m not ending up a dragon’s cooked breakfast, princess or no princess!”
“Nor me neither,” said holey bucket man shakily. “If I gets eaten by a dragon me mum’ll kill me! I’m off!”
They hurried past us up the road.
“Wait for me!” said the man in the sieve.
News of the dragon spread along the queue like wildfire (or maybe that should be dragonfire). Before long the crowd was fleeing like a flock of frightened chickens.
Patchcoat and I collapsed in fits of giggles as another explosion from the trees sent the last stragglers scuttling up the road.
“Thanks for helping me out there,” grinned Patchcoat. “For a second I thought they weren’t going to buy it.”
“No probs,” I said. “What gave you the genius idea about the dragon?”
“It’s all down to Sir Percy, really. I once made the mistake of eating one of Margaret’s budget pies. I recognized the signs. Once he dashed off into the woods it was just a question of timing.”
There was a clanking sound as Sir Percy staggered from the trees, fiddling with the straps of his thigh armour.
“That’s better,” he said. “Cedric, give me a hand, will you? Can’t seem to get these wretched bits back on.”
It wasn’t really surprising, seeing as he’d got the armour upside down.
“Excellent!” said Sir Percy, as I helped him with the straps. “I see the queue has disappeared.”
“Yes, Sir Percy,” I said. “It was brilliant! You see, Patchcoat—”
“Brilliant?” he interrupted. “I’m sure it was, dear boy. I only wish I had seen the faces of those silly peasants when they finally realized that they didn’t stand a chance against a genuine knight.”
“Er, well—” I began. But Sir Percy didn’t seem to be listening.
“Onward, Cedric, onward!” he declared, remounting Prancelot. “With no other suitors in sight the princess’s hand is as good as mine!”
But at that very moment we heard the sound of hooves. We turned to see two figures galloping up the road towards us. Sir Percy didn’t exactly look pleased when he realized that it was none other than his friend Sir Spencer the Splendid and his squire, Algernon.
“Whoa! Hey there, Perce!” called Sir Spencer, his blue-and-gold velvet cloak billowing out behind him. He pulled up alongside us and took off his helmet. “Hope I’m not too late for the princess. Got a bit held up by a whole crowd of peasants going the other way. They kept jabbering on about dragons, didn’t they, Algie?”
“Y-yes, Sir Spencer,” said Algernon nervously. “There aren’t really any d-dragons are there, Sir Spencer?”
“Course not!” guffawed Sir Spencer. “Haven’t you read The Song of Percy? Sir Percy got rid of them all, didn’t you, Perce?”
Sir Spencer winked at Sir Percy and clapped him on the back so heartily that his visor clanked shut. “So, Perce, you’re after this princess, too, eh?”
“Well, yes,” grumbled Sir Percy, lifting his visor again. “As a matter of fact I am.”
The clock on the town church struck half past eleven.
“Well, we’d better get this show on the road then, hadn’t we?” said Sir Spencer. “We’ve got half an hour to get across to that castle. And then we shall just have to see who the princess chooses.”
He shook back his long, golden locks.
“Ooh, she’s bound to choose you, Sir Spencer,” gushed Algernon.
Sir Spencer flashed his almost-full set of teeth. “Why thank you, Algie,” he said. “But I mustn’t be unfair to my pal Percy here. Though of course if he does lose, at least he’s brought his jester to cheer him up, eh, Perce?”
“Ha ha ha!” said Sir Percy. “Most amusing, Spence!” He was grinning so widely it looked like his face would crack.
“Bother!” whispered Sir Percy, as we all rode through the town gates together. “Why did Spencer have to show up? I’ll have to think of some new way of winning the princess.”
“But Sir Percy,” I said. “What about your book?”
“Ah, um – yes – well,” said Sir Percy. He seemed slightly embarrassed as he reached into his gauntlet and pulled out The Song of Percy. Or rather what was left of it, which was basically just the front and back covers.
“Gosh!” I exclaimed. “What’s happened to all the pages? It looks like someone’s torn them out!”
“Indeed, dear boy, indeed,” he said with a sigh. “Unfortunately when I was recently – er – called into the woods for – um – an urgent sitting, I fear I had no suitable materials with which to – um – bring my, ahem, business to – um – to a proper conclusion. First of all I was obliged to use my pants. But they weren’t quite – erm – up to the job. That’s when I remembered my book.”
He looked sadly at the cover.
“Ah,” I said. “Oh dear.” I didn’t ask him where he’d left his pants.
“Hey, Perce,” called Sir Spencer. “Any idea how we get to that island?”
“Er, no,” said Sir Percy.
“I think the jetty is this way,” said Patchcoat, pointing down a street to our left. “We should be able to get a boat from there.”
“Ah yes, I was forgetting you’ve been here before,” said Sir Percy. “Local knowledge, eh?”
“Not really,” smiled Patchcoat. “I just read the sign.”
The sign read “Jetty Lane”.
At that moment there was a loud BANG from a rickety old house just in front of us. Our animals whinnied in alarm and Algernon squealed in terror. A few seconds later, the door of the house burst open and a man in a crumpled pointed hat came running out in a big smelly cloud of yellow smoke. He was coughing and spluttering and flapping his arms wildly.
“Good grief, man!” cried Sir Percy. “You frightened the living daylights out of us. What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“Apologies, apologies!” wheezed the man. “Nothing to be alarmed about, gentlemen! I think I added a bit too much sulphur. I shall have to tweak the formula yet again. Right. Back to work for me. Good day, gentlemen!” With that he scuttled back into his house.
“What a funny chap,” I said. “And what was all that about a formula?”
“I think he’s an alchemist,” said Patchcoat. “It’s a sort of inventor. They’re always making weird potions and mucking about with chemicals.”
“Really? Weird potions, eh?” said Sir Percy. He narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin. “Hmm… I wonder,” he muttered. Then suddenly he leaped down from Prancelot and strode towards the alchemist’s door.
“Hey, Perce, where are you going?” said Sir Spencer. “We don’t want to be late for the princess!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a tick!” Sir Percy said cheerfully. “I just want to see if this alchemist fellow has – er – any potions for – for tummy trouble.”
A few minutes later Sir Percy came back out of the house carrying two small bottles of liquid. He remounted Prancelot, stuffed one bottle in his saddlebag and uncorked the other.
“No time like the present,” he said, swigging the contents in one gulp. He pulled a face. “Ugh! Tastes ghastly. Must be those dried toads’ eyes that chap put in. But he said my tummy should be right as rain in an hour or two.”
As we headed off down Jetty Lane, I turned to Patchcoat. “I suppose that’s why the alchemist gave him two bottles,” I said. “Just in case one isn’t enough.”
“Maybe,” said Patchcoat. “Except that the potion he just drank was green. The other stuff was red. I wonder what Sir Percy’s up to.”
We came to the shore of the lake and saw three people standing next to a large rowing boat. One was a peasant wearing a basket on his head. The other two were a knight and his squire on horseback. They looked all too familiar.
Sir Percy groaned. My heart sank.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn yer!” the peasant was saying. “There be dragons! ’Undreds of ’em! That there princess feeds ’em
knights fer breakfast!”
“Blithering broadswords!” roared the knight. “Dragons don’t exist, you pea-brained peasant. And even if they did, they’d be too terrified to come anywhere near ME!”
In front of us stood the nastiest knight in the kingdom, Sir Roland the Rotten, and his sneaky squire, Walter Warthog.
“Ah, good morning, Sir Roland,” said Sir Percy. “How delightful to see you here.”
“Well, well, well,” sneered Walter, as we rode up to the jetty. “If it isn’t peasant-features Fatbottom himself.”
Walter always likes to remind me that my mum and dad aren’t posh like his.
“Hello, Wartface,” I said.
Sir Roland glared at Sir Percy and Sir Spencer. “What the blazes are you two doing here?” he growled.
Before the other knights could answer, the town clock struck midday. A pair of identical twin sisters emerged from a little cottage next to the jetty. They rolled up their sleeves to reveal arms like enormous hams.
“You gents wanting a boat to the castle?” asked one.
“Why, yes,” said Sir Percy.
“Right then, off yer ’orses!” said her sister. “Stables is through there.”
Walter, Algernon and I tied up the animals, then we accompanied our masters on to the boat. Sir Roland barged ahead to grab the seat at the bow. Algernon would probably have fallen overboard if Sir Spencer hadn’t grabbed him by the leg at the last moment.
“Oi! Stop that!” bellowed one of the sisters as the ferry wobbled alarmingly. “You’ll tip us all out!”
“Oh dear, Sir Spencer,” whined Algernon. “I’m feeling a bit seasick.”
The sisters sat down and grabbed a huge oar each. Then, without the slightest effort, they began to row us across the lake.
As we got closer to the island the castle rose up before us. Waiting on the opposite jetty stood a richly dressed aristocratic lady. She looked rather stern. She was also about as old and wrinkly as my granny.
I saw the three knights exchange glances.