by Peter Bently
“I don’t know, sir,” I fibbed. The correct answer, of course, was because he’s the most useless guard dog in the kingdom. But I figured it wouldn’t be too helpful to say that.
The baron turned to the sergeant.
“Sergeant, head up the road with half a dozen men,” he said. “A huge lumbering thing like a catapult can’t have got far. After all, it’s not like stealing a box of jewels. You can hardly hide it under your tunic. With a bit of luck you’ll soon catch up with those enemy spies.”
“Yessir!” The sergeant saluted and hurried off.
The baron called after him. “Oh, and send one of your men to fetch those short-sighted dimwits from the battlements,” he ordered. “I want to know exactly why they failed to spot a two-ton catapult being hauled away in broad moonlight!”
“Yessir!”
Uh-oh. The baron was already furious. Something told me he was about to get a whole lot angrier.
“There’s something else that bothers me,” the baron said, once the sergeant and a squad of royal troops had jogged off down the road. “I’m surprised no one heard the catapult being stolen, even if they managed not to see it.”
Patchcoat and I exchanged glances.
The baron was right. It was rather odd. The wheels and the horses’ hooves must have made a heck of a racket. Even somebody inside the castle would have heard it, never mind outside.
Just then a soldier came out of the gate carrying a torch. The baron had sent him to fetch Sir Percy. Sure enough, my master was traipsing behind him in his nightgown, bleary-eyed and still half-asleep. Hercules started to growl.
“Sir Percy!” snapped the baron. “At last!”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Sir Percy grumbled, keeping a wary eye on the dog. He pointed at the soldier.
“This chap had better have a jolly good reason for getting me out of bed in the middle of the ni—”
“Oh, stop fussing, man!” yelled the baron. “The catapult has been stolen!”
My master’s jaw dropped open. “Eh? Who? H-how?” he babbled. He turned to me. “Is this true, Cedric?”
Too late, he realized his mistake. Staring at me in astonishment, the baron stepped forward and plucked off my helmet.
“That’s torn it,” sighed Patchcoat. He took off his own helmet. Now Sir Percy had blown my cover, there was no more point in pretending.
“Squire Cedric!” gasped the baron. “And that jester fellow! Sir Percy, what the DEUCE is going on?”
Before Sir Percy could reply, another soldier came running out of the castle.
“Yer Lordship!” he panted, saluting. “I went to fetch the guards from the battlements like the sergeant said and—”
Sir Percy’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Can’t you see I’m busy, soldier?” interrupted the baron. “Right, Sir Percy. I want to ask your men how each and every one of them failed to spot a catapult being stolen by the king’s enemies.”
“But … but … Yer Lordship,” said the soldier. “Those guards – they ain’t real!”
“Eh? What on earth do you mean?” spluttered the baron. “What are they then? Monkeys?”
“They’re dummies, Yer Lordship! Every one o’ them!”
The baron was speechless. He was clearly having trouble taking it all in.
“Wh-what?” he spluttered. “Are you telling me those spies have kidnapped Sir Percy’s guards and replaced them with dummies?”
And then a look came over his face. The look of someone who had just heard a very large penny dropping. Shaking with rage, the baron fixed Sir Percy with a long, hard stare.
“So that’s it,” he thundered. “His Majesty’s new weapon has fallen into the hands of King Snorbert and it’s all YOUR fault, Sir Percy! You told the king that Castle Bombast was the strongest castle in the kingdom. That’s why we brought the catapult here. But that was just one of your stupid boasts, wasn’t it? We might as well have taken it straight to Lumbago and given it to King Snorbert as a present! Have you any idea how FURIOUS the king will be? You, Sir Percy, are in BIG trouble!”
“Ah, well, my dear baron,” burbled my master. “I, er – um – I can explain. It’s – um – it’s like this, you see. When I wrote to the king I, er, I had a full battalion of guards. Honestly! But then, just yesterday, alas, they all – um – um – came down with a dose of – of, er, let’s just call it a rather explosive ailment.”
“What?” said the baron. “Are you serious, Sir Percy?”
“Oh yes, indeed, my lord!” said my master, now well warmed up for a barefaced fib fest. “Awful it was! The stench! Poor blighters. I had to, er, send them all off home. Couldn’t have Your Lordship or the king’s troops catching the tummy trots, could I? And then – and then – I ordered my squire here to pop down the road to Sir Spencer’s place and – um – er, ask him if I could borrow some of his guards.”
The porky pie was so outrageous I could hardly stop myself from gasping.
“Well, Sir Percy?” said the baron suspiciously. “Why didn’t you?”
“Ah well, you see, Cedric here had this ridiculous idea of using dummies instead. To – um – save time. I fear I went along with it. Foolish, I know, but – but—”
“Enough!” barked the baron. “Sir Percy, do you seriously expect me to believe such a barrel of nonsense? Blaming your poor squire indeed! Oh, when the king hears of this—”
Sir Percy dived forward and clasped the baron’s knees. “Anything but that!” he wailed. “Don’t tell the king! I won’t do it again! I promise! Just PLEASE don’t tell the king!”
My master’s pathetic grovelling was interrupted by the sound of marching feet. We turned to see the sergeant and his men returning up the road.
“Sorry, Your Lordship,” the sergeant said. “We didn’t find the catapult. But we did find a couple o’ suspicious foreigners in the woods. They was creepin’ about near the road. Bring ’em up, lads!”
The soldiers marched towards the castle leading a pair of prisoners with their hands tied. Patchcoat and I exchanged horrified looks. It was Jed and Rosie!
“It was nothing to do with us, Yer Honours!” said Jed.
“Master Cedric will vouch for us, won’t you?” pleaded Rosie.
“That’s right!” I said. “Please let them go. They’re just harmless travelling folk.”
“Is that so?” said the baron. “Then what were they doing sneaking around at night?”
“Um – well…” Jed looked rather sheepish. “Catchin’ rabbits, Yer Honour.”
“Sorry, Master Cedric,” said Rosie. “We ain’t poachers, honest. We was ’ungry, that’s all.”
“Rabbits?” said the sergeant. “Rubbish. How do you explain this?” He fished in his tunic and pulled out a silver coin. “We found it in his pocket, Your Lordship. He claims he was given it to pay for a kennel!”
“It’s true!” I piped up. “I found the coin in the woods just before I met Jed and Rosie here. Someone had dropped it. We thought it was probably poachers.”
“Poachers, indeed,” snorted the sergeant. “Take a look, Your Lordship.”
The baron held the coin up to the torchlight. “A foreign coin bearing the head of … King Snorbert! Master Cedric, I fear these gypsies have duped you. Where did you pick up this coin? Near their camp?”
“Well, yes, my lord, but…”
“Aha. There you are then,” said the baron. “One of the gypsies probably dropped it themselves, and you just happened to find it.”
“That ain’t true!” cried Jed
“Silence!” said the baron. “Sergeant, lock them up. I shall deal with them later. This castle does at least have a dungeon, doesn’t it, Sir Percy?”
Sir Percy had been trying to slip into the shadows while the baron’s back was turned. He froze in his tracks.
“Eh? Ah! A dungeon? Yes, of course, Your Lordship,” he said.
“Good,” said the baron. “Sergeant, take the gypsies away.”
&
nbsp; “But I’m sure they had nothing to do with it, Your Lordship!” I piped up, as Jed and Rosie were led off. “The man I saw by the moat was definitely a lot taller than them.”
“But you didn’t see his accomplice, did you, Master Cedric? Whoever it was that knocked you out,” said the baron. “Now, kindly saddle my horse.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” I said. There seemed little point in arguing. For one thing, squires are NOT allowed to argue with a lord. And for another, I had no actual proof that Jed and Rosie were innocent.
“And saddle Sir Percy’s, too.”
“Eh? What?” said my master. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you, Sir Percy,” said the baron. “This mess is entirely your fault,” he went on. “You and I will ride fast and see if we can catch up with the catapult. If there are only two or three spies, we should be able to handle them.”
“Um – you mean do some fighting, Your Lordship?” Even in the torchlight, I could see Sir Percy go pale.
“Of course. So bring your sword. We may be outnumbered, but we’ll do our best.”
“But … but what about my armour?” Sir Percy quailed.
“No time for that, man!” said the baron. “We must leave at once. I’m giving you one chance, Sir Percy. If we recapture the catapult, I might pretend that this whole sorry episode never happened. But make no mistake, if we fail, I shall be taking three prisoners back to the palace. And I’ll recommend to the king that he locks you in the royal dungeons for a good long stretch!”
Leaving Hercules with Patchcoat for a moment, I quickly saddled the baron’s horse and Prancelot, Sir Percy’s horse. She was very unhappy at being woken. But not half as unhappy as Sir Percy looked, riding off into the night to face King Snorbert’s spies.
Patchcoat and I stood near the moat and watched them head down the road that ran through the woods. We’d pulled off our chain mail, which was a relief. (It was heavy and scratchy.)
“I wish we could do something,” I said. “I’m still sure Jed and Rosie have nothing to do with this.”
“I know,” said Patchcoat. “It doesn’t make sense, Ced. If they were involved, why would they stay in the woods? Why not escape with the others?”
Hercules had been sniffing the air. He suddenly started tugging on his lead.
“Looks like he’s spotted something,” I said, peering in the moonlight. “Over there, on the ground.”
It was a hat. Patchcoat picked it up and handed it to me.
“Is it the one Sir Percy dropped in the moat?”
I held it up. “No,” I said. It looked familiar though. “I’m sure it’s the one that stranger was wearing! He must’ve dropped it in the dark.”
Patchcoat smiled as Hercules barked happily. “I think he wants to give it a good chewing!”
“Hmm,” I said. “I wonder. It’s worth a try…”
I held the hat to Hercules’s nose, just far away enough so he could get a good sniff without grabbing it.
Then I walked a few paces away, closer to the moat. “Right, boy,” I said. “Fetch!”
I swung my arm as if I was about to spin the hat a long way, like a throwing disc. But at the last minute, I whipped the hat behind my back and tossed it in the water.
“Where’s it gone, eh?” I said, stepping forward again. “Look for it! Good boy!”
To begin with Hercules wandered around sniffing the air, trying in vain to find the hat. Just when I thought he’d given up, he suddenly put his nose to the ground and pulled me in the direction of the road.
“Brilliant!” I said. “If I’m right, he’s picked up the scent of the person who dropped the hat! With a bit of luck we’ll find out which way the spies headed after they left the castle.”
“Good one, Ced,” beamed Patchcoat. “Maybe this mutt isn’t so dumb after all.”
Sure enough, Hercules led us up the road, away from the castle. Before long we were passing through Sir Percy’s woods. But then he suddenly veered off to the right, down an old track into the trees.
“Bother,” I said. “I think he’s lost the scent. He’s probably gone after a rabbit.”
“No he hasn’t, Ced,” said Patchcoat. “Look!”
He pointed to a muddy patch of track in front of us. In the moonlight we could make out hoofprints and the wheel ruts left by the catapult. The prints and ruts were a bit fuzzy, which was odd. But the freshly trampled grass told us they were definitely new.
We followed the track to a clearing. In the middle stood the gypsy caravan.
“Oh dear,” I said. “Perhaps Jed and Rosie were mixed up in this after all.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Patchcoat. “Hercules isn’t going near the caravan.”
It was true. Hercules pulled us away from the clearing and on through the woods. The way grew less distinct, the trees started to thin out and before long we found ourselves at the entrance to a rocky, overgrown hollow. It seemed to be an old quarry.
“Looks like the end of the road,” I said. “Hercules must’ve been leading us on a wild goose chase after all.”
“Shh!” said Patchcoat suddenly.
Voices. Up ahead. And a flicker of light.
“Let’s sneak up and listen,” I said. “But we’d better leave Hercules here in case he makes a noise.”
I tied Hercules to a tree. Then Patchcoat and I slipped into the hollow and crept silently up to a cluster of mossy boulders. Peeping through a gap, I saw two men wrapped in blankets, lying by a campfire beside a huge overhanging rock. Nearby stood a cart with a name on the side: Ralph’s Rugs.
“Drat,” I muttered. “We’ve been wasting our time.”
After all that, Hercules had only led us to the two merchants I’d passed on the road to Stoke Bluster the day before.
Patchcoat scrambled a bit higher to get a better view. I was about to tell him not to bother when he suddenly hissed, “Blimey!”
I clambered up to join him. My jaw dropped open. I could see not only the merchants and their cart, but also two large carthorses tethered to a tree. And that wasn’t all.
“Good old Hercules!” grinned Patchcoat.
Tucked inside the overhanging rock was the catapult.
Patchcoat and I edged a bit closer to the fire to hear what the “merchants” were saying.
“So, Nastikoff, let’s get this straight,” said one. “We camp out here for a few days until the fuss has died down a bit.”
“Correct, Skowl,” said the other. I noticed he had no hat on. “King Fredbert’s men will assume we’re making straight for Lumbago. They’ll check every road and border crossing, but there’ll be no sign of us. In a few days they’ll just think we’ve given them the slip. I’d love to see the look on Fredbert’s face. He’ll be so cross!”
The two men fell about laughing.
“Meanwhile, we dismantle the catapult,” said the one named Skowl. “Then, when things are quieter, we smuggle it out of the country bit by bit.”
“Correct again,” said Nastikoff. “In the cart, hidden under rugs and blankets. I reckon we should do it in about three or four trips. No one will pay any attention to a couple of travelling rug merchants.”
“Oh, King Snorbert will be so pleased!” Skowl smirked. “He’ll probably give us both the Order of the Snoop!”
“Not if we can help it,” I whispered. “Come on, Patchcoat, let’s get back to the castle!”
We slid down from the boulders and tiptoed back towards Hercules. But all we found was the chewed end of his lead, still tied around the tree.
“Oh no!” I said. “Now where’s he gone?”
The answer came in the form of a large rat that came scuttling out of the bushes with Hercules in hot pursuit.
“EEEK!” I yelped, as rat and dog bounded away into the bushes again.
“Come on, Ced,” said Patchcoat. “I reckon they could’ve heard you shrieking back at Castle Bombast. We need to move sharpish.”
Behind us came the sound of a cracking twig. Star
tled, we spun round to see the two spies. Their swords glinted in the moonlight.
“I’m afraid, gentlemen, you are too late,” said Nastikoff.
“Consider yourselves prisoners of King Snorbert,” sneered Skowl.
The spies frogmarched us under the overhang, where the catapult stood. From close up, we saw it had thick layers of rugs and blankets wrapped round each wheel. There were blankets on the horses’ hooves, too. So that was how they’d made such a quiet getaway. It also explained the fuzzy tracks the catapult had left in the woods.
“We will take you back to our country,” said Nastikoff, taking a torch out of a crevice in the wall of the overhang. “And we will keep you there until your master pays for your release. You gentlemen have a wealthy master, yes?”
If only. We shook our heads.
“Pity,” said Nastikoff. “But never mind. I’m sure you will both like living in one of our dungeons. For the rest of your lives.”
The spies cackled unpleasantly.
“Now, gentlemen, I fear we must tie you up,” said Skowl. He produced a coil of rope. “It is pointless to try to escape,” he said. “But if you do it’ll be worse for— Hey, what the—?”
The rat ran into the overhang, followed shortly afterward by Hercules, eagerly sniffing the ground as he tracked the rat’s scent. He suddenly skidded to a halt and looked from me to Patchcoat to the strangers, as if wondering what was up.
I pointed at the spies and cried, “Get them, Hercules!”
WOOF! Before Skowl could move out of the way, Hercules pounced on him – and gave him a big friendly, slobbery lick. It wasn’t quite what I’d meant, but it did the trick.
Skowl staggered and nearly lost his balance, bumping into Nastikoff in the process. Nastikoff dropped the torch, which rolled in the dust and went out.
“Good boy, Hercules!” I cried. “Run for it, Patchcoat!”
But Nastikoff and Skowl were already scrambling to their feet, blocking our path.
