Rotten Luck!

Chapter 1

Birthday Bash

FLASH! RUMBLE! CRRR-ASH!

The thunderclap was so startling that Sir Percy jumped and I snapped off the button I was doing up on his evening tunic. Patchcoat the jester dropped all his juggling balls. (He was practising a new trick that seemed to involve throwing the balls into the air and not catching them.)

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

We all jumped again. It took us a moment to realize that it wasn’t the storm this time. Someone was knocking at the door of our cramped and smelly guest chamber. The knock came again and the door slowly opened with a creak.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, heavily built man with a long scar on his cheek and a nose that looked like he’d had an argument with a battering ram.

“The banquet’s about to be served,” he scowled. “’Urry up.” He turned and lumbered back out into the corridor, slamming the door behind him. We heard him bashing on the doors of the other guest chambers as he went.

“Charming chap, that deputy sheriff, isn’t he?” said Patchcoat.

We had encountered him once before. He’d greeted us when we arrived that afternoon in the pouring rain. Well, I say “greeted” but he’d just pointed at the stairs and muttered, “Another lot fer the sheriff to feed? Top floor, third door along. Plenty o’ room fer the three of you. And mind yer don’t drip on the furniture.”

“I jolly well won’t let him spoil my
evening,” said Sir Percy. “I do love a royal birthday party! I wonder who else is coming? Sir Spencer I suppose. And probably Sir Roland, too. Oh well, never mind.”

Even the thought of seeing his arch-enemy, Sir Roland the Rotten, didn’t sour Sir Percy’s mood. The king had invited all his knights and nobles to celebrate his birthday with a weekend of banquets and boar hunting in the forest of Grimwood. We were staying at Fleecingham Castle, on the far side of the forest, as guests of the new sheriff of Fleecingham – Earl Crawleigh de Creepes.

Sir Percy had immediately ordered a
load of fancy new gear. New boots and tights, a green velvet tunic, complete with hat, plus a plume and a fancy gold peacock brooch to hold it in place.

I was almost as excited as my master. A weekend hunting with the king! I was bound to get a chance to do some of the proper knight stuff that Sir Percy was always forgetting to teach me. I couldn’t wait!

“Righty-ho, chaps,” Sir Percy said, once I’d stitched his button back on. “Off we go! It’s party time!”

We followed him out into the dark, chilly corridor. It was lit by a feeble candle that sputtered in the wind blowing through a large crack in the wall.

“I hope the weather isn’t this bad tomorrow,” I said to Patchcoat. “I’d hate it if the king cancelled the hunt. And I don’t think I could bear spending all day in this miserable castle!”

“Wasn’t always like this, you know,” said Patchcoat, who was practising his juggling trick as we walked along. “One of the stable lads told me it was a much
more cheerful place when the last sheriff was around. Whoops!”

“You mean the sheriff who wanted to overthrow the king?” I said, as Patchcoat stopped to pick up his balls. “The one who fled abroad before the king’s men could arrest him – Sir Edward Whatshisname?”

“Worthington,” said Patchcoat. “That’s him, Ced. Very popular guy, apparently, despite being a traitor. Nice to the staff, threw lots of parties, that sort of thing. Castle was filled with colourful paintings and tapestries. But this new sheriff is a total skinflint. No more merry parties. Flogged off all the decorations. And he sacked half the staff and cut
everyone else’s wages to pay for a load of new soldiers. The stable lad reckons he’s obsessed with catching some masked robber called the Ghost.”

I was about to ask Patchcoat more about the robber when the door of another guest room opened and out stepped Sir Spencer with his squire, Algernon. They were dressed in matching turquoise and orange satin tunics plus cloaks of green velvet with a gold trim.

“Evening, Spencer,” said Sir Percy, eyeing his friend’s outfit rather enviously. “Looking forward to the party?”

“Evening, Perce,” beamed Sir Spencer, shaking back his golden curls. “Couldn’t
miss a chance to wish His Maj a happy birthday, could we, Algie?”

Or show off your wardrobe,
I thought.

Before Algernon could answer, another door opened. This time it was the beefy, bearded figure of Sir Roland, along with his sneaky squire, Walter Warthog.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” said Sir Roland. “I might have known you two prancing peacocks wouldn’t miss a free banquet, eh, Walter? Hur-hur-hur!”

“And a jolly good evening to you, too, Roland,” said Sir Percy. “At least
we’ve
made an effort with our clothes. Is that an
egg stain
on your tunic, by any chance?”

“Why, you—” Sir Roland growled.

“N-now, no arguing, chaps,” said Sir Spencer hastily, as we reached the stairs down to the great hall. “It wouldn’t do to arrive at the king’s birthday dinner making a scene, would it?”

Sir Roland glared at Sir Percy, but held his tongue.

“I say!” declared Sir Spencer suddenly. “Bagsy I sit next to the king!”

“Oh
yes
, Sir Spencer,” simpered Algernon. “He’ll definitely want the most
elegant
knight sitting next to him.”

“Rubbish!” said Walter. “The king’ll want the most
fearless
knight. And that’s
my
master!”

“Well,
I
think it ought to be
me
,” said Sir Percy airily. “After all,
who
defeated Sir Roland in the king’s tournament?”

Actually that would be
me, I thought.

The three knights stopped in their tracks. For a moment they just stood there, eyeing one another. And then, all of a sudden, they bolted.

“Me first, losers!” hollered Sir Roland.

“No, me!”

“Me!”

As the three knights charged down the stairs, Walter shoved past me and Patchcoat.

“Outta my way, Fatbottom!” he yelled. “Go on, Sir Roland, you can do it!”

“Watch out!” cried Patchcoat. His juggling balls flew out of his hands, and bounced down the stairs.

It all happened in an instant.

Sir Spencer slipped on a ball, squealed and grabbed Sir Percy. My master lost his balance, sending the two of them tumbling head first.

“AARGH!”

“WAAH!”

“I win!” Sir Roland cackled gleefully, as he reached for the handle of the door. “I’m going to sit next to the king! Nah-nah-nee-nah-n-
OOF
!”

Sir Spencer and Sir Percy slammed into Sir Roland, and the three of them barrelled through the door and rolled to a halt in a heap of tangled limbs.

“You idiots!” roared Sir Roland. “You pair of total—”

“Now, look here,” came the muffled voice of my master. “That was your silly squire’s fault, Roland. If he hadn’t—”

“I’ve ripped my tunic!” wailed Sir Spencer.

But before the three knights could start squabbling and bickering again, a voice said, “Ahem!”

Standing over them, looking VERY cross, were King Fredbert and Queen Malicia. And that wasn’t all. Seated at a long banqueting table was just about every lord, lady and knight for miles around.