The King’s Toast Contest

The castle on Crumb Hill had six tall towers, but the kitchen chimney was taller than all of them. That was because King Barnaby loved toast more than anything in his kingdom.

King Barnaby was round and kind. His crown had a tiny shelf on the front, just big enough for a teacup. Every morning he sat down to a slice of hot toast. He held a silver ear-trumpet to his ear, and he took a bite.

“Crunch,” said the toast.

“Lovely,” said King Barnaby. He always said you could not tell good toast by looking. You had to listen.

Down in the kitchen, the first one up each morning was Tilly. She was the youngest girl in the kitchen, and the smallest. Her job was lighting the ovens, and she had to stand on a bucket to reach them.

Pudding helped. Pudding was a dragon the size of a cat. He slept in the woodbox, and he had the hiccups. He had them all the time, ever since the day he hatched, and every hiccup came out as a little puff of fire.

“Hup,” went Pudding, and the first oven was lit.

“Thank you, Pudding,” said Tilly, and she gave him the crust from yesterday’s loaf.

One morning a notice went up on the kitchen door. It said that tomorrow at noon there would be a Toast Contest. The best toast would win the Golden Toasting Fork.

At once the royal cooks got busy. They boiled jam. They carved bread. They whipped cream into tall white hills.

“Pudding and I are going to enter,” said Tilly.

“That dragon?” said the head cook, and shook a floury finger. “His fire is far too big or far too small. He couldn’t toast a crumb.”

Pudding hid his nose under his wing.

Tilly lifted him out of the woodbox. “You can,” she said. “I know you can.”

She wanted the whole kitchen to see what Pudding could do.

* * *

That night, when the cooks had gone to bed, Tilly put a slice of bread on a toasting fork. She held it out in front of Pudding, and they waited.

“HUP!” went Pudding. Out came a great big puff of fire. The bread went black as a boot.

“Crack,” said the toast.

“Too hot,” said Tilly. She put on a new slice, and they waited.

“Hip,” went Pudding. Out came a puff no bigger than a candle flame. The bread did not change at all. It was still just bread, and it said nothing.

“Too small,” said Tilly.

Pudding’s wings drooped. His tail drooped. Even his hiccups sounded sad.

Tilly sat down on her bucket and took him on her lap. “Never mind,” she said. She gave him a little tickle under his chin, where he liked it best. She still had the toasting fork in her other hand.

Pudding wriggled. Pudding giggled. And out came one small, golden hiccup.

“Hup.”

The bread on the fork turned golden brown all over. Tilly took a bite.

“Crunch,” said the toast.

Tilly and Pudding looked at each other. “A tickle!” said Tilly.

They practised until the moon was high over the chimney. Tickle, hup, crunch. Tickle, hup, crunch. Then they both fell asleep by the warm ovens.

* * *

At noon the Great Hall was full. King Barnaby sat at the top table with his silver ear-trumpet, and a cup of tea on the shelf of his crown.

The head cook went first. The toast was piled as high as a hat with seventeen kinds of jam: strawberry, plum, apricot, gooseberry, marmalade, and twelve more. King Barnaby lifted his ear-trumpet and took a bite.

“Squish,” said the toast. Jam ran down into the King’s beard.

“Hmm,” said King Barnaby.

Next came toast cut in the shape of a swan. When the King picked it up, the swan’s neck fell off. Flop. It landed in his lap. He bit what was left.

“Squash,” said the toast.

“Hmm,” said King Barnaby.

Then came toast with a mountain of cream and a little flag on top.

“Splodge,” said the toast. The flag stuck to the end of the King’s nose.

King Barnaby had jam in his beard, a swan’s neck in his lap and a flag on his nose. He was the stickiest king there had ever been. “Hmm,” he said, and he sighed.

Last of all came Tilly. She carried one plain slice of bread and a little pat of butter, with Pudding on her shoulder. Some of the cooks whispered. Tilly did not mind.

She held out the toasting fork. She tickled Pudding under his chin. Pudding wriggled, and giggled, and then:

“Hup.”

A small golden puff, and the bread turned golden brown. Tilly spread the butter, and it melted right in. She put the plate in front of the King.

King Barnaby lifted his silver ear-trumpet. He took a bite.

“Crunch,” said the toast.

The Great Hall went quiet. King Barnaby put down his ear-trumpet. He took the flag off his nose.

“That,” said King Barnaby, “is the best toast I have ever had.”

Everybody cheered, and the head cook cheered loudest of all. “I was wrong about that dragon,” said the head cook, and shook Pudding’s little claw. The King gave Tilly the Golden Toasting Fork. It was nearly as big as she was.

“Now everybody must stay for tea,” said King Barnaby. “And I should like a little more toast.”

So Pudding made toast for everybody. He made a slice for every cook and a slice for every guard. He made a slice for the King’s cat, who licked off the butter and left the rest. Tickle, hup, crunch. Tickle, hup, crunch. King Barnaby ate four more slices, and his teacup never wobbled once.

Outside, the sky went soft and blue.

When the plates were empty, Pudding gave an enormous yawn. He climbed into the bread basket, which was still warm, and curled his tail around his nose. Tilly tucked a napkin over him like a blanket.

“Well done, Pudding,” said Tilly.

Pudding gave one last hiccup. It was very small and very soft, and there was no fire in it at all.

“Hup.”

Then he was fast asleep, the best toast-maker in the land. And Tilly sat beside the basket with the Golden Toasting Fork in her lap. She was the smallest girl in the castle on Crumb Hill. She was also the proudest, and by now the very sleepiest of all.