CHAPTER 36

THE SUN WAS HIGH BY THE TIME THE ROYAL galleon and Le Bateau Fantastique came within hailing distance of each other.

Unseen, a small dinghy slipped behind the bulk of the English galleon. Two industrious sailors lowered the sail and tied their boat to a rope ladder hanging down the side of the huge ship. The third sailor simply watched and growled, “Arrr, put your backs into it, rapscallions!”

Cordelia peered up. Shouts and whistles came from the deck and they heard the colossal anchor plunge into the sea.

“I think we should climb on board now,” she muttered to Goose. “We might be able to hide if they’re all busy trying to look better than the French.”

“Good idea,” he said.

Sir Hugo whispered, “Zounds! The hero’s quest is nearly at its peak! The sun reaches his noontime zenith and the game is afoot!” He whipped his sword out of its scabbard and swished it through the air. “What say you, fair players? Let’s whip ’em back to France!”

“No, Sir Hugo—we’re not here to whip the French!” Cordelia hissed. “We’re here to help the princess! And to stop Lord Witloof.”

“And Miss Starebottom,” added Goose.

Sir Hugo grinned somewhat blankly and disappeared up the ladder.

“At least he’s good with his sword,” Goose muttered as they hurried after him. They found him crouching dramatically behind a barrel and ducked down next to him.

The galleon was a-bustle with activity. Scarlet footmen ran back and forth, arranging flowers and unfurling English flags and putting up flattering portraits of King George (looking exceedingly sensible and most noble). Two velvet-covered thrones faced each other across the deck. One was a lot taller and more impressive than the other.

Across a narrow gully of sea and air, a dozen blue-and-gold French courtiers watched from the deck of the French ship. One, wearing an especially long and curly wig, shouted, “I ’ope you weel not hexpect our keeeng to eet your Eenglish food.”

Cordelia and Goose peered out from their hiding place.

“Those must be the French Makers,” Goose breathed, eyeing the most flamboyant people strutting along the deck. “I heard King Louis has a Perfumemaker and a Wigmaker!”

Cordelia was surveying the English ship.

“The royal cabin will be aft,” Cordelia whispered. “We need to get below decks.”

She pointed to a door below the poop deck and Goose nodded.

“Argh!” Sir Hugo cried. “Splinter!” He leaped up, clutching his knee.

A footman screamed and dropped a tray of jam tarts.

Heads turned and everyone froze. Cordelia and Goose crouched as low as they could, not daring to move in case they were spotted too.

“Do not fear!” Sir Hugo announced to all the staring footmen. “For I come on the noble mission to—”

“What manner of stowaway is this?” a voice boomed.

A man appeared on the poop deck. He wore a royal blue coat with gold buttons, a white wig, and a black tricorn hat. He looked very impressive.

“I am no stowaway!” Sir Hugo barked.

“I am captain of the royal galleon,” the figure declared. “And I know a stowaway when I see one.”

“I am Sir Hugo Gushforth,” Sir Hugo cried, slashing his sword in a silver arc. “And I will not be called a stowaway by some strutting jack-a-nape with a splintery ship!”

The captain came down from the poop deck and strode toward Sir Hugo, who was swishing his sword so fast through the air that it was a silver streak.

“Remember Sir Hugo’s duel in the play?” Goose whispered confidently. “He won easily.”

The captain planted his feet and pulled his own sword from its sheath. In one savage slash, he brought his weapon clean through the silver blur of Sir Hugo’s swordplay.

Clang!

“OUCH!”

And Sir Hugo was desperately dodging and ducking as the captain calmly skewered and sliced the air around him.

“Ah,” said Cordelia. “I think Sir Hugo is only good at fighting when it’s pretend and the other person has a wooden sword.”

Goose nodded ruefully, watching Sir Hugo yelp.

Every footman, courtier, and sailor on deck was riveted by the fight. Even the French, on their ship, were shouting and whooping as the captain cut the buttons off Sir Hugo’s outfit with deft flicks of his weapon.

“Come on!” Cordelia hissed. “Now’s our chance!”

She and Goose scrambled out from behind the barrel and streaked across the deck. They were safely through the door when they heard a loud wolf whistle from a French courtier: with no buttons left to hold them up, Sir Hugo’s trousers had fallen down.