Escape From Wolfhaven Castle Page 2

  On impulse, Tom ran up to the boy with the bloody nose. ‘Your team’s one man down now. Give me your jerkin.’

  The boy with the bleeding nose pulled off his green jerkin. ‘Watch out,’ he warned. ‘The squires play rough.’

  Tom nodded, shrugging himself into the jerkin. He and his friends played mob-ball together whenever they could, but Tom had never played in an official midsummer match before. His time spent roaming the forest had made him lean and swift, and his arms were strong from scrubbing pots. He was sure he could hold his own against those rough squires.

  He ran out into the field, just as Sebastian kicked the ball towards the goalposts. Tom jumped high, caught the ball, and began to run towards the far end of the field. It felt good to be in motion, and even better to be playing against those arrogant young lords who had mocked him earlier. Tom was determined to show that he was just as good as they were, even if he was just a lowly pot-boy. He dodged and swerved, slipping through the hands that reached to yank him down. Fergus ran with him, barking with joy.

  ‘Get him!’ Sebastian shouted as he launched himself at Tom’s back. Tom side-stepped, and Sebastian hit the dirt. The castle servants all roared with laughter, cheering and shaking their green flags. Sebastian got up, scowling, covered in dust. Tom side-stepped another red-clad squire, then kicked a goal. The ball soared high and went straight through the posts. All the serving-boys cheered and slapped Tom on the back.

  Sebastian glowered at Tom. ‘You’d better watch out,’ he muttered, and launched himself at Tom as soon as the whistle blew.

  Tom seized the ball and ran with it. He felt Sebastian’s hands close on his jerkin, but the material tore in half, and Tom leapt free. Once again Sebastian ended up face-down in the dirt. Tom fell down too, grazing his knee, but he scrambled up and ran on. He could hear Sebastian’s heavy footsteps pounding behind him, so put on a burst of speed. It was as if all his anger and frustration gave his feet wings. He ran all the way to the other end of the field, and dived through the goalposts to score another goal.

  Fergus barked and leapt up to lick Tom’s face. Then the rest of his teammates reached him, shouting in delight.

  ‘It’s two-all now,’ a stable-boy cried. ‘We just need one more goal and we’ll beat the squires for the first time in seventeen years!’

  The whistle blew, and Sebastian kicked the ball hard. It practically flew the whole length of the field. Tom ran as fast as he could, determined not to let him score another goal. Sebastian was running too, but Tom was faster. He got to the ball a scant second before the squire, and kicked it away. The gardener’s boy caught it and ran like a hare. He passed it to a stable-boy, who passed it to a pot-boy, who passed it to the falconer’s apprentice, who passed it to Tom.

  Then Sebastian took him down. As Tom hit the dirt, the ball flew up out of his hands. Sebastian jumped for it, but Fergus leapt past him, snatching the ball in his jaws. The wolfhound landed lightly on all four paws, and began to snarl and shake the ball as if it was a rat. One boy after another tried to seize it from him, but the dog would not let go.

  ‘That’s not fair! A dog can’t play!’ Sebastian cried.

  ‘No rules in mob-ball,’ Tom panted, racing up to Fergus. ‘Drop it, boy.’

  Fergus dropped it obediently. Tom grabbed the ball and ran for the goal-line.

  Feet pounded behind him. He feinted, side-stepped, and swerved unexpectedly to the left. Sebastian hurtled past him and landed flat in the dust again.

  Tom kicked the ball as hard as he could, and it soared between the goals. Tom cheered and raised his arms in victory, running back towards his new teammates who hoisted him high on their shoulders. Green flags waved wildly. All the servants cheered and whistled and crashed together their tankards of pear cider.

  ‘Flat-footed fools!’ the master-of-arms bellowed at the crestfallen squires. ‘You’ll be up at dawn and training till midnight from now on, you thick-heads!’

  As Tom was carried from the field, high on the shoulders of his teammates, he looked back at Sebastian, getting up from the dirt where he had been well and truly trampled. ‘I’m going to get you,’ the squire mouthed at him. ‘Just you wait.’

  Later that afternoon, Tom trudged up from the cellar, carrying a heavy wicker-wrapped bottle of mead, made with honey from the castle’s own bees. He walked slowly, his body aching from the mob-ball game, his thoughts once more occupied with the wild man’s warning and his failure to deliver it. Why would no-one listen to him? What if the castle really was in danger?

  Fergus growled deep in his throat, and Tom at once tensed. He heard a soft shuffle of feet around the corner. He went back down a few steps and pressed against the stone wall.

  Then Sebastian leapt out at him.

  Tom hit him over the head with the wicker bottle. As Sebastian fell, Tom leapt over him and raced up the stairs. Fergus bounded after him.

  ‘I’ll get you!’ Sebastian shouted.

  Tom ran past the kitchen doorway and plunged through a tapestry-hung archway. It led to the servants’ stairs, a steep, narrow set that curled inside the walls of the castle so servants did not have to carry chamber-pots or trays of dirty dishes where the lords and ladies might see them. Tom had hoped Sebastian would not see him duck through the tapestry curtain, but he wasn’t quick enough. In seconds, the red-headed squire was after him again. With Fergus bounding ahead, Tom leapt up the steps as fast as he could.

  The staircase branched, the left-hand turn leading to a staircase that spiralled up into the Lady’s Tower. Tom scrambled that way, bent over double and using his hands to get along faster. Then Fergus ran straight under the feet of a servant carrying a tray. The servant fell head over heels down the stairs, wiping out Sebastian as he fell. Clang, clatter, clank, crash, the two of them tumbled all the way down to the bottom.

  Tom kept clambering upwards, taking one turn, then another, till he was climbing higher into the castle than he’d ever been before. It looked like no-one had been there in centuries. Dust lay thick on the steps. Cobwebs hung in filthy tatters. Bats screeched away into the shadows.

  Fergus whined. His ears and tail drooped.

  ‘Now we just need to find a way out,’ Tom said, searching for a window or door in the walls that would give him some sense of where he was. ‘One that doesn’t involve going back the way we came.’

  His feet stirred up clouds of dust. Fergus sneezed.

  They kept on climbing. The staircase had become so narrow that Tom’s shoulders brushed against the wall on either side, while the steps were so steep that it was like climbing a cliff. His calf muscles ached, and his throat was dry. ‘Maybe we should go back,’ Tom murmured, slowing.

  Fergus whined and ran forward eagerly, pushing his nose against a faded old tapestry. He looked back at Tom and whined again.

  ‘What have you found, boy?’ Tom asked.

  The tapestry showed a maiden sitting in a meadow, a dark unicorn lying with its head resting in her lap. As Tom lifted it aside, the fabric crumbled away in his hand and revealed a tiny door.

  He bent and examined the cobwebby key perched in the lock. He tried to turn it but it was so stiff, it wouldn’t budge. He persisted, and the key finally turned with a nerve-shredding screech. Fergus whined and pressed close to Tom. Tom pushed at the door. It wouldn’t open.

  He pushed harder.

  Suddenly it swung open. Tom fell through with a crash, Fergus landing right on top of him.

  4

  A LADY’S COMPLETE GUIDE TO

  MANNERS, MORALS & MODESTY

  Lady Elanor stared drearily at the wall.

  She wished her governess, Mistress Mauldred, would at least put her by the window so she had something to look at while she was strapped in her back-board. She wished Mistress Mauldred had chosen a lighter book than A Lady’s Complete Guide to Manners, Morals & Modesty to balance on top of her head. She wished Mistress Mauldred would come back and unstrap her.

  Suddenly there was a terrible scre
eching noise. Elanor looked slowly towards the sound, careful not to make the book topple off her head.

  A section of the oak panelling in her room flung open and a boy and a dog came crashing through onto the floor.

  The boy was very dirty.

  The dog was very large and very hairy.

  Elanor stared in astonishment.

  The boy sat up, rubbing his head. His dusty blond hair fell into his eyes, which were as blue as the vase of forget-me-nots on Elanor’s table. ‘Get off me,’ he said, pushing the dog away. The dog licked him lovingly. ‘Must you always lick me?’ the boy complained. ‘You have the wettest tongue in the world.’ He looked up and saw Elanor.

  She stared at him.

  He stared back. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I am Lady Elanor Morwenna Grace de Belleterre, daughter of Wolfgang de Belleterre, Lord of Wolfhaven Castle.’ She smoothed her green silk dress over her knees.

  ‘Fungus!’ Tom exclaimed, then went red. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t …’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Elanor said quickly. ‘So who are you?’

  ‘I’m Tom Pippin. The cook’s son.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Someone was chasing me.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really matter. I’m sorry to crash in on you. I didn’t know where I was.’

  ‘No matter,’ she said.

  ‘Why do you have a book stuck on your head?’

  ‘A lady must always hold her head high,’ Elanor replied.

  ‘And why are you strapped up to that thing?’

  ‘A lady must not slump.’

  ‘Do you want to be strapped up like that?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘Would you like me to unstrap you?’

  ‘If you would be so kind.’

  Tom unstrapped her and took the thick, heavy book off her head, tossing it onto a chair. Elanor rubbed her sore neck.

  ‘Have you been strapped up for long?’

  ‘It feels like half the day,’ she answered. ‘Thank you for releasing me.’

  ‘No problem,’ he replied, looking around the room.

  Elanor wondered what he thought of it. By the way his eyes widened with amazement, she guessed he was not used to such a grand room. Hung with velvet curtains the colour of lilacs, her bed was set up on a stage, and was big enough for twenty. Her chair was upholstered in lilac velvet too, and was big enough for five.

  The boy’s eyes stopped upon her tea-tray, set on the table near the fireplace. His mouth fell open.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.

  ‘Starving,’ he replied.

  ‘Would you care to join me for tea?’

  ‘Would I?’ he cried, then hesitated. ‘What if someone comes in?’ he asked.

  ‘No-one will,’ she answered. ‘And if they do, you can escape out that secret door again.’ She regarded the doorway with thoughtful eyes, and decided it was best not to mention it to Mistress Mauldred. ‘Would you mind shutting it? For now?’

  As Tom shut the secret door, Elanor piled a plate with cucumber and borage sandwiches, tiny scones with damson plum jam and cream, slivers of cold ham, and a roasted quail leg, encrusted with salt and thyme, then passed the laden plate to Tom.

  Tom dropped in his chair, seized his plate, and ate enthusiastically. Fergus sat by his side, his shaggy head level with Tom’s shoulder, and fixed him with imploring eyes. Tom tossed him some ham, which he snatched and swallowed in a single gulp. Elanor filled her own plate, then put the platter of ham down on the floor for Fergus. With a gulp and a guzzle, the wolfhound cleared it in seconds.

  ‘Manners, Fergus,’ Tom said automatically, then removed his elbows from the table.

  Elanor smiled. ‘Eat up,’ she said. ‘I’m very hungry too.’

  Tom was puzzling something over. ‘Did you have to sit there, all strapped up to that thing, with your tea sitting right in front of you?’

  Elanor nodded. ‘Ladies must learn self-restraint.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Tom said.

  ‘Ladies must learn not to be greedy.’

  ‘Who strapped you up like that, and left you to stare at your tea?’

  ‘My governess, Mistress Mauldred,’ Elanor answered. ‘A most estimable lady,’ she added, after a moment.

  They ate in comfortable silence, Fergus begging from first one, then the other. This made Elanor feel happy. She had always wanted a dog of her own, but Mistress Mauldred said that dogs were too rough, noisy and smelly. It was true the wolfhound was rather malodorous, but he took the food from Elanor’s fingers with great delicacy and, when she ruffled his ears, they were as soft as velvet.

  ‘I never knew there was a door in my panelling,’ Elanor said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. ‘I’m not sure if I’m glad or frightened. I mean, it’s nice to know I could go down to the stables and go for a ride without Mistress Mauldred knowing. However, I’m not sure I like knowing someone could creep into my room at any time of day or night.’

  ‘There was a key in the door. You could lock it from your side and then unlock it anytime you please,’ Tom said.

  Elanor smiled. She made a plan there and then to go down and visit her pony that very afternoon. She would go for a ride by the seashore and gallop along the edge of the waves. Mistress Mauldred always said ladies must not trot, or canter, or indeed go any faster than the slowest amble, but Elanor loved to gallop. Her mother had always let her ride as fast as she liked, when she was alive.

  A hammering came from the other side of the secret door. Elanor stood up, her throat closing over. Tom dived behind the bed, then reached out a long arm, grabbed Fergus by his ruff, and dragged him into hiding too.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Elanor quavered.

  The secret door swung open, and a very grubby boy with flame-coloured curls tumbled face-first onto her carpet. She recognised him at once. He was Lord Sebastian Byrne, son of one of the country’s most powerful nobles, Lord Aiden of Ashbyrne Castle. Sebastian had come to live at Wolfhaven Castle a few months earlier, as a squire in training to be a knight.

  Elanor straightened her back and said as coldly as she could, ‘Who are you? How dare you invade my private quarters?’ (Ladies must always command respect, she had always been told.)

  ‘My lady!’ Sebastian scrambled to his feet and bowed deeply, almost over-balancing. ‘My apologies. I was pursuing a disorderly knave … I thought he came this way.’

  ‘You expect to find a knave in my private quarters?’ (Ladies must be dignified at all times.)

  ‘No, no, of course not … it’s just I saw his footsteps in the dust …’

  ‘You do seem to have been rolling about in a great deal of filth,’ Elanor replied, putting her nose in the air.

  The red-head looked down at himself, then tried to brush the dust away. Great clouds rose all about him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he managed to splutter, his tawny-coloured eyes watering. ‘Obviously I was mistaken.’

  ‘Obviously.’ (Ladies never disagree with a gentleman.)

  ‘I’ll just go … beg pardon, my lady … sorry for all the cobwebs …’ Bowing low again and again, the boy backed out through the secret door. Elanor shut it after him, locked it, and put the key in her pocket. She felt giddy with excitement.

  ‘You were great,’ Tom said, crawling out from behind the bed. ‘Did you see how low he bowed? His nose practically scraped the floor.’

  Fergus bounded out, tail wagging, sending the dust swirling high again. Both Tom and Elanor sneezed and wheezed.

  ‘I shall be in terrible trouble when my governess returns,’ Elanor said, when she could catch her breath. ‘Look how grimy my room is!’

  ‘I’ll help you tidy up. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s cleaning.’ Tom took up the rug and shook it out the window, banged the cushions together, then mopped the dust off the furniture with his napkin. ‘I’ll take the tray away for you. Then your governess need never
know you ate it all.’

  ‘I can tell her quite truthfully that a servant cleared it away,’ Elanor said.

  Tom began to pack up the tray. ‘My lady,’ he began, rather hesitantly, wanting to tell Lady Elanor about the wild man’s warning. ‘I’ve been trying all day to get a message to your father, but … everyone’s too busy or too … anyway, if I tell it to you, will you let your father know?’

  ‘Oh, I …’ Elanor hesitated. ‘The Lord of Frostwick Castle is here most unexpectedly, to talk of trade and … and such things. Father will be busy.’ (Ladies never interrupt their elders.)

  ‘I really do think it’s important,’ Tom answered.

  Elanor bit her lip, then smiled shyly. ‘I could try, I suppose.’

  5

  MIDSUMMER FEAST

  Sebastian was bruised all over. In body and in spirit. What would his father say if he knew his son had let a mere pot-boy beat him at mob-ball, knock him down the stairs, and then led him tumbling into a young lady’s chamber?

  His father would not be pleased.

  Trumpets blew. Sebastian straightened his aching back. The doors were flung open, and Lord Wolfgang and his daughter entered the room. They were both dressed in green, Lady Elanor wearing a silk dress with dangling sleeves embroidered with gold thread to match her golden slippers. The lord had once been a tall man, but now his shoulders stooped, his beard was more silver than fair, and his face was lined with weariness. Lord Wolfgang had not been the same since his wife had died, Sebastian’s mother said. He spent all his time alone in his study, and hardly seemed to notice he had a daughter who was the spitting image of her mother. Sebastian found that hard to believe. Lord Wolfgang’s wife, Morwenna, had been beautiful, judging by her portrait on the wall. Lady Elanor just seemed skinny and anxious, with hazel eyes that were too big for her face. ‘Father, please listen to me,’ she was saying as they came to their chairs.