The Terrible Trickster Read online

  ALSO BY FRANCES WATTS

  AND ILLUSTRATED BY GREGORY ROGERS

  The Secret of the Swords

  The Poison Plot

  Tournament Trouble

  The Siege Scare

  Pigeon Problems

  First published in 2013

  Copyright © Text, Frances Watts 2013

  Copyright © Illustrations, Gregory Rogers 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 74331 321 3

  Cover design by Seymour Designs

  Cover illustration by Gregory Rogers

  Text design by Seymour Designs

  Set in 16/21 pt Adobe Jenson Pro by Seymour Designs

  This book was printed in February 2013 at the SOS Print+Media Group,

  65 Burrows Road, Alexandria, NSW 2015, Australia.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For ma chère tante, Anne-Marie

  F. W.

  For Matt

  G. R.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  CHAPTER 1

  CLIP-CLOP, CLIP-CLOP, CLIP-CLOP.

  Tommy woke to the sound of a horse’s hooves on the flagstones of Flamant Castle’s great courtyard.

  She sprang out of bed, worried that she must have slept in, but there was no light coming through the small window set high in the thick stone wall. Puzzled, Tommy climbed back into bed.

  Who could be arriving in the dead of the night? It must be a messenger, she thought. And the message must be urgent for him to arrive at this hour. The castle’s sentries would never have lowered the drawbridge otherwise.

  She listened for signs of activity in the courtyard below. A groom would be fetched to lead the messenger’s horse to the stables, and a page would be sent for to take the messenger to Sir Benedict, the castle’s bravest knight. If the news was very serious, maybe even Sir Walter the Bald, the nobleman who owned the castle, would be woken.

  All was quiet, however, except for a soft, ‘Woah there,’ followed by the clip-clop of hooves heading in the direction of the stables.

  Tommy lay awake, wondering about what she had just heard. Where had the messenger come from? And why had no one come to greet him? The questions chased round and round in her mind until at last she fell into an uneasy sleep.

  The next thing she knew, sun was streaming in through the little window. Down below she could hear carts clattering across the flagstones of the courtyard as the local merchants made their deliveries to the kitchen.

  Oh no! She’d slept in!

  Tommy leaped out of bed and pulled on her tunic and leggings. She didn’t want to be late for her work in the armoury. Since becoming Flamant Castle’s Keeper of the Blades, Tommy looked after all the bladed weapons. It was a very important job, as the knights who defended the castle relied on her to keep their swords sharpened and polished. If she did her job well, Tommy hoped that she might become a squire and train to be a knight herself.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Moon,’ Tommy said as she entered the kitchen. Even though she wasn’t a kitchen girl anymore, she still took her meals at the long table where she used to peel potatoes, dreaming that one day she would be holding a sword instead of a paring knife.

  ‘Good morning, Thomasina,’ the cook replied. She cut a slice of bread from a giant loaf. ‘You’ll catch flies in there if you’re not careful,’ she observed as Tommy opened her mouth wide in a yawn.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Tommy, covering her mouth. ‘I woke up in the middle of the night when that messenger arrived. He must have had important news.’

  ‘A messenger in the middle of the night?’ Mrs Moon sounded doubtful. ‘Perhaps you dreamed it.’

  When she had finished her bread and a glass of milk, Tommy hurried across the courtyard towards the armoury. Was it possible that she had dreamed the sound of a horse’s hooves? As if in answer to her question, a shrill neigh rang out, followed by another, then another. It sounded as if all the castle’s horses were in distress!

  Tommy immediately ran towards the archway that would take her to the stables. She had to see if Bess was all right.

  Although Bess was Sir Benedict’s horse, Tommy had been allowed to ride her regularly ever since they had competed together in a tournament.

  The small courtyard outside the stables was full of horses, all looking cross. Grooms and stable boys were trying to calm them. She found Bess stamping around near the water trough.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Tommy asked the chestnut mare. ‘I could hear neighing from the great courtyard.’

  ‘It’s that bay stallion who arrived last night,’ Bess grumbled. ‘He’s a cheeky rascal. Ever since he got here he’s been nothing but trouble, nipping and wanting to play, stealing other horses’ hay. He just won’t leave us in peace. We’ve had enough.’

  ‘It must be the horse of the messenger I heard in the night,’ said Tommy. ‘I’ll talk to the stable master about him. Maybe he can be stabled somewhere else so that he doesn’t disturb the castle’s horses.’

  Tommy found the tall, wiry stable master in the far corner of the yard. He was talking to Sir Benedict.

  ‘I don’t know what’s got into them,’ the stable master was saying. ‘They all just went berserk.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Tommy spoke up. ‘It’s the bay stallion that’s the problem. The messenger’s horse.’

  Both men turned to look at Tommy, clearly surprised to see her.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in the armoury, Tommy?’ the knight asked.

  ‘Yes, Sir Benedict. I was on my way there when I heard the horses. I wanted to make sure Bess was all right.’

  ‘She’s fine,’ said the stable master. ‘Not as highly strung as some of the others.’ He tilted his head in the direction of a black gelding who was bucking and kicking in the centre of a circle of stable hands. ‘But what’s this about a bay stallion? There’s no bay stallion in the stables.’

  ‘It’s the messenger’s horse,’ Tommy repeated. ‘The one who arrived last night.’

  The stable master looked at Sir Benedict questioningly.

  The knight shook his head. ‘I’m not sure what you mean, Tommy. No messenger arrived in the night. I spoke to the sentries myself not ten minutes ago and they would have reported the arrival of a stranger.’

  ‘Oh.’ Tommy blinked. ‘I’m sorry. I – I must have made a mistake.’

  Embarrassed, Tommy walked back through the archway to the great courtyard. So Mrs Moon had been right. There had been no horse and rider in the night; i
t was all a dream.

  Then she stopped. But if it was only a dream, what about the bay stallion Bess had mentioned?

  CHAPTER 2

  WHEN TOMMY ENTERED the armoury the air was ringing with the sound of a hammer beating metal. The blacksmith looked up from the shield he was working on.

  ‘You’re late this morning, Sword Girl,’ he said. ‘That’s not like you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Smith,’ Tommy said. ‘I stopped at the stables on my way here. Something’s got into the horses and they’re all upset.’

  ‘They probably got a look at your ugly face.’ Reynard, the Keeper of the Bows, was lounging in the doorway of the bow chamber. He had hated Tommy ever since Sir Benedict had made her the Keeper of the Blades, a position Reynard had wanted for himself.

  Ignoring him, Tommy went into the sword chamber. Swords stood in racks lining three sides of the narrow room, the light from the candle on the wall reflected in their gleaming blades. On her bench lay half a dozen swords that she had sharpened the day before using a file and whetstone. Now she picked up her cloth and a pot of clove-scented oil and set about polishing them.

  ‘You’re running late this morning, Sword Girl,’ said a disapproving voice. ‘I hope you’re not growing neglectful of your duties.’

  Tommy turned to face the small rack of swords in the darkest corner of the chamber. None of the knights or squires ever used these swords, which were known as the Old Wrecks. But since she had become the Keeper of the Blades Tommy had learned that the Old Wrecks were inhabited by the spirits of their previous owners. The voice had come from Bevan Brumm, a long-handled dagger who had been a merchant.

  ‘Neglectful? Our sword girl?’ scoffed a sabre. This was Nursie, who had been Sir Walter’s nursemaid when he was a boy. ‘Why, the very idea! We were the neglected ones until she came along.’

  ‘I heard a lot of noise coming from the stables,’ Tommy explained, ‘and I went to see what was wrong.’

  ‘And did you find out?’ asked a slender sword with a curved blade. Jasper Swann, a squire, had fallen ill and died when he was close to Tommy’s own age; perhaps that was why he often seemed to understand how Tommy was feeling.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Tommy. ‘I was woken in the night by a horse and rider in the courtyard – at least, I thought I was, but Sir Benedict said no one came to the castle last night. So I must have dreamed it. Yet when I talked to Bess in the stables she said that a strange horse had arrived in the night. So I can’t have dreamed it.’ She shook her head in confusion.

  ‘That’s very mysterious,’ said Jasper. ‘What do you think is going on?’

  Tommy sighed. ‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘But I know who to ask. I’ll go and find her when I’ve finished my work here.’

  Many hours had passed by the time Tommy replaced the last sword in the rack and walked out into the courtyard. The light seemed bright after the gloom of the sword chamber, though the sun was low over the battlements.

  She looked around the courtyard for the black and white cat who could often be found dozing on a sun-warmed flagstone. Lil always knew everything that was happening around the castle. Perhaps she would be able to solve the mystery of the horse and rider.

  But Lil was nowhere to be seen, so Tommy ran through the castle gate and down the grassy bank to the moat. There she found the cat, asleep on the grass at the water’s edge, while her friend the crocodiddle backstroked up and down in front of her.

  Tommy sat down beside the cat.

  ‘Hello, Sword Girl,’ called the crocodiddle. He flipped over and paddled towards her.

  ‘Hi, Mr Crocodiddle,’ Tommy replied.

  Lil opened her eyes, stretched and yawned, which made Tommy yawn too.

  ‘You look tired, Tommy,’ the cat commented.

  ‘That’s because I was woken in the night,’ Tommy told her. ‘I thought I heard a messenger arriving, but the sentries didn’t see anybody. Then Bess told me there is a strange horse in the stables, though the stable master doesn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Curious,’ said the cat, looking alert now.

  ‘The horse and rider in the middle of the night?’ The crocodiddle rested his long snout on the bank. ‘That wasn’t a messenger. It was the red-headed boy.’

  ‘Red-headed boy?’ Tommy said in surprise. ‘You mean Reynard?’

  The crocodiddle slapped the water with his tail. ‘That’s him – the nasty one.’

  ‘Well that explains why the sentries didn’t report it: he’s not a stranger to the castle. But why would Reynard bring a horse into the castle in the middle of the night? What is he up to?’ Tommy and Lil looked at each other, mystified, but neither had an answer.

  As she ran back through the castle gate on her way to the kitchen for dinner, Tommy kept turning the question over and over in her mind: what was Reynard up to? She knew one thing for sure: he’d be up to no good.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE AROMA OF HEARTY vegetable soup filled the kitchen as Tommy slipped through the door and took a seat at the long scrubbed table.

  The cook was ladling soup into bowls that were arranged on enormous trays. When the bowls were full, the trays were carried by serving girls to the banqueting hall, where Sir Walter and the knights waited for their dinner.

  ‘It smells delicious, Mrs Moon,’ Tommy said when at last the cook placed a steaming bowl in front of her. She dipped her spoon into the soup and took a big mouthful – and immediately spat it out.

  ‘Thomasina!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Moon, but it … it tastes terrible!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, girl. You’ve had my vegetable soup a hundred times.’ Mrs Moon lowered a ladle into the cauldron then sipped from it. Her face screwed up in disgust. ‘My stars! Something’s wrong with the soup.’ The cook sounded bewildered. ‘But I made it just the way I always do.’

  At that moment one of the girls who had been serving the knights ran in. ‘Mrs Moon, the knights are all spitting out their soup!’

  The cook put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh no, the knights! What if my soup makes them ill?’ Looking determined, she took another sip of the awful brew. Then her lips tightened into a thin line. ‘I know what’s happened here. Someone has put sugar in my salt cellar!’

  Mrs Moon turned to the serving girl. ‘Run back to the banqueting hall and tell the other girls to remove the soup bowls at once. We’ll have to serve the meat course straight away.’

  She took off her apron and handed it to Tommy. ‘I know you don’t work in the kitchen anymore, Thomasina, but this is an emergency. I need you to help get that soup back.’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Moon.’

  Tommy tied on the apron, picked up an empty tray and hurried after the serving girl.

  The banqueting hall was loud with the voices of the knights who were crowded around long wooden tables.

  Tommy was placing bowls on her tray when she heard a familiar voice say, ‘What on earth has got into Mrs Moon, Tommy? That soup was as sweet as custard!’ It was Sir Benedict.

  ‘It wasn’t Mrs Moon’s fault, sir,’ Tommy said. ‘Someone put sugar in her salt cellar.’ She couldn’t stop a small giggle escaping as she pictured the knights spitting out their sweet soup.

  The knight frowned. ‘Well I think it was a silly trick.’

  Tommy tried to look serious. ‘Yes, sir.’ She picked up Sir Benedict’s soup bowl and put it on her tray.

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur as Tommy, already tired from a hard day working in the sword chamber, hurried back and forth between the kitchen and the banqueting hall with platters of roast boar and jugged hare, fried fish and eels in cream sauce.

  It wasn’t until she climbed the stairs to her sleeping quarters that Tommy realised she hadn’t had any dinner herself. But she was so exhausted she didn’t care. She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, and if a strange rider – or Reynard – arrived on a horse in the middle of the night, Tommy didn’t hear him.

  Tomm
y woke early the next morning, determined not to be late for work again. She was crossing the great courtyard on the way to the armoury when she was startled by a shrill cry. Breaking into a run, she followed the noise into the small cobbled square outside the castle’s laundry. There, one of the girls who worked in the laundry was pointing at a washtub and shrieking.

  ‘What is it?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Look at my white sheets!’ The girl lifted a sheet from the tub and Tommy saw that it was bright yellow.

  Before Tommy could ask what had happened, the castle’s small, round physician entered the square at a run, his brown robes flapping behind him.

  ‘Is someone hurt?’ the physician asked. ‘I heard a scream.’

  In answer, the laundry girl held up the yellow sheet. ‘I left it soaking overnight – and now look. It’s meant to be white!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the physician. He bent over to inspect the water in the tub, then fished out a soggy mass of dried leaves. ‘This is weld,’ he said. ‘Its leaves are used as a yellow dye. I’m afraid someone’s played a trick on you.’

  ‘But the sheets …’ said the girl. ‘How can I make them white again?’

  The physician shook his head. ‘I’m afraid there’s no cure for yellow sheets.’

  ‘You mean they’re ruined?’ the girl wailed. ‘I’m going to be in so much trouble.’ She began to weep.

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  Tommy turned at the sound of Sir Benedict’s voice.

  ‘Tommy?’ the knight said. ‘Why aren’t you in the armoury?’

  ‘Someone’s played a trick and turned the sheets yellow,’ she explained.