Free The Winter Knights by Paul Stewart Page A

He staggered backwards, whimpering loudly, and fell heavily to the floor.
    ‘Plobbl … Stop it!’ he wailed. ‘Shut the tap off … Now!’
    Stope wrestled with the tap, but the cloddertrog had twisted it so violently that the tap was now jammed open. All he could do was stand back as the stew continued to pour over the clod-dertrog and onto the floor.
    The crowd gave a loud groan and, giving up on the rapidly emptying stew-cart, they turned and grabbed loaves of barley bread, before returning to the benches and tables. The hefty cloddertrog clambered to his feet and strode towards Stope, his face dripping with stew.
    ‘You forge-hand moron!’ he bellowed. ‘You over-baked halfwit! You did that on purpose!’ And he grabbed Stope in one of his huge fists, raised him high up off the ground and shook him about, like a prowlgrin pup with a rag.
    ‘Put him down!’ shouted Quint, outraged.
    ‘Put him down?’ roared the cloddertrog, his voice getting louder. ‘I'll put him down, all right!’ and with that, he tossed Stope to the ground, where he skidded across the pool of spilled stew. He unbuckled his heavy leather belt, pulled it from his waist and swung it round his head. ‘And then I'll give him a hiding he won't soon forget!’ he bellowed as he lunged at Stope.
    But Quint was too fast for him. As the cloddertrog leaped forwards, he seized the heavy brass buckle of the belt and yanked it hard to one side. Caught off balance, the cloddertrog skidded on the stew, lost his footing and crashed to the ground once more. Quint stood above him, the belt now in his own hands.
    ‘Now unless you'd like a hiding you won't soon forget from a squire of the Knights Academy,’ he said, his eyes blazing with anger, ‘you'll thank Stope here for trying to help, and get this mess cleared up!’
    The cloddertrog gave a whimper. ‘I've got nothing against you squires,’ he pleaded, suddenly craven and subservient. ‘It's just them that don't do their jobs properly, that's all …’
    Quint snorted and tossed the belt down beside him. ‘Come on, Stope,’ he said. ‘Let's leave the kitchen master to do his job properly.’
    And with that, as the cloddertrog set to work on the spilt stew with a shovel, bucket and mop, the pair of them made their way from the Eightways.
    ‘That's the second time you've helped me, sir,’ said Stope as he and Quint entered the circular corridor.
    ‘Is it?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Stope. ‘You got me that hyleberry salve, sir. For the burn on my arm … And it worked a treat, by the way, sir.’
    ‘Glad to hear it, Stope,’ said Quint. ‘But don't keep calling me “sir”. I'm not a day older than you.’ He smiled. ‘Call me Quint.’
    Stope grinned from ear to ear. ‘Oh, thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘I … I mean, Quint. And if there's anything I can do for you, then …’ He stopped.
    Quint followed Stope's gaze.
    There, coming out of the hall master's entrance just up ahead, their backs towards them, were Philius Embertine and a knight academic. The pair of them were deep in whispered conversation. Quint and Stope exchanged puzzled looks. This certainly wasn't the doddering, confused old hall master they both knew.
    ‘ … And there are rumours, Philius, old friend,’ the knight academic was saying, ‘that Hax Vostillix is having the Great Library watched.’
    ‘You are the finest knight academic of your generation, Screedius, and like a son to me,’ the Hall Master of White Cloud replied, his voice steady and firm. ‘But not even you can protect me if Hax decides to show his hand. He has powerful allies.’
    ‘You mean the gatekeepers? They're nothing but a bunch of jumped-up lackeys,’ the knight academic replied scornfully.
    ‘Maybe so,’ said Philius. ‘But those jumped-up lackeys are well-armed, thanks to my greedy furnace masters, and looking for trouble.’
    ‘Then the knights and high professors will be happy to oblige them!’ Screedius replied gravely.
    Philius