The Advisor’s Plot Hi, my name is Christopher and I work in the kitchen of Hampton Court as head chef. Today I am going to tell you the story of how I got promoted from ‘a helping hand’ into what I am today. It all started on the 19 th of January 1535. I was helping prepare a banquet for King Henry VIII; I was preparing a wild board the hunters had caught when I spotted, from the corner of my eye through an open crack in the door, a man who had no place being in the kitchen, for he worked somewhere else in the Palace. His name was Sam Perkins, the King’s most trusted advisor! He was with another man from the kitchens, Bob McJefferson (the washer-upper). Sam never talks to anyone from the kitchens except the head chef (because he thinks they are too lowly), so I decided to eavesdrop on them. “So, are we going to kill the King or not?” said Bob the washer-upper in a frightened whisper. Sam answered, “yes we are going to kill him at …” but frustratingly, I just couldn’t hear the rest of his sentence because the head chef called to see how I was doing. “So, Sam Perkins is going to kill the King” I thought to myself. I was seething with anger and decided to find out where and when they were going to kill him and then I would tell the King. A few days later I was looking for some saffron in the spices room when I found a note to an ‘Edward Sharp’. It said this: To Edward, We are going to poison the King Using wolfsbane with five other men At midnight on 3 rd February While he is sleeping From Sam I rushed to Francis the King’s butler and asked him, in a breathless voice, where the King was. He said the King was in a meeting, so I rushed to the meeting room. To add to my frustration there were masses of guards outside. I approached the head guard and said, “I need to see the King!” but the head guard said “No he is in an important meeting”. “But I need t….” “I SAID NO!!” “But I need to tell him about this” I said as I showed him the letter. “Oh, you really do need to tell him then don’t you” he said as he let me go through. “This man is plotting to kill you and I have proof” I said, and I pointed at Sam. “Here” I said and gave the letter to the King. He read it and shouted, “Arrest this man!!” “Thank you so much….” “Christopher” I said. “Ah, thank you so much Christopher and I am so happy that I now pronounce that when you come of age you will become head chef.” Charlie Johnson (Marlowe House and Year 5 winner)
The Coin The grey, miserable clouds hid the sun, and the blustering wind whistled viciously. Sam was not happy. His parents had taken him to the South Bank for a day out, but all he wanted to do was play on his X-box at home. “Just play down here while we go and get a coffee,” smiled his mum. She shooed him down onto a dismal looking beach. The grimy waves from the Thames lapped lazily at the shore. Sam felt strangely lonely. A glimmer in the tangle of plastic waste that was meant to be sand caught his eye. Intrigued, he rummaged through the rubbish and eventually found what he was looking for. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. It was an old, rusty Blinking in the bright light, Sam found himself engulfed in a torrent of unfamiliar sounds and smells. Where was he? It looked like London but it seemed so different. His clothes felt itchy and baggy. Then it struck him. It was Tudor London; he’d been learning about it at school. He realised he was wearing a ragged, woollen tunic. Shouting filled the streets, and stalls displaying revolting looking meats and misshapen vegetables surrounded him. Sam felt overwhelmed. Walking by the Thames, pungent smells wafted towards his nose. Sailboats importing goods glided across the murky river and traders barked orders at their crew. Pickpockets darted about, appearing and disappearing. He was lost in a maze of bustling streets. Just then, he felt a clinking in his pocket: the coin. Maybe that could get him back. Carefully, he slipped it out of his pocket but before he could do anything, a firm hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back. It was as strong as a vice. Towering over Sam was a massive mountain of a man. “What is a street child like you doing with a gold coin?” questioned the man in a gruff voice. “It was in my pocket all the time,” protested Sam nervously. “I won’t have any of that nonsense,” the man spat, and grabbed his collar, dragging him across the road. Only an hour later, Sam found himself in a gloomy cell. Water dripped monotonously, sounding like a sinister hand knocking relentlessly at the cell door. Sam sunk to his knees, feeling the cold, hard stone floor. He felt hopeless as tears trickled down his face. He could never get out of this mess. As he sat down, he heard a soft clink. Sam looked down through tear-filled eyes to see the gold coin. A shimmer of hope in the miserable cell. He picked it up. “Please work,” Sam pleaded. Nothing. Sam desperately rubbed it. Nothing. Helpless, Sam began to cry, and as his tears flooded down his cheeks they dripped down on to the coin. Everything went black. Sam found himself back on the same beach, dizzy and confused, but relieved to hear his mum’s familiar voice calling for him from the pavement above. Sam still clutched the coin in his hand. Where would it take him next? Fraser Pelly (Sidney House and Year 6 winner) gold coin! He put it in the river to clean it. Instantaneously, everything went black.
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