Digory and the Lost King Page 2

  The Queen and her guests recovered while the tent was put up again. Then the combat had to go on because there was still no winner—and the rules of the tournament said there had to be a winner, one way or another.

  “Let the combat proceed,” bellowed the butcher. “Now with swords!”

  “No. I don’t think that’s wise,” said the Queen. “Let’s go straight to fisticuffs.”

  “Fisticuffs!” yelled the butcher.

  Digory hadn’t practiced this. But neither, it seemed, had Lord Percy.

  Lord Percy swung out and hit himself on the chin.

  Digory tried to wallop Lord Percy, who ducked, and hit himself on the head.

  Lord Percy dodged like a flitting butterfly, stepped back, and fell over his exhausted horse.

  Digory ran forward, fists waving madly in the air, and tripped over his own lost boot.

  And so the fisticuffs match went on—for two hours.

  At Last …

  At last a cart carrying a small barrel was wheeled up.

  Thank goodness, thought Digory, who was hot and thirsty, a barrel of water.

  “Conkers!” bawled the butcher, and he threw Digory and Lord Percy a ball of string. Sure enough, the barrel was full of horse chestnuts of all shapes and sizes, helpfully drilled with holes.

  Digory’s heart sank.

  Lord Percy’s heart sank.

  But there had to be a winner.

  Digory and Lord Percy chose their chestnuts and threaded them onto strings.

  Once more they faced each other.

  Once more the crowd held its breath. (Well, the part of the crowd that hadn’t given up and gone home. The part of the crowd still left that hadn’t gone to sleep.)

  Lord Percy bent forward and whispered. “Should we run away? There’s maypole dancing over in the next kingdom.”

  Digory thought for a moment: Maypole dancing, music, caramel apples, sitting on a grassy bank, watching the fair. What a great idea. Then he saw Enid, still making fierce, competitive faces to spur him on.

  “No,” sighed Digory, not quite able to hide his regret. For Enid’s sake, he attempted a fearful scowl. “Raise your conker, you … you stinker!”

  Thwack! Lord Percy swung his chestnut and it whizzed off its string, hurtled straight through the castle window, bounced off the kitchen wall, and plopped into the cooking pot, splashing the cook with custard.

  “Oh, dear,” sighed the Queen with a yawn, “something tells me we could be here until bedtime.”

  And she was right.

  There followed two hours of conker bonking. Chestnuts flew perilously at the few loyal spectators left. Chestnuts splashed into the lake, terrifying the swans, and broke every window on that side of the castle. Digory and Lord Percy were dented all over, with fine black eyes each.

  Still there was no winner between them.

  When a chestnut landed, bull’s-eye, on the butcher’s bald head, he decided enough was enough.

  “Tiddlywinks!” he bellowed.

  “Thank goodness,” sighed the Queen. Now, she knew this was one sport that Digory had practiced very well, as the whole family loved to play tiddlywinks by the fire on winter evenings. But, as luck would have it, so did Lord Percy’s family.

  Two hours later, Baron Squinteye, who was sitting behind the Queen, leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Might I mention, Your Majesty, for the future, that tiddlywinks is not much fun to watch.” He peered down at Digory and Lord Percy flipping their tiny counters across an upturned barrel. “They’re so, well, they’re so tiddly!”

  But the Queen just muttered “Fluff ’n’ fiddlestuff.” For she too had finally nodded off to sleep.

  Snnnrrrrgh …

  Digory and Lord Percy played tiddlywinks until twilight. Still there was no winner between them.

  By the time they had eventually lost the last tiddlywink in the grass, even the butcher had gone home, hoping his greedy family had left a chop for his dinner.

  “How should we compete now?” asked Digory.

  “First one home?” suggested Lord Percy.

  “Musical statues!” shouted one person in the crowd.

  “Loudest burps!” shouted the other person in the crowd.

  “Stuffing the most ferrets down your pants,” said a poacher (busy stuffing as many leftover muffins as he could down his).

  “I know,” said Enid wearily, “what about thumb wrestling?” As this was a sitting-down sort of sport, Digory and Lord Percy agreed. They clamped their fists together.

  “Repeat after me,” said Enid. “One, two, three, four. I declare a thumb war. Stand, bow, fight!”

  The thumbs stood, bowed, and fought. And for such little guys, it was a furious combat.

  Digory had superior strength from playing the lute, but Lord Percy had some nifty moves.

  “Hup!”

  “Ha!”

  “Oi!”

  “Ow!”

  It was all over in a minute. Lord Percy’s thumb fell, stunned, onto his palm. Digory’s delighted digit wiggled triumphantly!

  “I’ve won!” he cried. “I’ve won at last!” Digory creaked to his feet and raised his champion thumb to the crowd … but no one cheered. The last two spectators had left with the poacher to eat the muffins, and everyone else had fallen asleep or gone home.

  Lord Percy, nursing his defeated warrior, stumbled off to his tent, just pleased that it was all over.

  Only Enid remained to congratulate Digory. “Well done,” she said proudly. “I knew you could do it. Now, let’s wake Mom and all go home to bed.”

  At the sound of the word “bed,” Digory yawned happily. How he got there he never remembered.

  Chapter Three

  Lost Kings

  When the Queen, Enid, and Digory returned to the castle after the tournament that evening, the King had already gone to bed.

  “Poor dear Widgey,” sighed the Queen. “An early night will do him good.” She decided not to disturb him and slept in the spare bedchamber instead.

  The next morning everyone slept late. In fact, nobody got up for breakfast at all. It wasn’t until the smell of roasting parsnips wafted up the spiral staircase that the Queen, Enid, and Digory got up for lunch.

  “I hope the King remembered to have some dinner last night,” fretted the Queen. “His forgetfulness has gotten much worse recently.”

  “He hasn’t forgotten his birthday on Friday,” said Enid. “He never forgets that. I want to give him the best present in the whole world.”

  “The best present in the whole world would be a visit from his brother, King Wortle,” said the Queen. Once more Digory noticed the Queen and Enid grow sad at the mention of King Wortle’s name.

  “What’s wrong?” Digory asked. “Why don’t we just invite him? It must be King Wortle’s birthday too.”

  “That is what’s wrong,” said Enid. “King Wortle disappeared from his home, Claggyboot Castle, on his birthday ten years ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

  “King Widget misses him so much,” said the Queen. “They were best friends, you see, as well as brothers.”

  Digory looked at his own best friend, Enid. He remembered how awful he felt when the dragon, Horrible Gnasher Toast’em Firebreath, wanted to gobble her up for breakfast. How unhappy he would be if she disappeared and was never seen again.

  “We’ll have to think of something very special for Daddy’s birthday to cheer him up,” said Enid. “Maybe a piglet race? He likes a nice, squealy piglet race—the squeakier the better.”

  Cook arrived with the roasted parsnips.

  “Have you seen the King?” asked the Queen.

  “No, Your Majesty,” Cook replied. “He didn’t have any dinner and he didn’t have any breakfast and it doesn’t look as if he wants any lunch, either!”

  “That’s unusual,” said the Queen. “He must be feeling worse.” She put four of the crispiest, most golden parsnips on the King’s plate.

  “I’ll see if I can temp
t him myself.” And off she went to find him.

  While the Queen was gone, Enid and Digory began to plan the piglet race.

  “Let’s give them a nice mud bath at the end,” said Digory.

  “And tubs of turnips,” said Enid, “and …”

  Suddenly the Queen flew through the doorway, her wimple streaming and her face as white as milk.

  “The King is gone!” she cried. “He has disappeared!”

  Chapter Four

  Forgetfulness

  Everyone in the castle, from the blacksmith to the dairymaid, hunted for King Widget. Digory searched the King’s favorite snoozing places. Enid knew the secret haunts where her father liked to hide when the Queen had a list of things for him to do. But he wasn’t to be found in any of them.

  “No one saw him leave the castle,” sobbed the Queen. “He just disappeared, like his brother—and with the sneezes!”

  Enid comforted her mother. “Maybe he left a clue somewhere.”

  The Queen got the King’s diary. “This will tell us what was on his mind …”

  King Widget liked to keep a diary. It helped him to remember things.

  The Queen read it aloud:

  “Monday.

  Ruled all day. Decided to organize a charge-and-thrust.

  Tuesday.

  Ruled all day. Lost bedslippers.

  Wednesday.

  Ruled all morning. Went for a walk. Found one of W’s old chessmen in the juice-drippy-munch-place. Missed W.

  Thursday.

  Took the day off. Forty winks under squeak-squeak-bang. Missed W.

  Friday.

  Watched E and D play hoop-and-tortoise.

  Found bedslippers in cat’s basket.

  P. S. Must visit W.”

  “What does it all mean?” puzzled Digory.

  “W …,” said Enid. “That must be Wortle.”

  “And the juice-drippy-munch-place might be the orchard,” suggested Digory. “But squeak-squeak-bang?” None of them could guess until they heard a familiar racket outside—the sound of the drawbridge being lowered. Each turn of the chain wheel made an excruciating squeak. Then the bridge hit the ground with a loud thud and a “cock-a-doodle-do” as the rooster made off without his tail feathers.

  “Aha,” muttered the Queen, “that’s where he was when I wanted to visit Mother on Thursday.”

  “Do you think he went to find King Wortle?” Digory wondered.

  “It does look as though he forgot that his brother disappeared,” said Enid. “He must have gone off to Claggyboot Castle.”

  “All by himself and with the sneezes!” gasped the Queen. “Digory, dear, you are the prince. You must find him at once. And take him a clean handkerchief.”

  Now, Digory had been asked to do many things he thought he couldn’t do (and been made to do some things he wished he hadn’t done), but he jumped up at once, like a true prince, to rescue the King.

  “I’ll find him, Your Majesty,” he said, secretly sliding a couple of roasted parsnips into his pocket in case he wasn’t back for dinner. “I promise. I won’t return without him.”

  “Then I’m coming too,” said Enid. “I’ll pack a picnic and saddle up my pony.”

  Digory smiled gratefully and sneaked the parsnips back.

  Before you could say “royal rescue,” Enid had saddled up her pony, Flibbertigibbet, and Barley too. Digory brought the picnic basket, the magic sword, and a map to show them the way to Claggyboot Castle. And, with a reassuring wave to the Queen, they trotted over the drawbridge.

  The Soggy Search

  Digory and Enid traveled along a river, through the greenwood, over a small hill, over a large hill, and up a mountain path. Here, in unfamiliar territory, they stopped to look at the map.

  Digory had dealt with maps before.

  “Are you sure it’s the right way up?” he asked Enid as she studied it closely.

  “Yes,” said Enid. “Look, there’s N for north at the top.”

  “But how do you know which way north is?” asked Digory.

  “Because that’s the way the map is pointing,” replied Enid confidently. Digory, very happy to leave the directions to someone else, decided not to ask any more questions.

  A wind shook the trees and the sky darkened.

  I do hope the King has arrived somewhere, Digory thought, wherever he has gone.

  “Look, here’s Claggyboot Castle,” Enid pointed to a small inky picture of a tower, “at the end of the valley on the other side of this mountain.” But as Digory peered at the map, the tower mysteriously melted away before their eyes, leaving nothing but a blue smudge.

  “Oh, no, it’s a magic map!” gasped Digory. “Or else …” Cautiously he raised his head to see if there were a wizard leaning over their shoulders making mischief. Splat! A fat raindrop smacked him in the eye.

  Enid hurriedly rolled up the parchment before the whole map was washed away and stuffed it inside her tunic. “We’d better look for shelter,” she said.

  Thunder rolled and the mountain echoed back with a growl. Black, grumpy clouds crowded the sky, looking for a big, wet fight.

  Digory spotted a cave in the mountainside.

  “That should be large enough for all of us.”

  Suddenly a spear of lightning stabbed the sky. Flibbertigibbet got a fright and reared up, sending Enid tumbling onto the grass. Then, with a whinny, the scatterbrained pony bolted off down the path, taking the picnic with her!

  At that moment the big, rainy cloud fight began. Digory, Enid, and Barley made a dash for the cave.

  “Are you hurt?” asked Digory.

  “Oh, no.” Enid grinned and rubbed her bruises. “I’m used to that. But I do hope Daddy is out of the rain …”

  Digory and Enid sat and watched the storm all afternoon. They played “I Spy” and sang songs to keep their spirits up. Barley settled herself at the back of the cave.

  Soon an eerie rumble echoed around them. Enid stared nervously over her shoulder. She wondered if there were a tunnel in the darkness behind them. “Do you think there are sleeping dragons in this mountain?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so.” Digory blushed. “That’s my hunger-rumble!” But the picnic had galloped away—what could they eat? Digory wished he had kept those roasted parsnips he’d smuggled into his pocket at lunch. He decided to try and brew up some soup.

  Digory knew all about edible herbs and roots from his days spent rambling in the woods around Batty-by-Noodle. He gathered what he could find near the cave entrance and put them into his helmet, which he filled with rainwater. Being the son of a blacksmith, he also knew how to light a good fire. However, even the best blacksmith needed dry sticks. Digory’s were all wet.

  “Why don’t you try the magic sword?” suggested Enid. Digory heaped up the sticks and pointed the sword at them. Nothing happened. They waited. Nothing happened again. But this was the sort of magic sword it was—slow and not very enthusiastic. Then, like a glimmer of hope, a tiny speck of light began to glow deep in the wet bundle. Slowly it grew into a little red tongue that began to lick those sticks, and to Digory and Enid’s delight, there was soon a crackling fire and a helmet full of bubbling broth.

  After their cheering meal of soup, followed by a handful of damp blackberries and hazelnuts, Enid and Digory tried to use the sword to make the storm move along to the next mountain. But sadly, as they’d expected, the magic was not strong enough for that. The rainstorm continued on into the evening, until there was nothing left to do but stoke the fire, make themselves comfortable, and spend the night in the cave.

  Things That Go Crack in the Night …

  Digory had a happy dream that King Widget was sleeping in the same cave and they were all reunited in the morning.

  Well, there was someone sleeping at the back of the cave that night—or at least something.

  As Enid had feared, there was a tunnel in the darkness behind them. And at the other end of that tunnel, deep under the mountain, w
as a great cavern. And in that cavern, on a nest of bones, was a large egg. And in that egg was something fast asleep, waiting to be born …

  In the middle of the night, the egg started to crack. Out popped a tiny claw. Then another.

  Out peeped a tiny green eye.

  A little dragon pushed her horny head through the shell and looked around for her mother. But her mother wasn’t there—she was twenty leagues away, chomping on a poor, unfortunate maiden who’d been riding home at twilight wearing very flashy jewels.

  The baby dragon sniffed the air. A wisp of smoke drifted into the cavern from the mouth of a tunnel nearby.

  Now, to a fire-breathing dragon, a whiff of smoke is very comforting. She clambered out of the egg, stretched her trembling wings, and shuddered. The cavern was cold and empty. So she set off along the tunnel toward the source of the smoke, hoping to find her mother …

  Chapter Five

  A Morning Surprise

  Barley opened one eye. A beam of morning light danced between her ears. So far so good.

  But other things weren’t quite right. She was not in her stable. She was not sitting on comfy straw. And something told her she was probably not going to get a feedbag of sweet hay for breakfast.

  Something else was wrong. Nuzzled up beside her, with its head buried in her mane, was a small dragon. Barley opened the other eye.

  The baby dragon, feeling the old carthorse stir, lifted its face to Barley’s, blinked happily, and licked her nose.

  Barley had never had a foal of her own. Thinking about this arrangement for a moment, she decided it felt good. So she nestled her new baby closer and went back to sleep.

  Pounce

  Enid woke Digory with the good news that the sun was shining. “And look what I found in my pocket this morning,” she said. “A bag of bramble jelly beans! They’re a bit squashed but they’ll make a good breakfast, and then we must be on our way. Do you think Barley could carry us both?”