Olive of Groves and the Great Slurp of Time (12 page)

21

In which two pigs are worse than one

The pig was, oddly enough, dressed in the garments of a knight just returned from a jousting tournament. His chain mail was covered with a blue linen smock, his trotters were protected by armoured gloves and boots, and his slimy pink snout poked out from beneath a metal helmet. He leaned his jousting lance against a pillar, kicked his servant boy in the shins, then sat opposite the Queen. ‘Helloeth to thee, Queen Elizabeth,' he grunted, doffing his helmet.

‘
Pigg McKenzie?!
' gasped Olive again.

‘Indeed!' cried the Queen. ‘Here art Sir Pig McKenzie of Slopshire. We call him Sir Pigslop for short. He is our most valiant knight and a true protector of the crown.'

‘I
am
valiant,' agreed the pig. ‘Valiant and handsome . . . and intelligent . . . vastly intelligent.'

‘And,' cried Pigg McKenzie, sitting down beside his knightly twin, ‘my beloved ancestor, as it turns out. What are the chances, eh, Oddball?'

Olive gulped. One pig was bad enough. But two pigs . . .

‘So, Oddball,' snorted Sir Pigslop, ‘Pigg McKenzie hast been telling me all about thee and thine friends from the twenty-first century.' He looked out the corners of his eyes at Pigg McKenzie and smirked. Pigg McKenzie smirked back. They were like two peas in a pod . . . two rancid peas in a putrid pod.

‘My name is
Olive
,' said our heroine, ‘not Oddball.'

‘Whatever,' grunted the knight-pig. ‘'Tis fascinating to learn that thou hast travelled far away from thine own time and place and have plonked thyself in a
desperately risky situation
, all in the name of fun.'

Olive's head began to swim.

‘But,' snorted Sir Pigslop, ‘enough about
thee
. Let us talk about
me
.'

He pulled off an armoured glove and snapped his trotter. The servant boy stepped forward and draped a wide red silk sash over the pig's shoulder and around his ample girth.

‘This ribbon,' declared Sir Pigslop, ‘was awarded to me for rescuing three damsels in distress, slaying seven fire-breathing dragons with my bare trotters and defeating an entire fleet of Spanish invaders. And that was all before breakfast, during which I whipped up the lightest, fluffiest porridge the Queen had ever tasted!'

‘Really?' gasped Queen Elizabeth. ‘Thou art a truly remarkable pig! Although we must confess that we do not recall a single part of thy tale. Not even the porridge. And we are rather fond of a light and fluffy porridge.'

‘Well,' simpered Sir Pigslop. ‘Thou hast a lot on thy plate, Your Maj. Thou needest not recall everything. Thou can leavest the important stuff to me, thine humble servant and brilliant pig.'

The servant boy rolled his eyes. He leaned forward and whispered in Olive's ear, ‘That swine is a droning pus-livered liar. His sash is nothing more than the ribbon from a giant-sized box of toffee apples sent to the Queen from Tsar Boris
of Russia. Sir Pigslop stole the gift before it could be delivered to Her Majesty's chambers, ate all one hundred toffee apples, threw the apple cores at the ladies-in-waiting and kept the ribbon to wear as a sash of honour. The box was last seen floating down the River Thames with the Queen's favourite bloodhound packed therein. Poor Rover . . .'

‘But that's despicable!' cried Olive.

‘As despicable as the emanations from a mule's hayfever-stricken nostrils!' agreed the servant boy.

‘Lady Olive!' commanded Queen Elizabeth. ‘Do watch! Our court jester hast been joined by travelling artists who shalt now perform for our royal amusement.'

‘Oh no,' moaned Olive, for the travelling artists were, in fact, Bozo, Boffo and Clara the cow.

The performance started merrily enough, with juggling, confetti throwing and Clara catching the tip of her horn in the Lord High Treasurer's tights and tearing them to shreds. The Queen suspected some kind of wicked magic when Bozo inflated ten skinny balloons, but was soon delighted at the poodles, daisies and mice into which they were shaped by Boffo's skilled hands.

‘Thou art wonderful jesters and magicians to boot!' cheered the Queen. ‘Amuse us with something else.'

So they did.

Although amusement, dear reader, is in the eye of the beholder.

And if you don't know what that means, you will in a jiffy . . .

For Bozo and Boffo had decided to finish their performance with their favourite thing in the whole wide world – cream pies. They tossed cream pies at servant boys and servant girls, and the Queen chuckled. They tossed cream pies at dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies, and the Queen laughed out loud. They tossed cream pies at princes and princesses, and the Queen threw her head back and howled with glee. Especially when it turned out that a fat white rat had been half-buried in one of the pies. In fact, Her Royal Highness thought it such enormous fun that she scooped the whipped cream off her trifle with her ruby-encrusted spoon and flicked it at the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Queen Elizabeth screeched with delight, banging her royal fists on the table, stomping her royal boots on the floor, until the last cream pie was tossed . . . the biggest and sloppiest of all . . . right in the middle of her royal face.

The royal humour vanished.

The royal fists and boots froze.

‘We are not amused!' declared the Queen.

‘It was just for fun, Your Majesty,' whispered Olive.

‘'Tis only fun when done to someone other than ourself. We are not amused and we wish yonder clowns to be locked in our dungeons forever . . . or until they rot . . . whichever comes first.'

‘Hear! Hear!' cried Sir Pigslop.

Pigg McKenzie leaned over and whispered something in his ancestor's ear.

Sir Pigslop nodded, then said, ‘And why dost thou not also lock up those three rats who are running around, spreading the plague . . . and that dinosaur who art chewing thy dragon's wing off?'

The royal head nodded.

‘No!' cried Olive, leaping to her feet.

‘No?!' shrieked the Queen. ‘Dost thou
dare
contradict the Queen's orders, Lady Olive?'

Pigg McKenzie smirked.

‘You Vile Pig!' snapped Olive.

‘Treason!' cried Sir Pigslop, banging his trotter on the table. ‘Lady Oddball hast called the Queen of England a vile pig!'

‘My name is
Olive
, not Oddball! And I did no such thing. I'm calling
Pigg McKenzie
a vile pig . . . and you too, Sir Pigslop! The Queen, I think, is rather nice . . . although a tad bonkers . . . and perhaps a little bad-tempered from time to time. However, I do suspect that being a queen can be rather tiresome and I might become a little crabby myself if I were in her shoes.'

‘We are growing bored,' sighed the Queen. ‘One would like to see the issue resolved. Lady Olive, thou art our friend and thou sharest a passion for red jelly and trifle. Accordingly, we givest thou a chance to liberate thine friends.'

‘Thank you, dear Queen!' sobbed our heroine, falling to her knees.

Pigg McKenzie rolled his eyes.

‘We crave a little excitement,' the Queen announced to all at her banquet. ‘Therefore we pitch Lady Olive against our dear knight, Sir Pigslop, in a jousting tournament. Should Lady Olive win, her friends shall be freed, the little brown rat shall keep the Duke of Buntoddy's button and the little grey rat may have back his thesaurus, which William Shakespeare hath just hidden down his pants.'

‘My fur is silver,' muttered Wordsworth. ‘Not grey.'

‘And what happens if Sir Pigslop wins?' asked Pigg McKenzie.

‘Should Sir Pigslop win, our royal command stays. Lady Olive's friends shall never see the light of day again.' Then turning to a guard, she ordered, ‘Seize the fat white rat and throw him into our gilded birdcage. He shall be kept as a hostage, to ensure that Lady Olive honours the deal.'

Our heroine watched in horror as Blimp was carried brutishly by his tail across the banquet hall. She winced as he was thrown into the cage and the door was locked.

‘Oh, Olive,' wailed Blimp, pressing his little pink nose through the bars as he was borne away. ‘I feel threatened, humiliated, put-upon and terribly, terribly lederhosen!'

Chester gulped.

Bozo's smile wavered and Boffo began to cry, tears spurting out of his eyes like water from a fountain.

Num-Num stopped chewing the dragon's wing, looked at Olive and sniffled, ‘Num-Num bery, bery sad!'

And Wordsworth, bless his sweet little ratty soul, was, for the first time in his life, at a loss for words.

22

In which a pig rips off Olive's head and dances on it

‘Ready?' asked Basil.

‘Ready,' said Olive, although she did not feel ready at all. Her borrowed suit of armour was far too large. Her chain mail sagged around her knees, her armoured boots were like clown shoes and her bucket-sized helmet kept swivelling sideways, obstructing her vision.

‘Nice shoes,' said Bozo. Spectators flooded into the tournament stands, jeering and clenching their fists. And if that wasn't disheartening enough, two travelling minstrels had set up a puppet theatre in which they enacted a showdown between Lady Olive and Sir Pigslop. After a long and violent
puppet battle, Lady Olive's head was torn off and danced upon by the cackling pig.

Nasty!

And unnecessarily gruesome.

Although, I must admit, the little kiddies loved it. They laughed and cheered frightful things, like ‘More! More!' and ‘Let us see the hole where the head used to be!'

Olive felt an overwhelming urge to grab Basil by the shoulders, shake him back and forth until his teeth rattled and yell, ‘I told you so!' But realising that was a hurtful, useless thing to say, she did not. Instead, she tossed her helmet aside, pulled up her sagging chain mail and grabbed her lance. Squaring her shoulders, she declared, ‘I am absolutely positively ready. Now, where is my steed?'

All eyes turned to Star and Beauty. Beauty's eyes boggled and her knees knocked together. Star took a sudden interest in a pebble, half-buried in the dirt. She kicked at it with her hoof and began to whistle a little tune.

Fumble, bless his warm and fuzzy heart, stepped valiantly forward. ‘Olive, you are the sweetest person I have ever known. You are kind and gentle and brave, and I would be honoured to be your steed as you enter this most important battle.'

He was talking to the water pump at the edge of the tournament field, but it was a moving speech nevertheless.

Olive ran to his side. She threw her arms around his neck and rubbed her nose against his soft, velvety muzzle. ‘Precious moose! I would be proud to have you with me in battle.'

‘But he can't
see
!' cried Anastasia.

Fumble sucked his front hoof and whispered, ‘At least I am willing to try . . . for Bozo and Boffo . . . for the rats and Num-Num . . . for Olive.'

A murmur came from the back of the clump of Grovians.

‘What was that?' asked Olive.

The naughty boys, talking animals and circus performers stepped aside to reveal Star, hanging her head, still kicking at the pebble. She whinnied, ever so quietly. ‘I said, “I'll do it.”'

‘Oh, Star!' Without anger or recrimination, Olive rushed forth and leapt upon her steed's back. Actually, she made three bungled attempts and was finally helped atop with a heave-ho from Eduardo. But what matters is that the
intention
to leap was there.

Olive stroked Star's ears and planted a sloppy kiss on the back of her head. Star blushed, feeling suddenly humble and proud at the same time. Olive might be clumsy, but she had a wonderful knack for bringing out the best in others.
Which was a jolly good thing, for they were going to need their best to survive.

Olive waved fare-thee-well to her friends. ‘Do not be afraid!' she cried. ‘Everything will work out fine! It always does. Just remember — you are all brave and clever and precious, the most wonderful friends . . .' Her voice broke and she could say no more.

‘Come on, Oddball!' grunted Pigg McKenzie. ‘No time like the present. Don't shilly-shally. Make hay while the sun shines.' He snorted and chortled, not even bothering to conceal his glee.

Star whickered, flicked the pig in the face with a clever swish of her tail and trotted to the starting line with great dignity. Olive, I am afraid to say, bobbed awkwardly up and down like a blob of jelly on a trampoline, but one cannot expect too many unbelievably perfect moments in a single chapter.

The palace trumpeters sounded the fanfare.
DUT-DIDDLY-UT-DIDDLY-AH!

‘Ready!' shouted the herald.

Olive squinted towards the far end of the field. Sir Pigslop flipped the visor of his helmet up and down several times, then smirked. His horse, a muscular black stallion, tossed his head in a manner most arrogant.

‘Ready! Steady!' shouted the herald, raising a red and blue flag in the air.

‘Press your knees into my sides,' Star whispered. ‘Hang onto my mane with all the strength you have in your left hand. Don't worry about hurting me. Keep your eyes on the pig, your lance pointing forward. We can do this, Olive.'

‘Ready! Steady! Gallop!'

The flag dropped. The crowd roared.

Sir Pigslop's horse reared up on his hind legs, let out a fierce battle-whinny and galloped forth.

Star gave no such showy display. She simply surged forward with power and determination, gaining speed with every stride.

‘For Wordsworth, Chester and Blimp!' cried Olive.

They bolted towards their foe.

‘For Bozo and Boffo!'

Olive lowered her lance, aiming for the pig's belly.

‘For precious baby Num-Num!'

Sir Pigslop squealed with fury and lowered
his
lance, aiming at her heart.

‘I am brave and clever and strong!' Olive chanted to the rhythm of Star's hooves. ‘I can win! I can win! I can win!'

The pig rushed at her atop his demon steed. He was so close now that Olive could see the whites of his eyes, smell the foetid mud in his armpits.

Her heart pounded.

Star whinnied, ‘Victory for Olive!'

Olive shouted, ‘Victory for – WHOOPS!'

A battle, dear reader, can be lost or won in the blink of an eye. The Queen blinked and when she opened her eyes again, the whole shebang was over.

Our heroine, growing weary, allowed the tip of her lance to dip just a smidgen.

In a flash, all control was lost. The point plummeted downwards and was driven deep into the soil by Star's momentum. Olive, not being a quitter, held tightly onto her end and found herself thrown upwards, like a world-class pole vaulter.

‘Whoopsy-daisy,' she gasped. Although, really, it would have been far more fitting had she roared, ‘COWABUNGA!'

Olive flew over the top of the lance and into the air, where she completed a wild, thrashing triple flip – tumbling, turning, churning – until she slammed feet-first into the snout of Sir Pig McKenzie of Slopshire. The pig was thrown ten metres from his horse and landed flat on his back in the dirt. Olive sailed on through the air until she crashed on the royal dais at Queen Elizabeth's feet. It was an awkward touchdown, punctuated with an extremely loud grunt, but what she lacked in poise she made up for with enthusiasm.

‘Oh, Queenie! Queenie! Queenie!' Olive shouted, jumping up and clapping her hands. ‘I did it! I did it! I conquered the Hideous Hog of Slopshire.'

‘Oh! Goodness gracious us!' gasped Her Flummoxed Majesty. She waved her royal hand in the air, and the gilded birdcage was brought forth, the door unlocked and Blimp set free.

Leaping into Olive's arms, he squeaked, ‘My hero! I
knew
you'd rescue me!'

Star trotted up to the dais, tossing her mane and swishing her tail, followed by the naughty boys, talking animals, circus performers and one very relieved time traveller.

‘Thou hast been granted a pardon,' declared the Queen.

Blimp scampered down Olive's leg to join his fellow rats. ‘Did the Queen just say “pardon”?' he asked. ‘What did she do?'

‘She must have burped,' said Chester. ‘Maybe twice.'

‘I can't say I'm surprised.' Wordsworth sighed. ‘She eats an awful lot of trifle.'

‘What the rats mean,' interrupted Olive, ‘is thank you, Your Majesty.' She curtseyed, bunny-hopped off the dais and nodded to Basil.

He whipped the silver clock from his pocket, flipped open the cover and cried, ‘Gather around, Grovians! Back to the fu–'

But Olive did not hear any more. A shrill, swinish squeal pierced her ears as two fat pink trotters rammed into her chest.

Olive flew backwards, away from her fellow students, and landed on her bottom. She stared in horror, gasping for
breath, as dust rose from the ground and spiralled around her friends. Trifle joined the dust and separated into blobs of jelly, cake and cream. Rubies, emeralds and sapphires showered from above, exploding into red, green and blue stars. And Pigg McKenzie, jubilant and leering, waved goodbye as he and each and every one of her friends began to fade from sight.

‘Oh no!' sobbed Olive, scrambling to her feet. ‘I am left behind. I am lost in time forever!' She closed her eyes and clutched her aching chest.

But wait!

Through the rush of air, she heard a whinny and the sound of hooves galloping towards her. She felt herself being scooped onto a powerful back and carried into the suck and surge of the vanishing time vortex.

‘Star!' she gasped.

The next moment she found herself slipping across a chestnut rump, falling onto a pile of naughty boys, bouncing off an encyclopaedia and tumbling onto the library floor at Groves.

‘Star!' Olive cried. ‘You saved me. You risked
everything
to save me! You could have been left behind, alone in time.'

‘Not alone,' said Star. ‘I would have had
you
, Olive.'