Damsel Disaster! (3 page)

More mutterings among the crowd were interrupted by a third resounding
blast and the most terrifying roar yet.

“That does it,” said chamber-pot man in alarm. “I’m not ending up a dragon’s cooked breakfast, princess or no princess!”

“Nor me neither,” said holey bucket man shakily. “If I gets eaten by a dragon me mum’ll kill me! I’m off!”

They hurried past us up the road.

“Wait for me!” said the man in the sieve.

News of the dragon spread along the queue like wildfire (or maybe that should be dragonfire). Before long the crowd was fleeing like a flock of frightened chickens.

Patchcoat and I collapsed in fits of giggles as another explosion from the trees sent the last stragglers scuttling up the road.

“Thanks for helping me out there,” grinned Patchcoat. “For a second I thought they weren’t going to buy it.”

“No probs,” I said. “What gave you the genius idea about the dragon?”

“It’s all down to Sir Percy, really. I once made the mistake of eating one of Margaret’s budget pies. I recognized
the signs. Once he dashed off into the woods it was just a question of timing.”

There was a clanking sound as Sir Percy staggered from the trees, fiddling with the straps of his thigh armour.

“That’s better,” he said. “Cedric, give me a hand, will you? Can’t seem to get these wretched bits back on.”

It wasn’t really surprising, seeing as he’d got the armour upside down.

“Excellent!” said Sir Percy, as I helped him with the straps. “I see the queue has disappeared.”

“Yes, Sir Percy,” I said. “It was brilliant! You see, Patchcoat—”

“Brilliant?” he interrupted. “I’m sure
it was, dear boy. I only wish I had seen the faces of those silly peasants when they finally realized that they didn’t stand a chance against a
genuine
knight.”

“Er, well—” I began. But Sir Percy didn’t seem to be listening.

“Onward, Cedric, onward!” he declared, remounting Prancelot. “With no other suitors in sight the princess’s hand is as good as mine!”

But at that very moment we heard the sound of hooves. We turned to see two figures galloping up the road towards us. Sir Percy didn’t exactly look pleased when he realized that it was none other than his friend Sir Spencer the Splendid
and his squire, Algernon.

“Whoa! Hey there, Perce!” called Sir Spencer, his blue-and-gold velvet cloak billowing out behind him. He pulled up alongside us and took off his helmet. “Hope I’m not too late for the princess. Got a bit held up by a whole crowd of peasants going the other way. They kept jabbering on about dragons, didn’t they, Algie?”

“Y-yes, Sir Spencer,” said Algernon nervously. “There aren’t
really
any d-dragons are there, Sir Spencer?”

“Course not!” guffawed Sir Spencer. “Haven’t you read
The Song of Percy
? Sir Percy got rid of them all, didn’t you, Perce?”

Sir Spencer winked at Sir Percy and clapped him on the back so heartily that his visor clanked shut. “So, Perce, you’re after this princess, too, eh?”

“Well, yes,” grumbled Sir Percy, lifting his visor again. “As a matter of fact I am.”

The clock on the town church struck half past eleven.

“Well, we’d better get this show on the
road then, hadn’t we?” said Sir Spencer. “We’ve got half an hour to get across to that castle. And then we shall just have to see who the princess chooses.”

He shook back his long, golden locks.

“Ooh, she’s bound to choose
you
, Sir Spencer,” gushed Algernon.

Sir Spencer flashed his almost-full set of teeth. “Why thank you, Algie,” he said. “But I mustn’t be unfair to my pal Percy here. Though of course if he
does
lose, at least he’s brought his jester to cheer him up, eh, Perce?”

“Ha ha ha!” said Sir Percy. “
Most
amusing, Spence!” He was grinning so widely it looked like his face would crack.

Chapter Four

Potion Commotion

“Bother!” whispered Sir Percy, as we all rode through the town gates together. “Why did Spencer have to show up? I’ll have to think of some new way of winning the princess.”

“But Sir Percy,” I said. “What about your book?”

“Ah, um – yes – well,” said Sir Percy.
He seemed slightly embarrassed as he reached into his gauntlet and pulled out
The Song of Percy
. Or rather what was left of it, which was basically just the front and back covers.

“Gosh!” I exclaimed. “What’s happened to all the pages? It looks like someone’s torn them out!”

“Indeed, dear boy, indeed,” he said with a sigh. “Unfortunately when I was recently – er – called into the woods for – um – an urgent
sitting
, I fear I had no suitable
materials
with which to – um – bring my, ahem,
business
to – um – to a proper
conclusion
. First of all I was obliged to use my pants. But they weren’t quite – erm
– up to the job. That’s when I remembered my book.”

He looked sadly at the cover.

“Ah,” I said. “Oh dear.” I didn’t ask him where he’d left his pants.

“Hey, Perce,” called Sir Spencer. “Any idea how we get to that island?”

“Er, no,” said Sir Percy.

“I think the jetty is this way,” said Patchcoat, pointing down a street to our left. “We should be able to get a boat from there.”

“Ah yes, I was forgetting you’ve been here before,” said Sir Percy. “Local knowledge, eh?”

“Not really,” smiled Patchcoat. “I just
read the sign.”

The sign read “Jetty Lane”.

At that moment there was a loud BANG from a rickety old house just in front of us. Our animals whinnied in alarm and Algernon squealed in terror. A few seconds later, the door of the house burst open and a man in a crumpled pointed hat came running out in a big smelly cloud of yellow smoke. He was coughing and spluttering and flapping his arms wildly.

“Good grief, man!” cried Sir Percy. “You frightened the living daylights out of us. What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“Apologies, apologies!” wheezed the man. “Nothing to be alarmed about, gentlemen! I think I added a bit too much sulphur. I shall have to tweak the formula yet again. Right. Back to work for me. Good day, gentlemen!” With that he scuttled back into his house.

“What a funny chap,” I said. “And what was all that about a formula?”

“I think he’s an alchemist,” said Patchcoat. “It’s a sort of inventor. They’re always making weird potions and mucking about with chemicals.”

“Really? Weird potions, eh?” said Sir Percy. He narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin. “Hmm… I wonder,” he muttered. Then suddenly he leaped down from Prancelot and strode towards the alchemist’s door.

“Hey, Perce, where are you going?” said Sir Spencer. “We don’t want to be late for the princess!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a tick!” Sir Percy said cheerfully. “I just want to see if this alchemist fellow has – er – any potions for – for tummy trouble.”

A few minutes later Sir Percy came back out of the house carrying two small bottles of liquid. He remounted
Prancelot, stuffed one bottle in his saddlebag and uncorked the other.

“No time like the present,” he said, swigging the contents in one gulp. He pulled a face. “Ugh! Tastes ghastly. Must be those dried toads’ eyes that chap put in. But he said my tummy should be right as rain in an hour or two.”

As we headed off down Jetty Lane, I turned to Patchcoat. “I suppose that’s why the alchemist gave him two bottles,” I said. “Just in case one isn’t enough.”

“Maybe,” said Patchcoat. “Except that the potion he just drank was green. The other stuff was
red
. I wonder what Sir Percy’s up to.”

We came to the shore of the lake and saw three people standing next to a large rowing boat. One was a peasant wearing a basket on his head. The other two were a knight and his squire on horseback. They looked all too familiar.

Sir Percy groaned. My heart sank.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn yer!” the
peasant was saying. “There be dragons! ’Undreds of ’em! That there princess feeds ’em knights fer breakfast!”

“Blithering broadswords!” roared the knight. “Dragons don’t exist, you pea-brained peasant. And even if they did, they’d be too terrified to come anywhere near
ME
!”

In front of us stood the nastiest knight in the kingdom, Sir Roland the Rotten, and his sneaky squire, Walter Warthog.

“Ah, good morning, Sir Roland,” said Sir Percy. “How
delightful
to see you here.”

“Well, well, well,” sneered Walter, as we rode up to the jetty. “If it isn’t peasant-features Fatbottom himself.”

Walter always likes to remind me that my mum and dad aren’t posh like his.

“Hello,
Wartface
,” I said.

Sir Roland glared at Sir Percy and Sir Spencer. “What the blazes are
you
two doing here?” he growled.

Before the other knights could answer, the town clock struck midday. A pair of identical twin sisters emerged from a little
cottage next to the jetty. They rolled up their sleeves to reveal arms like enormous hams.

“You gents wanting a boat to the castle?” asked one.

“Why, yes,” said Sir Percy.

“Right then, off yer ’orses!” said her sister. “Stables is through there.”

Walter, Algernon and I tied up the animals, then we accompanied our masters on to the boat. Sir Roland barged ahead to grab the seat at the bow. Algernon would probably have fallen overboard if Sir Spencer hadn’t grabbed him by the leg at the last moment.

“Oi! Stop that!” bellowed one of the sisters as the ferry wobbled alarmingly.
“You’ll tip us all out!”

“Oh dear, Sir Spencer,” whined Algernon. “I’m feeling a bit seasick.”

The sisters sat down and grabbed a huge oar each. Then, without the slightest effort, they began to row us across the lake.

As we got closer to the island the castle rose up before us. Waiting on the opposite jetty stood a richly dressed aristocratic lady. She looked rather stern. She was also about as old and wrinkly as my granny.

I saw the three knights exchange glances.

“Funny,” said Patchcoat. “I’d heard the princess was a lot younger.”

“Mind you, it doesn’t actually
mention
her age on the poster, does it?” I said.

“Come, come now, Cedric,” said Sir Percy. “A true knight does not judge a lady by her age. He prefers nobler qualities such as intelligence and wit and – and…”

A coffer full of cash
, I thought.

There was a slight bump as the sisters brought us in to the jetty.

“Right, boys, out you get!” they hollered.

The knights stepped out of the ferry first. They approached the aristocratic lady and removed their helmets.

Sir Percy made a very elaborate bow. “Your Royal Highness,” he said. “Sir Percy the Proud, at your service!”

The lady gave a start of surprise.

“What?” she said. “I’m not the princess, you fool! Her Royal Highness is inside the castle. I am the Countess Sendham-Packing. But you may address me as High Steward.”

“Hi, Stewart!” beamed Sir Spencer. “Cool name for a lady!”

The countess glared at him so fiercely that he gave a little squeak.

“You hare-brained clothes-horse!” she hissed. “I am the
High Steward
of Noman Castle. I look after Her Royal Highness and make sure everything runs smoothly. It is also my job to keep out revolting peasants and –” she looked at the three knights in turn – “
other
undesirables. Now, you’d better follow me and prepare yourselves.”

“To meet the princess?” said Sir Roland. “About bloomin’ time!”

“What?” snapped the High Steward. “Don’t be ridiculous. You read the poster. Before you meet Her Royal Highness you will all be put to the test. She is only interested in knights who are
intelligent
and
brave
.”

“And
handsome
?” piped up Sir Spencer feebly. The High Steward shot him a look that could pierce a hole in armour.

“
Intelligent
and
brave
,” the High Steward repeated. “Of course it’s easy for someone to
say
they’re brave and intelligent, isn’t it? But for all we know they might just be making it up.”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but I could have sworn that for a split second the High Steward glanced at Sir Percy. He smiled rather feebly.

“Let us waste no more time,” the High Steward went on. “Knights, follow me and prepare to face your challenge!”