Pigeon Problems

by Frances Watts

  ALSO BY FRANCES WATTS

  AND ILLUSTRATED BY GREGORY ROGERS

  The Secret of the Swords

  The Poison Plot

  Tournament Trouble

  The Siege Scare

  The Terrible Trickster

  First published in 2013

  Copyright © Text, Frances Watts 2013

  Copyright © Illustrations, Gregory Rogers 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act, 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 74331 322 0

  Cover design by Seymour Designs

  Cover illustration by Gregory Rogers

  Text design by Seymour Designs

  Set in 16/21 pt Adobe Jenson Pro by Seymour Designs

  This book was printed in February 2013 at the SOS Print+Media Group,

  65 Burrows Road, Alexandra, NSW 2015, Australia.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Jacqueline

  F. W.

  For Matt

  G. R.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  About the author

  About the illustrator

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘SIR WALTER …’

  Clang!

  ‘In the great courtyard.’

  Clang!

  Tommy put the sword she was holding on the bench. ‘Did you hear something, Lil?’ she asked the black and white cat sitting on the stone floor of the sword chamber.

  Lil, who had been polishing her whiskers while Tommy polished swords, paused in her grooming. ‘I thought I heard something about Sir Walter,’ she said.

  Tommy went to the doorway of the sword chamber and saw that a page had entered the armoury and was standing in front of the smith.

  The ringing sound of hammer on metal ceased as Smith stilled his hand. ‘What was that you said, lad?’

  ‘Sir Walter the Bald wants everyone to gather in the great courtyard,’ the boy announced.

  Tommy and Lil exchanged looks. Why would Sir Walter the Bald, the nobleman who owned Flamant Castle, call everyone together?

  ‘Do you know why, lad?’ Clearly Smith was wondering the same thing.

  ‘No, sir. Sir Benedict just asked me and the other pages to deliver the message to all corners of the castle.’ And the boy darted off.

  The smith laid down his hammer. ‘That’s mighty strange,’ he muttered. ‘And on Sir Benedict’s orders, he says.’ Sir Benedict was Flamant Castle’s bravest knight.

  ‘What is it, Smith?’ Tommy asked. ‘Do you think our enemies are attacking?’ Her heart began to beat faster.

  The smith shook his grizzled head. ‘I don’t know, Sword Girl. We’d best join the others in the courtyard and find out.’ He raised his voice. ‘Reynard?’

  There was no answer from the bow chamber.

  ‘Reynard!’

  At last the Keeper of the Bows emerged from the bow chamber, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ the red-haired boy asked grumpily. ‘I was busy.’

  Tommy wasn’t sure she believed him. It looked to her as if Reynard had been asleep.

  ‘Sir Walter wants to see us,’ the smith said.

  Tommy could hear the murmur of voices as the courtyard outside the armoury began to fill with people. She was about to follow Smith and Reynard out the door when she realised she was still holding the rag she used for polishing swords. She darted back into the sword chamber, Lil at her heels.

  ‘What do you think is happening, Lil?’ Tommy asked as she dropped the rag next to a pot of clove-scented oil.

  ‘I haven’t a clue,’ said the cat. ‘But it must be important. I can’t remember the last time Sir Walter ordered everyone to gather like this.’

  ‘What’s important?’ came a voice from the shadows. ‘Tell me, dearie.’

  Tommy glanced at the small rack of swords that stood in the room’s darkest corner. When she had first become Flamant Castle’s Keeper of the Blades, caring for all the bladed weapons in the armoury, she had been surprised to find a collection of dusty, neglected swords. Known as the Old Wrecks, these were swords that had never been carried into battle, and thus were never used by the knights. But Tommy had discovered that the swords were inhabited by the spirits of their previous owners. That the Old Wrecks could talk – and many of the castle’s animals too – was a secret known only to her and Sir Benedict.

  ‘Sir Walter has ordered everyone to the great courtyard,’ Tommy told Nursie, the sabre that had spoken.

  ‘Ooh, what could my little darling be up to?’ Nursie wondered. ‘It’ll be a wonderful treat for you all, I’m sure.’ Nursie had been Sir Walter’s nursemaid when he was a boy, and she always referred to the nobleman as her ‘little darling’.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ said a long-handled dagger in a deep voice. ‘It sounds serious to me.’

  ‘What would you know, Bevan Brumm?’ the sabre demanded. ‘You were a merchant. I’m sure I know more about the workings of the castle than you.’

  Before the argument could go any further, Jasper Swann, a slender sword that had belonged to a squire close to Tommy’s own age, said, ‘You’d better go.’

  Just then the smith called impatiently, ‘Are you coming, Sword Girl?’

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ Tommy promised the Old Wrecks, then hurried out to join the throng.

  CHAPTER 2

  TOMMY HAD NEVER SEEN the great courtyard so crowded. She was about to remark on it to Lil when she noticed that the cat was no longer by her side. Lil didn’t like crowds. Too many trampling feet, Tommy supposed.

  All faces were turned towards the passageway leading to the great hall. The chambermaids stood to one side, while the girls from the laundry were clustered by the well. The page boys, still puffing from having run all over the castle to deliver their messages, stood at the front of the crowd. Tommy caught a glimpse of the cook, Mrs Moon, at the far side of the courtyard, surrounded by the kitchen girls. Only a few months before, Tommy would have been standing with them.

  Over by the archway leading to the stables was the tall wiry figure of the stable master, and behind him were the grooms and stable hands. And there was the physician in his brown robes, which made Tommy remember to look for … ah yes, perched high upon one of the turrets was the carrier pigeon; the physician often used the pigeon’s droppings in his cures – much to the pigeon’s annoyance. At the back of the crowd stood the knights, the castle’s defenders, some of them still holding swords and shields as if they had been called away from their practice. In front of the knights stood the squires, boys who were training to be knights,
holding wooden practice swords.

  A murmuring filled the courtyard as people anxiously asked their neighbours what they had heard, why Sir Walter had called them all together like this. Was it bad news?

  Suddenly all the shuffling and murmuring stopped, and a clear, calm voice said, ‘Thank you all for coming at such short notice.’

  Tommy shifted her gaze back to the front of the crowd and saw Sir Benedict, his dark head visible above the others.

  ‘As you know,’ the knight continued, ‘Sir Walter has requested your presence here. He has a few words he’d like to say to you.’

  ‘What is it?’ called one of the knights. ‘Are we at war?’

  It seemed as if the whole crowd drew in a breath as they waited for the answer.

  Sir Benedict shook his head. He didn’t say anything, but Tommy saw that he was smiling, and she felt herself relax. Surely he wouldn’t be smiling if the castle was in danger.

  ‘No, we’re not at war. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

  It was Sir Walter’s voice. But where was it coming from? Tommy stood on tiptoes, trying to see the nobleman, but she couldn’t. Then she realised that he wasn’t standing beside Sir Benedict, but was speaking from the window of a tower that looked over the courtyard.

  ‘Next week is the birthday of my dear wife, Lady Beatrix the Bored, and I am delighted to announce that we will be celebrating with three days of games and competitions.’

  He raised his hands to stop the buzz of conversation that followed his words.

  ‘For the knights and squires there will be jousting and horse races, sword fights and archery contests. But they won’t have all the fun – there will be games for everyone, and prizes, too!’

  A birthday celebration? Games and prizes? Tommy clapped her hands together in pleasure.

  ‘The celebrations will begin one week from today,’ Sir Walter finished.

  Voices rose in happy chatter as everyone drifted back to their work, eager to discuss Sir Walter’s news.

  Tommy rushed off to the armoury to tell the Old Wrecks.

  ‘Was it bad news?’ Bevan Brumm wanted to know as Tommy ran into the sword chamber.

  ‘It was good news!’ said Tommy. ‘Next week is Lady Beatrix’s birthday, and Sir Walter is holding a celebration, with games and competitions and prizes!’

  ‘You see?’ Nursie said smugly. ‘I told you my little darling was preparing a treat.’

  ‘What competitions will you be entering, Sword Girl?’ Jasper asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tommy said. She frowned. ‘Sir Walter mentioned the contests for the knights and squires, but I’m not sure what the other games are.’

  ‘Why, that’s easy, dearie,’ said Nursie. ‘There’ll be a tug o war and a test of strength and a three-legged race and, oh, the best of all: a sack race. What a time you’ll have!’

  A three-legged race … A sack race … Tommy sighed. Not so long ago she had ridden in a tournament and won a jousting competition. A sack race didn’t sound nearly as thrilling.

  Feeling a little less excited now, she picked up her rag and went back to work.

  CHAPTER 3

  TOMMY WAS KEPT BUSY all afternoon, sharpening the swords of knights and squires who wanted to start practising for the contests. Even lazy Reynard had no time to sleep: there was a constant stream of visitors to the bow chamber, demanding that he sharpen their arrows and tighten the strings on their bows.

  The sun was low in the sky when Tommy stepped from the armoury. She looked around for Lil, who was often stretched out on a sun-warmed flagstone, but the battlements were casting long shadows across the courtyard, and Tommy guessed Lil must have found somewhere else to sit.

  She slipped through the castle gate and ran down to the moat. The cat was sitting on the bank, conversing with the crocodiddle.

  ‘Hi, Lil,’ Tommy called. ‘Hello, Mr Crocodiddle. Have you heard about the birthday celebrations?’

  ‘We were just talking about them,’ the cat replied.

  ‘Hello, Sword Girl,’ said the crocodiddle. ‘Do you want to go in the three-legged race with me?’

  ‘Um, that’s very kind of you to ask,’ said Tommy, who wasn’t sure if Sir Walter had meant to include crocodiddles when he’d said there would be games for everyone. ‘But wouldn’t we have too many legs? Together we have six.’

  ‘I can just tie all my legs together,’ the crocodiddle assured her. ‘I don’t need all these extra legs anyway. Watch me swim with only one.’ The crocodiddle extended his front left leg and did a stroke. His back legs began to sink.

  ‘See?’ he said as he did another stroke and his long middle section disappeared from view.

  ‘Easy!’ he gasped, then promptly sank to the bottom of the moat in a flurry of bubbles.

  He reappeared a few seconds later, coughing and spluttering. ‘Hmm, I might need some more practice,’ he said.

  ‘What about you, Tommy?’ Lil asked.

  ‘What contests are you practising for?’

  Tommy shrugged. ‘The sack race, I suppose.’

  ‘You don’t sound very excited,’ the cat observed.

  ‘It’s just that …’ Tommy paused. ‘Sack races aren’t very good training for becoming a knight,’ she said. It was her dearest wish to one day become the firstever girl squire and train to be a knight.

  The cat laughed. ‘These games aren’t about training, Tommy,’ she said. ‘They’re about having fun.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Tommy. She hadn’t thought about it that way. ‘I guess a sack race does sound like fun,’ she admitted. Then, noticing that darkness was drawing in, she stood up. ‘I’d better go in for dinner,’ she said, and she ran back through the castle gate and across the great courtyard. Mrs Moon, the cook, could sometimes be cross if Tommy was late.

  She had almost reached the kitchen when she heard a cooing overhead. Looking up, she saw the pigeon flapping anxiously beside one of the turrets. ‘What is it, Pigeon?’ she asked.

  The pigeon swooped down. ‘I just went to wait by Sir Walter’s window in case he wants me to sing him lullabies after dinner, but guess what? Even though the moon hasn’t risen yet, the curtain is already drawn! Do you think something’s wrong?’

  ‘Perhaps Sir Walter wanted an early night,’ Tommy suggested.

  ‘Perhaps,’ the pigeon echoed, but he didn’t sound convinced. He flapped back up to the turret, still looking anxious.

  Tommy entered the kitchen to see Mrs Moon walking slowly across the room, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was holding a spoon out in front of her with an egg balanced on it.

  ‘Mrs Moon?’

  The cook jumped and the egg fell to the ground with a splat.

  ‘Now look what you made me do, Thomasina,’ she scolded.

  ‘But, Mrs Moon, why are you carrying an egg in a spoon?’

  ‘I’m practising for the egg-and-spoon race, of course,’ said the cook, as she wiped the splattered egg off the floor. ‘I was a champion egg-and-spooner as a girl. These young kitchen girls might think they can beat me, but I’ll show them. What about you, girl?’ she peered at Tommy suspiciously. ‘Do you think you can beat me with an egg and spoon?’

  ‘Oh no, Mrs Moon,’ Tommy said hastily. ‘I don’t know anything about an egg-and- spoon race. I thought I’d go in the sack race.’

  The cook’s stern expression softened into a smile. ‘Oh, the sack race,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing more fun than a sack race!’

  Anything that could make Mrs Moon smile like that had to be worth doing, Tommy decided as she went to sleep that night. She would definitely enter the sack race.

  CHAPTER 4

  TOMMY ROSE BRIGHT AND EARLY the next morning, and hurried to the armoury straight after breakfast. Passing a low wall, she saw the pigeon dozing with his beak tucked under his wing. At the sound of her footsteps he raised his head.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Sword Girl,’ he said. ‘What time is it? I must have fallen asleep.’

  ‘It’s sti
ll early,’ Tommy assured him.

  The pigeon yawned. ‘I was up all night,’ he said, ‘but Sir Walter never once opened his curtains to look for me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Tommy. The pigeon seemed so disappointed. ‘Maybe he’ll ask for you tonight.’

  She continued across the courtyard to the armoury. As usual, flames were dancing in the forge, making the stone walls glow.

  The air rang with the sound of the smith’s hammer striking a dented shield a knight had brought in for repair.

  ‘’Morning, Sword Girl,’ he said between blows. ‘Looks like we’re in for a busy time.’

  ‘’Morning, Smith,’ Tommy replied.

  Entering the low-ceilinged sword chamber to the left of the fireplace, she saw by the light of the candle flickering on the wall that there was already a pile of swords awaiting her attention.

  ‘I’ve never seen such excitement,’ Nursie exclaimed as Tommy picked up her file and whetstone for sharpening. ‘Knights have been dropping off their swords since sun-up. They all want to win the prizes, you see.’

  ‘What are the prizes?’ said Tommy.

  ‘I heard Sir Hugh telling Smith that the winning knight and squire would each receive a silver sword engraved with a flamingo,’ Jasper said. The flamingo was the Flamant Castle crest, and was on the flags that flew above the castle’s battlements.

  ‘I call that a very handsome prize,’ said Nursie.

  ‘You are not wrong,’ said Bevan Brumm in a dignified voice. ‘It is a fine prize indeed.’

  ‘Of course I’m not wrong,’ Nursie retorted. ‘Why would I call a prize handsome if it wasn’t?’

  Hearing all the talk of prizes, Tommy felt a moment of envy. How wonderful it would be to win that silver sword! But there would be no silver sword for the winner of the sack race, she was sure.