Knight for a Day (3 page)

“Well, Sir Lancelot isn’t much of a reader,” the messenger said. “Doesn’t have the time, being a man of action and all. He likes a short essay. And Wiglaf of Pinwick’s was short. Plus it was on top of the pile. So that’s the one Sir Lancelot picked.”

Erica glared at Wiglaf. “This is so unfair!”

“Sir Lancelot will arrive before lunch tomorrow,” the messenger went on. “Here is the schedule he likes for his visits.”

The messenger handed a sheet of parchment to Wiglaf. Then he remounted his horse and galloped away.

Dazed, Wiglaf looked at the parchment:

Mordred snatched the schedule.

“I must plan,” he muttered as he read it. “And quickly!” He eyed the students, still gathered in the castle yard. “All right, boys!” he shouted. “Classes are canceled for the rest of the day! Report to the kitchen. On the double! Frypot will give out cleaning supplies. I want this castle scrubbed from top to bottom! I want DSA to shine like gold!”

Angus groaned. “What did I tell you?”

Wiglaf nodded. He had no love for scrubbing. But he was more worried about spending a day with Sir Lancelot. What would he and the great knight do? Well, he might amaze Sir Lancelot with Daisy. After all, a talking pig is something special. But what if Sir Lancelot wanted to joust with him? Or do some other knightly activity? Wiglaf frowned. It might be a very long day indeed.

“Move!” Mordred shouted. “Move!”

Wiglaf, Angus, and Erica began jogging toward the kitchen with the other students.

“I smell a rat!” Erica grumbled as they went. “A rat named Wiglaf!”

“Oh, come on, Eric!” Angus said. “You heard the messenger. Wiglaf’s essay was on top of the pile. That’s why Lancelot picked it.”

“Only a goosewit would call it an essay,” Erica hissed.

“I call it a big mistake,” Wiglaf said quickly. “But look at the bright side. We three are best friends. So Sir Lancelot shall spend the day with all three of us.”

“Humph!” Erica snorted. She seemed to want Sir Lancelot all to herself.

Frypot stood by the kitchen door, handing out cleaning supplies.

“Sir Lancelot will be staying in the Rose Chamber, North Tower,” Frypot said. “You’re to wash the chamber floor, Eric.” He thrust a mop at her. “And Angus? Here are some brushes and lye. Mordred asked that you personally clean Lancelot’s privy.”

“What did I tell you?” Angus said again.

“Let me see.... Wiglaf?” Frypot squinted at his list. “Oh, you’re excused from clean-up.”

Excused? Wiglaf’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Then he smiled. Maybe winning a knight for a day was not such a bad thing after all.

“L
ook!” Wiglaf cried the next day as the castle bell rang noon. He pointed down Huntsman’s Path. “A cloud of dust.”

“I see it!” Angus said.

The dust cloud grew larger. Soon Wiglaf made out the shape of a knight on a steed. Two men rode behind him in a wagon.

“It’s him,” Erica breathed. “Him!”

Wiglaf’s heart thumped with excitement as Sir Lancelot galloped into view. The visor on the knight’s helmet was down. He wore armored gloves on his hands. No part of him could be seen. Yet inside that armor, Wiglaf knew, was Sir Lancelot of the Lake.

Sir Lancelot galloped up to the waiting group. He reigned in his steed and hopped off. He pushed up his visor. And Wiglaf found himself staring into the sky-blue eyes of the world’s most perfect knight.

“Welcome!” Mordred boomed. “I am Mordred the Marvelous. I am headmaster of this fine academy for boys who dream of becoming dragon slayers, like yourself.”

Mordred turned to his students. “Let’s give Sir Lancelot a DSA welcome, boys!” he cried. With that, the students began to shout the cheer that Erica had made up:

Everyone whistled and clapped.

“Thank you,” Sir Lancelot said. “Let me present my men. Squire Knuckle.”

A yellow-haired man behind Sir Lancelot cracked his knuckles.

“And Squire Squint.” Sir Lancelot nodded toward a man with long, greasy, dark hair. He wore a patch over his left eye.

Wiglaf had never seen a squire before. But neither Knuckle nor Squint fit his idea of what a squire should look like. Squire Knuckle did not seem entirely clean. Squire Squint’s hair had surely never known a comb. The two attendants reminded Wiglaf of men he had seen somewhere before. But where? He wondered if Sir Lancelot had hired these shabby squires as some sort of good deed. Yes, he decided.
That must be it.

“And now,” said Sir Lancelot, “the contest winner must wish to meet me.”

Mordred pushed Wiglaf forward.

“I won, sir. Wiglaf of Pinwick,” Wiglaf managed. He bowed.

“Rise, Wiglaf of Pinwick!” the knight said.

Wiglaf straightened up.

“How lucky you must feel, boy,” Sir Lancelot went on, “winning me for a day.”

“Lucky is right,” Erica muttered.

The knight turned to address the group. “How many of you boys have ordered items from my catalog?” he asked.

Erica’s hand shot up. Sir Lancelot smiled. “Very nice,” he said. “You shall get a ten-percent discount at the Sir Lancelot Fair this afternoon.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Erica exclaimed.

“The rest of you boys will have a chance to buy Lancelot collectibles, too,” he added. He turned to Knuckle. “Tell the boys what we’ve brought for the Sir Lancelot Fair, Squire.”

“Tooooday,” Squire Knuckle began, “we have a cartful of brand-new items! You can buy exact copies of Sir Lancelot’s boyhood slingshot. He used it to knock out his first dragon, Snaggletooth. It comes in lead, copper, and silver. Or, for those of you with great big allowances...” Squire Knuckle grinned, “...it also comes in gold!”

“Oh!” Mordred let out a little squeal.

Again, the boys yelled and clapped.

Wiglaf clapped along with them, even though he had no allowance at all.

“And now, sir knight,” said Mordred, “let us be off to lunch. I know you shall be pleased with what Chef Frypot has created for you!”

“Chef
Frypot?” said Angus as they walked to the DSA dining hall. “Oh, puh-lease!”

“Greetings, Sir Lancelot!” said Frypot. He bowed as the great knight entered the dining hall. For once, the cook had on a clean apron.

Frypot led Sir Lancelot, the squires, Mordred, Wiglaf, Erica, and Angus to a table. They all sat down. Sir Lancelot took off his helmet. His shining black hair hung to his shoulders. He had a dimple in the middle of his perfect chin. He was very handsome.

Frypot brought Sir Lancelot’s boarburger, fries, and garlic milk shake.

“I’ll have the same,” said Squire Knuckle, cracking his knuckles.

“Me, too,” said Squire Squint. “And make sure my plate is clean.”

Frypot hurried off. A minute later he came back with the squires’ lunches.

“Here you go,” said Frypot. “Now who gets the clean plate?”

“Chef Frypot!” Mordred exclaimed. “I’m sure all our plates are clean!”

“Uh...right,” said Frypot.

The students had to line up for their usual lumpen pudding lunch. But Wiglaf didn’t mind. He was so dazzled by the great knight that he could not eat a bite.

As Wiglaf sat down again, Squire Squint reached across him and grabbed the salt. Then he lunged across the table for the pickles.

“Squire Squint!” said Lancelot. “Don’t reach! You have a tongue, don’t you?”

“Sure,” said Squint. “But my arm’s longer!”

The two squires snorted with laughter.

Wiglaf’s eyes grew wide. Why, these squires made
awful
jokes—just like his father and his mead-drinking buddies back in Pinwick!

After lunch, Mordred stood up. He banged his spoon on his goblet.

“Settle down, boys!” he boomed. “Unless you want double scrubbing class.”

Instantly, the dining hall quieted.

“I know you are excited about our special visitor,” Mordred said. “So here, up close and personal, is the world’s most perfect knight—numero uno!—to tell you what it was like growing up to be Siiiiir Lancelot!”

Everyone clapped.

Sir Lancelot stood up. “Thank you,” he said. “I know how happy you must be to have me here. DSA reminds me so of Knights Noble Conservatory.”

Sir Lancelot talked about his school days. How he loved spelling bees. How proud he felt when he joined the Clean Plate Club. How he always did twice as many long division problems as the teacher assigned to prove that for him, nothing was impossible.

“On holidays,” Sir Lancelot said, “I loved going home to see my family. And my dog, Little Muffy. I’ll stop now,” he added. “For I promised to speak for an hour. And, being a perfect knight, I always keep my promises.”

Erica looked puzzled. “Sir?” she said. “Wasn’t your dog’s name Little Scruffy?”

Sir Lancelot frowned. “Hmm, Little Scruffy. Let me think.... Ah! Little Scruffy came after Little Muffy. And before Little Puffy. He was a fat one, Little Puffy was.”

“I see.” Erica nodded. “Thank you, sir. I have some more questions. The first is...”

“Sorry, Eric,” Mordred cut in. “But we’ve run out of time. Thank you, Sir Lancelot!”

Everyone clapped again. The sound rang in Wiglaf’s ears. To think it was his essay that had won the contest! It was he who had brought Sir Lancelot to DSA. How proud Wiglaf felt, sitting next to the world’s most perfect knight. How very far he had come from his humble birth on the cabbage farm in Pinwick.

“W
hich classroom shall I show my handsome face in first?” Sir Lancelot asked Wiglaf as they left the dining hall.

“Weapons class, sir,” Wiglaf answered. “Last week we learned sword sharpening.”

“I am far too important to sharpen my own sword,” Sir Lancelot said. “But it is good to know how, in case you have no squires.”

They started up the East Tower stairs. Sir Lancelot’s heavy boots clanked loudly as he climbed. At last they reached the classroom.

Master X, the weapons teacher, stood gazing out the window. Master X had been teaching at DSA only a short time. Before that, he had been an executioner. He was retired now, which made him an ex-executioner. But he had never lost the habit of wearing a black hood over his head.

Sir Lancelot took one look at Master X and quickly drew his sword.

“Unmask yourself, knave!” he cried. “Or I shall run you through!”

“Easy, sir knight!” said Master X, his voice slightly muffled by the hood. “Once I might have chopped off your head. Whacko!” Master X sliced an imaginary ax through the air. He chuckled. “But now I am retired.”

Sir Lancelot slowly lowered his sword.

Erica and Angus had saved two seats in the front row. Wiglaf and Sir Lancelot sat down.

“Our lesson today is on daggers,” said Master X. “Daggers aren’t much use at an execution. All that jabbing is too messy. But if you are fighting a dragon and you drop your sword, a dagger can come in handy. Pay attention,” he added, “or it’s off with your heads!” Master X laughed. “Just joking! Now, who can tell me the difference between a dagger and a sword?”

“I can!” Erica called out. “A dagger has a shorter blade than a sword.”

“Correct,” said Master X.

“Both sides of a dagger blade are sharp,” Erica added. “And the tip is pointy.”