Read Online Knight for a Day by Kate McMullan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate McMullan
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ink pot. He wrote his name at the top of the parchment: Wiglaf of Pinwick. Then he wrote: I should like to meet Sir Lancelot, the world’s most perfect knight, as I, myself, am very far from perfect.
“You are very truthful,” Erica said, reading over Wiglaf’s shoulder. “However, in an essay, you must—”
“Nighty-night!” Frypot called from the doorway. “Into your cots, boys. Be quick about it!”
Frypot began snuffing the torches. Wiglaf put the top on his ink pot. He was glad to stop writing, for he had nothing more to say about Sir Lancelot.
The next morning, Wiglaf, Angus, and Erica hurried to the headmaster’s office to turn in their essays.
Angus knocked on Mordred’s door.
There was no answer.
He cracked open the door. He stuck his head in. “Uncle?” he called.
“Quiet, boy!” Mordred snapped. “Can’t you see I’m counting?”
Angus opened the door wider.
Wiglaf saw that Mordred was counting tall stacks of gold coins.
“Fifty-six, sixty-eight,” Mordred muttered. “Oh, jester’s bells! Now I shall have to start all over!” He scooped up his gold and dumped it into a big sack. He carried the sack to his safe. “Don’t look, boys!” he growled. “No one knows the combination to my safe. And I want to keep it that way.”
Wiglaf turned away. He heard clicking sounds as Mordred opened his safe. A thud told him the bag of coins had landed on the safe floor. Then the heavy door slammed shut.
“Well?” Mordred glared at the students. “What is so important that you had to interrupt my morning count?”
“We have brought our essays, sir,” Erica said. “And here is the winner!” She proudly placed her stack of parchment on his desk.
“Ah, yes!” Mordred said. “The contest.”
Other students appeared at the door. They, too, laid their essays on Mordred’s desk. Then they hurried away. Wiglaf was the last to add his parchment to the stack.
Mordred stepped over to a window. He stuck out his head.
“Yorick!” he bellowed. He drew in his head. “Why is that blasted scout never around when I need him?” Mordred scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Humph. Yorick was in Toenail last week. I hope he hasn’t caught the plague. It would be just like him to drop dead and not let me know.”
Wiglaf hoped Mordred would not go on and on about the plague. Already he could feel his breakfast churning in his stomach.
There was a sudden knock at the door. “Enter!” Mordred bellowed.
The door swung open. At first Wiglaf saw no one. Then, on the floor, he saw a misshapen green lump. Wiglaf gasped. The lump was human! It could be only one thing-a victim of the deadly green plague!
Wiglaf drew back. The person’s skin was thick with green boils. And the poor fellow’s hands had turned into flippers! Mordred had not mentioned that hideous symptom.
“You bellowed, sir?” asked the lump.
“I did, Yorick,” the headmaster exclaimed.
Wiglaf went limp with relief. He realized that it was only Yorick wearing a disguise. The scout’s face was smeared with green goo. And what Wiglaf had taken for infected skin was a green polka-dotted toad suit.
“These are contest entries, Yorick,” Mordred said. He picked up the stack of parchment from his desk.
“Careful, sir!” Erica cautioned. “Keep my twenty-six pages together!”
Mordred handed the essays to Yorick. “Take these to Camelot,” he said. “They must arrive by midnight tonight.”
“Tonight?” Yorick said. “But I’ve got my card game tonight!”
“Yorick...” Mordred said in what Wiglaf recognized as a warning tone.
“Yes, sir.” Yorick sighed. “Ribbit, ribbit.” He rolled up the parchments. He stuck them into the leg of his toad suit. Then he hopped out the door.
“Don’t catch the green plague on the way there, Yorick!” Mordred called after him. Then he turned to his students. “Off to class with you now, boys,” he added. “Go on! Out of my sight! Shoo! Shoo! Go!”
Chapter 3
W
“You are very truthful,” Erica said, reading over Wiglaf’s shoulder. “However, in an essay, you must—”
“Nighty-night!” Frypot called from the doorway. “Into your cots, boys. Be quick about it!”
Frypot began snuffing the torches. Wiglaf put the top on his ink pot. He was glad to stop writing, for he had nothing more to say about Sir Lancelot.
The next morning, Wiglaf, Angus, and Erica hurried to the headmaster’s office to turn in their essays.
Angus knocked on Mordred’s door.
There was no answer.
He cracked open the door. He stuck his head in. “Uncle?” he called.
“Quiet, boy!” Mordred snapped. “Can’t you see I’m counting?”
Angus opened the door wider.
Wiglaf saw that Mordred was counting tall stacks of gold coins.
“Fifty-six, sixty-eight,” Mordred muttered. “Oh, jester’s bells! Now I shall have to start all over!” He scooped up his gold and dumped it into a big sack. He carried the sack to his safe. “Don’t look, boys!” he growled. “No one knows the combination to my safe. And I want to keep it that way.”
Wiglaf turned away. He heard clicking sounds as Mordred opened his safe. A thud told him the bag of coins had landed on the safe floor. Then the heavy door slammed shut.
“Well?” Mordred glared at the students. “What is so important that you had to interrupt my morning count?”
“We have brought our essays, sir,” Erica said. “And here is the winner!” She proudly placed her stack of parchment on his desk.
“Ah, yes!” Mordred said. “The contest.”
Other students appeared at the door. They, too, laid their essays on Mordred’s desk. Then they hurried away. Wiglaf was the last to add his parchment to the stack.
Mordred stepped over to a window. He stuck out his head.
“Yorick!” he bellowed. He drew in his head. “Why is that blasted scout never around when I need him?” Mordred scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Humph. Yorick was in Toenail last week. I hope he hasn’t caught the plague. It would be just like him to drop dead and not let me know.”
Wiglaf hoped Mordred would not go on and on about the plague. Already he could feel his breakfast churning in his stomach.
There was a sudden knock at the door. “Enter!” Mordred bellowed.
The door swung open. At first Wiglaf saw no one. Then, on the floor, he saw a misshapen green lump. Wiglaf gasped. The lump was human! It could be only one thing-a victim of the deadly green plague!
Wiglaf drew back. The person’s skin was thick with green boils. And the poor fellow’s hands had turned into flippers! Mordred had not mentioned that hideous symptom.
“You bellowed, sir?” asked the lump.
“I did, Yorick,” the headmaster exclaimed.
Wiglaf went limp with relief. He realized that it was only Yorick wearing a disguise. The scout’s face was smeared with green goo. And what Wiglaf had taken for infected skin was a green polka-dotted toad suit.
“These are contest entries, Yorick,” Mordred said. He picked up the stack of parchment from his desk.
“Careful, sir!” Erica cautioned. “Keep my twenty-six pages together!”
Mordred handed the essays to Yorick. “Take these to Camelot,” he said. “They must arrive by midnight tonight.”
“Tonight?” Yorick said. “But I’ve got my card game tonight!”
“Yorick...” Mordred said in what Wiglaf recognized as a warning tone.
“Yes, sir.” Yorick sighed. “Ribbit, ribbit.” He rolled up the parchments. He stuck them into the leg of his toad suit. Then he hopped out the door.
“Don’t catch the green plague on the way there, Yorick!” Mordred called after him. Then he turned to his students. “Off to class with you now, boys,” he added. “Go on! Out of my sight! Shoo! Shoo! Go!”
Chapter 3
W
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