Knight Quest (Time Hunters, Book 2) (3 page)

Tom thought for a moment. “The riddle makes it sound like we need to become one of King Arthur's knights to find the amulet.”

Isis raised an eyebrow. “It also mentions knaves.
Be you honourable knight or knave
. Maybe we could become one of those instead?”

“A knave is an old-fashioned word for an unkind, dishonest person,” Tom explained, frowning.

“Well, that's no good. We'll just have to become knights then,” Isis said decisively.

But that seemed impossible to Tom, when he remembered stories about the Knights of the Round Table's heroic deeds. How could two kids possibly become knights?

“The riddle also mentions dragons,” said Isis. “I've always wanted to see a real, live dragon. Do you think we'll be battling against them?” she asked.

Tom scuffed the ground with his foot. “That's the bit I don't understand,” he aid. “Everybody knows dragons weren't real.”

Isis giggled. “Of course they were real. I saw dragons painted on the walls back in Egypt. How could the scribes have painted them if they hadn't seen them? Duh!”

Tom was suddenly distracted by the thunder of hooves behind them. A boy riding a large chestnut horse galloped into view. He was carrying a long, pointed stick in one hand, like a lance. As the boy drew alongside them, the stick slipped and poked Isis on the arm.

“OUCH!” she shrieked and grabbed at her shoulder. Shaking her fist, Isis started to run after the boy. “Hey, you! How DARE you poke me! Come back here at once!”

The boy reined in his horse and sprangout of the saddle. He was dressed in tight, grotty trousers and a mud-streaked brown tunic that looked like it had been made from a sack. There was a rope tied round his waist. Tom thought he smelled like Mum's compost heap.

“Oh, my word! I'm so, so sorry!” the boy said, bowing. “Did I catch you with my stick? Oh, my lady, a thousand apologies.” He turned to Tom and offered his hand. “I'm Alymere,” he said. “Al for short.”

Tom looked warily at Al's filthy hand but shook it anyway.

“I'm Tom. This is Isis and her cat, Cleo,” he explained. “We're travellers. We're just passing through. Could you tell us where we are?”

“Oh, well, you're on the farm where I work,” Al said, treating them to a welcoming smile. His teeth may have been rotten, but he looked very friendly. “I'm a pig-boy.”

Isis pointed at Al's stick. “And does your job involve poking strangers with pointy sticks? Surely you didn't mistake me for a pig,” she said stroppily.

Al blushed. “Sorry again, my beautiful lady,” he said. “You look nothing like a pig.”

Isis smiled and patted her hair. “Well, then, no harm done.”

“But I was practising my knightly skills, see?” explained Al. He looked down at his muddy boots. “One day, I'm going to be one of King Arthur's knights.”

“King Arthur?” Tom gasped.

Al grinned again. “The one and only. He's coming to the village today.”

Tom felt his heart beat faster as he remembered the words of the riddle. He looked over at Isis and winked.

“
The king's the man
, eh?” he said.

Isis nodded eagerly. “Yes! Tell us more! It sounds dreadfully exciting.”

Al mounted his horse and turned to the three travellers. “You lot must be thirsty. Why don't you come to my hut for some mead and I'll tell you all about it.”

Al's hut was shabby, with a patchy, thatched roof and a smouldering fire in the corner. Tom and Isis sat on the floor and listened to Al's grand plan.

“I've been practising to be a knight for years,” the pig-boy explained, reclining on his bed of straw. “Then I heard King Arthur was visiting today. It's my big chance! I borrowed that horse there from my cousin, Philbert. He's a lovely beast, he is. The horse… not Philbert!”

Tom looked out at the plump horse that was busy munching grass outside.
He doesn't look like he can gallop very fast
, Tom thought. “He looks… er… solid,” he said, nodding.

Al swigged from his flagon of mead. “Aye. He's called Acorn. I gave him that name because I've been trying this trick where I pick up things from the ground while we're riding.” Al grinned. “At first it was big stuff like this flagon here, or a turnip. Now I can pick up a single acorn when we're galloping at full speed.”

His words were drowned out by a terrible din coming from outside. A herd of squealing pigs stampeded past the hut.

“Oh no!” Al wailed. “My pigs must have escaped from the field.”

Tom jumped to his feet and followed Al outside. “Don't worry,” he shouted above the noise. “We'll help you catch them, won't we, Isis?”

Isis looked uncertainly at the fat, pink animals. “We will?”

“Let's see who can catch the most!” Tom challenged.

“You're on!” she said.

When they had rounded up all the pigs, Isis was plastered head to toe in mud. “Look at the state of me!” she wailed. Then she grinned at Tom. “At least I rounded up more pigs than you did!”

Al scratched his head. “Stumped if I know how they got out,” he said.

Just then, a young man with neatly brushed, long hair strolled past. He tossed a rich blue velvet cloak over his shoulder with a flourish, and kicked Cleo out of the way with a fine leather boot as he stopped just outside Al's hut and snapped his fingers.

“Hey, pig-boy!” he called. “Keep your animals under control in future. They've almost ruined my father's garden.”

Wringing his hands, Al said, “I'm so sorry, sir. I have no idea how they escaped.”

“I opened the gate to get to my horse,” the man said in a haughty voice. “My family owns this field, after all. It's not my fault if your pigs run all over the place.”

“Sorry, sir. Yes, sir,” Al mumbled.

The rude young man looked round the hut, disdain on his face. He brushed a cobweb off his shoulder and said, “Ugh. I hate spiders. This place is only fit for a pig… or a pig-boy!” With a shudder, he turned on his heel and stomped off.

“Who was
that
?” Tom asked.

“Percival, the squire's son,” Al said.

“Why were you so nice to him?” Isis asked, picking up Cleo and giving her a cuddle. “He was vile!”

Al sighed and rolled his eyes. “I know. But if I don't keep in the squire's good books, I could lose my job.” He poked glumly at a hole in his boot. “My dreams don't count for anything in this village. Folks like Percival and his father… as far as they're concerned, I'm just the lowest of the low.”

“Well, they can all go and stick their heads in a pile of pig poo, because you're going to be a knight,” Isis said, wiping her dirty hands on Tom. “And we're going to help you.”

Tom nodded. “Yeah. Today's your lucky day,” he said. “Let's go and meet King Arthur!”

“I can't believe we're going to meet the real King Arthur,” Tom said. “I mean,
really
real!” He punched the air with excitement.

As they followed Al and Acorn through a tunnel of lush, green trees, Tom drank in the mossy woodland smell. In his mind's eye, he was already lost in his own medieval adventure, riding through the forest with King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

“What do you mean,
really
real?” Isis said, walking carefully with the hem of her cloak gathered in her hands.

“Well, there are lots of stories about him,” Tom said. “But there's nothing to prove he ever actually existed.”

“The Egyptians didn't need to make up kings to tell good stories,” Isis said, tripping on a loose rock. She tutted loudly. “Our roads were better too.”

Presently, the dense woodland came to an end. Tom could see small thatched huts dotted about on the edges of a grassy clearing.

Al turned round, flashing them his crooked smile. “We're here.” He pointed to a large building that was open on all sides.

“This is the meeting place.”

“
Make way!
”

Tom leaped to one side as two burly villagers stumbled past him. They were carrying a heavy-looking table and pushing through the gathering crowd.

“I want to sit there,” Isis said, pointing to a large, beautifully carved chair at the very front.

“Listen, the people here have come to see the king, not a ten-year-old girl,” Tom said. “You'll have to stand at the back with the rest of us lowly mortals.” He was getting jostled on all sides by villagers trying to claim the best spot.

“Out of the way, pig-boy!” a man in a fine linen tunic with a velvet cloak said to Al. He pushed Al aside so roughly that the boy bumped into another wealthy-looking villager.

“Oi! Pig-boy! You stink,” the second man said, holding his nose.

Tom saw Al gulp and bow. “So sorry, sir. I did take a bath last week.”

Stepping away from the man, Al accidentally stepped on Percival's shiny boots.

“You clumsy oaf,” Percival hissed, glaring. “You're not even fit to clean my boots, pig-boy.”

“Yeah, why did
you
even bother coming?” the second man said, sneering at Al. “Haven't you got pigs to tend?”

“Here! You leave young Alymere be!” an old woman shouted. She slammed the basket full of clothes that she was holding on to the ground.

The mean man looked down his nose at the woman. “I don't need a lesson in manners from a washerwoman, thank you
very
much,” he said.

Tom pulled Isis aside. “These villagers are a pretty nasty bunch, aren't they?” he said.

Isis nodded. “I know. I hate to see people looking down their noses at the likes of Al, just because he's poor,” she said.

“Oh, really?” Tom asked, chuckling. “And
you're
not a bit snooty, are you?”

“
Me?
” Isis squeaked. “I'm not like
them
!” Her eyes widened. “Am I?”

“Ooh, just a teensy bit!” Tom said.

Isis blushed and looked at her feet. “It's a princess thing,” she muttered. “We're used to getting our own way. I don't mean to be nasty…”