Life Stinks! by Peter Bently Page A

spat out a lump of gristly bone.
    “Armour,” said Patchcoat.
    “Armour who?” I sighed.
    “Armour getting outta here!” cried Patchcoat. He leaped out of his chair and ran from the kitchen, giggling. “I’m off to work. See ya later, Ced— OOF!”
    Patchcoat had bumped right into Walter Warthog, who had come into the castle without knocking.
    “Mind where you’re going, you oaf!” said Walter, pushing Patchcoat out of theway and marching into the kitchen.
    Walter is the squire of Sir Roland the Rotten, who is famous for being the nastiest knight in the kingdom. I’d met Sir Roland for the first time just a couple of days earlier, when Sir Percy was out hunting with his best mate, Sir Spencer the Splendid. (Guess who got to carry all the bows and arrows. And lunch.) This huge wild boar ran past us and Sir Percy cracked a joke that went something like, “What’s fat and bristly and grunts like a pig? Sir Roland the Rotten!” Then who should ride out of the bushes after the boar but Sir Roland himself! He gave Sir Percy a right rotten stare and galloped off without a word.
    I tried not to laugh as Patchcoat stuck his tongue out at Walter behind his back.
    Walter looked at me and sneered. “Morning, Squire Squirt!” he said. “Lazing about instead of working, I see. You’ll never be a knight at this rate!”
    (I HATE it when Walter calls me Squire Squirt. Just because I’m two years younger than him and my family aren’t posh.)
    “What do you want, Wartface?” I said.
    Walter thrust something under my nose. It was a scroll of parchment, rolled up tightly and sealed with a blob of red wax. The wax was stamped with a boar’s head and two crossed battleaxes – the badge of Sir Roland the Rotten.

    “Letter for Sir Percy the Pompous,” he said. “Whoops! I mean Percy the
Proud
.”
    I glared at him.
    “Why would Sir Roland be writing to Sir Percy?” I asked. “Is it something to do with the tournament?”
    “You’ll find out soon enough,” grinnedWalter unpleasantly. “See you Thursday at the tournament, Fatbottom. That is, if they allow ginger peasants into the royal palace!”
    “Hey!” I said.
    But Walter had already marched out of the kitchen, sneaking one of Mouldybun Margaret’s cookies when she wasn’t looking.
    Wait till he tastes it
, I thought.
That’ll serve him right for being rude!

    I took the scroll up to Sir Percy. He was still in bed, picking at his half-eaten bowl of porridge.
    “Letter for you, Sir Percy,” I said, holding out the scroll.
    Sir Percy shot upright in bed and snatched it from my hand.
    “A fan letter!” he beamed. “They’ll be asking for a signed copy of
The Song of Percy
. You must send them one at once. Dear me, at this rate I shall soon run out!”
    “It’s not a fan letter, Sir Percy—”
    “Ah,” said Sir Percy. A dreamy smile spread over his face. “Of course. It’ll be from a fair lady. Yet another proposal of marriage. Cedric, it’s a hard life being such a famous, brave and handsome knight! You shall have to write and turn her down, just like all the others! Unless – um – she happens to be a rich princess, in which case I suppose I
might
– um – consider—”
    “It’s from Sir Roland,” I said.
    Sir Percy’s dreamy smile vanished.
    “F-from Sir Roland?” he said. “Why would he be writing to me?”
    “No idea, Sir Percy,” I said. “I
think
it might be about the tournament.”
    He unrolled the scroll and read it.
    “Blithering battleaxes!” Sir Percy flopped back on to his pillows, dropping the scroll. He seemed to have gone a bit pale.
    “Are you feeling all right, Sir Percy?”
    I picked up the scroll and read it.
    “Sir Roland’s challenged you to a joust!” I gasped.

Chapter Two
Sir Percy’s Underpants
    I read the letter again. Sir Roland the Rotten had challenged Sir Percy to a joust. And not just any old joust.
    â€œThis is amazing, Sir Percy!” I said. “Sir Roland wants to joust with you at