Damsel Disaster!

by Peter Bently

  For Lucy, Theo and Tara – PB

  For Grace and Rose – FB

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Meet the Characters

  Chapter 1

  Tour de Farce

  Chapter 2

  Rescue Rumpus

  Chapter 3

  Peasant Palaver

  Chapter 4

  Potion Commotion

  Chapter 5

  Loo Hullaballoo

  Chapter 6

  Dummy Trouble

  Chapter 7

  Frock Shock

  Chapter 8

  Hide and Shriek

  Chapter 9

  Castle Kiss Chase

  Copyright

  Toot! Toot-TOOT!

  Toot! Toot-TOOOOT!

  “Ah, there’s the post!” said Sir Percy. “Splendid! Run along and fetch it, Cedric.”

  “Yes, Sir Percy.”

  I quickly finished strapping the last bit of armour to my master’s leg and hurried out of the stables to the castle gate.

  “Mornin’, Master Cedric,” said the messenger, tucking his posthorn back into his belt. “Sir Percy’s popular today.”

  He handed over a pile of parchment scrolls. A few looked suspiciously like fan mail from Sir Percy’s female admirers. One was tied up with pink ribbons. Another had little red love hearts drawn all over it (bleh). But most were bills with things like PAY NOW! and FINAL DEMAND – THIS TIME I REALLY MEAN IT! on them in big red letters.

  “Thanks,” I said, turning to go.

  “Wait, Master Cedric!” the messenger said. “There’s this box an’ all.” He untied a long, polished wooden box from his saddle.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Search me,” said the messenger. “Posh box, though, innit?”

  I piled the scrolls on top of the box and staggered back to the stables, where my master and I had been preparing to ride off on a tour of his lands. Sir Percy said it was important for a knight to show his face to the locals every now and then. But I reckon he just liked the excuse to show off his best armour. Especially after I’d spent most of the morning polishing it.

  “Letters for you, Sir Percy!” I said. “Plus this box.”

  “Excellent!” said Sir Percy. He carefully picked out the fan mail and then brushed all the bills on to the ground with a majestic sweep of his arm. “I shall – er – deal with those later,” he said airily.

  I watched as Sir Percy eagerly undid the catch on the box. Was it a new sword? Unlikely. The last thing Sir Percy ever spent money on – when he had any – was weapons.

  He opened the lid to reveal something long, white and fluffy.

  “Look, Cedric!” beamed Sir Percy, taking it out. “It’s my new plume! Magnificent, is it not?”

  “A plume, Sir Percy?” I said. “You mean those are – feathers?”

  “Indeed!” said Sir Percy. “They are from a giant bird called an ostrich. Terribly rare beast, you know. A sort of cross between a chicken and a giraffe.”

  While Sir Percy was admiring his plume I spotted a sheet of parchment in the bottom of the box. At the top of the sheet it said Pierre de Pompom’s Prime Plumes. Underneath were the words FOR IMMEDIATE PAYMENT next to a very large number.

  “How fortunate that this should arrive just before our little tour, eh, Cedric?” Sir Percy plucked the plume out of his helmet and fitted the new one. “There.” He handed me the old plume. “Kindly return this to my collection.”

  “Yes, Sir Percy.”

  As I headed back across the courtyard I bumped into Patchcoat the jester coming out of the castle.

  “Morning, Ced!” he chirped. “Where’s Sir Percy off to then? And why is he wearing an extra-large feather duster on his head?”

  I explained about the new plume.

  “Ostrich?” said Patchcoat. “Blimey. I bet that cost a bit.”

  When I told him about the bill, Patchcoat whistled in amazement.

  “Phew!” he gasped. “For that price I reckon they should’ve chucked in the whole ostrich! Well, I dunno how Sir Percy’s going to pay for it. Margaret’s already moaning about how little he gives her for all the food.”

  Mouldybun Margaret is the castle cook. And possibly the worst cook in the kingdom, too, though no one would dare to tell her that.

  “Anyway,” said Patchcoat, “I’d better be off. I’m going for a tinkle.”

  “Thanks for sharing,” I said.

  “Not that kind of tinkle,” chuckled Patchcoat. “I’ve lost a bell off my cap. I’m nipping to the village for a new one. See ya later, Ced. Have a good tour!”

  We set off along the road to the village, Sir Percy looking rather splendid in his freshly polished armour on the back of Prancelot, his haughty horse. I trotted behind him on Gristle the mule.

  “Cedric, this tour will be excellent training for when you yourself are a knight,” Sir Percy said.

  Sir Percy is always promising to teach me real knight stuff but somehow never gets round to it. Riding past a few peasants didn’t sound much like knight training. But at least it got me out of chores for a few hours.

  A bunch of peasant women on their way to market turned to stare at us as we passed.

  “Ooh, look!” cried one. “There goes Sir Percy the Proud!”

  “’E’s well famous, yer know,” said another.

  It’s true, my master is very famous. Mainly because of his best-selling book, The Song of Percy, which is full of all his amazingly brave and dangerous deeds. Like when he single-handedly banished all the dragons in the kingdom to a deep cave in the Mountains of Myrk, wherever that is.

  Now, a squire should never be rude about his master. So let’s just say that a lot of The Song of Percy might be a bit, well, unreliable. You see, if Sir Percy has to do anything brave or dangerous he usually gets me to do it for him. Especially if it involves his arch-enemy, Sir Roland the Rotten.

  Still, as Sir Percy nodded and smiled at the peasant women he certainly looked the part of the bold and daring knight.

  “Ha, Cedric!” he chortled. “If you ever get to be a famous knight such as myself you’ll be fending off whole legions of ladies!”

  “Um, yes, Sir Percy,” I said, feeling my face go red.

  Sir Percy grinned. “Blushing at the thought of all those lady admirers,” he said. “Oh, to be so young and innocent! But let me give you a word of advice, Cedric. Ladies are wonderful creatures, of course, but they’re highly mysterious, too. Their brains work in peculiar ways, you see.”

  “Really, Sir Percy?” I said.

  “Indeed,” Sir Percy went on. “I suppose that’s why damsels get themselves into distress. But fortunately, there are gallant knights such as myself to rescue them!”

  “Yes, Sir Percy.”

  As we rode on I wondered how long Sir Percy’s “tour” was going to last. He was bound to get bored sooner or later. Probably when there was no one else around to show off his new plume to.

  I was just thinking that we hadn’t met anyone for a while, when a tall young woman in expensive-looking clothes suddenly stepped out of the bushes ahead of us. Or rather, she tried to. Something held her back. She began to struggle. Then she cried out. I think it was something about her dress, but I couldn’t quite catch what she said over the sound of hooves.

  “Aha, Cedric, a damsel!” said Sir Percy. “And did you hear that? She just said she’s in distress!”

  “Are you sure, Sir Percy?” I said. “It sounded more like—”

  But Sir Percy cut me off. “Cedric, now you’ll see some real knighting skills in action. Watch and learn!”

  Sir Percy galloped on ahead. The young woman was still struggling to get out of the bushes as he reached her.

/>   “Fear not, sweet damsel!” cried Sir Percy. “Assistance is at hand!”

  “Oh good,” said the young woman. “You can help me to— Hey! What the—?”

  Before she could say another word, Sir Percy leaned out of the saddle and grabbed her round the waist. I think he was trying to hoist her up on to Prancelot in one swift, elegant move. But it didn’t quite work out that way. For a start, the young woman still seemed to be caught on something. Then she began kicking and wriggling. And saying some VERY rude words.

  “Fear not, sweet damsel!” said Sir Percy again. “I shall save you!”

  He tugged and tugged until— RRRIP!

  With a shriek the woman shot skywards. She landed in Sir Percy’s arms, her feet pointing up in the air and her head dangling near one of his stirrups.

  “Eeek!” she screeched from somewhere inside a tangled mass of petticoats. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Saving you, sweet damsel!” said Sir Percy. “You are in distress!”

  “You can say that again,” snapped the young woman. “Put me down at once!” She pounded Sir Percy’s armour with her fists. “Help! Help! I’m being kidnapped! Help!”

  “Do be careful, sweet damsel!” cried Sir Percy in alarm. “You’ll unbalance— AAAAAARRGH!”

  Sir Percy lurched sideways to dodge a well-aimed kick from a pointy-toed shoe. Unfortunately he lurched a bit too far. With a loud wail he tumbled off Prancelot into the bushes – taking the young woman with him.

  “Ooof!”

  “Ouch!”

  I leaped from my saddle.

  “Gosh!” I said, pulling the young woman free. “Are you all right, miss?”

  “All right, boy?” she yelled. “I’ve just been seized by a raving lunatic and dumped upside down in a bramble bush. Of course I’m not all right!”

  Sir Percy struggled to his feet. “But sweet damsel—” he began.

  “Oh, stop calling me that, you tin-covered twit!” she raged. “My dress is torn to shreds! At least you’re wearing armour.”

  Sir Percy did look pretty unscathed. Except, alas, for his expensive new plume. The ostrich feathers were dangling down to his waist, all crumpled and bedraggled.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, you metallic moron!” fumed the young woman. “I demand an explanation!”

  Sir Percy stood frozen to the spot with his mouth open. But at last he managed to speak. “Well, sweet – er – dear lady,” he gabbled. “I – I – that is to say, um – um – my squire here saw you struggling in the bushes. I – er – I mean he distinctly heard you crying out that you were in distress. Isn’t that right, Cedric?”

  “Oh – er – yes,” I said. You definitely owe me one, Sir Percy! I thought.

  “You see, my lady?” he continued. “And of course the moment he told me that, I rode to your aid at once like the dutiful knight that I am!”

  “You pair of dunderbrains!” she cried. “I didn’t say anything about being in distress. I said, ‘I wish I hadn’t come out in this dress.’ I was cross because I’d caught it on the brambles. I thought you were coming to help me pull it free. But now you’ve totally ruined it, Sir – Sir—”

  “Er – Patrick,” said Sir Percy. “My dear lady, you have been the victim of a most unfortunate error. I do hope you will accept—”

  “The money for a new dress?” she said.

  “Er – my squire’s apologies,” said Sir Percy.

  I bowed and looked suitably sheepish. “Sorry, miss,” I said.

  “My lady,” said Sir Percy. “Now that’s all cleared up I trust you will allow me to escort you home.”

  “Home?” said the young woman. “Not likely. My home is many miles away and I don’t think I could put up with you for that long. However, you can escort me back to where I’m staying tonight. It’s a horrid little inn down the road. The Bear’s Bellybutton or something.”

  “Oh, you mean the Boar’s Bottom?” I piped up.

  “That’s the one,” she said with a shudder. “The whole place positively reeks of peasant. That’s why I nipped out in the first place. For a bit of fresh air.”

  Sir Percy put his foot in one of Prancelot’s stirrups. But the young woman stood in his way.

  “What are you doing?” she said. “Surely you don’t think I’m going to walk? I shall ride your horse, Sir Patrick.”

  “But – but – what about me?” said Sir Percy.

  “Well, I’m sure your squire won’t mind giving up his mount for his master.”

  “But – but – my lady!” spluttered Sir Percy. “I can’t ride a mule.”

  “Really?” said the young woman. “I’m sure it’s just the same as riding a horse.”

  I tried not to smile.

  “No, I mean – it’s – it’s terribly undignified,” said Sir Percy.

  “Suit yourself,” said the young woman. “You’ll just have to run alongside me. I hope you can keep up!” She skilfully swung herself up on to Prancelot, who snorted in protest. “And I’ll have no moaning from you, you old nag. Giddy up!”

  Prancelot reluctantly started to trot away. Sir Percy stood there, not sure what to do.

  The woman swung round in the saddle. “Come along, Sir Patrick,” she barked.

  “Er – at once, my lady!” he replied. “Cedric, help me up.”

  Gristle had no stirrups so I gave Sir Percy a leg-up into the saddle. The mule brayed grumpily at the extra weight.

  “A knight on a mule! Oh, the humiliation!” muttered Sir Percy, grabbing the reins. “I only hope no one sees me. Thank goodness the inn isn’t far. Now gee up, or whatever it is one says to mules.”

  Gristle’s idea of geeing up was to bray crossly and kick out his hind legs – nearly tipping off Sir Percy in the process. Then he started to walk very slowly. Sir Percy tried his best to look noble and dignified. Which wasn’t easy with a tattered plume flopping about his shoulders.

  I watched until Sir Percy disappeared round the bend in the road. A couple of minutes later, a laughing crowd of peasants came past. It didn’t take long to find out what was so funny.

  “Fancy seein’ Sir Percy on a mule!” said one.

  “Arrr!” cackled another. “And what was that on ’is ’ead? Looked like a bunch o’ dead chickens!”

  The crowd roared with laughter as they went off down the road. Then I spotted someone else coming round the corner, whistling. It was Patchcoat.

  “Wotcher, Ced!” he called. “What’s going on? I was just leaving the shop with my new bell and saw Sir Percy outside the Boar’s Bottom. This tall posh lady was giving him a right old earful.”

  I told Patchcoat what had happened.

  “What a hoot!” he chortled. “Anyhow, talking of posh ladies, take a look at this poster. It was stuck on a tree near the inn.”

  He took out a scroll of parchment from his jerkin and unrolled it.

  “Isn’t Princess Astra-Fer-whatsit from the kingdom next door?” I asked. “She’s got a holiday castle not far from here. I think my dad went there once to fix a leaky roof.”

  “That’s right,” said Patchcoat. “The castle’s on an island next to the town of Ladyburg, a few hours’ ride from here. I went to a joke contest there once – The Ladyburg Jest Fest. It was a right hoot.” He sighed. “Didn’t win, mind.”

  “Look, there’s a mistake in the poster,” I said. “Shouldn’t that be Norman Castle?”

  Patchcoat shook his head. “Oh no, Ced. There’s no mistake,” he said. “Apparently it’s called Noman Castle because no man is allowed to set foot in it.”

  “Gosh, Saturday’s tomorrow!” I said. “Anyway, I don’t know if Sir Percy even wants to get married. What makes you think he’d be interested?”

  “Interested in what, dear boy?” said a voice.

  We looked up. It was Sir Percy. He was back on Prancelot and leading Gristle by the reins.

  I showed him the poster.

  “Pah!” huffed Sir Percy. “I’ve had quite enough of de
aling with ladies for one day, thank you very much. The last thing I want to do is marry some bossy princess. Come along, Cedric. I’m going back to Castle Bombast for a lie-down.”

  With that he began to ride on.

  “Oh well, never mind,” sighed Patchcoat, turning to me. “Sir Percy’s right. She probably is a bit bossy. Fabulously rich princesses often are.”

  Sir Percy stopped. He slowly turned in his saddle. A smile spread over his face. “On the other hand, dear boy…”

  The next morning the castle clock was striking ten as Sir Percy, Patchcoat and I all set off for Noman Castle. As usual Sir Percy rode in front while Patchcoat and I followed in the cart pulled by Gristle. We were just heading through the castle gate when Mouldybun Margaret came running after us.

  “Wait, Master Cedric!” she cried. “I’ve made Sir Percy a packed lunch. A lovely pie, fresh out the oven!” She handed me a cloth bundle tied up with string. It was warm and steaming and stank like a cross between boiled cabbage and a blocked drain. With a sort of fishy whiff thrown in.

  “Thanks, Margaret,” I said. “What is it? It smells – um – interesting.”

  “It’s one of me noo budget recipes,” said Margaret proudly. “Snake and kidney pie. I had to change it a bit, mind. The butcher swore them kidneys was only a week old, but it turns out they was off.”

  “No way,” said Patchcoat, pretending to sound surprised.

  “Aye,” said Margaret, giving him a beady stare. “So I chucked in a few old fish heads to disguise the smell. Took me ages to find ’em. They was right at the bottom of the slop bucket.”

  “Er, thanks, Margaret,” I said queasily. I stuffed the bundle into my saddlebag.

  “Yum!” said Patchcoat, as we rode on. “Lucky Sir Percy!”

  A couple of hours later we were riding up a long, wooded hill in a part of the country I didn’t know.