The Poison Plot

by Frances Watts

  Back in the sword chamber, Tommy asked Bevan Brumm for his help, and used the long-handled dagger to halve the orange. Then she squeezed the juice into the pot with the droppings. She was stirring the mixture with a wooden paddle when she was surprised by an unpleasant voice at the door.

  ‘What’s that disgusting smell?’

  Spinning around, Tommy saw horrible Reynard, Keeper of the Bows.

  ‘Ah, the disgusting smell must be you, Sword Girl.’ He laughed unkindly then disappeared.

  ‘A thoroughly nasty boy,’ said Nursie.

  ‘You are not wrong,’ said Bevan Brumm.

  ‘I know I’m not wrong,’ said Nursie. ‘That’s why I said it. Really, Bevan Brumm, you say the most ridiculous things sometimes.’

  ‘I’m just glad Sir Benedict didn’t make him Keeper of the Blades,’ Jasper Swann said. Reynard had never forgiven Tommy for getting the job he wanted. ‘But he’s right about the smell. What is that you’re mixing up there, Sword Girl?’

  ‘A cure for the crocodiddle’s cold,’ said Tommy. ‘And I think it’s ready.’

  Taking the pot, she walked through the castle gate and across the grass to the moat.

  There was no sign of the crocodiddle.

  ‘Crocodiddle?’ she called. ‘Mr Crocodiddle, are you there?’

  The surface of the water shivered as the crocodiddle raised his head. His beady yellow eyes were dull. ‘Hello,’ he said pitifully. ‘Aaah-chooo!’

  Tommy sprang back just in time to avoid a soaking.

  ‘Mr Crocodiddle, I’ve made a cure for your sneezles. I got the recipe from the physician.’ She held out the pot.

  ‘A cure for me?’ The crocodiddle looked hopeful. ‘That’s very – aaaah-choo! – kind of you, Sword Girl.’

  ‘I have to paint it on your nose,’ Tommy explained.

  The crocodiddle placed his nose on the bank of the moat and Tommy spread the smelly orange mixture on it with her wooden paddle. She had just finished when she heard a bellow coming from the castle.

  ‘SWORD GIRL! Where are you?’

  ‘That sounds like Smith,’ Tommy said. ‘I’d better go.’ Taking the pot she ran towards the castle gate. ‘I hope the cure works,’ she called over her shoulder.

  CHAPTER 4

  ‘SWORD GIRL!’

  ‘Coming, Smith!’ Tommy bolted into the armoury, out of breath after sprinting all the way from the moat.

  ‘There you are,’ said Smith. He wrinkled his nose and shot a curious look at the pot in Tommy’s hand, but he didn’t ask any questions. ‘Sword Girl, I need you to go to town. I sent Reynard to the forge with an order for more helmets, but I forgot to add shields. You’re to go tell the blacksmith I need a dozen bucklers. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, Smith – a dozen bucklers,’ Tommy repeated.

  ‘And if you see Reynard, tell him to hurry back and no loafing about with the town lads.’

  Tommy nodded, though she knew that if she did see Reynard in town she’d do her best to keep out of his way. She went to the sword chamber to put down her pot.

  ‘Smith is sending me to town!’ she told the Old Wrecks. As a kitchen girl, she hardly ever went to town. This would be her first time going on her own.

  ‘That’s a very responsible job,’ Nursie said.

  ‘Mind you do your duty well,’ Bevan Brumm advised her.

  ‘Then hurry back and tell us everything you’ve seen,’ said Jasper, who sounded as excited as Tommy felt.

  Tommy’s excitement mounted as she walked across the bridge over the moat. Halfway across she stopped and looked back at the castle. With its sturdy walls and soaring towers, it looked mighty and impenetrable. The flags atop the towers fluttered in the breeze, showing the flamingo that was Sir Walter’s crest. Tommy smiled as she stepped off the bridge and followed the road through the fields to the town gates.

  She had thought the courtyard was busy, but it looked sleepy compared to the town. Tommy walked down a narrow street lined with wooden houses all jammed together. Some of the houses had stables out the front, and she could see oxen in their stalls. There were also shops among the houses, with signs to show what they sold.

  It took her a while to find the forge, as she had to keep stopping to ask people the way, but at last she found it on the other side of a market square almost as big as the castle’s great courtyard. She gave the blacksmith Smith’s order then walked back towards the town gate. She was dawdling a bit, watching a merchant who had spilled a sack of grain hopping up and down in fury as three pigs snuffled up his wares, when she caught sight of a stocky boy with red hair.

  Tommy turned away quickly but it was too late; Reynard had seen her.

  ‘Look,’ he yelled to his two friends. ‘It’s that kitchen girl who took my job.’

  The smaller boy picked up a rock and threw it at Tommy.

  ‘Ouch!’ Tommy cried as the rock grazed her arm.

  ‘Smelly Sword Girl!’ Reynard jeered.

  When Reynard’s other friend stooped to pick up a stick, she took off at a run.

  ‘After her!’ she heard Reynard call.

  CHAPTER 5

  TOMMY RACED DOWN the street, weaving between the carts and people blocking her path. She could still hear the jeers of Reynard and his friends behind her.

  She stopped at a corner, unsure which way to go. To her left was a tavern with a golden prawn hanging above the doorway. The words The Pickled Prawn were written on the sign in fancy letters.

  Tommy ducked down a narrow alley beside the tavern and crouched behind a barrel. She sat there for a few minutes, panting.

  When she thought it was probably safe, she started to rise, but an oily voice coming through the open window above her head made her freeze.

  ‘And when we have poisoned Sir Walter,’ hissed the voice, ‘we’ll invade his lands.’

  ‘I see,’ said a second voice uncertainly. ‘Could you just explain it to me – aaaah-choo! – again?’

  Poison Sir Walter? Tommy drew in her breath. Surely she must have misheard.

  ‘On the night of the banquet,’ said the oily voice, ‘you make sure you get close to Sir Walter, and slip this pill into his mug of cider.’

  ‘Are you sure – ah-choo! Oh bother, where’s my handkerchief … Are you sure he drinks cider?’

  ‘Or his tankard of ale,’ said the oily voice.

  The second man blew his nose loudly then said, ‘What if he doesn’t drink ale?’

  ‘Into his goblet of wine then!’ The oily voice was sounding impatient now.

  ‘Okay, so I put the poison pill into his cider, or his ale, or his wine … and then what?’

  ‘Then you come out to the hiding place I showed you last night, by the moat, and tell me that you’ve done it. And I’ll ride back to Malice Castle and tell Sir Malcolm. When Sir Walter drops dead after the banquet, the knights of Flamant Castle will think Sir Percy the Pink and his knights are to blame. And while Sir Benedict’s men are off fighting the knights of Roses Castle, Sir Malcolm will invade.’ The oily voice snickered. ‘And Flamant Castle will be ours!’

  ‘And what – aaah-choo! – do I get again?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, stop that sneezing and sniffling. It’s very distracting.’

  ‘I can’t stop!’ cried the second plotter in frustration. ‘I wish I could. But I’ve caught a terrible cold.’ He gave a loud sniffle. ‘It’s all your fault for making me sneak around outside Flamant Castle in the middle of the night when I should have been tucked up in bed.’

  Sneaking around outside the castle? He must have caught the cold from the crocodiddle, Tommy realised.

  ‘You’ll get lots of gold and treasure,’ the oily voice said soothingly.

  ‘That’ll be a nice change,’ sniffed the plotter with the cold. ‘All I ever get from Sir Percy is a boff on the head. And he calls me Sir Blockhead.’

  ‘Sir Malcolm will be very grateful for your assistance,’ the oily plotter promised.

  ‘AAAH-CHOO!’


  This last, loudest sneeze seemed to mark the end of the conversation. Tommy, who had been frozen to the spot under the window, stood up. She peered cautiously over the window frame, but the table by the window was empty. The plotters had gone.

  Tommy began to run. She had to get back to the castle to tell Sir Benedict about the plot. She just hoped he hadn’t yet left on his patrol.

  Down the narrow streets and through the town gate she raced. Crossing the bridge over the moat she had forgotten all about the crocodiddle until a giant sneeze made her jump.

  ‘Oh, poor Mr Crocodiddle,’ she said, leaning over the side of the bridge. The crocodiddle’s nose was still painted orange with the cure Tommy had made. ‘How are your sneezles?’

  ‘No better,’ moaned the crocodiddle. He gave a loud sniffle.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tommy said. ‘I really hoped the cure would work.’ Shaking her head in disappointment, she ran through the castle gate and across the courtyard to the armoury.

  Smith was hammering the dent out of a shield, the clang, clang, clang ringing off the stone walls.

  ‘Smith,’ Tommy panted. ‘Have you seen Sir Benedict?’

  The blacksmith stilled his hammer.

  ‘What’s that, Sword Girl?’

  ‘Sir Benedict,’ Tommy repeated. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Aye, I’ve seen him.’

  Tommy breathed a sigh of relief.

  But Smith continued, ‘He was here with the knights to pick up their swords and armour just after you went off to town. They rode off on their patrol a good hour ago.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Tommy said.

  Smith gave Tommy a puzzled look. ‘There’s no need to be upset, Sword Girl. Sir Benedict was very impressed with the swords. You should be pleased.’ He shook his hammer at Tommy.

  Tommy tried to smile. ‘That’s – that’s great,’ she said. ‘It’s just that …’ She was about to tell Smith about the plot, then hesitated. Smith never left the armoury. What could he do to foil Sir Malcolm’s plot? No, with Sir Benedict gone, she could think of only one other person who could help. And she wasn’t even a person …

  Tommy dashed out into the courtyard. ‘Lil? Lil, where are you?’

  ‘Over here, Tommy.’

  The cat was lying on a low wall beside a stairwell that led down to the cellars. She sprang to her feet, alert, as Tommy approached.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘A plot!’ said Tommy. ‘Sir Malcolm the Mean is plotting to poison Sir Walter and make it look like the work of Sir Percy the Pink. Then Sir Malcolm is going to take over Flamant Castle while our knights are off fighting with Sir Percy!’

  ‘Tell me everything,’ urged Lil.

  Tommy sat on the wall beside the cat and repeated the conversation she’d heard while hiding beneath the tavern window.

  When she was finished, Lil said, ‘Did you see what the plotters looked like? Did you hear their names?’

  Tommy shook her head. ‘All I know is that the one who’ll be at the banquet is one of Sir Percy’s knights. He has a cold, and Sir Percy calls him “Sir Blockhead”.’

  ‘Hmm. That doesn’t give us much to go on,’ said Lil. ‘And Sir Benedict won’t be back from his patrol till the evening of the banquet, the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘We have to stop the banquet!’ Tommy declared.

  But Lil shook her head. ‘That’s impossible,’ she said. ‘And anyway, I think we’d better keep this to ourselves, Tommy.

  We don’t want to scare the plotters off; they’d only try again. No, we want to catch them red-handed.’ She groomed her whiskers thoughtfully. At last she said, ‘You’ll have to go back to town tomorrow morning and try to find Sir Blockhead with the poison pill. Then you can describe him to Sir Benedict before he goes in to the banquet.’

  Tommy felt a stab of fear at the thought of coming face to face with the plotters, but she knew Lil was right. If they wanted to foil the plot, it was up to her.

  CHAPTER 6

  AS SOON AS SHE ARRIVED at the armoury the next morning, Tommy said to Smith, ‘I thought I might run into town to check when those new shields will be ready.’

  ‘Good idea, Sword Girl,’ Smith said.

  Phew! Tommy set off at once. Crossing the courtyard, she worried about the task ahead. Even if she did find Sir Blockhead, how could she describe him to Sir Benedict so that the knight would recognise him? She could say he had brown hair – but there might be two hundred knights at the banquet with brown hair! And the plotter had a cold – there might be dozens of knights with colds! Maybe the plan she and Lil had come up with wasn’t such a good one after all … As she passed through the castle gate, still lost in thought, she heard a voice calling her from the moat.

  ‘Hey, Sword Girl!’

  Tommy ran onto the bridge and looked down at the crocodiddle.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’ she asked.

  The crocodiddle beamed. ‘That cure for the sneezles worked!’

  ‘You do look much better,’ said Tommy. ‘You can probably wash the cure off now.’

  ‘What? I already did.’

  ‘But … your nose,’ said Tommy.

  The crocodiddle frowned. ‘What about my nose?’

  ‘It’s orange.’

  ‘Orange? What are you talking about?’

  The crocodiddle swam over to a calm, glassy patch of water. He gazed at his reflection then let out a shriek. ‘Eek! My nose is orange!’

  He dipped his nose in the water and began to scrub at it furiously with a giant claw. He looked at his reflection again. ‘Still orange!’ he wailed. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘I’ll ask the physician as soon as I get back from town,’ Tommy promised.

  Oh dear, Tommy thought, as she reached the town gate. She hoped the physician knew a cure for the cure. She’d feel terrible if, in trying to cure her friend’s cold, she had turned his nose permanently orange.

  Suddenly she stopped as an idea struck her. Then she turned and ran all the way back to the armoury.

  ‘I forgot something,’ she called to Smith breathlessly as she dashed past him on her way to the sword chamber.

  There she snatched up the pot with the orange cure and raced back to town. Through the crowded streets she ran until she saw the sign with the golden prawn. She hoped that this might be the plotters’ regular meeting place.

  Tommy loitered outside the door of the tavern for nearly an hour but no one entered. She was about to give up when she heard a series of sneezes.

  Two men were approaching.

  ‘I feel worse today than I did yesterday,’ said a small brown-haired man. He honked into a handkerchief then said, ‘I might be too ill to attend the banquet.’

  Beside him, a tall thin man with oily black hair said in an oily voice, ‘There, there. A hearty beef pie in The Pickled Prawn will do wonders, you’ll see.’

  It was the plotters! As they reached the door, Tommy stepped forward. ‘That’s a terrible cold you have there, sir,’ she said to the brown-haired man.

  ‘It’s the worst cold I ever had,’ Sir Blockhead agreed.

  ‘I don’t mean to bother you, sir,’ Tommy said, ‘only I happen to have a cure here that the castle’s physician made for my poor sick grandmother. I’m sure Grandma could spare a drop for you, sir.’

  ‘A cure? A cure, you say? Aaah-CHOO! Well give it here, girl, and be quick about it.’

  ‘Just bend down, sir, and I’ll apply the cure.’

  When Sir Blockhead leaned forward, Tommy dipped the small wooden paddle into her pot and painted his nose.

  ‘His nose is orange,’ the oily plotter observed when she was done.

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s part of the cure,’ Tommy said. ‘You need to leave it on for a day and a night.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ the oily plotter said to his companion in a low voice. ‘You can wash it off just before you go to the banquet tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Aaaah-CHOO!’ Sir Blockhead replied.


  CHAPTER 7

  ON THE DAY of the banquet Tommy woke with butterflies in her stomach that wouldn’t go away.

  She would have gone mad with the agony of waiting if she hadn’t been kept so busy. First Sir Walter came to the sword chamber to tell her that he wanted to wear his favourite sword to the banquet. Sir Walter was very proud of his sword. It was studded with rubies, and the blade was beautifully engraved with flamingos.

  Tommy set to work polishing the sword, and also cleaned swords for the many other knights who came to the sword chamber during the day to select swords to wear that evening.

  Whenever she had a spare moment, she would run out to the courtyard to see if Sir Benedict and his knights had returned yet, only to be disappointed.

  ‘Where could they be?’ Tommy asked Lil in frustration as the sun started to sink below the battlements. Lil had once again positioned herself on the low wall, where she had a good view of the archway leading from the castle gate. ‘The banquet will be starting soon.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Lil said. ‘They’ll be here.’ But it seemed to Tommy that the cat’s green eyes were anxious.

  The shadows in the courtyard were long when a thunder of hooves could be heard clattering over the bridge to the castle gate. And then the courtyard was filled with men and horses. Not only had Sir Benedict’s patrol returned, Sir Percy and his knights from Roses Castle had arrived for the banquet at the same time.

  ‘Sir Benedict!’ Tommy called when she caught sight of the tall, dark-haired knight.

  But Sir Walter grasped Sir Benedict’s sleeve the moment the knight dismounted from his horse. ‘I thought you weren’t going to make it in time,’ the nobleman said. ‘Quick, get changed and come to the banqueting hall at once.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Sir Benedict. He shot an apologetic look at Tommy, and hurried off.