The King's Key

by Cameron Stelzer

  Whisker stopped and looked around. Mr Tribble did the panicking.

  ‘Th-Th-Thunderclaw,’ he stuttered. ‘D-D-Dreadnaught. B-b-behind us.’

  Whisker’s eyes grew wide. The blockade of ships lay far to the east. One ship, however, had broken from the fleet and was charging through the water towards them. Its colossal size made the other warships look like matchstick models. It was a four-masted monstrosity and it needed no introduction.

  Every teacher, student, pirate, blowfly and circus rat on the Isle of Aladrya knew what it was. It was the blue jewel of the navy. It was the pride of the fleet. It was the pirate crusher, the smuggler smasher. Captained by the General of the navy himself, it was a destroyer in a class of its own. It was the mighty Dreadnaught.

  The sight of the terrifying ship told Whisker one thing: General Thunderclaw, the most feared officer on the seas, wanted them dead. He was rarely outsmarted and he never made arrests.

  The Captain removed his hat like a mourner at a funeral.

  ‘Well, that spoils everything,’ he sighed. ‘We’ve bitten off more than we can chew this time. Thunderclaw’s no fool. If he’s after us, he’s on to us.’

  Whisker’s tail dropped to the deck.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, pointing at the jib sail. ‘I should have removed the red underpants.’

  ‘It’s no one’s fault, Whisker,’ the Captain assured him. ‘Your plan was exceptional.’ He raised his telescope and assessed the situation.

  ‘Can we fight them?’ Ruby asked, hopefully.

  ‘Suicide,’ the Captain said coldly. ‘The Dreadnaught, like the rest of the fleet, is carrying reinforced troop numbers – four hundred crabs, at least. She’s sitting low in the water, which tells me she’s armed with enough volcanic rocks to sink us six times over. She’ll either ram us from behind or blast us to bits from the side.’

  ‘Oh my!’ Mr Tribble gasped. ‘Surely we can outrun her?’

  ‘Slim chance,’ the Captain replied. ‘She may be overloaded, but she’s fully rigged with twelve sails. The Apple Pie has three, including the underpants. Spare sails aren’t much good without masts.’

  ‘Perhaps we could surrender?’ Horace said tentatively.

  ‘That option’s long gone,’ Pete sniffled.

  ‘But – but – there must be something we can do,’ Mr Tribble pleaded in desperation.

  The Captain shook his head in defeat and took his place behind the wheel. Mr Tribble put his arms around the mice, Smudge hid behind a pile of books, Pete scribbled RIP: Rest in Pies on the deck and the others stared hopelessly up at the sky.

  The clouds overhead were fluffy and white. Whisker wished they were heavy and black – storms clouds had saved them before.

  Fred pointed high into the air.

  ‘If only we could fly like those birds,’ he said dreamily. ‘They’re much faster than our ship.’

  ‘Well, we can’t!’ Pete quibbled. ‘We don’t have any wings. Besides, the wind is stronger up there, so the lazy creatures are getting a free ride.’

  ‘Birds aren’t lazy,’ Fred said defensively. ‘A falcon once spent a whole hour trying to catch me for its dinner before I beat it off with a stick.’

  ‘Are you sure it was a real bird and not that ridiculous eagle sail flapping around in the navigation room?’ Pete said spitefully.

  Fred’s ears drooped. Whisker’s tail shot straight into the air – of course!

  He looked at the sky. He looked at the navigation room. He looked at Ruby. Her green eye sparkled back at him. She knew what he was thinking.

  ‘You get the Eagle,’ she said excitedly, ‘and I’ll get the rope.’ She rushed over to Fred and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re a genius, Fred.’

  Fred gave Ruby a confused smile. Pete screwed up his nose.

  ‘Hey!’ Horace exclaimed. ‘I’ve never got a kiss for a brilliant suggestion before.’

  Ruby rolled her eye. ‘I’d hardly call your suggestions brilliant, Horace.’

  ‘Well, what about Whisker?’ Horace asked audaciously. ‘He has brilliant ideas all the time.’

  Whisker felt his cheeks ripen to a triple-strength tomato red.

  ‘Just-just give Whisker a hand with the Eagle,’ Ruby spluttered. ‘Or you’ll both be kissing crabs!’

  Let’s go Fly a Kite

  Things moved quickly when Ruby took control. She was impatient, but she was efficient. As the ship’s boatswain, the deck was her domain.

  ‘Find me four strong fixing points on the bulwark,’ she barked. ‘And bring me every rope that’s not holding up a sail. Who’s good at tying knots?’

  ‘Not me,’ Horace replied, holding up his hook. ‘Ask the mice. They’ve got small fingers.’

  Ruby pointed at Mr Tribble. ‘Give me your best Double Fisherman’s knot, pronto.’

  Mr Tribble gave Ruby a timid salute and, with Eaton and Emmie’s assistance, began tying short lengths of rope together. Fred reinforced the fixing points with saucepan handles, while Whisker and Horace dragged the eagle sail onto the deck. Soon four enormous lengths of rope were attached to the corners of the sail. The Pie Rats had their kite sail.

  The Dreadnaught continued its swift approach, halving its distance to the Apple Pie in a few short minutes.

  ‘I need four strong teams to feed the rope through the fixing points,’ Ruby snapped, ‘and a volunteer to launch the Eagle. Whisker. Up the mast!’

  Whisker was accustomed to Ruby’s demands, so without protest he wrapped his tail around the sail and scampered up the rigging. The rest of the crew took their positions on the ropes.

  ‘Swing us around so we’re running downwind,’ Ruby shouted to the Captain.

  ‘Aye, aye, my dear,’ the Captain cried, with a vigorous turn of the wheel.

  Whisker felt a strong gust of wind on his back as he reached the top of the foremast. Twisting his tail around the rigging to steady himself, he grasped the sail in both paws and shouted down to the waiting crew, ‘Let her out!’

  The crew fed the ropes through the fixing points and the kite sail expanded with air, rising steadily upwards. Whisker held on with all his might until he was certain it had enough lift and released his grip. The golden eagle soared majestically into the sky.

  On any other day, Whisker would have raised his arms to the heavens and shouted in triumph. But on any other day, there wasn’t a Dreadnaught on his tail.

  He glanced over his shoulder. The giant ship had shifted to a port side position in readiness for a broadside cannon attack.

  ‘Get down from there, Whisker,’ the Captain shouted with urgency. ‘The volcano is about to erupt.’

  Whisker saw the flashes before he heard the booms. Half a dozen volcanic rocks hurtled through the air. He grabbed the mast with both paws and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Terrified, he waited for the impact.

  SPLASH!

  SPLASH!

  SPLASH!

  SPLASH!

  SPLASH!

  … SPLASH!

  Silence.

  Whisker squinted through one eye – just to make sure he hadn’t mistaken a splash for a crash.

  ‘Not even close,’ Horace shouted into the wind. ‘So long, snappers!’

  Whisker was halfway down the rigging when the cannons exploded again. This time he kept his eyes open. There was nothing to fear. The Eagle was airborne and the Pie Rats were flying without wings.

  One-and-three-quarter potato pies later, Whisker rubbed his bulging belly and wiped the last crumb from his cheek. He couldn’t remember a more enjoyable lunch – even if it was just plain potato pie. Horace and Pete sat next to him, still munching away and reflecting on their good fortune.

  While the others finished their pies, Whisker absentmindedly fiddled with the gold anchor pendant around his neck, a gift from his parents. Some called it a lucky charm. To Whisker, it was a symbol of hope.

  Horace watched him closely.

  ‘There’s ordinary luck,’ Horace mumbled between m
outhfuls, ‘and then there’s how on earth did we survive that luck.’

  ‘I don’t believe in luck,’ Pete said scathingly. ‘I believe in rules.’

  As the Quartermaster of the ship, Pete was a stickler for rules, especially when it came to the Pie Rat code, a six hundred page book in his possession. Whisker followed most of the rules, though he still had to learn how to fight.

  ‘It’s simple logic,’ Pete argued. ‘By following the code, we’re best equipped for whatever dangers come our way. Luck has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Don’t spoil the moment with your logic talk,’ Horace spluttered, spraying bits of potato all over the table. ‘Don’t you see? The power of the map is at work.’

  Pete screwed up his nose. ‘The map has no power, you brainless barnacle. The treasure has the power. And at this rate, we’ll all be dead before we find the blasted key.’

  ‘The King’s Key,’ Horace exclaimed. ‘Do you think it’s lucky, too?’

  ‘No, I don’t!’ Pete snapped. ‘That infuriating riddle said nothing about luck.’

  ‘Why don’t we take another look?’ Horace said in a low voice. ‘We know where the map is hidden …’

  Whisker felt a sudden surge of excitement race through his tail.

  Pete eyed Whisker and Horace cautiously.

  ‘Alright,’ he agreed. ‘There’s no harm in looking, and we’ve got plenty of time before we’re on Eagle duty.’ He stood up to go. ‘There’s one condition, Horace: finish eating first. We don’t want the Island of Destiny looking like Potato Pie Island.’

  While Horace cleaned his teeth with an old scrubbing brush from the galley, Whisker wiped the table clean of crumbs and potato slobber. Pete returned with the Forgotten Map in one paw and a map of the Crescent Sea in the other.

  As Pete unrolled the maps, Ruby walked in with a tray of empty pie platters. She took one look at the three rats and hurriedly plonked the tray on the nearest serving bench.

  ‘Secret boy’s business,’ she muttered, turning to go.

  ‘H-how’s the Eagle?’ Whisker asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

  Ruby took the question as her invitation to stay and hastily pulled up a chair.

  ‘The Eagle’s flying high,’ she said proudly. ‘Mr Tribble and the twins have things under control.’ She shot a quick glance at Horace. ‘It’s nice to have crew members who do what they’re told for a change.’

  Horace shook his hook at her. ‘We sank their boat with a flying pie; of course they’re going to cooperate.’

  Ruby shrugged and continued, ‘Sea Shanty Island is coming up on our starboard side. The Captain thinks it’s wise to continue to the Island of Kings while we still have the wind.’

  Pete nodded his approval. ‘Thunderclaw won’t give up easily, even if he is miles behind us. He’ll expect to find us cowering in fear on Sea Shanty Island. He’ll be bitterly disappointed.’

  The four rats grinned with satisfaction and turned their attention to the Forgotten Map.

  ‘So, what do we know about this missing key?’ Pete asked curiously.

  ‘We know what it looks like, for a start,’ Horace said, stating the obvious. ‘The hole in the map is a dead giveaway.’

  Pete snorted. ‘Anything besides the fact that the key looks like a key?’

  Horace shrugged and read out the mysterious riddle:

  Whisker ran his finger over the first verse of the riddle, recalling Mr Tribble’s interpretation of the words.

  ‘The King’s Key is believed to be hanging in the throne tower of the ruined citadel on the Island of Kings,’ he explained. ‘The key is guarded by leafy vines and high stone walls.’ He looked back at the map. ‘The second verse is also relevant: Uncover the key and enlighten your mind, though I doubt we’ll know what that means until we’ve located the key.’

  ‘What about the last line?’ Horace said puzzled. ‘… wisdom is found in the shadows behind. Is that telling us to learn from the bad things that happen along the way?’

  ‘Always the optimist, aren’t you, Horace?’ Pete taunted. ‘I hate to admit it, but for once you could be right.’

  Horace beamed with pride.

  ‘How ‘bout that, Ruby,’ he said, pointing to his cheek.

  Ruby responded with a well-placed slap across his face, knocking Horace off his chair.

  Dazedly, he staggered back to his seat, muttering, ‘That’s not what I had in mind …’

  Chuckling to herself, Ruby turned her attention to the map of the Crescent Sea.

  ‘This is our current course,’ she said, moving her finger from Sea Shanty Island to the Island of Kings. ‘Tribble believes there’s an overgrown track that follows the eastern river to the mountain citadel.’

  ‘The Eastern River estuary is a risky place to anchor,’ Pete said sceptically. ‘We can’t sail upstream, and the Apple Pie will be in full view of any passing ships.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Ruby agreed. ‘That’s why we should anchor here.’ She pointed to the mouth of a passage, north of the river. ‘We can cut through the marsh and cross the river at Silver Falls. From there, we can join the main track and take the bridge over the ravine. It’s a shorter route and the Apple Pie will be well concealed by the mangroves.’

  Whisker looked carefully at the map.

  ‘Why are the cliffs above the passage called Devil’s Cliffs?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Because devils live there,’ Pete sniffled.

  ‘Devils!’ Whisker gasped. ‘Horned beasts with pitchforks and spiky tails?’

  ‘Not those kind of devils,’ Horace groaned, rubbing his swollen cheek. ‘Tasmanian devils. You know, nasty marsupials that enjoy hurling rocks at passing ships.’

  ‘Oh,’ Whisker said, unsure if he should be relieved or even more anxious.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Horace reassured him. ‘They live on the neighbouring island and only attack ships that sail through the passage.’

  Whisker hoped Horace was right. There were enough dangers to worry about without adding rock-throwing devils to the list.

  The Eagle stayed airborne until the early evening when the wind changed direction and darkness crept in. The Pie Rats hauled the giant sail onto the deck and, with two vegetable sails and a pair of red underpants, they continued sailing through the night. The crew took turns monitoring the sails and keeping lookout. It was a relief to all when dawn arrived with no sign of General Thunderclaw and no sightings of the Cat Fish.

  The sun rose in the east, and the Island of Kings appeared in the west. Bathed in morning light, the glorious green jungle stretched high into the mountains. Misty patches of cloud clung to the canopy of dense trees. To the north of the island, the foreboding shapes of Devil’s Cliffs rose from the ocean like the walls of a great canyon. Mangroves and mudflats covered the southern shore of the passage. Beyond the mangroves, a grassy marsh extended to the foot of the jungle. Silently, the Apple Pie slipped into the passage and anchored out of sight.

  While the sun was still low, the Captain gathered the sleepy crew onto the deck. It took a few firm jabs in the backside from Pete’s pencil to fully awaken Horace, but when he was finally standing to attention, the Captain began.

  ‘The perilous jungle lies before us. Our mission to retrieve the key will be challenging, to say the least. Due to the unique dangers of the island, Mr Tribble has offered to act as our official guide. He has extensive knowledge of its flora and fauna and understands its complex history.’

  Mr Tribble nodded timidly and fumbled with a button on his chequered waist coat.

  ‘Not exactly Survival Mouse, is he?’ Horace whispered to Whisker.

  The Captain shot Horace an unimpressed look. ‘Crew members who do not wish to join us are free to remain on the Apple Pie in readiness for a quick escape, should our whereabouts be discovered. Volunteers for the expedition, please step forward now.’

  Whisker, Ruby and Horace took a step towards the Captain. Smudge flew in a circle around the Captain’s head and set
tled on his shoulder. Eaton looked at Mr Tribble and hesitantly stepped forward. The others remained firmly where they stood.

  ‘It looks like I’m stuck with beauty and the beast,’ Pete sniffled.

  Emmie gave Fred a big hug. ‘Don’t listen to him, Uncle Fred. We’ll have hours of fun baking pies in the galley.’

  Fred smiled fondly at her. Pete screwed up his nose in disapproval.

  ‘What’s Pete got to complain about?’ Horace muttered to Whisker. ‘He’s got two personal chefs and not a single leech, strangling vine or rat-eating plant to contend with.’

  Whisker’s tail went limp. He’d forgotten about the rat-eating plants. Volunteering suddenly seemed like a bad idea. It was only the thought of finding his family that stopped him rushing below to join the cooking class.

  The Captain went on, ‘Members of our expedition are required to carry essential survival items. Please collect any items you wish to include and place them on the deck immediately.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Captain,’ cheered the volunteers.

  Whisker made his way down the stairs, forming a list of items in his head: Number one – a scissor sword. Number two – a hearty fruit pie. Number three …

  Matches, he said to himself as he reached the gun deck. A Pie Rat can’t survive without them.

  He entered the dark space and searched behind a couple of cannons for a matchbox. Unable to locate a single match, he turned his attention to a crate filled with strange looking rocket shapes.

  ‘Apprenticeship graduation fireworks,’ he said quietly, picking up a blue rocket. ‘Hmm. That’s a long way off.’

  He tried to remember the seven tests he had to pass before he became a full member of the crew. Survival, Strength, Strategy, Self-reliance, Sailing, Swords-rat-ship and Sacrifice.