Deary Terry - The Knight of Spurs and Spirits

Illustrated by Helen Flook

A&C Black London

First published 2009 by
A & C Black Publishers Ltd
36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY

www.acblack.com

Text copyright 2009 Terry Deary
Illustrations copyright 2009 Helen Flook

The rights of Terry Deary and Helen Flook to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

eISBN 978-1-40819-800-1

A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.

This book is produced using paper that is made from wood grown in managed, sustainable forests. It is natural, renewable and recyclable. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

Printed and bound in Great Britain
by CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading RG18EX.

Contents

Chapter One
Drafts and Deer

England, 1609

The castle is grim. The castle is grey. And the castle has a gruesome tale to tell.

The castle is known as Hylton Castle and it stands grim, grey and gruesome on a hillside by the River Wear in the north of England. You can see it there today a sad shell of a hollow hall.

The castle is cold. The roof is gone, but the sun never shines inside the grim, grey, gruesome walls.

But when the last knight lived there, the castle could be warm. When the fire was lit in the Great Hall, it was warm there by the fire. Tapestry curtains hung on the walls and kept out the draughts.

Chairs had cushions high and soft to keep out the draughts as you sat by the fire if you were one of the lucky ones that sat by the fire.

Lucky like the last knight of Hylton, Sir Robert.

Logs as large as dogs flared in the fireplace and sparkled on the tapestry walls. Sir Robert took an iron poker and pushed it into the fire. Then he took a flagon of wine and emptied it into his silver cup.

When the poker was glowing red, he pushed the tip into his wine and watched it bubble and boil, spit and sizzle.

Sir Robert sat back in the chair and sipped the warm wine.

Marvellous! he smiled. It was a fat-faced, well-fed, red-cheeked smile.

Sir Robert stretched out a lazy hand and pulled on a rope that hung beside the fire. Somewhere in the castle halls, a bell jangled.

Moments later, the door opened and a girl hurried in. She was dressed in a fine, grey dress with a white, linen collar and an apron as white as snow.

Sir Robert, the last knight of Hylton, looked up. Ah, Mary!

Yes, Sir Bobbert! said the girl in a voice as dry as hay. Her throat went dry when she stood in the piggy-eyed gaze of her lord, and the words got jumbled in her mouth. I mean Sir Robert, sir, sorry, sir.

The weather, girl.

Yes, sir, said Mary, and bent her knees in a low curtsey.

Yes, sir what? the knight rumbled.

Yes, sir, whatever you say, Sir Bobbert Robbled Bobbit.

I asked you about the weather. Whats it like outside? Sir Robert could have pushed open the shutters on the windows of the Great Hall, but he was too lazy for that.

Sunny, sir, Mary panted, trying to remember.

Sunny, eh? Marvellous!

And cloudy, she wittered.

Uh? How can it be sunny if its cloudy?

Sometimes its sunny and sometimes its cloudy. It changes. When a cloud crosses the sun, it stops being sunny and when

Enough! roared Sir Robert.

Mary trembled.

Is it raining? the last knight of Hylton asked slowly, as if he were talking to a slow and slightly stupid snail.

Not today, Sir Bobble but it might rain next Tuesday, the wise woman of Wearside said in the market

I do not want to know about next Tuesday! he said. If it is a fine day today, the deer will be out. Tell the Master of the Hunt I will go hunting this morning. Catch us a nice fat deer for dinner.

Yes, sir, said Mary. She bobbed a curtsey and turned towards the door both at the same time. Her ankles became tangled, and she almost tripped over. Ooopsy-daisy! Sorry, Sir Rubble!

And tell that useless stable boy Skeleton

Its Skelton, sir. Roger Skelton.

Whatever his name is tell Skeleton to have my bay mare ready, brushed and saddled.

Yes, your lard-ship your lord-shap

And take this wine away it tastes of burnt wood, said Sir Robert, passing the silver cup to the girl. A quick nap and then Ill be ready to ride, he sighed. Ma-a-a-a-rvelous!

Chapter Two
Wine and Warmth

Roger Skelton sat at the kitchen table. He supped at a bowl of broth that was hot from the pot that hung over the fire. His thin, round shoulders were covered in a thin, round jacket of green and his skinny hands trembled as he held the spoon. Im cold, so cold! he murmured to himself.

The fire burned brightly and a whole pig hung on a spit over the flames. The spit had a wheel at one end, a wheel like the one on a watermill. Inside the wheel was a small, brown dog. The dog walked forward inside the wheel. As it walked, it turned the spit. As the spit turned, the pig turned over the fire.

The roast-pork smell filled the castle kitchens. The pig fat dripped into the fire and spluttered and spat and burned with a fierce flame.

The door crashed open and Mary the maid ran in.

Oh, Roger, there you are. His lordship is going hunting in a while

Im cold!