The King's Key

by Cameron Stelzer

  Eagerly, Ruby sat down to eat her pie. Whisker sat next to her, fidgeting awkwardly. His tail felt as tender as his toes. Mr Tribble stared at him and held up a page from his notebook.

  ‘I take it you ran into one of these?’ he said, pointing to a sketch of the rat-eating plant.

  ‘Fell into one,’ Whisker clarified. ‘Do you know what it is?’

  ‘It’s called a Nepenthes rajah,’ Mr Tribble explained. ‘It’s an insectivorous pitcher plant. You’re lucky you’re a mammal and not an insect. Flies digest much quicker …’

  Whisker felt relieved. Smudge looked terrified.

  ‘When did you draw the picture?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘Just now,’ Mr Tribble replied. ‘Eaton and I saw several specimens while we were collecting herbs.’ He held up a bundle of roots. ‘I’m not one for lying in the sun, so I decided to hunt for Pete’s second herb. Digging up roots is far easier than scrambling up trees or escaping from pitcher plants.’

  ‘I still prefer sun baking …’ Horace yawned.

  Ruby flashed Horace an unimpressed look and recited, ‘A lazy Pie Rat is a dead Pie Rat – the Pie Rat code.’

  Horace got the hint and clambered to his feet.

  The Pie Rats continued on their jungle trek with the usual mumbles, grumbles and rude remarks they had all come to expect. Mr Tribble’s prediction was accurate and the companions soon reached the main track. It was extremely overgrown. The only things that distinguished the ancient path from the rest of the undergrowth were the carved steps leading up the mountainside.

  Horace, who’d clearly run out of conversation topics, decided to count every step: ‘One, two, three, four …’ Time passed slowly. ‘… one thousand two hundred and sixty two, one thousand two hundred and sixty three, one thousand two hundred and … oh. That’s the last step.’

  ‘What a shame,’ Ruby said sarcastically. ‘I was so enjoying your soothing voice.’

  ‘I could count footsteps?’ Horace suggested.

  ‘And I could hurl you over the ravine,’ Ruby said, deadpan.

  Horace let his feet do the talking.

  ‘Speaking of the ravine,’ Mr Tribble said, holding up his compass, ‘the bridge should be straight through those bushes.’

  Hurriedly drawing both swords, Ruby slashed through the undergrowth to reveal a rocky plateau leading to the edge of a deep chasm. On the opposite side of the ravine, a cliff of crumbling rock ran up the side of the green mountain like a deep, fleshy scar. A dilapidated suspension bridge spanned the huge gap.

  ‘Come and take a look, Horace,’ Ruby cried, scampering to the edge of the ravine. ‘If you lean over far enough, you can see the river below. It’s such a long way down. One little slip and you’re …’

  Horace pressed himself against the bushes and squeaked, ‘I’ll-I’ll be fine on my own over here, away from danger … and dangerous crewmates.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Ruby shrugged, moving over to the swing bridge. She gave a weathered plank a firm tap with her foot. ‘It feels solid enough.’

  ‘I’ve seen better,’ the Captain remarked, joining her on the edge. ‘The ropes are frayed, half the planks are missing, and I doubt anyone’s crossed it in years.’

  Mr Tribble peered through his dirty glasses.

  ‘Hmm. The planks are a concern,’ he admitted, ‘especially in the centre of the bridge. But the four main ropes appear quite sturdy … It’s definitely worth a try.’

  ‘Look at you,’ the Captain laughed. ‘Emmie would be so proud. The timid teacher turned brave adventurer.’

  ‘I’m not volunteering to go first, if that’s what you’re implying,’ Mr Tribble said firmly.

  The Captain looked down at Eaton.

  ‘You’re a light little fellow, Eaton,’ he said casually.

  Eaton shook his head furiously.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Horace whimpered, untangling himself from the bushes. ‘I’m small and expendable and destined to die – loveless and alone.’

  ‘Oh, stop your moping,’ Ruby scolded. ‘No one thinks you’re expendable. And I’m sure there’s one girl out there who appreciates your unique sense of humour.’

  ‘You really think so?’ Horace said, perking up.

  ‘… yes,’ Ruby muttered through clenched teeth. ‘But she’s not me, so don’t get any funny ideas.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Horace replied, giving Whisker a subtle wink.

  ‘Good,’ the Captain said gruffly. ‘You’ve got more important things to do – like getting on that bridge.’

  Horace removed his backpack and approached the bridge.

  ‘It is a long way down,’ he said, peering over the ravine.

  ‘Stick to the sides,’ Mr Tribble advised. ‘And keep a paw on the handrail at all times.’

  ‘Or a hook,’ Horace said, looping his hook around the thick rope. ‘Wish me luck.’

  He stepped forward. Wooden planks creaked under his weight as he tiptoed across the bridge. Gentle vibrations pulsed through the ropes, sending loose planks plummeting to the river below.

  ‘I’m okay!’ he exclaimed with every falling plank.

  The crossing seemed to take forever, but after a few tense minutes, Horace reached the opposite side of the ravine.

  ‘NOTHING TO IT … TO IT … TO IT …’ his voice echoed back.

  ‘Splendid,’ the Captain said. ‘So who’s next – with a backpack this time?’

  The mice looked hesitant and Ruby appeared to be in two minds about the whole thing.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Whisker volunteered. ‘It’s no worse than the high ropes at the circus.’

  ‘Follow Horace’s exact path,’ Mr Tribble stressed.

  ‘And remember to use your tail,’ Ruby added. ‘It always gets you out of trouble.’

  ‘When it’s not getting me into trouble,’ Whisker said under his breath. ‘I’ll see you on the other side.’

  Whisker stepped, ever so lightly, onto the bridge. The small figure of Horace waved enthusiastically down to him and Whisker realised just how high Horace was. The far side of the ravine followed the slope of the mountain and the bridge rose up and up and up.

  Every step led Whisker further from the safety of the cliff and closer to the danger zone in the centre of the bridge. He stuck to the right side of the planks, gripping the handrail with his paw. His tail slid over the rope behind him, stabilising his movements.

  The gully wind arrived with a howling gust as Whisker reached four missing planks in the middle of the bridge. He carefully stepped onto the footrope and shimmied along. His upper body swayed back and forth under the weight of the backpack, but the handrail kept him from falling.

  He reached a solid plank and waited for the vibrations to ease. Through the roar of the wind, Whisker made out a faint twang. He looked down in terror to see the strands of the footrope fraying and breaking away. With a second twang, the footrope tore apart.

  Whisker shifted his weight to the handrail, but it was too late. With a loud SNAP … SNAP … SNAP … the entire bridge split in two.

  At the End of the Rope

  For one heart-stopping moment, Whisker hung suspended in thin air. Then, as the bridge collapsed beneath him, his terrified tail twisted around the handrail and his entire body plummeted down in a wide arc.

  Planks of wood splintered off in all directions, crashing to the rocks below. Startled cries echoed from both sides of the ravine.

  Petrified, Whisker held on for dear life as the upside-down rope swing hurtled back towards the massive ravine wall. The blurry shapes of shrubs and bushes raced towards him, filling his vision. Unable to slow his electrifying pace, he turned his back to the wall and braced himself for the impact.

  CRUNCH!

  Even with a padded backpack, Whisker felt like he’d been stampeded by a herd of obese elephants. Winded and woozy, he pulled himself closer to the cliff, as an avalanche of wood and rocks rattled past him. He waited for the crashing echoes to stop, and scrambled onto a small ledge h
alfway up the cliff.

  ‘HE’S ALIVE … ALIVE … ALIVE …’ Horace cried from the opposite side of the ravine.

  Whisker heard a cheer from his own side and looked up to see Smudge hovering next to him.

  ‘Hi Smudge,’ Whisker croaked. ‘Have you got a spare set of wings … or perhaps a rescue rope?’

  Smudge waved his arms in acknowledgement and zoomed up the cliff for a rope. Whisker was left to ponder his predicament.

  ‘Now you ask for a rescue rope,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘You should have sent a rope across with Horace the first time.’

  Within moments, the sturdy rope of the Pie Rats had dropped beside him and Whisker was clambering up. The onlookers at the top of the ravine shared Whisker’s frustration.

  ‘That’s what we get for putting our faith in a century-old bridge,’ the Captain muttered, pulling Whisker onto the plateau.

  ‘I may have overestimated its strength,’ Mr Tribble said, downcast. ‘Silver plates are extremely heavy.’

  Ruby gave Whisker a friendly nudge.

  ‘At least I was right about Whisker’s tail,’ she grinned.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the Captain agreed. ‘We’re all extremely relieved our young apprentice is still with us, especially after I pledged to keep him alive. But the fact remains that even Whisker’s tail cannot get us across the ravine.’

  ‘We could use the rescue rope,’ Whisker said, holding up the end of it. ‘It’s long enough, and we know it’s got the strength.’

  ‘You fail to consider distance,’ Mr Tribble pointed out. ‘The opposite cliff top is well beyond our throwing range.’

  ‘What about this?’ Ruby said, removing a ball of string from her backpack. ‘It’s extra strong, easy to throw, and Horace can use it to pull the rope across.’

  ‘Give it a shot, Ruby,’ Whisker encouraged. ‘You’ve got a good Death Ball arm.’

  Ruby unravelled the string and tied it to a small stone.

  ‘CATCH THIS,’ she shouted to Horace.

  Horace crouched in a catching position as Ruby took a run up and hurled the stone into the air. It soared halfway across the ravine and dropped out of sight.

  ‘Humph!’ Ruby snorted, winding in the string.

  She tried several more times, with no success. The rest of the crew fared no better. Smudge even tried flying across the ravine with the string in his arms, but the weight dragged him down. Horace grew restless, waiting for a catch that never came.

  ‘GO AND FIND SOME FOOD,’ the Captain shouted. ‘THIS MIGHT TAKE A WHILE. I’LL SEND SMUDGE OVER TO KEEP YOU COMPANY.’

  ‘YOU NEED A CANNON … CANNON … CANNON …’ Horace replied.

  ‘Everything’s warfare with Horace,’ the Captain sighed.

  ‘Warfare?’ Whisker repeated. ‘I think he’s on to something.’

  ‘Like what?’ the Captain said puzzled.

  Whisker was about to mention the hidden stash of dynamite when Eaton clapped his paws excitedly.

  ‘What is it, Eaton,’ Mr Tribble asked.

  ‘At school,’ Eaton said. ‘You once told us about ancient inventions that shot stones at castles …’

  ‘A catapult!’ Mr Tribble exclaimed. ‘Of course. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?’

  ‘Genius idea, Eaton,’ the Captain encouraged. ‘But how do we make one?’

  ‘It’s quite simple really,’ Mr Tribble stated. ‘My history students made a cherry-shooting catapult for last year’s school fete. All that’s required is thick rope, a bendy branch and a few large rocks.’

  He took out his notebook and began sketching a design on a blank page. The others busied themselves dragging up lengths of rope from the collapsed bridge.

  The Captain selected several large coils of un-frayed rope and laid them at Mr Tribble’s feet. Mr Tribble nodded his approval and held up his design.

  ‘This is a simple tree catapult,’ he explained. ‘A sturdy branch is secured between two rocks near the edge of the cliff. A rope is attached to the top of the branch and is pulled through a wedge in a tree trunk to tension the branch.’

  ‘What’s the second rope for?’ the Captain asked.

  ‘The tether rope is to ensure the branch stops before it reaches the vertical point,’ Mr Tribble said. ‘Otherwise the branch will continue in a downward arc, sending our projectile into the ravine, not over it.’

  ‘A splendid design,’ the Captain applauded. ‘Now all we need is a large branch.’

  ‘Or a small rubber tree,’ Whisker said, pointing to a nearby sapling.

  Ruby and the Captain helped Whisker chop down the rubber tree with their swords, while Mr Tribble and Eaton prepared the ropes. Horace lost interest watching from afar and wandered off with Smudge in search of jungle food.

  Under Mr Tribble’s guidance, the Pie Rats assembled their makeshift catapult. A round rock was attached to Ruby’s string and positioned at the top of the sapling. The Captain handed Eaton his black scissor sword.

  ‘Do you think you can handle one of these?’ he asked politely.

  Eaton looked hesitant.

  ‘For Ratbeard’s sake,’ the Captain groaned, ‘You’re fighting a piece of rope. One hard chop is all you need.’

  Eaton reluctantly took the sword and the Pie Rats positioned themselves along the rope.

  ‘Where’s that good-for-nothing Horace?’ Ruby asked, peering across the ravine.

  Horace stepped out of the trees with an armful of strawberry guavas.

  ‘HERE I AM … AM … AM …’ he echoed. ‘I’VE GOT DINNER … DINNER … DINNER …’

  ‘I’ll give you dinner!’ Ruby snapped. ‘Now pay attention.’

  While Horace watched attentively, Whisker, Ruby, Mr Tribble and the Captain began hauling the rope through the groove in the tree, bending the sapling backwards.

  ‘Keep going,’ Mr Tribble panted. ‘We need more tension.’

  The tug-of-war team pulled harder and the sapling creaked and shuddered to a standstill.

  ‘It won’t go any further,’ the Captain said, gritting his teeth. ‘Not without Fred’s assistance.’

  ‘Cut her free, Eaton!’ Mr Tribble cried.

  Eaton raised the sword above his tiny head and swung it down with all his might.

  With a SNAP – THWANG – VROOSH the catapult fired. Whisker watched in awe as the rock raced over the ravine, leaving a trail of brown string in its wake.

  CRACKLE – RUSTLE – THUD! The rock plunged into the forest high above Horace’s head.

  ‘SHIVER ME SPLINTERS … SPLINTERS … SPLINTERS …’ Horace exclaimed. ‘DID YOU SEE THAT … THAT … THAT …’

  ‘Of course we saw it,’ Ruby yelled. ‘Now go and fetch my rock.’

  Horace stuck a piece of strawberry guava in his mouth and scurried off with Smudge. Ruby tied her end of the string to the rescue rope and waited, tapping her feet impatiently. Mr Tribble held up several short loops of rope.

  ‘I took the liberty to prepare six safety harnesses, Captain,’ he said. ‘– just in case.’

  The Captain nodded. ‘Smart thinking, Mr Tribble. I’ll attach them to the rescue rope and tie the end to a tree.’

  While Whisker helped the Captain secure the harnesses, Horace reappeared with the rock and the string.

  ‘Start pulling, Horace,’ Ruby shouted. ‘As soon as you have the rope, tie it to the thickest tree you can find – and Horace, triple check your knots.’

  ‘YES, YOUR ROYAL RUBYNESS … RUBYNESS … RUBYNESS …’

  It was dusk when Whisker finally reached the opposite side of the ravine. He was the last Pie Rat to cross. The strong wind, steep incline, and afternoon drizzle meant crossing the expanse with one rope was a slow and tedious process. The safety harness saved him from falling at least twice.

  ‘Welcome to the ritzy side of the ravine,’ Horace said, handing Whisker a strawberry guava.

  ‘Thanks,’ Whisker puffed. ‘I’m starving. My stomach wouldn’t stop rumbling the whole way over.’

  He plo
nked himself down on a wet rock and bit into the juicy fruit. His mouth filled with the sweet taste of passionfruit and strawberries.

  ‘Divine,’ he marvelled.

  ‘There are plenty more if you’re hungry,’ Horace said, helping himself to another guava. ‘I found a tree near the ruined guardhouse.’

  ‘Guardhouse?’ the Captain enquired.

  ‘Yes,’ Horace said. ‘It’s just up the mountain.’

  ‘Which means the citadel must be close,’ Mr Tribble thought aloud.

  ‘The citadel is an adventure for tomorrow,’ the Captain said wearily. ‘For now, I suggest we find a suitable place to set up camp. Can you direct us to the guardhouse, Horace?’

  ‘Err, Smudge can,’ Horace answered coyly. ‘I got a little lost …’

  The Captain rose to his feet. ‘Lead the way, Smudge.’

  ‘What about the rope?’ Mr Tribble fretted. ‘Don’t we need it to get the key down?’

  ‘We’ll have to make do with Ruby’s string,’ the Captain said, regretfully. ‘The rope can stay here for our return journey.’

  Ruby looked wary. ‘I’d prefer if the rope hung unseen among the vines, just in case we’re being followed …’

  ‘Monkeys?’ Horace gasped.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ruby said, lowering her voice. ‘But I did hear something on the other side, and it wasn’t Whisker’s stomach.’

  Whisker gulped and tried not to choke on his guava.

  As drizzle turned to rain, Ruby released the tension on the rope until it dangled low into the ravine. Stealing one last anxious glance across the expanse, Whisker plunged into the jungle after his companions.

  Leaves and Stone

  Exhausted and wet, the Pie Rats arrived at the small guardhouse high up the mountainside. A large guava tree stood near the entrance, its fruit-filled branches dangling over the threshold. Wearily, the seven travellers piled inside.

  The guardhouse was a single, modest sized room with no windows and a cobblestone floor. Its four high walls were mostly intact, though its wooden roof had long since perished. A stone archway stood at the entrance, providing sufficient shelter from the evening rain.