The Poison Plot

by Frances Watts

  First published in 2012

  Copyright © Text, Frances Watts 2012

  Copyright © Illustrations, Gregory Rogers 2012

  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 74237 792 6

  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 2012 at McPherson’s Printing Group, 76 Nelson St, Maryborough, Victoria 3465, Australia.

  www.mcphersonsprinting.com.au

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For David, who had the sneezles

  F. W.

  For Matt

  G. R.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  PREVIEW CHAPTER: SECRET OF THE SWORDS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘MAKE WAY, MAKE WAY! Fifty kinds of fresh fish coming through for the kitchen!’

  It was early morning, and Tommy was crossing the great courtyard of Flamant Castle. She dodged out of the way of the cart clattering across the flagstones, only to hear someone behind her yell: ‘Watch where you’re going, girlie. I’ve got five hundred eggs in this basket!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Tommy said, as the egg woman barged past her.

  The courtyard was busier than she’d ever seen it. She stepped out of the path of a man rolling two enormous rounds of cheese, as big as cart wheels.

  ‘Poultry coming through: starlings, storks and swans!’

  Tommy craned her head to look at the brace of birds the poultry man had slung around his neck. What was going on?

  She had almost reached the armoury where she worked when she saw a small round man in brown robes. Despite all the activity in the courtyard, he was looking at the sky.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ Tommy said to the physician.

  ‘Eh?’ said the physician. ‘Oh, hello, Sword Girl. Have you seen the carrier pigeon?’

  ‘No,’ said Tommy. ‘Not this morning.’

  ‘Bother. I need some of his droppings for one of my cures.’ The physician looked up at the sky again.

  ‘Sir, why is the castle so busy this morning?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Busy?’ The physician looked around at the tradespeople hurrying to and fro. ‘I suppose it must be something to do with the great banquet,’ he said.

  ‘A great banquet?’ said Tommy, excited. ‘What banquet?’

  But the physician had wandered off. ‘Where is that pigeon?’ he was muttering to himself.

  Maybe the blacksmith would know something about the great banquet, Tommy hoped.

  She entered the armoury to see the blacksmith standing by the fire, softening a piece of armour that needed reshaping. Several shields and helmets were stacked on the workbench, also in need of repair.

  ‘Smith, have you heard about the great banquet?’ Tommy asked.

  The blacksmith looked up at her from under his bushy eyebrows. ‘Oh aye, I’ve heard about it,’ he said. ‘But we’ve no time for feastin’ here, Sword Girl. Sir Benedict and his men will be leaving tomorrow to patrol Sir Walter’s lands. They’ll need two dozen swords, so you’d better hop to it.’

  ‘Yes, Smith,’ said Tommy. ‘Right away.’ As Keeper of the Blades, it was her job to clean and sharpen all the bladed weapons of the castle.

  She went through the door to the left of the fireplace into the sword chamber and quickly got to work. Pulling swords from the long rack against the wall opposite the door, she used a file and whetstone to sharpen the blades before polishing them with clove-scented oil.

  ‘You’re working hard this morning, dearie,’ came a voice from a small rack of swords in the dimmest part of the room. It was one of the Old Wrecks. These were the swords that had never been carried into battle, and so were never used by the knights of Flamant Castle. They had been dusty and neglected when Tommy first started work in the sword chamber, but now their blades shone in the light of the candle flickering on the wall. What none of the knights knew – except Sir Benedict – was that the Old Wrecks were inhabited by the spirits of their last owners.

  Tommy glanced at the sabre which had spoken. ‘Hello, Nursie,’ she said. ‘Smith told me that Sir Benedict is taking some of the knights out on a patrol tomorrow, so I have to get their swords ready.’

  Sir Benedict was Flamant Castle’s bravest knight, and he was responsible for the safety of the castle and lands belonging to Sir Walter the Bald and his wife, Lady Beatrix the Bored.

  ‘A patrol, eh?’ a deep voice boomed from a long-handled dagger. ‘It sounds like trouble on the borders, if you ask me.’

  ‘Well I didn’t ask you, Bevan Brumm,’ Nursie replied. ‘What would you know about patrols? You were a merchant, not a knight.’

  ‘I think Bevan Brumm might be right, though,’ said another, younger voice. This was Jasper Swann. Jasper had been a squire, training to be a knight, before he fell ill and died. ‘I heard some of the knights talking in here the other day and one of them said that Sir Malcolm the Mean had been trying to steal some of Sir Walter’s land.’

  ‘Who is Sir Malcolm the Mean?’ Tommy wanted to know.

  ‘He has the lands to the west of here, dearie,’ Nursie explained. ‘But his own lands have never been enough for him. Oh no. He wants his neighbours’ lands too.’

  ‘He wants Sir Walter’s lands?’ exclaimed Tommy.

  ‘Not just his lands, Sword Girl,’ rumbled Bevan Brumm. ‘Sir Malcolm the Mean wants Flamant Castle – and if Sir Benedict can’t stop him at the border …’

  Tommy’s heart started to pound. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What will happen if Sir Benedict can’t stop him?’

  Bevan Brumm sounded grim. ‘Flamant Castle will be at war.’

  CHAPTER 2

  FLAMANT CASTLE AT WAR! Tommy knew that noblemen often fought each other, but Flamant Castle had been at peace for many years.

  Now that she understood how important Sir Benedict’s patrol was, Tommy put extra care into preparing the swords. When she had finished sharpening and polishing each sword, she examined their blades again until she was sure they were as sharp as they could be.

  By the time she had finished and stepped out into the courtyard she was tired and hungry, but before she headed over to the kitchen for dinner she decided to find Lil. The cat knew everything that went on in the castle – she would surely know if the castle was close to war.

  Tommy scanned the courtyard, but Lil, who usually spent the afternoons napping on a sun-warmed flagstone, w
as nowhere to be seen. Perhaps all the day’s activity had disturbed her and she had found somewhere quieter to sleep. Before she went through the low arch leading out of the courtyard, Tommy looked up at the battlements. Normally she didn’t think twice before leaving the castle walls, but now she was glad to see the guards keeping watch. Suddenly the world outside the castle didn’t seem as safe.

  Tommy slipped through the castle gate and ran to the edge of the moat which encircled the castle walls. She looked left and right, and spotted the black and white cat sitting a little way off. As Tommy approached she could see that Lil was talking to the crocodiddle who lived in the moat. The crocodiddle, who usually wore a giant grin, seemed very quiet today.

  ‘Lil, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ said Tommy when she drew near. She turned to the crocodiddle. ‘How are you, Mr Crocodiddle?’

  The crocodiddle fixed a mournful gaze on Tommy. ‘Hello, Sword Girl. I was just telling Lil that I—aaaahhh-CHOO!’ His giant wet sneeze almost drenched the cat.

  ‘Do you mind?’ said Lil, shaking herself.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ said the crocodiddle miserably. ‘I’ve got the sneezles.’

  ‘You poor thing,’ said Tommy sympathetically.

  ‘I know,’ moaned the crocodiddle. Then he sank so low into the moat that only his beady yellow eyes were visible. Every now and then a burst of bubbles told Tommy that he was sneezing underwater.

  ‘So why were you looking for me?’ Lil asked.

  Tommy told Lil about Sir Benedict’s patrol and her conversation with the Old Wrecks. ‘Is it true that Sir Malcolm the Mean wants to take over Flamant Castle?’

  Lil nodded slowly. ‘It is true,’ she said. ‘And it’s true that some of his knights have been seen on Sir Walter’s land. But you shouldn’t be too worried about it, Tommy. There’s not another knight around here that could beat Sir Benedict in a fight and everyone knows that. Not even Sir Malcolm would be foolish enough to send his knights into battle against Flamant Castle.’

  Relieved, Tommy made her way back through the castle gate, Lil at her side.

  ‘I hope it’s a little more peaceful in the courtyard now,’ said Lil, ‘after all that commotion this morning. I suppose I won’t get much sleep till after the great banquet.’

  The banquet! Tommy had been so worried about Sir Malcolm the Mean she had forgotten all about it.

  ‘Tell me about the banquet, Lil,’ she said. ‘Who’s it for?’

  ‘It’s for Sir Percy the Pink,’ the cat said.

  ‘From Roses Castle, to the east of here. I suspect Sir Walter has decided that with Sir Malcolm making trouble, he should build up alliances with other noblemen. In three days’ time Sir Percy and two hundred of his knights will be coming here for a great feast.’

  When they reached the courtyard, it was almost deserted. Lil found a ray of sunshine from the setting sun in a quiet corner, and with a happy sigh sank onto a flagstone and began her bath.

  Tommy bade her goodnight then ran across the courtyard to the kitchen to get her dinner.

  The courtyard may have been quiet, but the kitchen was in an uproar.

  The table where Tommy normally had her dinner was being used by a dozen kitchen girls with rolling pins, rolling out pastry. Mrs Moon, the cook, was standing by the massive fireplace. She was turning a wild boar on a spit, pausing occasionally to stir something bubbling in a giant cauldron. Tommy breathed in the rich aroma of meat and herbs.

  ‘That smells delicious, Mrs Moon,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t you be getting underfoot now, Thomasina,’ Mrs Moon said sternly. ‘We have four hundred venison pies to make this evening. You’ll have to eat your soup over there.’ She nodded towards a bowl of soup resting on a stool tucked into a corner of the kitchen.

  The soup was almost cold, but Tommy didn’t mind. She perched on the stool and looked around curiously. As well as the usual meat, fish and eggs, there were some strange-looking foods.

  ‘What are those?’ Tommy asked, pointing to a bench.

  Mrs Moon mopped some sweat from her brow and looked over. ‘Those are figs and dates from over the sea. I’m going to put them in a bread pudding.’

  ‘And what about those?’ Tommy pointed to some orange and yellow balls. ‘They look too tough to eat.’

  ‘Those are oranges and lemons, from the south lands. You have to peel them before you eat them.’

  ‘What are – eek!’ Tommy lifted her feet into the air as a sack at the base of her stool began to move. ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘Eels.’

  ‘Yuck.’ Tommy shivered and hugged her knees to her chest. She opened her mouth to ask another question but Mrs Moon had run out of patience.

  ‘If you don’t stop peppering me with questions, Thomasina,’ the cook said, ‘I’ll tell Sir Benedict that I need you in the kitchen to help prepare for the banquet. You’ll be polishing knives instead of swords before you know it.’

  With a gulp, Tommy clamped her lips shut. She loved being Keeper of the Blades more than anything. Surely Mrs Moon wouldn’t really make her come back to the kitchen? She decided not to wait around to find out.

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Moon,’ she said, then slipped off to bed.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE NEXT MORNING the courtyard was busy again, and Tommy watched with interest as a cart stacked with barrels manoeuvred through the low arch leading from the castle gate.

  ‘What’s in your barrels?’ she asked the driver as she stopped to pat his horse’s neck.

  ‘I’ve got wine, ale and cider for the banquet,’ he replied. ‘Nothing for little girls.’

  ‘I’m not a little girl!’ Tommy said. ‘I’m Keeper of the Blades.’

  ‘Begging your pardon,’ said the driver. ‘That’s an important job. Surprised they’ve got a little girl to do it.’ He chuckled as Tommy sniffed and stalked off.

  When she got to the armoury, Smith’s pile of armour waiting for repair seemed to have grown. ‘How do they expect me to equip them for patrol if they keep bashing around the armour during practice?’ he grumbled. ‘How are you going with those swords, girl?’

  ‘They’re all ready, Smith.’

  ‘Good. Bring ’em out here then.’ He pointed his hammer at an empty sword rack against the wall.

  Tommy carefully carried the swords she’d prepared out into the armoury, giving each blade a last polish before she slipped it into the rack.

  She’d just returned to the sword chamber when a voice behind her said, ‘Excuse me, Sword Girl.’ It was the physician. ‘I was wondering if you would sharpen my sickle for me? I need to cut some herbs for a cure I’m making for Lady Beatrix, but my sickle is blunt.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Tommy. As she began to file the blade she remembered someone else who needed a cure. ‘Sir, do you know a cure for colds?’ she asked.

  ‘A cure for colds, let me see …’ The physician put his chin in his hand and stared at the ceiling. ‘If I was suffering from a cold I’d mix freshly squeezed orange juice with pigeon droppings, and paint it on my nose. Of course, oranges are hard to come by.’

  Not at the moment they weren’t! Tommy could make a cure for the crocodiddle. As soon as the physician had left the sword chamber, she found an empty pot that had once held oil for polishing the swords and ran out into the courtyard.

  ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ asked Lil, who was basking in the sunshine against the wall of the armoury.

  ‘I’m looking for the pigeon,’ said Tommy. ‘The physician just told me a cure for colds – I want to make it for the crocodiddle.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,’ said Lil, closing her eyes. ‘I thought I saw the pigeon hanging around the turret up there.’ She stretched a paw towards a small, high tower built on top of a larger tower.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tommy, and she took off up the winding stone stairs.

  When she stepped out at the top of the tower the courtyard below was so small she could barely see Lil b
y the armoury wall. She walked over to the battlements and peered through a gap. She saw the town on the other side of the moat, then the farmers’ fields, and beyond that the countryside stretching away into the distance. Sir Walter owned the land as far as she could see, Tommy knew.

  Looking up to the top of the turret, she called, ‘Pigeon? Are you there?’

  There was a pause, then a cautious voice said, ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘It’s me, Tommy – the sword girl.’

  The pigeon swooped down and perched on the battlements beside Tommy. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Um …’ Tommy hesitated. She knew the carrier pigeon found it insulting to be asked for his droppings. ‘Well I want to make a cure, and I need …’ The pigeon groaned. ‘You need my droppings,’ he finished.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s for the crocodiddle. He’s got a terrible cold.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’ The pigeon rolled his eyes. ‘I was flying low above the moat when he sneezed. I thought I’d been caught in a thunderstorm! My feathers got all wet.’

  ‘He looked so miserable when I saw him yesterday,’ Tommy said.

  ‘All right,’ the pigeon said with a sigh.

  ‘I’ll help you. But—’ he pointed a wing at Tommy, ‘you’re not allowed to watch.’

  Tommy held out her pot with one hand and covered her eyes with the other.

  A few seconds later the pigeon said, ‘There you go. And it had better work the first time because I’m not giving you any more of my droppings.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Tommy said as the pigeon swooped off the battlements and soared into the sky. Now she had the droppings, all she needed was an orange. Surely Mrs Moon wouldn’t miss one orange

  … There were dozens of people bustling around the kitchen when Tommy entered. Mrs Moon was busy directing them. Tommy started to explain about the crocodiddle and his cold, but the cook interrupted her. ‘I don’t have time to listen to your stories now, Thomasina. Just take whatever you need and go.’