by Peter Bently
“STOP!”
“Not bloomin’ likely!” said Patchcoat.
“Quick, follow Hercules!” I said. The dog had picked up the rat’s scent again and was running into the pitch darkness at the rear of the overhang. We only had a few seconds’ head start, but I hoped it would be enough to lose the spies in the dark. Then we could try and skirt around them and run back outside.
At any moment I expected to hit a wall of solid rock. But as Hercules’s eager snuffling got further and further ahead of us, I realized the overhang went back a lot further into the quarry face than I’d thought. In fact, it seemed we were in some kind of cave. I stretched my arms out wide and felt cold stone on both sides.
“Funny cave, this,” I said. “It feels like it’s the same width all the way along. And the walls are incredibly smooth.”
“So they are,” said Patchcoat. “It’s more like a tunnel. Hmm. I wonder…”
At that moment there was a faint flicker of light from behind us. The spies had obviously relit the torch.
“Surrender yourselves!” boomed Nastikoff. “You know you’re trapped!”
“Yikes!” I said. “What shall we do?”
“Looks like we’ve got no choice,” said Patchcoat. “Keep moving!”
We raced ahead, trying not to stumble in the dark, and with the odd gleam telling us that the spies were not far behind.
We’d been running for ages and my legs felt like they were about to drop off. Then I realized I was starting to run uphill.
“That’s all I need!” I gasped.
At last the ground levelled out again.
“I don’t know about you, Ced,” panted Patchcoat, “but do you think this tunnel is getting wider?”
Before I could answer there was a loud WOOF! and a pair of paws pinned me to the wall.
“Aargh! Hercules!” I squealed, trying to dodge his tongue. “I wondered where you’d got to.”
The sound of running footsteps echoed behind us. I pushed the dog off me.
“Come on, we’d better keep going!”
“I hate to tell you this, Ced,” said Patchcoat. “But there’s no way out.”
I held my hands out in front of me. After a few paces they met cold stone. I patted the wall all over, looking for a way through. But Patchcoat was right. We’d come to a dead end.
Or had we? My hands touched something round and hard and metallic. Then it dawned on me. It was a door handle!
“Patchcoat!” I said. “There’s a door! Quick, give me a hand!”
We tugged and heaved at the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.
“It’s no good,” said Patchcoat.
And then the spies appeared, out of breath. Both men were holding swords. Skowl had the coil of rope slung over one shoulder and a torch in his free hand. We could now see that we were in a small, dank chamber.
“We warned you it was useless to try to escape!” Nastikoff snarled. “Hand me the rope, Skowl.”
Skowl gave the rope to Nastikoff, who put down his sword while he uncoiled it. Hercules sniffed the air and looked at Nastikoff, his head cocked on one side. Nastikoff hesitated.
“That dog,” he grunted. “Why is it staring at me? I don’t like it.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that stupid mutt,” said Skowl. “It’s probably smelling another rat.”
“Two rats, you mean,” I said defiantly.
Nastikoff glared at me. “Why, you cheeky little—”
Without warning, Hercules gave a loud bark … and pounced on Nastikoff.
“Aargh!” The spy lost his footing and toppled over backwards like a skittle. His head went CLONK against the wall and he sank to the floor with a groan.
“Nice work, Herc!” said Patchcoat.
With one spy out of action, we could probably have taken on Skowl. Except that he had a VERY sharp sword. And he didn’t look afraid to use it.
“So, gentlemen,” Skowl hissed. “There is no chance of escape. You may as well surrender.”
We backed against the wall of the chamber. Skowl moved forwards, the blade of his sword flashing in the torchlight.
Yikes, I thought. We’re done for!
SWISH!
Skowl swung his sword, but I ducked under the blade and dived for his knees. I clasped his legs together but he kicked me off and came at me again with the sword. This time Patchcoat ran at Skowl from the side and pushed him away, giving me a chance to get clear.
We now faced each other on opposite sides of the chamber. Skowl raised his sword once more.
“Interfering fools!” he growled. “You leave me with no choice.”
He advanced towards us, a menacing sneer on his face.
And then the door burst open in an explosion of dust.
As the dust began to settle we made out a number of armed men standing in the chamber. The chamber door lay on the ground, wrenched off its hinges.
“Nobody move!” barked a familiar voice.
“S-sergeant?” I said.
“Oh! It’s you, Master Cedric,” said the sergeant. “We heard noises. Thought it was more of Snorbert’s spies, come to help them gypsies escape. We forced the door.”
“Yeah, we noticed,” said Patchcoat.
“The gypsies are innocent,” I said. “You’re right about the spies, though. That’s one of them over there.” I pointed at Nastikoff. But there was no sign of Skowl. “Oh no! The other one must have escaped back down the tunnel. He’s armed and dangerous!”
A faint whimpering came from under the door.
Patchcoat grinned. “Don’t worry, Ced. I don’t think he’ll be giving us any more trouble.”
“Look here,” said the sergeant. “Can one of you explain what’s been going on?”
I told him how Hercules’s sniffing skills had led us to the catapult and the spies. “And then they chased us up the tunnel, and here we are,” I said. “Which is where, exactly?”
The sergeant looked surprised.
“Why, don’t you know?” he said. “You’re in the cellars of Castle Bombast!”
“Thank goodness for that,” said the baron. “If I’d returned to the palace without the catapult, His Majesty would have been highly displeased. And not only with me.”
He gave Sir Percy a grim look.
“So, er, all’s well that ends well, eh, my lord,” my master said, with a fixed grin. “Now you’ve got the catapult back, you’re going to – um – forget this happened? No harm done and all that?”
The baron nodded curtly. “Yes, I suppose so,” he sighed. “If I told the king, he’d lock you in the royal dungeon – which, quite frankly, I think you deserve, Sir Percy. But then Master Cedric and Master Patchcoat would be out of a job. And I wouldn’t want that. If it wasn’t for them we’d never have found the catapult.”
“Actually it’s Hercules you should thank, not us,” I said.
We’d left Hercules in the kitchen, having a well earned feast of Margaret’s leftovers.
“Good old Herc,” said Patchcoat. “Not such a useless mutt after all, eh, Sir Percy?”
“Well, of course, I knew the dog had great potential,” Sir Percy fibbed. “Which is why I specifically asked Cedric to buy an Egyptian terrier, er, thingummy-whatsit. Isn’t that so, Cedric?”
A squire must never contradict his master, so I had no choice but to grit my teeth and answer, “Yes, Sir Percy.”
It was early morning and we were standing by the road that led through the wood. The convoy was preparing to leave with the catapult, which the sergeant and his men had retrieved from the spies’ hideout. Nastikoff and Skowl were tied up on the back of their own cart, with a couple of the king’s soldiers for company.
“Those spies should count themselves lucky,” said the baron. “I’ve a jolly good mind to make them walk.”
He turned to Jed and Rosie, who were watching with us at the side of the road. “My apologies for locking you up,” he said. “Master Cedric has explained everything.”
&nbs
p; “No problem, Your Honour,” said Jed. “We all make mistakes, eh?”
I’d told the baron that when Hercules was following the spies’ scent through the woods he’d totally ignored Jed and Rosie’s caravan.
The baron pulled something shiny from his tunic and tossed it to Jed. The carpenter caught it neatly with one hand.
“The silver coin!” he said. “Are you sure, Your Honour?”
The baron smiled. “Of course,” he said. “Besides, those spies won’t be needing any money for a long, long time.”
Rosie was staring at Sir Percy. Her face lit up. “It’s him!” she said. “I knew I recognized him!”
“Eh?” said Jed. “What do you mean?”
“The flying man in me crystal ball, remember?”
I tried not to smile. “I hate to tell you this,” I said. “But Sir Percy can’t actually fly.”
“Right, men, let’s get moving!” the baron ordered.
“Good idea,” said Sir Percy. “I need another shave. And a dab of my new aftershave. Has Your Lordship tried it? Essence d’Anise it’s called. Rather expensive. French, I believe.”
“Yes,” said the baron. “It means ‘aniseed essence’. It’s for cooking. I fear you’ve been diddled, Sir Percy.”
Aniseed? That rang a bell. I was trying to remember where I’d heard it. But my thoughts were interrupted by a cry from the direction of the castle.
“Stop that dog!”
We turned to see Hercules running towards us with something in his mouth. Once again Margaret was in pursuit.
“Blinkin’ pooch!” she hollered. “First he cleans me out o’ leftovers, then he grabs the special snail ’n’ sparrow pie I was makin’ for lunch!”
Patchcoat pulled a face. “Snail and sparrow? Nice work, Herc!”
Hercules slowed down to swallow the last of the pie. He sniffed the air. Then he spotted Sir Percy and started to growl.
And then I remembered. Aniseed. The one thing that drove Hercules mad!
“Ah. G-good doggy,” Sir Percy stammered, backing against the catapult. “Nice doggy… Cedric, help!”
I tried to seize Hercules but he was too quick. He leaped at Sir Percy, who turned and scrambled up on to the catapult just in time to avoid another bite on the backside.
Hercules pounced again, and sank his teeth into my master’s boot.
“Get him off!” Sir Percy cried, trying to tug his foot free. “Help! WAAAAH!”
Hercules had pulled Sir Percy’s boot right off. Flailing wildly, my master shot forwards and tipped head over heels into the great leather sling of the catapult.
The soldiers were struggling not to giggle. The baron looked like he would burst.
At last I grabbed Hercules by the collar. “It’s safe to come down now, Sir Percy,” I said.
Sir Percy peered over the edge of the sling and began to climb out. But he was finding it tricky, because the sling swayed like a giant hammock.
“Do you need a hand, Sir Percy?” I asked.
“I’m quite all right, thank you very much,” said my master, with as much dignity as he could muster. “I’ll just take hold of this stick.”
“No!” the baron called suddenly. “Don’t touch that! The mechanism’s very delic—”
Too late. Sir Percy grabbed the stick.
CLICK!
“Watch out!”
SWISH – BOIIIIIING!
“WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
Everybody gasped as Sir Percy flew through the trees, over the castle grounds – and landed with a terrific SPLASH in the moat of Castle Bombast.
“Are you all right, Sir Percy?” I called, as I ran to help him out.
My master flopped on to the bank, covered in slimy pondweed and stinking mud. (The loos of Castle Bombast empty straight into the moat. Ew.)
“C-Cedric,” he muttered, hauling himself to his feet. “G-go and tell Margaret to boil a cauldron of water. I fear I shall need another bath. That’s my second in two months!”
“Yes, Sir Percy,” I said, trying not to laugh.
As I headed across the drawbridge into the castle, Rosie tapped me on the arm.
“You see, dearie,” she chuckled. “The crystal ball never lies!”
Copyright
STRIPES PUBLISHING
An imprint of Little Tiger Press
1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,
London SW6 6AW
First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2015
Text copyright © Peter Bently, 2015
Cover illustrations copyright © Fred Blunt, 2015
Illustrations copyright © Artful Doodlers, 2015
eISBN: 9781-84715-734-8
The right of Peter Bently, Fred Blunt and Artful Doodlers to be identified as the author and illustrators of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library.
www.littletiger.co.uk
Roland the Rotten has challenged my master, Sir Percy the Proud, to a JOUST. But Sir Percy doesn’t want to fight – not even with his LUCKY UNDERPANTS on. So guess who’s got to get him out of it? That’s right. ME. (Hopefully with a bit of help from my friend, Patchcoat the Jester.)
There’s going to be a BANQUET at Castle Bombast. But it’s not just any old banquet. The king and queen will be attending, and they expect the very best – or else! Which means more work for ME. And I dread to think what Sir Percy’s ARCH ENEMY, Roland the Rotten, will do when he finds out he’s not invited.
A MEGA-RICH princess is searching for a husband and Sir Percy thinks he’s the knight for the job. So we’re off to Noman Castle where there’s going to be a test of BRAVERY. As usual, my master seems to have a SNEAKY plan up his sleeve. Ever seen a knight in a dress? Just so long as I don’t have to wear one, too… Uh-oh!
The Sheriff of Fleecingham is desperate to capture a famous OUTLAW known as the Ghost, and Sir Percy has accidentally volunteered US for the job. But Grimwood is dark and CREEPY. And I’ve heard there are more than just robbers lurking in the fearsome forest. Yikes! I’m not looking forward to this mission one bit…
Sir Percy has been boasting again, and now he has to WIN the football tournament at the May Fair or he’ll lose Castle Bombast! Problem is, we haven’t even got a TEAM. Of course, it’s up to ME to find some players. But the only volunteers I can get have never kicked a BALL in their lives… Eek!
