Wishing for Trouble by Kate Forsyth Page B

up one gauntlet and lifted his visor. ‘Oddsblood, what have we here? Foul fiends from the fiery depths?’

    The cousins looked at each other in bafflement. ‘Is he a real knight, do you think?’ Tim asked. ‘I like his armour. I wish I had some like that.’
    At once Tim was entirely encased in a silver suit of armour, from the pointed tips of his toes to the spike on the top of his helmet. ‘Mmmf, mmmf,’ he said. ‘Mmmf!’
    The knight drew his sword with a hiss.
    Tim tried to take a step, rocked on his steel heels, windmilled his steel arms, and then went crashing back to land with a resounding clatter on his steel backside.
    â€˜Mmmmmf!’ he yelled.
    Ben and Emmy fell on their knees beside him and managed to lift the visor so they could see his bright blue eyes staring up at them. ‘Can’t breathe!’ he panted. ‘Can’t move! Get me out of here.’
    The other four children all tugged on his arms and legs but could not work out how to undo the armour. ‘I don’t like it,’ Tim cried. ‘I wish it was off!’
    Immediately Tim was lying on the ground, his arms and legs spread wide, a plastic helmet askew on his head, and his cloak half-choking him. On his hand, the lion ring glowed hotly red.

‘It’s a wishing ring!’ Emmy cried. ‘It must be. Everything Tim’s wished for has come true.’
    â€˜He wished we were at a real castle, with real knights, and we are!’ Nick said.
    â€˜Uh-oh,’ Lach said. The others looked round and saw they were surrounded by a circle of cruel weapons, all pointed directly at their faces.
    â€˜Tim, wish us home again!’ Ben cried.
    â€˜I… I… wish we were all home!’ Tim stammered, and then yelped in pain as the burning-hot ring scalded him. He tugged it off his finger and shook his hand to cool it.
    â€˜Oddsblood, whoever speaks next shall taste my sword in their gullet!’ the knight said, drawing back his arm.
    The five children gulped and said nothing, staring up at him fearfully. Jessie whined and hid her face under the rabbit.
    â€˜What manner of devils may you be? Or are you of the Little Folk, mayhap, sent to do us mischief?’ the knight demanded.
    â€˜We aren’t devils,’ Emmy said indignantly.
    The knight stared at them. Then he turned and muttered something to one of the guards, who muttered something back, jerking his mace at them.
    â€˜Tim, give me the ring,’ Ben hissed. ‘You made three wishes, maybe anyone who wears the ring gets three too.’
    â€˜Not, no, I’d better have it!’ Nick put out his hand. ‘I’m the eldest.’

    â€˜Ladies first,’ Emmy said, and grabbed for it too.
    â€˜Ladies first,’ Tim echoed, and put the ring into Emmy’s hand. He always had beautiful manners.
    Emmy slid it onto her finger. ‘I won’t waste my wishes,’ she said smugly. ‘Fancy wishing for a suit of armour!’
    â€˜Silence!’ the knight shouted. ‘Come hither, evil fly-by-nights, so the Countess of Lyonessa can pronounce her judgement upon you!’ He gestured with his sword and the circle of guards fell back so that the children could see past them for the first time.
    The hall was huge, with thick carved rafters holding up the vaulted ceiling and walls made of enormous blocks of stone. Halfway up the back wall was a wooden gallery, with a door leading out onto another floor, and here six musicians stood with their instruments hanging from their hands and their mouths open in shock.
    The windows were so narrow that no light came in, and instead a huge iron candelabrum hung from the rafters, holding a dozen stumpy yellow candles that smelt foul. The floor was scattered with old rushes and herbs, and everywhere they looked people lay groaning, bloody bandages wound about their heads or arms.

    The women were dressed in heavy gowns, with dark hoods or