tail-curling nonsense.”
“I’m really sorry that you are our guest at Pimpernel at such a difficult time,” Melisande continued to the Sorrowful Knight, who was still standing by the door looking uncertain of himself. “This is a small castle, but we always have a couple of rooms ready for unexpected guests. So if you’d like to stay in spite of the racket that man Osmund is kicking up …”
“My thanks to you,” said the Sorrowful Knight. “I would be happy to stay. But if you will allow me to, I’ll sleep up on the wall behind the battlements. Only under the stars am I free from my sorrowful dreams.”
“Well, just as you like,” said the Fair Melisande, looking thoughtfully at the knight. “But my special tea is good for sorrowful dreams, too. I’ll ask one of the books to take a mug of it up to you on the wall, with a plate of Albert’s biscuits. Although,” she added, giving the knight an enchanting piggy smile, “they really are rather dry even for my palate, piggy as it is at present.”
19
O smund attacked the next morning as soon as the sun had risen. Igraine fell out of bed in alarm when the noise started. Sleepy, and still feeling grubby from her journey, she clambered into her armor, gave Sisyphus his milk in the kitchen, and then went out into the courtyard. Albert and the Sorrowful Knight were already up on the battlements.
“The moat will be brimming over with fish if any more of Osmund’s half-witted knights fall in,” said Albert as Igraine pushed in between them.
She looked anxiously down at the moat. “Oh, dear. Sisyphus can’t tell real fish from knight-fish,” she said. “And what else is he going to eat? We don’t have much choice for him. Except those mice, of course.”
“Just let him try it!” said Albert menacingly. “That cat’s too fat, anyway. Give him biscuits. After all, that’s what we’re eating ourselves. Though Bertram is in the kitchen at this very minute trying to rustle up something else.”
The tents outside the castle were turning red in the light of the rising sun. The bank of the moat was swarming with archers, catapults, and soldiers trying to build wooden bridges across the water. The gargoyles smacked their lips and belched as they swallowed fiery arrows and iron cannonballs. The stone lions crouched above the gateway, roaring and using their paws to deflect any missiles that flew their way.
“This whole thing is getting monotonous,” sighed Albert, settling down between two crenellations. He took a small Book of Magic out of his coat pocket and placed it on his lap. It began humming quietly.
Down below, some of Osmund’s men were loading up the great catapults with bundles of burning brushwood. Albert looked at them, shaking his head.
“Take a look at that, will you?” he said. “They’re trying to smoke us out now. I call it really clever to go burning a castle down when you want to steal the books in it. A brain wave.” He wrinkled his nose in derision. “Page 23,” he told the book, “and then page 77 right after that.”
The little Book of Magic opened itself and warbled a tune that sounded very much like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Albert turned up the sleeves of his magic coat, and was just in time to catch two mice that fell out. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in the magic workshop?” he scolded as he put them back in his pocket. Then he raised his hands in the air.
As Osmund’s men prepared to fire the catapults, Albert scrutinized them with disdain, snapped his fingers, and called:
Little birds fly round about!
All the flames will fizzle out.
Mix with Albert and his magic
And the ending will be tragic.
Your fingers you will burn today
As you turn to run away.
The bundles of brushwood exploded with a mighty bang, and the wheels dropped off the catapults and rolled away at top speed. Fountains of colored light shot high in the air; sparks fell into the water lilies and rained down on Osmund’s
“I’m really sorry that you are our guest at Pimpernel at such a difficult time,” Melisande continued to the Sorrowful Knight, who was still standing by the door looking uncertain of himself. “This is a small castle, but we always have a couple of rooms ready for unexpected guests. So if you’d like to stay in spite of the racket that man Osmund is kicking up …”
“My thanks to you,” said the Sorrowful Knight. “I would be happy to stay. But if you will allow me to, I’ll sleep up on the wall behind the battlements. Only under the stars am I free from my sorrowful dreams.”
“Well, just as you like,” said the Fair Melisande, looking thoughtfully at the knight. “But my special tea is good for sorrowful dreams, too. I’ll ask one of the books to take a mug of it up to you on the wall, with a plate of Albert’s biscuits. Although,” she added, giving the knight an enchanting piggy smile, “they really are rather dry even for my palate, piggy as it is at present.”
19
O smund attacked the next morning as soon as the sun had risen. Igraine fell out of bed in alarm when the noise started. Sleepy, and still feeling grubby from her journey, she clambered into her armor, gave Sisyphus his milk in the kitchen, and then went out into the courtyard. Albert and the Sorrowful Knight were already up on the battlements.
“The moat will be brimming over with fish if any more of Osmund’s half-witted knights fall in,” said Albert as Igraine pushed in between them.
She looked anxiously down at the moat. “Oh, dear. Sisyphus can’t tell real fish from knight-fish,” she said. “And what else is he going to eat? We don’t have much choice for him. Except those mice, of course.”
“Just let him try it!” said Albert menacingly. “That cat’s too fat, anyway. Give him biscuits. After all, that’s what we’re eating ourselves. Though Bertram is in the kitchen at this very minute trying to rustle up something else.”
The tents outside the castle were turning red in the light of the rising sun. The bank of the moat was swarming with archers, catapults, and soldiers trying to build wooden bridges across the water. The gargoyles smacked their lips and belched as they swallowed fiery arrows and iron cannonballs. The stone lions crouched above the gateway, roaring and using their paws to deflect any missiles that flew their way.
“This whole thing is getting monotonous,” sighed Albert, settling down between two crenellations. He took a small Book of Magic out of his coat pocket and placed it on his lap. It began humming quietly.
Down below, some of Osmund’s men were loading up the great catapults with bundles of burning brushwood. Albert looked at them, shaking his head.
“Take a look at that, will you?” he said. “They’re trying to smoke us out now. I call it really clever to go burning a castle down when you want to steal the books in it. A brain wave.” He wrinkled his nose in derision. “Page 23,” he told the book, “and then page 77 right after that.”
The little Book of Magic opened itself and warbled a tune that sounded very much like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Albert turned up the sleeves of his magic coat, and was just in time to catch two mice that fell out. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in the magic workshop?” he scolded as he put them back in his pocket. Then he raised his hands in the air.
As Osmund’s men prepared to fire the catapults, Albert scrutinized them with disdain, snapped his fingers, and called:
Little birds fly round about!
All the flames will fizzle out.
Mix with Albert and his magic
And the ending will be tragic.
Your fingers you will burn today
As you turn to run away.
The bundles of brushwood exploded with a mighty bang, and the wheels dropped off the catapults and rolled away at top speed. Fountains of colored light shot high in the air; sparks fell into the water lilies and rained down on Osmund’s
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