Feast Fight! (8 page)

“Yes?” I said.

“Evenin’,” said the man. “My name is Master Silas Stitchett.” I was sure I’d come across that name before. “Sir Percy’s new tailor.”

“I didn’t even know Sir Percy
had
a new tailor,” I said. Most of the local tailors refused to work for him because they never got paid.

“I haven’t been in the village long,” said Master Stitchett. He patted his bundle. “This is Sir Percy’s new velvet evening outfit. He came an’ ordered it yesterday and was supposed to collect it this morning. But he never showed up.”

So that was Sir Percy’s “important
business” in the village! He was making sure he had some posh new clothes – while I did all the hard work.

“What a palaver!” Master Stitchett went on. “I’ve worked me fingers to the bone. First he comes along yesterday morning and pays me to make him a green and orange tunic. Wants it by tonight, he says, for some posh do. Then he comes back at lunchtime and changes his mind. Can I make him a gold and purple tunic instead? I says to him, gold and purple’s twice the price so you’ll have to pay double. He gets a bit stroppy, but in the end he agrees to bring me the other half of the payment this morning. And does he? No! But if he wants
this here new tunic he’ll have to cough up.”

I suddenly remembered where I’d seen Master Stitchett’s name. It was when I’d arrived at the market. And then later on, when I’d been chasing the thief. He’d disappeared into thin air close to Master Stitchett’s shop…

Something went
ker-plunk
in my head. It was the sound of a penny dropping.

“Hold on,” I said. “Exactly
how
has Sir Percy been paying you?”

“Silver plates,” said Master Stitchett. “Just like them ones you’re holding. How many you got there? Five? Why, that’s exactly what he owes me! They’ll do very nicely, thanks.” He put the bundle at my
feet and took the plates from me. I was too flabbergasted to say a word as he tucked them under his arm, nodded goodnight and set off in the moonlight back to the village.

Sir Percy
, I thought,
you might not owe the tailor any more. But you owe me. Big time. Again.

I went back to the kitchen to tell Patchcoat the whole story.

“Hear that, Margaret?” he laughed. “That so-called thief of yours was the master all along!”

“Easy mistake t’make, if you asks me,” tutted Margaret. Despite the late hour she was still up, stirring a pot of something over the fire. “What with ’im sneakin’
about all suspiciously like. Fancy sellin’ off his own silver!”

“By the way,” I said to Patchcoat. “Thanks for helping with the entertainment.”

“No probs, Ced,” smiled Patchcoat. “I reckon my jokes went down a treat with Their Majesties, don’t you? Now, anyone fancy some leftovers?”

I suddenly realized that I’d been so busy all night I’d had no time to eat anything.

“Yes please!” I said. “But I think Perkin’s Players have scoffed the lot.”

“Leftovers?” said Margaret. “Who needs leftovers when I’ve made a nice big pot of special porridge?” She plonked two bowls down in front of us.

“Er – thanks, Margaret,” I said.

“So why is it special?” asked Patchcoat, eyeing the porridge warily.

“I made it with
sugar
,” said Margaret. “Go on, taste it.”

“Sugar’s expensive,” I said. “Did you get it from the market?” I had to admit that for once the porridge didn’t
look
too bad. I hungrily swallowed a big mouthful.

“Oh no,” grinned Margaret. “I found it. Over there, behind the logs. In a sack. Must’ve forgotten we had some!”

Uh-oh.

“Um, I don’t think that was sugar, Margaret,” I said. “I think it was cur— AAAARRGHH!!!!”

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 post horn back into his belt. “Fair bit of post for Sir Percy 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 (bleurgh). But most of them 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 the manor. 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 wanted an 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 these 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.”

I returned the plume to Sir Percy’s
special plume shelf in the Great Hall. As I headed back across the courtyard to the stables, I bumped into Patchcoat the jester.

“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.”

I told him the price on 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 food.”

Mouldybun Margaret is the castle cook. And possibly the worst cook in the kingdom, too, though no one would dare 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 from my cap. I’m nipping to the village for a new one. See ya later, Ced. Have a good tour!”