Deary Terry - The Prince, the Cook and the Cunning King

THE PRINCE THE COOK AND THE CUNNING KINGTHE PRINCE THE COOK AND THE CUNNING KING Illustrated by Helen Flook A & C Black LondonThis book is dedicated to the memory ofPerkin Warbeck, another young man whoclaimed Henry VIIs throne, but who paidfor it with his lifeTerry Deary Reprinted 2004, 2008, 2010 First published 2003 by A & C Black Publishers Ltd 36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY www.acblack.com Text copyright 2003 Terry Deary Illustrations copyright 2003 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 978-1-40811-865-8 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 meansgraphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systemswithout 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 RG1 8EX. Table of Contents Chapter One
The Cold Kitchen We stood at the palace door and shivered. The wind was wintry, the grey walls gloomy. I was afraid. My mother was just about to knock for a second time when the door was tugged open and I found myself looking into the castle kitchen.

A dozen dirty faces stared at me. The servants were sitting round a large table with wooden bowls in front of them. Shut the door! someone moaned. Its cold! My mother pushed me into the kitchen and the door slammed behind us with a boom like the sound of doom. The dozen pairs of eyes followed us into the cold kitchen. There was a huge fireplace with copper pots, iron pans hanging down alongside dead rabbits and geese, and a shrivelled side of bacon.

In that fireplace a miserable fire smoked under a small black pot full of pale and pitiful porridge. A man lifted the pot off the fire and placed it on the table. The servants passed it round and spooned out the watery mess. They ate silently. The man turned to look at me. He was the fattest man Id ever seen.

Folds of fat almost hid his little, watery eyes and his neck was like a bulls. When he smiled, his teeth were yellow-green and broken. His greasy apron smelled nearly as bad as his breath. He put a hard hand under my chin and tilted my head up. So, youre the new kitchen maid? This is EleanorEllie, my mother said. Say hello to Cook, Ellie.

Hello to Cook, Ellie, I muttered. The clatter of wooden spoons in the sloppy food stopped. Twelve servants at the table held their breath. Cooks eyes almost vanished in a scowl. Then he grinned. A lively lass, eh? Makes a change from this miserable lot! he said, looking round at the servants who started eating again.

He nodded to my mother. Leave her with me and Ill take care of her. My mother left the bundle with my spare clothes and hurried to the door. She opened it and looked back, worried. Shut the door! someone moaned. Alone. Alone.

Chapter Two
The Shivering Servant The cook looked round the table. Lambert Simnel, he hissed. A boy rose to his feet. He was as thin as the porridge in the pot and twice as pale. Yes, Cook? he said, and he shivered. Look after young Ellie.

Show her where she sleeps. Show her what to do. Yes, Cook. The boy looked back longingly at his half-full bowl of mush. He left the bench and moved towards me, walking almost sideways like a crab. He didnt do anything! I cried. He didnt do anything! I cried.

Cook turned his fat face on me. His lips curled back to show those green teeth. Lambert has been a wicked, wicked boy, havent you, Lambert? Yes, Cook. He doesnt deserve a smack on the head! I said, and my face was hot in that cold kitchen. No, Cook said softly. Then a dirty finger prodded me in the shoulder and he exploded with stinking breath in my face, He deserves an axe on the back of his scrawny neck.

Suddenly, he picked up a meat-axe from a table and shook it wildly. He deserves to be executed. Dont you, Lambert? Yes, Cook, the miserable boy murmured. Now take her to the room over the stables and show her where shell be sleeping. Lambert nodded, gave me a quivering smile, picked up my bundle and nodded for me to follow him. I stopped at the door and looked back to see one of the servants emptying Lamberts porridge bowl.

Chapter Three
The Scratching Straw I have to sleep here? I asked Lambert. He nodded and dropped my bundle on to a pile of straw in the loft. Sleep on the straw, he said. Use the blanket to cover you. Its warm with the horses below you in the stable. The straw moved, I whispered. The straw moved, I whispered.

Lambert laughed. Thatll just be a rat. I have a special friend rat, he said. Suddenly he darted to the top of the stairs and looked down. People listen at doors here, you know? He scuttled back to me. I call my rat Henry.