Authors: Peter Bently
Life Stinks! (5 page)
Patchcoat handed over a halfpenny coin.
“Shake on it,” said Stinky Pugh, holding out a filth-encrusted hand.
Patchcoat shook it reluctantly.
“Wish me luck, Patchcoat,” I said.
“Eh?” said Patchcoat. “No way am I missing out on a bit of fun in Sir Roland’s castle. I’m coming with you!”
“Right, gentlemen,” said Stinky Pugh. “Ready when you are. Foller me.”
The moon was hidden behind some clouds and obviously we couldn’t take torches, so we set off from the inn in pitch-darkness. But as we headed uphill, Patchcoat and I had no trouble following Stinky Pugh. As long as the stench was in front of us, we knew we were going the right way.
To avoid bumping into a patrol of
Sir Roland’s guards, Stinky Pugh led us on a path well away from the main road to Blackstone Fort. It was rough and steep, but eventually we turned a corner and there was the fort itself, huge and menacing against the night sky. All that stood between us and the main gates was a wooden drawbridge. There was no moat, because Blackstone Fort didn’t need one. It was surrounded on all sides by a sheer drop to the valley far below.
I seriously thought about turning round and heading straight back to the inn. It would serve Sir Percy right if he had to go through with the joust. But then again, if I disobeyed him I’d be breaking the Squire’s Code. And if he lost the joust
(I was beginning to suspect that those magic underpants might not be so magic after all), I’d probably lose my job. If that happened, who would take on a disobedient squire? I’d never get to be a knight!
We tiptoed over the drawbridge. At the end we saw a light coming from a window by the great wooden doors of the fort.
“That’s the guardroom,” whispered Stinky Pugh. “Make a sound and we’re done for.”
Just before the gates he led us down some steps on to a narrow ledge that ran round the base of the castle walls.
We were as quiet as mice as we ducked past the guardroom window. From inside came the sound of iron being sharpened on stone.
“Give it some elbow grease, lad!” said a voice. “That sword wouldn’t slice a cucumber in ’alf, never mind an intruder!”
“Yes, Sarge,” said another voice.
We hurried on and followed the ledge round the fort. I stuck close to the wall
and tried not to think about the sheer drop below.
After a while Patchcoat whispered, “Is it just me, or is Stinky Pugh getting even stinkier?”
It was true. We were now round the back of the fort, and the stench was getting stronger and stronger. A few steps more and the ledge stopped at a narrow tower that jutted out of the wall. The stink was almost overpowering. It seemed to be coming from somewhere very close by.
“Here we are, gentlemen,” grinned Stinky Pugh. It was then that we noticed a small door in the base of the tower. “The back way in. What yer might call the
back passage. Hur-hur!”
“Thank goodness,” I said. “The sooner we’re inside, the sooner we can escape this terrible smell.”
I spoke too soon.
Stinky Pugh heaved the door open and the stench that hit us was so bad it nearly knocked us over.
“Phwoargghhh!”
I can safely say it was the most EVIL smell in the world. Even thinking about it makes my nose want to jump off my face and hide.
“Welcome to my place of work, gentlemen,” said Stinky Pugh. “Or should I say – welcome to the gents, gents. Hur-hur!”
“What?” I gasped, trying not to breathe. “You actually work – in there?”
“Aye,” said Stinky Pugh proudly. “It’s called a Sanitary Tower. It’s the latest posh thing. Not like yer normal old-fashioned garderobe, where you sit with yer rear end dangling over the outside world in all weathers. In one o’ them you does yer business and you never know where it’s going to end up. ’Specially if it’s a bit windy. And you get a chilly bum into the bargain. Now here” – he nodded at the tower – “it’s all self-contained, see. Everything drops to the bottom of the tower. No chance of it blowing in through a downstairs window.”
“So what’s your job, then?” I asked.
“I’m the Nightman,” said Stinky Pugh. “One night a month I comes along with me spade and empties out the tower.”
“What a terrible life of human waste,” said Patchcoat.
Stinky Pugh pointed to a lit window at the top of the tower.
“See up there? That’s the garderobe. It’s got two doors. One leads into a corridor and the other into Sir Roland’s bedchamber. It’s what them posh folks calls an
en suite.
So when you gets to the top, make sure you takes the door into the corridor.”
“Is it the left door or the right?” I asked, then suddenly realized what Stinky Pugh
had said. “Hold on – what do you mean, when we get to the top?”
“When you gets to the top of the tower, of course,” grinned Stinky Pugh. “Lucky for you I emptied it only last week.”
“You mean we have to go – in there?”
“Aye,” said Stinky Pugh. “It’s the only way into the fort. Unless you wants to go back to the gate and ask the guards nicely? Hur-hur!”
“Looks like we haven’t any choice, Ced,” sighed Patchcoat.
“But how do we get up there?” I said. “Is there a ladder?”
“Nope,” said Stinky Pugh. “You’ll ’ave to climb.”
“Don’t worry, Ced, I’ve got these,” said Patchcoat. He rummaged in his jester’s bag and pulled out two clothes pegs.
“But how do we get out at the top?” I asked. “Isn’t there a loo seat in the way?”
“The seat’s only a plank with an ’ole in it,” said Stinky Pugh. “You can just push the whole thing to one side.”
“All right,” I sighed, putting the peg on my nose. “Let’s do it.”
“You go first, Ced,” said Patchcoat. “That way I can catch you if you fall.”
“But what if you miss?” I said.
“No problem,” he chuckled. “There’s a soft landing at the bottom.”
“Cheers, Patchcoat,” I said.
As it turned out the tower was narrow enough to climb up by bracing our hands and feet against the sides, and it was fairly easy to get a grip on the rough stone. The inside was faintly lit by candlelight shining through the loo seat at the top. As we climbed higher and higher, and the circle of light grew bigger and bigger I began to feel a surge of excitement.
“Almost there!” I panted. “I can’t believe we’ve nearly done it!”
“Shh!” said Patchcoat suddenly. “Listen!”
There was a noise above us. Someone had just opened one of the doors into the garderobe!
We stopped dead.
“Suffering siege engines!” boomed a voice. “Walter!”
I was so startled I nearly lost my grip. It was Sir Roland! Had he heard us? I held my breath as I heard Walter Warthog’s familiar whine.
“You called, Sir Roland?” said Walter.
“There’s no blasted hay in here,” boomed Sir Roland. “Fetch some at once! Hurry!”
“Yes, Sir Roland,” smarmed Walter.
“Of course, Sir Roland.”
We heard Walter running off and returning a short time later. “Your hay, Sir Roland,” he said.
“About time, too,” barked Sir Roland. “The next time I come in here and there’s no hay I’ll use one of your stockings. Is that clear? Now get out!”
I heard Walter shuffle out of the garderobe, closing the door behind him. There was a rustle of clothing and then, without warning, the circle of light above us vanished. We were plunged into pitch-darkness.
“Uh-oh,” I whispered. “I hope this doesn’t mean what I think it means…”
There was a strange grunting noise, like Sir Roland was trying to lift a very heavy weight. After a few seconds the grunting stopped.
“Watch out!” hissed Patchcoat. “Backs to the wall!”
I pressed my back as flat as I could against the
wall of the tower. And not a moment too soon.
Something whizzed past my face so close that it knocked the peg off my nose. A couple of seconds later there was a faint PLOP at the bottom of the tower.
Ewww.
“That was close!” I whispered.
But Sir Roland wasn’t quite done yet. There was a funny scraping sound and before I realized what it was, a scrunched-up ball of hay bounced off my head and plummeted into the smelly depths below.
The circle of light suddenly reappeared. There was another rustle of clothing, and the sound of the door opening and closing.
As soon as the coast was clear, Patchcoat burst out laughing.
“Well, Ced,” he giggled. “I hope you don’t get hay fever!”
“Ha-ha,” I groaned. “Come on, let’s get out before Sir Roland hears us.”
We inched our way to the top of the tower. Like Stinky Pugh had said, it was easy enough to shove the loo seat out of the way and climb out. The worst bit was trying to do it quietly.
That and the fact it was still warm from Sir Roland’s bottom.
“I’ve just realized something,” I said, as Patchcoat climbed out after me and put back the loo seat. “We don’t actually know where Sir Roland keeps his rat!”
“That’s not even our first problem,” muttered Patchcoat. “Stinky Pugh never did tell us which of these doors was the right one.”
My heart sank. If we opened the wrong door we’d be face to face with Sir Roland!
It was Sir Roland himself who helped us out. “Walter!” he boomed from behind the left-hand door.
“You called, Sir Roland?”
“Fetch me some warm milk and honey from the kitchens,” growled Sir Roland. “My tummy’s playing up. It must be the excitement at the thought of beating that idiot Sir Percy tomorrow!”
“Of course, Sir Roland,” said Walter.
“And while you’re at it, nip into the Great Hall and give Bubo a bit of cheese,” said Sir Roland. “The plumper he is, the more luck he brings!”
And that answered the other question. But where was the Great Hall?
“Very good, Sir Roland,” said Walter. “At once, Sir Roland.”
A few seconds later we heard Walter hurrying past the garderobe, muttering something about stupid rats.
“Quick,” said Patchcoat. “Let’s follow him!”
“But why?” I said. “He’s going to the kitchens.”
“I know,” said Patchcoat. “And the kitchens are
always
next to the Great Hall, right? With a bit of luck we can nip into the hall and grab the rat while Walter’s busy heating up Sir Roland’s milk.”
We slipped quietly out of the garderobe and into the dark corridor. The only light came from Walter’s candle, some way ahead. Keeping to the shadows, we followed him down a long corridor lined with the heads of stags, boars, wolves and other startled-looking creatures unfortunate enough to bump into Sir Roland when he was out hunting.
I ducked under the outstretched claws of a whole stuffed bear – only for Patchcoat to grab me by the collar and stop me in my tracks. I soon realized why. Walter had suddenly halted just ahead of us. If I’d carried on I’d have walked straight into him!
“Pooh,” Walter grumbled, sniffing the air. “What’s that awful smell?”
Eeek! I guess after our climb up the tower, Patchcoat and I didn’t exactly smell like roses. I just hoped Walter wouldn’t try to find out where the stink was coming from.
“Probably Sir Roland’s new hunting dogs,” he muttered, as he turned a corner. “Filthy mutts. And no prizes for guessing who’ll have to clear up after them.”
After a few more passages and winding stairways, we reached a wide landing. The moon had come out now and it shone through the high windows on to a pair of huge wooden doors decorated with Sir Roland’s coat of arms.
“The Great Hall!” whispered Patchcoat.
We hung back as Walter passed the hall and disappeared down a narrow flight of steps in a corner of the landing.
“That’ll be the way to the kitchens,” said Patchcoat. “Come on. We haven’t got long!”
The door to the Great Hall opened with a loud creak. I crept inside – and jumped with fright to see a dozen knights staring back at me!
It took a moment to realize that the hall was lined with empty suits of black armour, gleaming in the moonlight. And that wasn’t all. I stared in amazement at the racks of shields, swords, spears, lances, bows, arrows and other fearsome weapons.
“Yikes,” said Patchcoat. “That’s one way to impress your dinner guests! One look at this lot would put you right off your roast boar.”
“Too right,” I shuddered. “He’s got enough weapons for a whole army!”
A long wide table ran down the entire length of the Great Hall. In the middle stood several large travelling chests, packed with weapons and armour.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” chuckled Patchcoat. “Looks like Walter’s been doing a bit of packing for the tournament.” He opened his jester’s bag. “Right, Ced, you grab the rat while I have a quick peek inside Sir Roland’s trunks!”
Peering round the hall I spotted a large gilded cage tucked between suits of chainmail and some particularly vicious-looking battleaxes.
I tapped the cage and a pointy, whiskered nose poked out of a nest of straw.
“Hello, Bubo!” I said.
I carefully opened the cage and reached in to pick him up. The rat eyed me suspiciously, bared its sharp yellow teeth and then went straight for my finger. I quickly whipped my hand out of the cage. “Vicious little so and so,” I muttered.
“Try one of these,” said Patchcoat.
He chucked a gauntlet from a suit of armour over to me. I pulled it on and this time made a grab for Bubo. He squirmed and bit at the metal glove, but I managed to lift him out and slip him into a large leather pouch I’d brought with me.
“Got you!” I said. “Come on, Patchcoat, let’s get out of here!”
“Hold on, I’m almost done,” he said. “A dab here, a blob there… Right, that should do it!”
“What exactly are you up to?” I said.
“Oh, I’m just preparing a couple of teensy
surprises
for Sir Roland,” he grinned, holding up a pot of glue.
He stuffed the pot back in his jester’s bag and slung it over his shoulder – just as we heard footsteps heading straight for the Great Hall!
Patchcoat whipped off his jester’s cap and grabbed a pair of rusty old helmets. “It’s Walter!” he said. “Quick, put this on!”
Walter stopped outside the door. “That’s funny,” he muttered. “I’m sure this was closed ten minutes ago.” He entered the hall and sniffed. “
And
there’s that nasty smell again. Bloomin’ dogs. Now where’s that lump of cheese?”
Walter crossed the room to Bubo’s cage. Luckily he didn’t notice two figures in rusty old helmets standing as still as
statues among the suits of armour. Bubo was wriggling like crazy in the leather bag. I was terrified he would start squeaking and give us away. As soon as Walter’s back was turned, Patchcoat gave me a nudge and, still wearing our helmets, we slunk swiftly and silently out on to the landing.
“Which way back to the tower?” I whispered.
“No idea,” said Patchcoat.
Just then, Walter screeched. “Aargh! The rat! The rat! Someone’s stolen the rat!”
There was no time to think.
“The kitchen stairs!” I hissed. Without saying another word we hurtled down the stairs.
Just like those at Castle Bombast, the kitchens of Blackstone Fort overlooked the main courtyard. We slipped out of the kitchen door and lurked in the shadows behind a pile of empty barrels opposite the main gates of the fort.
“Now where?” I panted. “The only way out is through the main gates. But there’s no chance of getting past the guards.”
Suddenly, Walter burst out of the fort. He stopped dead and stared straight at us. My heart sank and my legs turned to jelly. We were done for.
“You there!” he cried. “There’s an intruder in the fort! Search everywhere. I’ll call out the rest of the watch!”
I was too stunned to reply.
“It’s our helmets!” hissed Patchcoat. “He thinks we’re guards!”
“Well, don’t just stand there, you layabouts!” barked Walter, striding across to the guardroom. “Get a move on!”
“Yessir!” said Patchcoat. “Right away, sir!”
Walter banged on the door of the guardroom. “Open up! Open up!” he hollered.
“Ced,” whispered Patchcoat. “I’ve had an idea. Stay here and try to keep out of sight.”
Without another word, Patchcoat darted across the courtyard and up some steps leading to the battlements.
I quickly climbed into one of the barrels and was just wondering what on earth he was up to when Walter hurried from the guardroom. He was followed by the sergeant and half a dozen guards with swords and helmets just like the ones Patchcoat and I were wearing.
“Search the courtyard!” yelled Walter. “Check inside the fort! The intruders must still be here somewhere. They can’t have got past the gates!”
“Yes, sir!” replied the sergeant.
I ducked out of sight inside the barrel as guards started to run all over the courtyard. Bubo started to squeak and I hoped with all my might that nobody would hear him in the kerfuffle.
I was just starting to feel safe when, to my horror, Walter spoke again.
“Sergeant,” he said. “I’m going to check in those barrels.”
I heard him cross the courtyard and start searching the empty barrels one by
one, muttering to himself as he went.
“This can’t be happening,” Walter said. “If Sir Roland refuses to fight that twerp Sir Percy it’ll be
so
humiliating. The sooner I catch the intruder and get that stupid rat back in its cage the better.”
He was two or three barrels away from me at the most. Bubo had gone quiet again but the game was definitely up. There was no escape. It was only a matter of seconds before Walter spotted me. And where was Patchcoat?
At that very instant someone cried, “I can see them, Sarge! I can see the intruders! They’re escaping!”
The commotion in the courtyard stopped abruptly. The voice was coming from the battlements.
“Where?” called the sergeant urgently. “Where are they?”
“They’ve just turned off the main road to the village,” came the reply. “They’re heading into the next valley!”