Digory and the Lost King Read online

  For Archie—A. M.

  To Frances Holloway—I. B.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  How Things Turn Out

  An Invitation

  Practice Makes Perfect

  Time to Pretend

  Chapter Two

  The Never-Ending Joust

  The Fearsome Foe

  At Last …

  Snnnrrrrgh …

  Chapter Three

  Lost Kings

  Chapter Four

  Forgetfulness

  The Soggy Search

  Things That Go Crack in the Night …

  Chapter Five

  A Morning Surprise

  Pounce

  On the King’s Trail

  Funny Little Habits …

  All Is Lost!

  Chapter Six

  Directions

  Around the Next Bend …

  Chapter Seven

  Reunited!

  Oh Happy Day!

  Chapter Eight

  Warlock’s Haunt

  Sir Fearless

  Chapter Nine

  Digory in Danger

  Chapter Ten

  A Little Detour …

  Chapter Eleven

  Almost

  No Trouble at All?

  Another Reunion?

  Who’s Chicken?

  The Unforgettable Day

  A Note on the Author

  A Note on the Illustrator

  Also by the Author

  Chapter One

  How Things Turn Out

  In days of old, when knights were bold, there lived a boy named Digory. He had lanky legs, red hair, and a nose like a sausage.

  Digory came from a village called Batty-by-Noodle, where nothing much happened—and that’s the way he liked it. All Digory wanted was to wander through the forest, wade around in streams, make up songs, and play his lute.

  However, things don’t always turn out the way we’d like. (Have you noticed?)

  Somehow, Digory had been mistaken for a dragon-slaying hero and had been made a knight.

  Somehow, he had been sent off on a deaf old carthorse named Barley to fight dragons and do noble deeds.

  Somehow, despite running away from dragons, he had managed to do noble deeds anyway and been made a prince by grateful King Widget, who didn’t have a prince of his own.

  So, in days of old, when knights were bold, Prince Digory lived in Widget Castle, with the King, the Queen, and his best friend, Princess Enid. And he was just a bit older than you.

  An Invitation

  It was breakfast time at Widget Castle.

  As usual, everything on the table had a label—coddled eggs, marigold pie, plum pudding, and dandelion juice. This was to help forgetful King Widget, who had trouble remembering the names of things.

  The Queen also had a label, pinned to her robe. (In fact, she had a selection of labels to choose from: “Her Majesty” for when she was out and about in the realm, “She Who Must Be Obeyed” for when she was in a bad mood, and “Snugglepumpkin” for when she was alone with the King.)

  “Now,” said the Queen as she served everyone a royal-size portion of plum pudding, “is anything important happening this week?”

  “Digory and I are going to make a nest for owls,” said Enid.

  “Oh, good,” said the Queen.

  “Enid and I are going to put a new roof on our treehouse,” said Digory.

  “Oh, good,” said the Queen.

  “And I’ve organized a bit of a whatsit,” said the King.

  “Oh, dear!” The Queen sighed.

  “Yes,” said the King, “we’re going to have … um … oh, you know …”

  “What kind of thing are we going to have?” asked Enid. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

  “Animal? Yes, animals—lots of ’em,” said the King happily.

  Digory’s heart sank. He hoped these animals weren’t dragons. Once before, the King had sent him on an errand to slay a dragon, which had resulted in a very uncomfortable adventure. (Digory still wasn’t sure what had actually happened. He knew he’d tried to trick the dragon, chased it, run away from it, nearly been gobbled up by it, flown on its back, actually been gobbled up by it, mysteriously escaped, and … well … somehow the dragon had disappeared.)

  Digory was certain that he never wanted to see another dragon ever, ever again.

  “Is it a hamster, Your Majesty?” he asked hopefully.

  “Hamster! Ha ha!” the King roared with laughter. “No, no, no, Diggers. It’s a … a … charge-and-thrust!” He stabbed at the air with an imaginary weapon. “It’s a strike-and-blow, a bump-and-tumble!”

  Suddenly Enid jumped up and ran out of the breakfast chamber. A moment later she returned carrying a broom.

  “I know!” She took up the reins of an imaginary pony, lowered the broomstick, and began galloping up and down the room.

  “Oh, yes!” cried the Queen, clapping her hands with glee. “Of course … it’s a joust!

  Clever girl.”

  “That’s it!” The King beamed.

  Enid dropped the broom and flung her arms around her father.

  “Haven’t had one for ages,” said the King. “Used to joust with my brother … um …”

  “Wortle,” said the Queen.

  “Bless you,” said the King.

  “No, Wortle—it’s your brother’s name. King Wortle.”

  “Oh, yes, so it is—or at least it was,” said the King mysteriously. He heaved a great sigh and a sudden sadness overcame the whole family. They fell silent.

  Digory was puzzled. He had never heard of King Wortle before. Why did the mention of his name make everyone so sad?

  Before Digory had a chance to ask, Cook arrived with a bowl of plump, shiny strawberries, which stirred everyone out of their gloomy mood.

  “As I was saying,” muttered the King, helping himself to the fattest fruit, “Wortle and I always used to get together and organize some fun and games the week before our birthday, Diggers. You know, invite the whole village and the next-door-nosy-nobles around.”

  “Daddy and Wortle are twins,” whispered Enid in Digory’s ear.

  “But we haven’t done it in a while.” A royal frown crumpled King Widget’s brow. The Queen quickly handed him another strawberry. “Anyway,” the King continued, “the birthday’s coming up and since we’ve got Digory here now, I thought we’d have a … whatever it is … broom-bashing.”

  “Joust, Daddy, joust!” squealed Enid.

  “Just what I was thinking,” said the King. “I set one up for Saturday. Shouldn’t be a problem for a young prince like you, Diggers. Too old for it myself these days. Great fun, yes. Charge and thrust, charge and thrust!”

  Digory’s breakfast turned to stone in his tummy. “But I don’t know how to joust, Your Majesty,” he protested.

  “Plenty of time for practice,” said the King. “It’s only Wednesday today. Practice makes perfect, Digory my lad.”

  And that was the end of that.

  Well, that wasn’t the end of that. It was just the beginning for Prince Digory.

  Practice Makes Perfect

  Poor Digory went off to the stables to tell Barley the bad news.

  Barley, his deaf old carthorse, knew as much about jousting as Digory did. She adopted Digory’s unhappy mood and chewed her gums in a what-about-retiring-me-to-a-quiet-meadow? sort of way.

  Digory, ignoring her silent plea, sat on an upturned bucket and composed a song called “I’d Rather Eat Hay Than Be Knocked Off My Bay.” That was how Enid found him.

  Enid always understood Digory. She was the first true friend he’d ever had. She wasn’t huffy and proud like the other princess
es Digory had met doing his noble deeds. She didn’t sit in a tower all day, combing her long, golden hair. She didn’t even have long, golden hair—hers was mud brown and stuck up like a hedgehog. She liked to wander through the forest, wade around in streams, climb trees, and play her krummhorn. Enid, you see, was an unusual sort of princess and had a lot in common with Digory, who was an unusual sort of knight. Best of all, she always had a smile and a good idea.

  “Cheer up,” she said, giving Barley a bite of her apple. “It won’t be so bad, Digory. I’ll help you practice for the joust.”

  “But I don’t want to knock you off your horse with a stick,” sighed Digory. “I might hurt you. In fact, I don’t want to knock anyone off his horse.”

  “It’s not a stick, it’s a lance,” laughed Enid, “and that’s the point of a jousting tournament. You have to topple your opponent or he’ll topple you first.”

  Digory had no doubt at all that he was going to wake up on Sunday morning covered in bumps and bruises.

  “Try pretending to be fierce and competitive,” said Enid, “even if you don’t feel it. Just start by pretending. You might surprise yourself.”

  Digory thought of his bold brothers, Arthur and Tom. They really were fierce and competitive. They competed over who could chop firewood the fastest, who could trap the biggest boar, even who could stuff the most crumpets into his mouth at once.

  And Digory’s sister, Ethelburg, captain of the Mucky Maidens’ Mudflinging Team, was fierce and competitive too. No one was fiercer than Ethelburg when her team was losing, as she thundered toward her opponents like a mud tempest, with flashing wild eyes and bloodcurdling shrieks.

  Even Digory’s mother, Betsy the blacksmith, competed each year in the local hammer-tossing championship and remained unbeaten.

  But Digory wasn’t like that.

  “There’s room for all kinds, son,” his dad used to say. “Just be yourself.”

  But there’s room for only one kind at a joust, thought Digory, and it’s definitely the fierce, competitive kind. Maybe pretending was the only way. He looked at Enid’s excited face.

  “All right, I’ll try,” he said with a heavy heart.

  “I knew you would!” said Enid, tweaking his nose.

  At these words Barley stamped a hoof disapprovingly, as if maybe she wasn’t quite so deaf after all …

  So began Digory’s apprenticeship in jousting. For the rest of the week he cantered around the tilting yard on Barley, stabbing a lance at a sack stuffed with straw. Enid never ran out of encouraging words, but by Friday night she had a sore throat from shouting so much, and Digory hadn’t hit the sack once!

  “If only we had more time to train,” croaked Enid. “It’s just a matter of balance and timing …”

  “And aim and strength, and horsemanship and bravery,” groaned Digory. “Not much to master in three days! If only it was a sword fight instead.” Digory had been given a magic sword by an unreliable wizard named Burdock. (The magic always took some time to warm up, but the sword had turned out to be quite useful.)

  “That wouldn’t be fair,” said Enid.

  “I don’t think the joust will be fair either,” said Digory. “Everyone else will be much better than I am.”

  Even Enid couldn’t argue with that. But as we have noticed before, things don’t always turn out the way you expect …

  Time to Pretend

  On the morning of the joust, King Widget woke up with a terrible case of the sneezes.

  “Oh, what a pity,” sighed the Queen, plumping up his pillows. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay at home.”

  “Bodder!” grumbled the King. “Ah don’t want to mith the j … j … j’atishoo!”

  “I’ll send for hot soup and hot-water bottles and hankies and jigsaw puzzles,” said the Queen. “Maybe, if you feel a little better this afternoon, you could watch from the battlements. But now I can hear the tent poles being hammered into the green. I’m afraid I have to go and make sure Digory has a very good breakfast.” And she bustled off to fuss over the cook.

  The Queen had ordered up a great feast to start the day. But poor Digory had no appetite. He sat at the breakfast table, staring at his plate. Two fried eggs and a sausage jeered at him with a mocking grin. Digory’s tummy turned somersaults and wouldn’t settle down, not even for a sausage with a doubtful sense of humor.

  Enid, however, had been watching the tournament preparations since dawn, and she was excited enough to eat for two.

  Digory secretly slid his breakfast into his napkin, so as not to disappoint the Queen. Then he slipped away to prepare Barley.

  At the stable, however, Digory discovered that the old horse had somehow gotten wind of the galloping and poking that was soon to take place and had stubbornly turned her back to the door, refusing to budge. It took four squires and a handful of peppermints to persuade her out.

  Meanwhile, guests began to arrive from every corner of the kingdom. Bold knights galloped around the moat, impatient to begin the competition. Damsels tried to distract them by getting into distress all over the place. Flags fluttered, muffin men strolled among the gaily colored tents, and the village children found plenty of mischief.

  Digory put on his cold, clammy armor. It made him shiver so much, his teeth rattled. He remembered how proud his mother had been the day she made it for him. She really believed I was brave enough to slay a dragon, he thought as he pulled on his gauntlets.

  Then Digory looked at Enid, who had come to give his tin boots one last polish. She believed he was brave too—brave enough to joust for the King. And curiously, as he considered this, Digory’s teeth stopped rattling and he warmed up a little inside. (I’m sure you know that when someone believes in you, your heart swells like a sun-ripe peach. And that’s bound to warm you up a bit, isn’t it?)

  When all his straps were strapped and his buckles buckled, Digory was hoisted onto Barley’s back. Enid gave the old carthorse a good-luck carrot.

  “Remember,” she whispered to Digory as she handed him his lance and shield, “remember to pretend …”

  Chapter Two

  The Never-Ending Joust

  As Digory plodded out into the sunshine, the sweet smell of muffins hit his nose and the local villagers began to cheer. With this encouragement, he tried a fierce and competitive smile. The crowd cheered louder. This is not so bad, Digory thought. As usual, Enid was right. Maybe he just had to pretend after all. Digory had often played pretend games on his own before he met Enid. Now he imagined he was the fearless champion of the joust. He stuck out his chin, as proud knights do, and waved his gauntlet boldly. The crowd whistled and clapped.

  But the champion’s smile soon faded from Digory’s face when he turned the corner and saw the other knights and princes, assembled together. They were all huge, they were all bold, and they were all obviously fearless! (And what a collection of very proud chins!)

  Now, to add to his sudden terror, Digory was told that he was to go last. Poor Digory had to wait and watch the rest of the knights pulverize each other. Knocked sideways, armor crumpled, and bones broken, they fell to the ground, groaning, and were carried away to the first-aid tent.

  As the last pair of knights trotted forward to tilt their lances to the Queen, Digory bent down and whispered in Barley’s ear. “I think I’ll pretend to be someone else now, someone who lives in the next kingdom …” And he gently pulled her reins to lead her quietly away.

  But Digory had the unusual habit of always arriving at the place he was trying to avoid. As he and Barley emerged from the maze of tall tents, a great cheer erupted and there they were—facing the crowd.

  “Hooray for Prince Digory!” yelled the local villagers.

  “Digory the champion!”

  A plowman’s boy ran up and tied a ribbon onto Barley’s rein. The Queen smiled down from her garden throne nearby and said, “Good luck, Digory, dear. Remember what the King said—charge and thrust.”

  Enid, sitting beside her m
other, screwed up her face and made a fierce expression. Digory understood. He summoned all his pretending-power to feel like a jousting champion, but he could feel only like quivering jelly.

  “Oh well, Barley,” he said. “Here we go.” Digory pulled down his visor. Inside the dark helmet he suddenly had one last, desperate hope. Maybe he would wake up and find it was just a terrible dream after all …

  The Fearsome Foe

  But Digory didn’t wake up.

  Drums rolled. The crowd hushed.

  “Step forward, Prince Digory of Widget Castle,” bellowed the local butcher, who was announcing things, “and Lord Percy of Rosebud Manor.”

  At the other end of the field Digory’s opponent stepped forward. To Digory’s amazement, Lord Percy was small and thin. Even his armor had knobby knees. His horse, which looked suspiciously like a pony, was old and shabby. Digory guessed that both horse and rider knew as little about jousting as he and Barley did.

  For once Digory was right.

  With a fanfare of trumpets, the joust began.

  Lord Percy’s horse strolled over to the nearest flag and began to eat it.

  Barley sat down.

  Lord Percy dismounted and tugged his horse back to the start.

  Digory dismounted and gave Barley a big nudge.

  Lord Percy and Digory, in their heavy armor, had to be hoisted onto their chargers all over again.

  Lord Percy lowered his lance and promptly fell off.

  Digory lowered his lance and got it tangled up in his reins. Then he fell off.

  The crowd collapsed in fits of laughter. It seemed Digory had been fairly matched after all.

  The joust continued like this for three hours. Lord Percy broke four lances and two sets of reins and charged into the first-aid tent, scattering spectators over the nearest hedge.

  Digory broke three lances, lost a tin boot, and snagged the royal tent ropes, bringing the whole tent down like a parasol.