Rotten Luck!

by Peter Bently

  “Well, well, well,” said the king. “There we all were stalking a boar and instead we end up catching a rat! We’ve just overheard all your plans, sheriff. So, first you cheated Sir Edward out of his job and now you want mine, too, eh?”

  The sheriff had gone rather pale. “But Y-y-your Majesty is mistaken!” he cringed. “Surely you didn’t think that I would betway your woyal self, sire?”

  “SILENCE!” blasted the king. “Sheriff, you and your henchmen are under arrest for treason, theft and forgery. Guards, seize them!”

  Two royal guards stepped forward and took the sheriff by the arms, and then a large and very cross wild boar suddenly burst out of the bushes. It charged straight through the king’s guards and archers, who scattered in alarm. The sheriff’s men grabbed their chance and bolted through the gap. The sheriff wriggled free of the royal guards and fled into the trees as fast as his legs would carry him.

  “After them!” cried the queen.

  “Blast that boar!” growled the king. “The next time I see it I jolly well hope it’s on my dinner plate! Sir Spencer, stay here and guard the outlaws.”

  “M-me, sire?”

  “Yes, you, you fool!” the king bellowed. “I’ll deal with them later!”

  The king and queen rode off, leaving us alone with Sir Spencer and Algernon. Sir Spencer eyed us nervously.

  Then he noticed me. “Why, it’s Percy’s squire! I almost didn’t recognize you under all that, er … muck. What are you doing here, young Frederick?”

  “Cedric, Sir Spencer. It’s a long story,” I said. “But you have to help us. The sheriff is having Sir Percy executed at two o’clock!”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Billy slipping back into the cave. A few moments later he returned carrying something under his arm and dived behind a bush.

  “But the king ordered me to stay here, Eric,” Sir Spencer was saying. “I can’t—”

  ROAR!

  A bear came lumbering towards us!

  “Quick, Sir Spencer!” said Patchcoat. “Make for the cave while we distract it!”

  Sir Spencer squealed and dived into the cave, with Algernon hot on his heels. Once they were out of sight the bear stopped roaring, and took off its head!

  Billy grinned. “That bear costume did the trick!”

  “Well done, Billy!” said Maud. “Cedric and Patchcoat, take the horses, quickly! We’ll follow on foot.”

  Taking a knight’s horse without permission is a total no-no, but this was an emergency. Within seconds I was riding back down the track, with Patchcoat trotting behind on Algernon’s tubby pony.

  We hadn’t gone far when we heard Sir Spencer calling, “Hey! Where is everybody? And where’s my horse?”

  Explanations would have to wait. There was no time to lose. We had to save Sir Percy!

  A boy on a knight’s warhorse looks rather suspicious, so Patchcoat and I dismounted well before the town gates and ran the last bit. We slipped through the gates among a crowd of peasants.

  “You ’ere for the execution?” said an old man. “It’s a shame they caught the Ghost and all that. But seein’ how he’s definitely a goner we might as well enjoy the show, eh?”

  “There won’t be any show if I can help it,” I muttered. But how were we going to save Sir Percy? The church clock said ten to two.

  “Programme, sonny?” croaked another peasant, thrusting a leaflet into my hand. “Only sixpence!”

  Patchcoat and I glanced at the leaflet:

  I glared at the peasant and handed it back.

  “That’s terrible!” I said.

  “Too right,” said Patchcoat. “Sixpence is a rip-off!”

  We reached the front of the crowd but there was no chance of getting any nearer to Sir Percy. The sheriff’s men stood all around the platform, shoving back any onlookers who got too close. On the platform itself stood Sir Percy, guarded by two soldiers. Lurk was beside the chopping block, wearing a mask and sharpening his axe.

  “Quite a big crowd, ain’t it, Sir Percy?” Lurk said. “Must be a block booking. Muh-huh! ’Ere, ’ow does a Chinese executioner eat ’is dinner? With chopsticks. Muh-huh-huh!”

  A ripple of titters ran through the square. Lurk winked at the crowd.

  “I say, this just isn’t on, you know,” said Sir Percy. “You can’t go chopping a chap’s head off without the king’s permission!”

  “Well, the king ain’t ’ere, is he?” growled Lurk. “Sorry, Sir Percy, sheriff’s orders. It’s nuffink personal. I haven’t got an axe to grind. Except this one! Muh-huh! Now, no more arguing or I’ll knock yer block off. Oh, silly me, I forgot. I’m goin’ to knock yer block off anyway. Muh-huh-huh-huh!”

  “We have to do something!” I said to Patchcoat. “And fast!”

  Looking around the square in desperation, I noticed two things. First, the square was on a bit of a slope, with the castle at the higher end and the platform at the bottom. Second, all the castle guards had sneaked into the crowd to see the execution. The castle was totally unguarded. I had a sudden thought.

  “Patchcoat, make for the castle!” I said.

  “Eh?” said Patchcoat. “The king isn’t there, Ced!”

  “But Sir Roland is!” I panted. “He’ll have to stop the execution! He can’t hate Sir Percy that much! Come on!”

  We jostled our way out of the crowd and sprinted across the square. We were already on the drawbridge when I spotted the dung cart. The dung merchant was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the crowd, too. I had a flash of inspiration.

  “You go and find Sir Roland!” I said. “I’ve got an idea. Hurry!”

  As Patchcoat scurried off into the castle I ran to the cartload of dung.

  I reached the cart and fumbled frantically with the horse’s harness.

  “Right, folks, it’s almost showtime!” bawled Lurk. “This one’s a real blockbuster, muh-huh-huh!”

  “My good fellow, I insist that you release me at once,” said Sir Percy. “I shan’t ask you again!”

  “Funny you should say that,” grinned Lurk.

  “That’s it, Lurk, keep ’em coming!” I mumbled. Every joke he cracked gave me a few extra seconds to save my master.

  At last I freed the horse from its harness and shooed it in the direction of a pile of juicy carrots on a nearby stall.

  “What’s up, Sir Percy?” quipped Lurk. “You look a bit pale. Got a headache? Don’t worry, I’ve got the perfect cure! Muh-huh-huh!”

  I ran to the back of the cart and gave it a shove. It didn’t budge. My heart stopped as I saw the guards seizing Sir Percy by the arms.

  I tried again. “One, two, three… HEAVE!”

  At last the heavy cart began to move – slowly at first, then gathering speed as it trundled downhill.

  The church clock struck two.

  The dung cart was now hurtling out of control. Someone yelled, “Watch out!” and then there was mayhem as people dived out of the way.

  “Right. Time to get yer head down, Sir Percy,” said Lurk, running his thumb along the blade of his axe. “Before you know it you’ll be droppin’ off! Muh-huh-h… Eh? What? ’Ere! STOP THAT CART!”

  But it was too late. Lurk could only stand there gawping as the crowd parted, the guards leaped for cover, and the dung cart crashed into the platform with an almighty CRRR-UNCH!

  “Aargh!”

  The cart shed its load and sent an avalanche of steaming manure flying over Lurk. I’d done it!

  A moment later, there was another kerfuffle nearby and the royal hunting party rode into the square, with the sheriff and his henchmen as prisoners.

  “Shivering shield-straps!” bellowed the king, seeing the platform. “Has someone ordered an execution? I can’t stand executions. I’ll have someone’s head for this!”

  Just then, Patchcoat came out of the castle accompanied by Sir Roland.

  “Where are all the guards, Sir Roland?” demanded the queen. “You were supposed to be in charge of the castle while
we were out hunting!”

  “And you were supposed to keep order!” said the king, riding up. “The place is in chaos!”

  “Er, well, I, er…” Sir Roland burbled sheepishly.

  “The sheriff!” I cried. “He’s getting away!”

  While the guards had been distracted by the commotion in the square, the sheriff had managed to break free.

  “I’m off!” he cackled and sprinted for the town gates.

  “You bumbling bunch of beetle-brains!” seethed the king. “Somebody stop him!”

  It looked like the sheriff would escape again, but then I spotted something.

  “Up there, Your Majesties!” I shouted. “On the battlements!”

  A figure was running along the top of the town walls towards the gates. It looked like the dung merchant. Except for one thing. He was wearing a mask.

  “It’s the Ghost of Grimwood!” said Patchcoat. “And look, here comes his gang!”

  It was true. Hurrying through the town gates were Maud, Billy and Jack.

  “Ahoy there, gang!” called the Ghost. “Don’t let the sheriff escape!”

  At once Jack and Billy ran back to the gates and heaved them shut.

  “Blast and bothewation!” cried the sheriff.

  He fled into the market stalls with his cloak flapping behind him. But he wasn’t fast enough for Billy.

  SWISH! THUNK!

  A second later, one of Billy’s arrows pinned the sheriff’s cloak to a large barrel of apples.

  “Good shot, Billy!” I cheered.

  But in a trice the sheriff wriggled free of his cloak and sped off towards a nearby sewer. This was basically a large (and VERY smelly) trench that ran out of the town through a low arch in the walls.

  “You fools!” he cackled, jumping into the sewer and splashing his way towards the arch. “I’m not finished yet!”

  But neither was the Ghost.

  The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed as the Ghost leaped from the battlements on to the roof of a house, skated skilfully down the thatch, then somersaulted neatly on to a horse that was waiting to be hitched to a cartload of turnips.

  “Yah!” cried the Ghost. “Go get’im, girl!”

  The horse reared up, whinnied and galloped after the sheriff.

  Riding with no hands, the Ghost unwound a rope from his waist, tied one end in a loop, swung it round his head, and neatly slipped it over the fleeing sheriff.

  “Waah!” wailed the sheriff, as the loop tightened around his waist and arms. “Dwat and double-dwat!”

  In one smooth move, the Ghost hauled the sheriff out of the sewer and on to the horse. Then he calmly trotted up to the king.

  “Special delivery, sire,” he said. “One rather stinky sheriff!”

  “S-sire!” blustered the sheriff. “I can explain everything!”

  But at that moment a poop-covered figure ran past us, making for the gates. It was Lurk.

  “The deputy sheriff!” I said. “He’s getting away!”

  “Stop that man!” ordered the king.

  Lurk had a head start on the royal guards. But he hadn’t reckoned with Maud.

  “Not so fast, sunshine!” she cried, and started bombarding him with apples from the barrel that still had the sheriff’s cloak pinned to it.

  “Aargh!” cried Lurk, as several well-aimed apples bounced off his head. He turned and ran back past us, but then Jack stuck out his staff and tripped him over. The royal guards instantly pounced on him and held him fast.

  “To the dungeons with them!” said the king. “I’ll think of a suitable punishment later. And I suppose I’ll also need a new sheriff.” He sighed. “I should never have believed that letter. I’d give Sir Edward his job back if I knew where he was.”

  “Actually, he’s not very far away, sire,” said the Ghost.

  “Really?” said the king. “Where is he?”

  The Ghost peeled off his mask to reveal a handsome face with piercing blue eyes.

  “Here, sire,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. He bowed deeply in his saddle. “Sir Edward Worthington, at your service.”

  There were gasps of astonishment.

  “Great galloping gargoyles!” exclaimed the king. “Sir Edward. So you’re the Ghost of Grimwood!”

  “And the dung merchant,” I piped up. His disguise had been very convincing. And, let’s face it, most people avoided getting too close to a dung merchant if they could help it.

  “Indeed,” smiled Sir Edward. “I never fled abroad at all. That was just a story I spread so no one would suspect that I was the Ghost, hiding in the forest with my loyal followers.”

  The outlaws stepped forward, and bowed to the king and queen.

  “I suspected the sheriff was behind the letter, but I couldn’t prove it,” Sir Edward continued. “The dung merchant’s job was the perfect means of getting in and out of the castle to do a bit of spying. I didn’t find out about the letter, but I overheard the sheriff telling Lurk to collect more and more tax off the peasants but none at all from the sheriff’s rich cronies. I thought that wasn’t right, sire. So I decided to – um – make things a bit fairer.”

  “By robbing the sheriff’s wealthy friends?” frowned the king. “I see. Well, I don’t really approve of stealing, you know, Sir Edward.”

  “Of course not, sire,” said Sir Edward. “But we didn’t keep anything for ourselves. We gave it back to the peasants to make up for all the extra tax they were paying.”

  “Oh well, I suppose that’s all right,” said the king. “I shall be happy to say no more about it. If you will forgive me for believing that letter, Sir Edward.”

  “Of course, sire. It was very convincing,” he said. “The sheriff was an excellent forger.”

  “And a thief!” said the king. “He was keeping some of my tax money and hiding it in a secret cave in the forest! Your gang came across it today.”

  “Actually, it was young Master Cedric who discovered it!” Maud piped up.

  “Did he indeed?” beamed the king. “Good lad!”

  I blushed. “Well, it was by accident really, Your Majesty,” I said.

  “And he saved Sir Percy,” added Patchcoat.

  “By the way, where is your master?” asked the king.

  At that very moment there was a muffled groan from the platform. The mountain of manure appeared to be moving. Then a head popped up out of the stinky heap. It was Sir Percy.

  “I say,” he whimpered. “Will someone kindly get me out of here?”

  A few hours later Patchcoat and I were in the stable yard preparing to leave. We had just hitched Gristle to the cart while Sir Percy stood nearby checking his armour in a downstairs window. You’d think the first thing you’d say to someone who’d literally just saved your neck was “Thanks!”. But not Sir Percy. Once we’d hauled him out of the manure mountain he’d told me to fetch a cloth at once and clean the horse-poo off his armour. Oh well.

  I was about to fetch Prancelot from her stall when the ex-outlaws arrived to say goodbye. Jack and Billy were both wearing smart coats of mail and scarlet tunics bearing Sir Edward’s emblem, an eagle.

  “What’s with the fancy outfits?” said Patchcoat. “We almost didn’t recognize you!”

  “I used to be head of the castle guard,” said Jack. “Till Earl Crawleigh de Creepes sacked me. Sir Worthington gave me my old job back. He’s my boss now, along with the new deputy sheriff!”

  “Deputy sheriff?” I said. “Who’s that?”

  “Me!” said Maud. “So this lot had better mind their Ps and Qs!”

  The ex-outlaws all laughed.

  Billy had his bow over his shoulder. He unslung it and handed it to me.

  “This is for you,” he smiled. “I saw you admiring it when we were in the forest.”

  “Really?” I gasped. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yes,” he said. “I’ve got tons of bows now Sir Worthington’s put me in charge of all his archers!”

  I thanked Billy again. Then the ex-outlaws s
aid goodbye and returned to the castle.

  “Wow! My very own bow!” I said after they had gone. “I can’t wait to try it out!”

  Sir Percy came over from the window. “Right, chaps, I think we’re ready,” he said. “Cedric, fetch Prancelot and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Yes, Sir Percy,” I said. I put my bow on the seat of the mule cart and was about to step into the stables, when who should appear but the king.

  “Ah, there you are, Sir Percy!” he boomed. “I was hoping to catch you before you left. All cleaned up now?”

  “Yes, sire,” said Sir Percy.

  “Good! Otherwise we’d have to start calling you Sir Percy the Poop instead of Sir Percy the Proud, eh?” the king guffawed.

  “Ha ha ha! Most amusing, sire!” winced Sir Percy. “Well, I suppose we must be off. Long journey home and all that!”

  “Ah, good old Sir Percy,” the king chortled. “You’re such a joker!”

  Sir Percy looked a bit bewildered. “Um – I am, sire?” he said.

  “Come now, Sir Percy,” the king chuckled. “As if you’d really try to leave without giving me … my birthday present?”

  Sir Percy went pale. He looked about frantically. And then something caught his eye.

  “Ah, there it is, sire!” he declared. “Phew! I-I wondered where my squire had put it!”

  My heart sank as Sir Percy reached over to the seat of the mule cart and picked up … my bow!

  “Of course I-I knew Your Majesty must have one already, but … but it’s always useful to have a spare, eh, sire!”

  The king was delighted. “Quite so, Sir Percy, quite so!” he exclaimed. “Especially as I managed to snap mine while I was hunting. It’s the perfect present. Now have a good journey home!”

  And the king swept back into the castle, clutching the bow. My bow.

  That’s another one you owe me, Sir Percy!