Damsel Disaster! by Peter Bently

Chapter One
Tour de Farce
    Toot! Toot-TOOT!
    Toot! Toot-TOOOOT!
    “Ah, there’s the post!” said Sir Percy. “Splendid! Run along and fetch it, Cedric.”
    “Yes, Sir Percy.”
    I quickly finished strapping the last bit of armour to my master’s leg and hurried out of the stables to the castle gate.
    “Mornin’, Master Cedric,” said the messenger, tucking his posthorn back into his belt. “Sir Percy’s popular today.”
    He handed over a pile of parchment scrolls. A few looked suspiciously like fan mail from Sir Percy’s female admirers. One was tied up with pink ribbons. Another had little red love hearts drawn all over it (bleh). But most were bills with things like PAY NOW! and FINAL DEMAND – THIS TIME I REALLY MEAN IT! on them in big red letters.
    “Thanks,” I said, turning to go.
    “Wait, Master Cedric!” the messenger said. “There’s this box an’ all.” He untied a long, polished wooden box from his saddle.

    “What is it?” I asked.
    “Search me,” said the messenger. “Posh box, though, innit?”
    I piled the scrolls on top of the box and staggered back to the stables, where my master and I had been preparing to ride off on a tour of his lands. Sir Percy said it was important for a knight to show his face to the locals every now and then. But I reckonhe just liked the excuse to show off his best armour. Especially after I’d spent most of the morning polishing it.
    “Letters for you, Sir Percy!” I said. “Plus this box.”
    “Excellent!” said Sir Percy. He carefully picked out the fan mail and then brushed all the bills on to the ground with a majestic sweep of his arm. “I shall – er –
deal
with those later,” he said airily.
    I watched as Sir Percy eagerly undid the catch on the box. Was it a new sword? Unlikely. The last thing Sir Percy ever spent money on – when he had any – was weapons.
    He opened the lid to reveal something long, white and fluffy.
    “Look, Cedric!” beamed Sir Percy, taking it out. “It’s my new plume! Magnificent, is it not?”
    “A
plume
, Sir Percy?” I said. “You mean those are –
feathers
?”
    “Indeed!” said Sir Percy. “They are from a giant bird called an
ostrich
. Terribly rare beast, you know. A sort of cross between a chicken and a giraffe.”

    While Sir Percy was admiring his plume I spotted a sheet of parchment in the bottom of the box. At the top of the sheet it said
Pierre de Pompom’s Prime Plumes
. Underneath were the words FOR IMMEDIATE PAYMENT next to a
very
large number.
    “How fortunate that this should arrive just before our little tour, eh, Cedric?” Sir Percy plucked the plume out of his helmet and fitted the new one. “There.” He handed me the old plume. “Kindly return this to my collection.”
    “Yes, Sir Percy.”
    As I headed back across the courtyard I bumped into Patchcoat the jester coming out of the castle.
    “Morning, Ced!” he chirped. “Where’s Sir Percy off to then? And why is he wearing an extra-large feather duster on his head?”
    I explained about the new plume.
    “
Ostrich
?” said Patchcoat. “Blimey. I bet that cost a bit.”
    When I told him about the bill, Patchcoat whistled in amazement.
    “Phew!” he gasped. “For that price I reckon they should’ve chucked in the whole ostrich! Well, I dunno how Sir Percy’s going to pay for it. Margaret’s already moaning about how little he gives her for all the food.”
    Mouldybun Margaret is the castle cook. And possibly the worst cook in the kingdom, too, though no one would dare to tell her that.
    “Anyway,” said Patchcoat, “I’d better be off. I’m going for a tinkle.”
    “Thanks for sharing,” I said.
    “Not
that
kind of tinkle,” chuckled Patchcoat. “I’ve lost a bell off my cap. I’m nipping to the village for a new one. See ya later, Ced. Have a good tour!”

    We set off along the road to the village, Sir Percy looking rather splendid in his freshly polished armour on the back of Prancelot, his haughty