The Prince, the Cook and the Cunning King by Terry Deary Page A

stairs and looked down. “People listen at doors here, you know?”
    He scuttled back to me. “I call my rat Henry. After the King!”
    “The King would be furious, if he knew,” I said.

    “The King is the biggest rat of all,” he said wildly. “Why do you think everyone in the palace is so miserable? Because the King is so mean. We eat the cheapest food. Even his wife, Queen Elizabeth, is made to patch her dresses. She has tin buckles on her shoes when a queen should have silver!”
    I sat down on the straw. “Cook looks fat enough,” I said.

    Lambert dashed to the top of the steps and back again. “He steals the King’s food. If we did it we’d be whipped. But Cook has the key to the pantry.”
    “Why did Cook call you ‘wicked’?” I asked.
    Lambert ran to the top of the stairs and back for the third time. He spoke quickly.

    “King Henry stole the crown of England. The real king should be Prince Edward, but he was locked in the Tower of London by King Henry Tudor.”
    “I’ve heard the story. He’s still locked away there, isn’t he?”
    Lambert shook his head so hard I thought it would fall off on to the rat-filled straw. “Edward escaped!” he squeaked.
    “How do you know, Lambert?” I asked quietly.
    “Because it’s me! I’m Edward, Earl of Warwick. I’m the real king of England!”

Chapter Four
The Midnight Meeting
    That day, I learned my duty as kitchen maid.

    I scrubbed pans with sand and I swept the floor. I made bread till my arms ached and I carried buckets of water till my shoulders were numb.
    We had bread and cheese for lunch–but Cook didn’t eat with us. He disappeared into the pantry for two hours and came out with food dribbling down his chin, looking sleepy. Then it was time to make the evening meal for the King and his court.

    Cook breathed over me. “If you work hard, one day you may become a serving maid and get to see the King.”
    One day.
    I saw him sooner than that. I sank into my straw that night as the clocks struck eleven.

    I dozed a little. I heard the bells chime midnight.
    That was when guards came for me. They came quietly with a horn lantern that barely lit the bat-black night.

    One of the men, the tall one, pressed a hand over my mouth as a sign that I should make no sound.
    The horses stirred in the stable below as I groped my way down the stairs into the freezing courtyard.

    We entered the kitchen into air that was thick with stale food and smoky smells. The guard opened the lantern and led me up the stairs.

    I was so tired I could hardly drag myself on. At last we came to the massive doors that led into the great hall.
    The room was warmed by a log fire and that lit the room, too. The high, carved thrones were empty. But a man in a dressing gown sat in front of the fire and smiled a thin-lipped smile into the flames.

    The tall guard spoke for the first time. “Your Grace? We’ve brought you the girl.”
    The man turned and waved a hand for the guards to leave. He grinned at me. His teeth were a little black with rot. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Come in, Eleanor, and warm yourself.”
    I dropped a low curtsey to Henry Tudor, King Henry VII of England. “Thank you, Your Grace,” I said humbly.
    He gave a short laugh. “Eleanor, my dearest niece. You must call me Uncle Henry!”

Chapter Five
The Crafty King
    “How was your work in the kitchen?” King Henry asked.
    “It nearly killed me, Uncle,” I groaned.
    I stretched and yawned wearily as I sat on a bench at the fireplace.

    He nodded. “But no one suspects you? They all believe you’re just a common serving girl?”

    “Yes, Uncle, we’ve fooled them,” I said. “No one could guess I’m Lady Eleanor Tudor of Pembroke in Wales.”
    “Good,” he said, rubbing his hands in front of the fire. “Then you are the perfect spy. We Tudors must stick together. I can trust no one outside of my family. There are thousands who want me dead, you know. Dead as a duck’s