The King's Key

by Cameron Stelzer

  ‘There’s no Claw-of-War,’ the Captain elaborated, ‘but the coast is definitely not clear.’

  ‘S-s-so what’s out there?’ Whisker stammered, suddenly feeling as ill as the others.

  ‘I’ll give you a hint,’ the Captain said, deadpan. ‘They smell like fish, but they can’t stand water …’

  Out of the crab pot …

  There was an old Pie Rat saying that cats and rats got along like naked flames and barrels of gunpowder – explosively. As Whisker watched the armour-plated vessel of the Cat Fish racing towards him, he knew the comparison was frightfully accurate – the Silver Sardine was notorious for firing flaming fur-balls.

  ‘Simple Simon save us,’ Pete groaned in desperation. ‘They’re coming for the map.’

  ‘I thought Whisker blew up their rust-bucket boat last night,’ Horace said, confused.

  The Captain extended his telescope for a closer look.

  ‘The Silver Sardine is definitely afloat,’ he said. ‘Though it appears her cannons are still out of action.’

  ‘Small consolation,’ Pete muttered. ‘We’re out of cannon-pies.’

  Mr Tribble raised a trembling paw. ‘Might I suggest we take our chances with the shipwrecks, Captain? At least we won’t be eaten.’

  The Captain swung his telescope towards the sandbar and let out an agitated groan. ‘Ratbeard be kind. The Blue Claw are back for round two. The water is teeming with them.’

  Pete stamped his pencil in frustration. ‘Confounded crabs! Conniving cats! Can’t we find an easier enemy?’

  ‘What are our other options?’ the Captain asked, attempting to remain calm.

  Ruby drew both swords and voiced her opinion with a cry of ‘fight.’ The Captain politely shook his head and turned expectantly to Whisker.

  Since his dramatic rescue, Whisker had become the official go-to rat in dangerous situations. He’d saved the crew more than once with his desperate decision making and last-minute escape plans.

  ‘Err … well,’ he mumbled, beginning a process of elimination. ‘We can’t sail north while the crabs occupy the sandbar, and we can’t sail east with the mainland in the way. The Silver Sardine is blocking our southern escape route … but we could take our chances to the west and try to outsail them …’

  ‘What about the blockade?’ Pete interrupted.

  The crew looked nervously at Whisker. Whisker knew his plan was risky, but less risk than facing the cats.

  ‘If we encounter a blockade,’ he replied, ‘the Cat Fish are in as much trouble as we are.’

  With a hesitant nod of heads, the Apple Pie turned west. Immediately, the Silver Sardine changed course and the pursuit was on.

  Shipwreck Sandbar disappeared from sight as the two ships ploughed through the ocean. The Apple Pie had the up-wind advantage and a favourable breeze from the north-east kept her sails full. The Silver Sardine, however, carried an extra sail. The Pie Rats worked hard to maintain their speed but it wasn’t long before the Cat Fish began gaining ground.

  The specks of distant ships appeared on the horizon and the Captain handed Whisker the telescope, with a mumble of ‘Now what?’

  Whisker raised the telescope to his eye and peered through. His vision filled with the ominous shapes of warships, curving in a wide arc across the sea. He turned the telescope to the Silver Sardine. Six cats stood on the deck, slicing cheese knives through the air in readiness.

  Whisker gulped in terror. On an empty stomach, and with very little sleep, the prospect of arrest was far easier to swallow than a mid-sea massacre. As his trembling paws lowered the telescope, he felt his mind retreating into the calm world of his memories.

  He closed his eyes. Distant recollections floated in and out of his mind as he searched for an answer: What should I do? He’d first experienced this strange phenomenon when he was sinking in the Cyclone Sea. His memories had found him an answer and the answer had saved his life.

  Whisker focused his thoughts. Past memories turned to recent events. Images became clearer …

  He was on the Apple Pie. A waterlogged mouse wearing thick glasses climbed aboard. In his paws he clutched a pile of precious books wrapped up in a school flag …

  Whisker opened his eyes. The Cat Fish showed no signs of altering their course.

  ‘Good,’ he mumbled. ‘Sometimes it pays to have enemies.’

  ‘What’s that?’ the Captain asked expectantly.

  A mischievous grin spread across Whisker’s face.

  ‘Captain,’ he said, ‘how would you feel about giving the Apple Pie a little makeover?’

  The Captain flashed Whisker a puzzled expression. ‘Are you sure that’s not the perfume talking?’

  Whisker gave himself a quick sniff. The scent of roses and cherry blossoms filled his nose.

  ‘N-no, Captain,’ he replied.

  ‘Very well,’ the Captain sighed. ‘I don’t know what goes through that crazy circus head of yours, Whisker, but if it gets us out alive, get beautifying.’

  ‘LISTEN UP CREW,’ the Captain bellowed across the deck. ‘Whisker has a plan. Do exactly what he asks – no questions. That means you, Horace.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Horace muttered back. ‘I may be a chatterbox, but I do know when to keep my mouth sh …’

  ‘ZIP IT!’ the Captain roared.

  Horace stuck his hook in his mouth and Whisker wasted no time in rattling off a peculiar list of requests.

  ‘First, I need a spare set of sails – the brighter, the better; plus any ribbons, scarves or bunting you can find. Second, I require Pete’s collection of books to be stacked on the deck and all cannons and scissor swords hidden away. Third, I need Ruby and Horace to swap clothes with Emmie and Eaton. And finally, I need Mr Tribble’s school flag flying up there.’ He thrust his finger in the direction of the foremast.

  The crew stared back in bewilderment. Not even Horace dared to ask why?

  With two sharp claps from the Captain, the crew leapt into action. They swarmed below, raiding the cargo hold, closing cannon hatches and turning Pete’s cabin inside out. In minutes the deck was covered with flowing fabric and piles of books.

  Whisker surveyed the ship. In the centre of the deck, Ruby fossicked through a pile of spare sails. Nearby, Horace raised the Oakbridge school flag up the mast.

  ‘I can barely move in this getup,’ Horace complained, unbuttoning Eaton’s school blazer with his hook.

  ‘Try cutting back on the pies,’ Ruby muttered.

  ‘That’s hardly fair,’ Horace whined. ‘I’ve already missed breakfast.’

  Ruby held up a red and green sail.

  ‘What about this one, Whisker?’ she asked. ‘It’s a giant tomato.’

  Whisker walked over for a closer look. Ruby fidgeted awkwardly in Emmie’s maroon blazer, but stopped when she realised Whisker was approaching.

  ‘School was never my thing,’ she said awkwardly. ‘They didn’t teach sword fighting. Besides, no one could possibly look good in one of these.’

  ‘Oh,’ Whisker replied. ‘I think you look, um … well … th-the colour suits you.’

  Ruby looked away in embarrassment. Whisker felt his cheeks turning a brighter shade of red than the tomato sail.

  Trying to act normal, Ruby pointed to another sail. ‘There’s a matching carrot if you want to use it. I prefer the eagle sail, but it’s much too large for the masts.’

  ‘H-healthy eating,’ Whisker stammered, saying the first thing that came into his head. ‘Tomatoes and carrots. Yes, that’s what we’re after…’

  Horace’s ears pricked up. ‘Healthy eating? Are you having a go at me, too?’

  Whisker knew he had to stay focused.

  ‘I-I have to check on the others,’ he said, darting off.

  The rest of the crew were doing exactly what Whisker had requested. Eaton and Emmie (dressed as miniature versions of Horace and Ruby) dangled from the front of the boat, draping the Mer-Mouse figurehead with colourful scarves. Fred and Smudge hung a li
ne of blue bunting between the masts while Pete and Mr Tribble stacked neat piles of books on the deck. There wasn’t a cannon or scissor sword in sight. As the final vegetable sail was raised, Whisker glanced over his shoulder to see the Silver Sardine rapidly approaching.

  ‘Horace to the wheel,’ he ordered. ‘Ruby and the twins to the sails and the rest of the rats in the navigation room, NOW!’

  ‘What about me?’ Mr Tribble asked apprehensively.

  ‘I have a special job for you,’ Whisker said, handing Mr Tribble a white flag. ‘Wave this in the air and act like a school teacher escaping from a ship of hungry cats.’

  Four rats and a blowfly crouched in a clutter of sails in a corner of the navigation room.

  ‘Tell me again,’ Fred said, untangling himself from the eagle sail. ‘Why are we hiding in here?’

  ‘Because I’m too bony for a school boy and you’re too scary for a teacher,’ Pete replied impatiently.

  Smudge raised four arms in the air as if to say, and I’m too unhygienic for a classroom pet.

  ‘Oh – right,’ Fred mumbled.

  ‘Just keep your eye on those cats and tell us if they’re up to anything,’ the Captain instructed.

  Fred closed his mouth and stared out the rear window. The Captain crept to the front of the room, raising his telescope to a pane of glass in the door.

  ‘We’re almost within firing range of the warships,’ the Captain said. ‘We should expect the first round of volcanic rocks any minute.’

  ‘That’ll put a chink in the cats’ armour,’ Pete smirked.

  ‘Or a big hole in our boat,’ Whisker added, hoping desperately the crabs were as easily fooled as they’d been in the past.

  ‘Um, sorry to interrupt,’ Fred said slowly. ‘But I think the cats are up to something.’

  The rats rushed over to Fred and peered out the rear window. The Silver Sardine was now only a stone’s throw away. They watched as the shaggy shape of Furious Fur appeared at the bow of the boat, clutching a pronged metal object attached to a rope.

  ‘Murderous mayhem!’ Pete cried frantically. ‘He’s got a grappling hook!’

  The Captain seized the closest scissor sword and whacked the ceiling, roaring, ‘PORT SIDE ON THE DOUBLE!’

  Whisker heard a muffled cry from Horace and the Apple Pie suddenly lurched to its left. A moment later, the grappling hook hurtled past the window, narrowly missing the hull, and splashed harmlessly into the water on the starboard side of the ship.

  Furious Fur hissed in anger and slashed his claws through the air. The terrifying orange and black figure of Captain Sabre came into view beside him. Together, the two cats heaved the soggy rope onto the deck.

  ‘They’ll get us next time,’ Pete hollered. ‘And then we’re brunch!’

  As the grappling hook rose from the surface of the water and Sabre prepared to swing, Whisker hoped Pete was wrong.

  With a deafening BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! a chorus of exploding cannons filled the air. To Whisker, the sound was sweeter than birds chirping on a spring afternoon.

  With deadly speed and precision, a dozen jagged missiles pounded the metal hull of the Silver Sardine. Sabre was thrown backwards into Furious Fur and together the two cats landed in a sprawling heap on the deck. There was a defeated hiss of ‘Retreat,’ and the chase was over. When the second wave of projectiles arrived, the Cat Fish were already racing away.

  Jubilant rejoicing filled the deck of the Apple Pie. Cries of ‘We’re saved!’ and ‘Lady Luck is with us!’ echoed through the salty air. The celebration inside the navigation room was far more restrained.

  ‘What happens next?’ Pete asked, in his usual negative tone.

  ‘We sail through the blockade and escape,’ Whisker replied, sounding far more confident than he felt. ‘The warships are here to stop smugglers, not traumatised school students.’

  ‘Just because we look like a ship of traumatised school students …’ Pete said doubtfully.

  No one responded. It was clearly a matter of wait and see.

  Horace poked his head through the doorway.

  ‘Who died?’ he said, staring at the long faces.

  ‘Not you,’ Pete snarled. ‘That would be a joyous occasion.’

  ‘Quiet,’ the Captain hissed. ‘Why are you here, Horace?’

  ‘I’ve come to ask Fred for recess,’ Horace answered. ‘The whole class is starving.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be steering the ship?’ the Captain asked suspiciously.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Horace said in a relaxed tone. ‘Mr Tribble’s covering for me.’

  ‘Mr Tribble,’ Pete spluttered. ‘The plan was to sail through the blockade, not crash into it!’

  The horrified look on Horace’s face told the rats that recess could wait. He kicked the door open and darted outside. Whisker stared through the open doorway. Towering over the deck was the most enormous ship he had ever seen. Its giant claw-shaped battering ram protruded from its bow, its four masts extended high into the air and its twelve billowing sails blocked out the sun. It was a monstrous Claw-of-War, and it was on a collision course with the Apple Pie.

  Mr Tribble let out a startled cry and the crew took evasive action. Ruby and the twins tugged frantically at ropes in a desperate attempt to collapse the sails. Horace seized the wheel and spun the ship in a tight arc through the water. Whisker grabbed the door frame to steady himself as the port side of the Apple Pie lurched towards the starboard side of the warship. An entire battalion of crabs gasped as the two ships scraped past each other with a piercing screech of timber.

  For a moment the ships were locked in a grinding embrace, but with the jolt of a passing wave, they sprang apart and the collision was over. Whisker staggered backwards through the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him. With the click of the latch, there was silence.

  He cautiously pressed his nose against the glass. Outside, six hundred beady eyes stared transfixed at Horace. Whisker reached for a scissor sword, expecting the crabs to hurl themselves aboard at any moment, but not one of them twitched. The uncanny silence continued until a small voice broke the stillness.

  ‘Stupid kid,’ piped a crab. ‘You nearly killed us all!’

  ‘You’re sailing on the wrong side of the sea,’ scolded another.

  ‘That’s a week of detention,’ cried a third.

  ‘The repairs are coming out of your pocket money!’ snapped a fourth.

  Horace responded with a string of apologies: ‘Whoops … terribly sorry … it’s entirely my fault … yes, we’re insured … no, it won’t happen again … of course I’m not sailing under the influence … I know, I know. I should never let a history teacher behind the wheel – it’s all theory with them …’

  The crabs appeared convinced that Horace was in fact an inexperienced schoolboy and the mice were preschoolers in fancy dress, and let them off with a stern warning. It didn’t stop the crabs hurling a claw-full of school insults as the Apple Pie drifted past.

  ‘Oakbridge Smokebridge,’ they chanted. ‘Crab Valley High rules!’

  ‘You’ve all got head lice!’

  ‘Hey smarty pants. What’s four minus four?’

  ‘I dunno …?’

  ‘A mouse with no legs.’

  ‘Ha, ha, that’s a good one …’

  The chuckling voices drifted away in the wind and the Pie Rats sailed right through the blockade. Soon nothing lay between the bow of the Apple Pie and the open sea. Four rats and a blowfly let out a collective sigh of relief.

  ‘Well, that went well,’ Pete muttered sarcastically. ‘So much for laying low in the Shipwreck Sea, enjoying a relaxing day off. Three close encounters and it’s not even midday. Call me paranoid but I swear something’s amiss.’

  ‘You may be right, Pete,’ the Captain added gravely. ‘The Cat Fish have found us twice in as many days, which leads me to believe they know more about our quest than we first realised.’

  ‘Rat Bait,’ Pete hissed, stamping his pencil leg
. ‘I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: the dirty scoundrel’s double-crossed us. He’s ratted us out, I tell you.’

  ‘But Rat Bait despises the Cat Fish as much as we do,’ Whisker piped up. ‘I saw how he acted on Sea Shanty Island when Sabre demanded the map. There’s no way he’d cut a deal with a bloodthirsty cat.’

  Pete let out a condescending snort. ‘Don’t underestimate the power of riches, young Whisker – especially when it comes to a bounty of Cat Fish silver. Rat Bait wouldn’t be the first Pie Rat captain to do the dirty on his fellow rats–’ He stopped.

  The Captain shot him a look of pure disgust. ‘My father has nothing to do with this, Pete.’

  ‘Sorry, Captain,’ Pete muttered, shrinking into the shadows. ‘I won’t mention him again.’

  ‘Good,’ the Captain snapped. ‘Because right now we have more to worry about than a couple of rotten rats.’ He pointed a shaky finger through the doorway. ‘If you hadn’t noticed, that wasn’t just a routine blockade we passed through. It was nothing short of a fully-armed battle formation. Every ship was equipped with extra cannons and additional troops. At an estimate, three quarters of the entire Aladryan navy was assembled out there. I have no doubt that something big is brewing – something that goes beyond the raids, beyond the arrests and beyond the attempts to stop the Pirate Cup.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Fred gasped, his enormous eye spinning in manic circles. ‘Oh double dear.’

  ‘B-but what are they preparing for?’ Whisker asked fearfully.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ the Captain said, walking towards the door. ‘But there’s more to this than meets the eye and I, for one, have no intention of sticking around to find out.’ He burst onto the deck, closely followed by Whisker and the rest of the anxious crew.

  ‘Is it lunch time yet, Captain?’ Horace moaned from the helm. ‘We couldn’t possibly fit any more danger into one morning.’

  The Captain clambered up the stairs without a response, his brow deeply furrowed.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Horace pleaded. ‘We’re in the clear and I’m famished.’

  Whisker was about to agree that even Horace deserved a large slice of pie, following their narrow escape, when he remembered a piece of advice passed down from his great-grandfather Anso: If it appears too good to be true, it probably is too good to be true.’ Whisker took this to mean: Stop. Take a careful look around – and prepare to panic.