Feast Fight! Read Online Free

Percy!”
    “Well, I suppose it might cheer the king up, too,” I said. “He’s going to be cross when he doesn’t get his peacock pie.”
    “Yeah, I dunno what he’ll say to Margaret’s crow and cabbage stew. Anyway, I need to get a new set of juggling balls. I’ll see you at the Boar’s Bottom in a bit. You can give me lift home on Gristle.”
    On the way to the inn to wait for Patchcoat, I noticed a stall standing a bit apart from the others. A cluster of curious peasants crowded around it.
    “’Oo’s this then?” said one. “Oi ain’t seen ’im afore.”
    “Dunno,” said another. “’E’s noo.”
    “Looks a bit foreign, if you ask me,” said a third.
    “What’s ’e sellin’, anyhow?”
    “No idea,” said the first, picking a bit of dried cow dung off his chin. “Oi don’t like the smell of it, that’s for certain.”
    I edged to the front of the crowd. The stall was covered with an array of shiny brass bowls filled with exotic-smelling seeds and brightly coloured powders. The stallholder wore a long purple tunic fringed with gold and a bright red turban.
    “Good afternoon, my friends,” he began. “My name is Ali. Please examine my wares. I bring you the finest spices from the East.”
    “East of what?” said a peasant.
    “Just the East, my friend,” said Ali. “You know, as in the Indies.”
    “Undies?” croaked an old man, cupping his hand to one hairy ear. “’E says this stuff is from his undies!”
    A rumble of disapproval went through the crowd.

    “Ugh!” cried a man. “Oi ain’t touching nuffin’ what comes out of a foreigner’s undies!”
    “Nor me, neither,” declared his wife, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “That’s disgustin’!”
    Muttering and grumbling, the peasants all drifted away.
    “Hello, young man,” sighed Ali. “I don’t suppose you want any paprika to pep up your pig’s liver pie? Or some cinnamon to spice up your suet pudding?”
    Now there’s an idea
, I thought.
If I can’t afford a peacock pie, maybe I could just get Mouldybun Margaret’s food to taste a bit nicer?
    “Do you have anything to make cabbage or turnip more interesting?” I asked.
    Ali beamed and pointed to a small sack of yellowish-brown powder. “I have the very thing,” he said. “It’s called curry powder. A little bit of this will add crackle to the clammiest cabbage and terrificness to the most tasteless turnip!”
    “Sounds ideal,” I said. “But how much is it? I haven’t got a lot of money.”
    “It’s my newest spice,” said Ali. “But it’s not very popular. I’ll give you the whole sack for one penny.”
    “Brilliant!” I said. I handed over a penny before he could change his mind.
    “Remember, don’t use very much,” he smiled, tying up the sack of powder. “It’s very hot!”
    “Thanks,” I said, taking the sack. It didn’t feel hot at all. To be honest it wasn’t even warm.

    I was almost at the Boar’s Bottom when a sinister figure in a long, black hooded cloak crossed in front of me. He looked about, as if to make sure no one was following him, then dived into a nearby alley. I watched, intrigued, as he hunkered down in the shadows. I couldn’t see clearly because the alley was dark and his cloak was in the way, but he appeared to be counting the contents of some sort of bag. Then his cloak briefly flapped open in the breeze.
    He was counting big silver plates. And not just any big silver plates. I could just see that they were engraved with a peacock – the badge of Sir Percy’s family. It was the stolen silver!
    The cloaked robber stood up and slipped out of the alley.

    “Stop, thief!” I cried, and ran after him.
    He gave a start of alarm and then he was running, too, pushing aside peasants and weaving in and out of market stalls. Luckily, I was much smaller and quicker than the thief and soon I was right behind him.
    I reached out to grab his cloak – but then a large grunting pig suddenly came charging out of the