Eddy flinched as he felt a string of sticky drool land in his hair and run down his face. The Beast pressed its snot-crusted snout against his cheek and took a deep sniff.

Eddy screwed his eyes tight and waited for the bite.

But nothing came.

He lifted one eyelid and peeped out.

“It’s fish,” said the Beast.

“Don’t like fish.”

“What do you mean, it’s fish?” asked the Emperor. “Look at it. It’s three human beings and a weird bird.”

“And two deadly raisins,” yelled the Chevalier and Plonque.

“It stinks like fish. I’m not eating it.”

“It’s got legs,” said the Emperor. “When did you ever see a fish with legs?”

“There are lots of things that I’ve never seen,” the Beast answered in a sad voice. “Balloons. A windmill. The seaside.”

The Beast flumped back on its fat smelly bottom, a picture of misery.

“Never seen the seaside,” said Eddy. “Poor you.”

“It’s just dungeon, cage, dungeon, cage, day after day,” said the Beast. “Never any fun.”

“That’s so sad,” said Eddy.

“Stop that,” said the Emperor. “I know what you’re doing. You think that if you pretend to feel sorry for the Beast he won’t want to eat you.”

“I already don’t want to eat him,” huffed the Beast, “because he is a fish.”

“How can he be a fish?” asked the Emperor. “He’s got clothes on.”

“Clothes. Batter. Breadcrumbs. What’s the difference?” asked the Beast. “They disguise your food but one bite and – yuck. It’s still fish.”

“There’s no fooling you,” said Eddy. “Inside these clothes we’re all yucky fish. Isn’t that right, guys?”

The Codcakers all loudly agreed, and tried to look as much like fish as possible. Which is quite hard, when you think about it.

“Don’t listen to them,” said the Emperor.

“I’m not listening to you,” said the Beast.

“Come on, just bite the heads,” said the Emperor. “Lovely crunchy munchy squidgy heads. You know they’re your favourite bits.”

“Shan’t.”

“You can have ketchup.”

“I want pizza.”

“Stop being stupid and eat your dinner!”

“No! I hate fish and I hate you!”

“For the last time – they are not fish!!!” the Emperor screamed at the top of his voice.

“I’m going to tell my mum,” said the Beast.

That stopped the Emperor in his tracks.

“No don’t do that,” he said hastily. “We’ve only just finished rebuilding after the last time she got angry. You don’t have to eat them. Guards, take him away. Keeper, give him a pizza if it will keep him quiet.”

“I want spicy sausage on it,” said the Beast, flopping back into his own cage, “but no olives. They’re almost as horrible as fish.”

Eddy let the air out of his lungs in a great whoosh of relief. The palms of his hands were sticky with sweat, and his heart was still thumping as the guards dragged the Beast’s cage away.

He was glad that his heart was still thumping. It meant that he was alive. Alive – but not free.

The Emperor looked as if he might explode with fury at any moment.

“I want these prisoners chained up in the dungeon while I think up a really horrible way for them to die, which I can’t do right now because I’m too upset. Bring me the Head Jailer!”

“Tiny problem,” said Robin. “You sacked him for feeding the prisoners too much bread with their mould.”

“Then get the Deputy Jailer,” said the Emperor.

“Sacked,” said Robin.

“The Guard Sergeant.”

“Sacked and chained up in cell number three.”

“Who is running the dungeon, for goodness’ sake?”

“Old Ichabod,” said Robin, checking the details on his clipboard. “He’s the only one left down there.”

“Old who?”

“Ichabod. He’s in charge of prison catering. His job is to get today’s bread before it goes to the prisoners and lick off some of the mould. Then he licks it onto the stale bread that’s going to be tomorrow’s rations, so it will grow nice and furry by the time we feed it to them.”

“You’d have to be a halfwit to do that.”

“Oh, he is,” said Robin chirpily.

“Very well,” said the Emperor, “bring him to me.”

“Slight hitch,” said Robin. “He hasn’t been out of the dungeon for twenty-three years. He has grown terrified of daylight. Goodness knows what would happen if we dragged him up here.”

“Why is everybody except me so useless?” said the Emperor. “I’ve a good mind to sack the entire population and get a new one.”

“Well, you know what they say,” said Robin. “If the fool in the dungeon won’t come to the Emperor, the Emperor must go to the fool in the dungeon.”

“If I hear them say that, they will find themselves chained to the wall next to the Guard Sergeant.”

Eddy’s brain clicked into action. Maybe this was an opportunity to trick their way out of trouble.

“There’s no need to put yourself to any bother, Your Magnificence,” he said. “We can make our own way to the dungeon.” Once they were out of sight, they would be able to slip away and try to escape. But would the Emperor fall for it?

“I’m not going to fall for that, you cheeky little squirt,” said the Emperor. “Even if it means I have to take you to the dungeon myself. The sooner you are securely chained up, the sooner I can decide how to get rid of you for good.”