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

toenail!”
    The King stroked the fur collar on his gown and the collar moved. It was a small brown monkey. It looked at me, then went back to sleep.

    “There are rebels and traitors everywhere.”
    “Yes, Uncle, I know,” I said.
    Mother had told me of the danger. If Henry Tudor lost the throne, then our family back in Wales would suffer, too. They might even kill us the way they killed the Princes in the Tower.

    “Have you met Lambert ‘Simple’ Simnel?”
    “Yes, Uncle.”
    “Did your mother tell you about him?”
    “Yes, Uncle. Lambert says he’s Prince Edward, but really he’s an organ-maker’s son from Oxford,” I said. “The real Prince Edward is still locked in the Tower of London.”
    The King stroked his long chin. “He may look a little bit like Prince Edward.

    The trouble is, my enemies put a crown on Lambert’s head and sent an army from Ireland to kill me!”
    “But you won the battle and captured Lambert. You made him a kitchen boy to show what a good, kind king you are,” I said.
    “I did! There are still people who think Simple Simnel could take my throne. There’s only one person who knows for sure who that boy in the kitchen really is … and that’s the boy in the kitchen!”

    My Uncle was quivering with so much rage the monkey on his shoulder stirred.
    “Now he’s afraid so he says he’s not Edward. First he is–then he isn’t. What’s the truth?”
    “I’ll find out for you, Uncle,” I promised. “What will you do if he is the true king?”
    Uncle Henry blinked in surprise. “Why, have him killed, of course!”

Chapter Six
The Cruel Cook
    I worked in the kitchen till my fingers bled and my nails cracked.
    My fair skin was roasted when I turned the meat over the fire and my bare feet were black with dirt.

    When I got home to Wales I’d make sure servants had a better life than this.
    On the fourth day I struggled to carry a leather bucket of water from the well in the yard.

    Fat Cook told me to hurry and swung his boot at my backside. I stumbled and spilled the water.
    “Stupid girl,” he snarled. “You’ll have to do it all over again!”
    I sighed, picked up the empty bucket and trudged back to the well. Lambert helped me carry it back to the door.

    “He’s a bully,” Lambert said.
    “Then I’ll have to teach him a lesson,” I snapped.
    Lambert stopped and looked at me carefully. “You’re a kitchen maid–what can you do?”
    I almost blurted, “The King is my uncle and I can have Cook executed with his own meat-axe!” but I had to keep my secret. I still had to fool Lambert into telling me the truth. I said, “There is some yellow-dock plant in the pantry, isn’t there?”
    Lambert nodded.
    “Can we get some?”
    “It’s locked by Cook,” he said, “but I can open locked doors.”

    I grinned. “How did you learn that?”
    “My father made organs in Oxford and I helped with the locks on the lid. I know all about them.”
    I stopped in the freezing yard. “I thought your father was the Duke of Clarence and you were the true king?”
    Lambert laughed. “That’s right. But I was switched when I was a baby to save me from being done away with. The organ-maker’s son was brought up as Edward … and I was brought up as the organ-maker’s son! I still think of him as my father. The rebels knew that–but they died in battle.”

    “But does Unc–er … King Henry know that?”
    “No! If he did he’d execute me. I’m a bit simple–but I’m not mad. Of course, no one knows the truth,” he laughed.
    “Except me,” I said.
    “Except you–and you’re not going to tell the King, are you?”

Chapter Seven
Ellie’s Revenge
    The kitchen was quiet. The servants watched us, open-mouthed.

    Cook had locked himself in the pantry for lunch. I put my ear to the door and heard him snore. I stood aside and let Lambert work on the lock with a knife. In a few moments it clicked open.

    The leather hinge creaked. I peered round the door. Cook