The King's Key

by Cameron Stelzer

  The Pie Rats set up a cosy camp under the archway and lit a fire on the doorstep. They were comforted to know they had four strong walls and a roaring fire between themselves and the creatures of the jungle.

  Dinner was a second round of strawberry guavas. The Captain thought it best if they kept their second pie for a far more dire occasion. Horace decided to char-grill his guavas for a little variety.

  ‘Cooked to piefection!’ he exclaimed, removing a blackened guava from the end of a toasting stick. He speared the guava with his hook and began chomping away at its singed flesh.

  ‘Do you want some?’ he said offering Whisker a bite.

  ‘No thanks,’ Whisker said firmly. ‘I prefer my guavas medium rare.’

  Horace shrugged and continued munching.

  The soft shuffle of paper drew Whisker’s attention from the fire. He looked over his shoulder to see the Captain examining the Forgotten Map in the flickering light.

  ‘It’s a little soggy,’ the Captain commented. ‘But the heat should dry it out in no time. It’s lucky we have a map canister, or the map would have turned to pulp by now.’

  Whisker looked down at the small metal tube lying next to the Captain. A cork stopper was wedged in one end and the canister was covered in a waterproof tar coating.

  ‘It’s not puddle-proof,’ the Captain joked. ‘But at least the ink hasn’t run on the map.’

  Whisker looked back at the map and stared closely at the words of the riddle. The Captain was right. None of the letters had run or smudged. He was about to make a comment about waterproof ink his father had bought for outdoor circus posters when he noticed something odd about several words in the second verse. He wondered how he could have missed them before.

  ‘Captain,’ he said, intrigued. ‘Take a look at this.’

  He read the first two lines of the second verse:

  ‘You’d think a cartographer would be good at grammar,’ Whisker remarked.

  ‘Cart makers?’ Horace said, joining the conversation. ‘They don’t know anything about grammar. All they know is where to stick the wheels.’

  Ruby snorted loudly.

  ‘What?’ Horace said defensively. ‘My dodgy uncle makes carts. I know all about them.’

  ‘Cartographers don’t make carts,’ Mr Tribble explained. ‘Cartographers make maps.’

  ‘Oh,’ Horace murmured. ‘I knew that …’

  Mr Tribble stood up and peered over the Captain’s shoulder. ‘What are we looking at?’

  ‘A few misplaced capitals,’ Whisker replied. ‘Look at the words Treacherous, Hope and Sea.’

  Mr Tribble adjusted his glasses. ‘Are you sure they’re misplaced? Cartographers are usually very thorough.’

  The rest of the Pie Rats gathered around with interest. Eaton pointed to the rocky lagoon on the Island of Destiny.

  ‘The Treacherous Sea,’ the Captain read. ‘Of course. It’s a place name. Hence the capitals. The riddle is warning us about the dangers of the voyage through the Treacherous Sea.’

  ‘I thought the danger was obvious,’ Horace argued. ‘Just look at all those rocks.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Whisker pondered. ‘But there’s more to it than that …’ He thought back to the evening he’d run into Rat Bait, the former guardian of the map, and recalled the discussion that took place. ‘Rat Bait mentioned a mysterious sea creature patrolling the island. The riddle says to keep Hope in our sights. Hope has a capital H so it could be a place name like the Treacherous Sea.’

  ‘A safe place to anchor to avoid the creature,’ the Captain suggested, ‘though I can’t see Hope written anywhere on the map.’

  ‘We’re missing part of the map,’ Ruby stated. ‘And I’ll bet a bunch of gold bananas that Hope has something to do with the key … what do you say Horace?’

  Horace shook his head. ‘I’m done making bets for the week, especially when it comes to food.’

  None of the others had any better theories and decided it was unwise to bet against Ruby.

  ‘I suspect we’ll find Hope written on the bottom of the key,’ the Captain yawned. ‘But for now, I suggest we all get some sleep. We leave for the citadel at first light.’

  With their thoughts focused on the mysterious key, the Pie Rats curled up around the fire and drifted off to sleep. Smudge kept watch at the entrance, just in case the marmosets were crazy enough to catapult themselves over the ravine.

  The sun hovered low in a hazy sky. Smoke from the smouldering fire merged with the early morning mist.

  Refreshed but achy from his rope bridge adventure, Whisker pulled himself to his feet. Horace stood nearby, surveying a pile of guavas.

  ‘Another beautiful day in paradise,’ he said cheerfully. ‘What’s it to be? Strawberry guavas covered in dew or strawberry guavas covered in ash?’

  ‘Dew,’ Whisker grunted.

  ‘Good choice,’ Horace agreed. ‘That will be seven servings of dew-covered guavas coming up.’

  ‘Oh, how I miss Fred’s cooking,’ Ruby muttered. ‘What I’d give for a slice of Red Berry Combo pie right now.’

  She glanced down at Mr Tribble’s open backpack where the second pie sat, covered in long, stringy roots. Smudge attempted to sneak his way inside.

  ‘Shoo fly,’ Mr Tribble squeaked, hurriedly closing the bag. ‘There is to be no sniffing, nibbling or gnawing the pie until we have located the key – Captain’s orders.’

  ‘Speaking of the Captain,’ Whisker said looking around, ‘has anyone seen him this morning?’

  Smudge pointed up the mountain.

  ‘No way!’ Ruby exploded. ‘He left without us?’

  ‘He did say first light,’ Whisker said.

  Smudge shook his head.

  ‘Kidnapped by drop bears?’ Horace gasped.

  Smudge threw his arms in the air as if to say enough with the drop bears.

  ‘Well, where is he?’ Ruby asked, with growing concern.

  Smudge rubbed his stomach with one arm and pretended he was feeding himself with another.

  ‘Eating?’ Horace said puzzled.

  ‘Not eating,’ the Captain laughed, stepping out of the mist. ‘Finding something other than guavas for breakfast.’ Under each arm he carried an oblong yellow fruit.

  ‘Mountain paw paws,’ Whisker said, recognising them immediately. ‘Nutritious.’

  ‘Oooh nutritious,’ Horace repeated. ‘Too good for strawberry guavas are we, Whisker?’

  ‘Uh, no,’ Whisker said, taken aback. ‘Mountain paw paws are a little sour on their own, but if we scoop out the seeds and stuff them with strawberry guavas they’ll taste nearly as good as a berry pie.’

  Horace twirled his hook in the air. ‘Well aren’t you the fancy pants chef. Fred had better watch his back.’

  ‘I take it you’re happy with your ash-covered guava, Horace?’ the Captain said gruffly.

  ‘Oh no,’ Horace babbled. ‘On the contrary, I would love one of Whisker’s paw paw pie … thingies.’

  ‘Of course you would,’ the Captain said with a bemused chuckle. ‘You’re never one to miss out.’ He cut one of the paw paws in half with his sword. ‘I had intended to bring back some jungle berries but the bush had been freshly raided.’

  ‘Raided?’ Horace gasped. ‘By who? Monkeys?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ the Captain said quietly. ‘But the paw paw tree was left untouched …’

  ‘Marmosets love paw paws,’ Whisker said thoughtfully. ‘I saw platters and platters of them during the victory feast.’

  ‘So that rules out the monkeys,’ the Captain surmised.

  ‘Perhaps the berry thief is nothing more than a harmless bird?’ Mr Tribble suggested.

  ‘Have you seen any birds since we’ve been on this island?’ Horace said, slightly panicked.

  Mr Tribble pondered, ‘Now that I come to think of it, no …’

  There was a short silence.

  ‘So what’s the big problem?’ Ruby said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘They’re just
berries. I doubt the thief eats keys.’

  The Pie Rats agreed that Ruby had a good point. One by one they began to relax and turned to more important matters – the gourmet breakfast.

  Well fed, the companions were in good spirits when they finally left the camp. In single file, they pushed their way through wet, waxy leaves and low-lying ferns and reached the outer wall of the mountain fortress in only a few minutes.

  The citadel was constructed like a conventional castle, with four outer walls sloping up the mountain and a squat tower on each corner. A two-towered gatehouse stood at the entrance, leading to a large courtyard, where a dozen ruined buildings surrounded a large royal palace. Rising from the centre of the palace was a monumental round tower, spiralling high above the forest.

  The Pie Rats stood in the entrance passage and marvelled at the sight before them. The mighty tower stood proud and strong among the crumbling ruins of the courtyard. Strangler figs, purple-flowered bougainvillea and other leafy vines covered its surface, transforming the cold stones into a tapestry of living colour.

  ‘Purple … the colour of kings,’ Mr Tribble gasped. ‘The jungle has reclaimed its throne.’

  Remarkable as it was, the beauty of the tower was almost overshadowed by the eerie silence that hung in the air. No one dared to speak above a whisper.

  ‘Who needs a rope with all those vines to climb?’ Ruby muttered, stepping into the grassy courtyard.

  ‘Stay together,’ the Captain hissed. ‘And watch where you’re walking. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole place was booby trapped.’

  Warily, the Pie Rats tiptoed across the courtyard towards the stone palace and reached a long flight of stairs leading up to an arched doorway. Whisker noticed a small symbol chiselled into the first step. The shape resembled an upward pointing arrowhead, commonly known as a chevron.

  Mr Tribble took out his notebook and quickly copied it down.

  ‘Up we go,’ he said, shutting the book.

  The jungle adventurers ascended the stairs. Enormous stone chimpanzees crouched on pedestals on either side of the staircase. Lush, green moss covered their weathered heads and torsos. They stared out at the approaching intruders with vacant stone eyes.

  ‘Hardly friendly …’ Horace whispered, stopping to examine one.

  ‘Keep going,’ the Captain said in a low growl. ‘Statues carry terrible secrets from the past.’

  Horace jumped back from the statue and scurried up the stairs.

  At the top of the staircase the Pie Rats reached a small landing covered in black mould and dried leaves. Whisker felt a deep groove under his toes and curiously brushed the leaves aside with his foot. He looked down to see several small letters carved into the stone.

  ‘Mr Tribble,’ he whispered.

  Mr Tribble didn’t respond. He was lost in his thoughts, staring up at the palace wall.

  Whisker followed his gaze. Carved in the underside of the arched doorway was a second symbol. It was a circle with two vertical lines extending above it.

  ‘Do you recognise the design?’ Whisker asked.

  Mr Tribble shook his head. ‘It’s not an Aladryan symbol I’m familiar with.’

  ‘I think it’s Freeforian,’ Horace piped. ‘I’ve seen symbols like that in the volcano caves back home.’

  ‘Can you tell us its meaning?’ the Captain asked.

  ‘Err, no,’ Horace replied, clueless. ‘I thought it was just cave graffiti.’

  Whisker lowered his head and peered through the archway. A dark tunnel led into the palace.

  ‘Up the stairs and through the tunnel,’ he said thoughtfully.

  Mr Tribble nodded. ‘The symbol does looks like a tunnel. It could be from an underground code system. I’ve heard they still exist in some parts of the world. The symbols are used as navigation tools to prevent miners from losing their way.’

  ‘That would explain the symbol’s appearance in a Freeforian cave,’ the Captain added.

  ‘What about these letters?’ Whisker said, pointing to the carvings on the landing. ‘They might offer an explanation.’

  Ruby hurriedly swept the remaining leaves off the stone to reveal a string of chiselled letters. The letters formed words and the words formed a message:

  Ruby frowned. ‘What’s that mumbo jumbo supposed to mean?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s a fancy way of saying welcome to my house,’ Horace suggested.

  Mr Tribble looked doubtful. ‘I think it’s more of a royal philosophy. It may have once served as a reminder for anyone entering the palace.’

  ‘A reminder of what?’ Whisker enquired.

  Mr Tribble thought for a moment and then offered an interpretation. ‘These words may have reminded the ancient kings that wisdom and wealth were key requirements of their royalty.’

  ‘How modest,’ Horace murmured. ‘They obviously didn’t consider humility as one of their treasured virtues …’

  ‘Humility’s overrated,’ Ruby cut in. ‘Courage and honour are the noblest virtues.’

  ‘You’re forgetting humour,’ Horace added. ‘Without humour life is duller than watching a seven ton rock erode in the rain.’

  ‘You are both missing the point,’ the Captain said fervently. ‘This inscription tells us that the maker of the Forgotten Map stood in this exact spot and read these exact words before he – or she came up with the riddle. Why else would they include references to wisdom, riches and a throne in the verses? It confirms our theory. The key is definitely hidden within this building.’

  ‘I agree with you on the engraving, Captain,’ Mr Tribble said, raising his eyes to the top of the archway, ‘though I still don’t see the relevance of the symbols.’

  ‘The symbols may be coincidental,’ the Captain considered. ‘But there’s no harm in keeping a record of them. I have a feeling we’ll need every clue we can find once we reach the Island of Destiny.’

  With a small nod, Mr Tribble opened his notebook and hurriedly sketched the second symbol on the page with the arrowhead. The rest of the crew filed into the dark passage and disappeared into the gloom of the palace.

  Dark Passages

  Eerie black shadows clung to the high walls of the passage like sleeping bats. Fallen stones and stagnant puddles covered the rough, stone floor. Silently, the Pie Rats pressed on, arriving at three arched doorways.

  Eaton lit his lantern and flipped open its mirrored sides, bathing the entire passage in light.

  ‘More symbols,’ the Captain said, looking up.

  On the underside of the stone arches were three different carved symbols.

  The doorway to the left led to a descending staircase. The symbol above it resembled three stairs falling to the left and a downward pointing chevron.

  The centre doorway led to an ascending flight of stairs. Its symbol looked like a ladder or a frontal view of three stairs with an upward pointing chevron.

  The right doorway was a continuation of the passage. It carried a circular symbol with two horizontal lines extending to the right.

  ‘It is my understanding that these symbols illustrate the direction of each passage,’ Mr Tribble said, sketching the new symbols in his notebook.

  ‘But how do we know which one to take?’ Horace asked.

  ‘I think that’s obvious,’ the Captain replied. ‘The tower is up, so we take the middle doorway and head up the stairs.’

  The companions climbed the steep steps of the middle passage until they reached a large pile of rubble. Collapsed stairs and broken stones lay in a jumbled heap. The pile extended from floor to ceiling, blocking the way forward.

  ‘Rotten pies to rocks,’ Horace exclaimed, kicking a stone with his foot. ‘Ouch! We’ll never budge these boulders.’

  ‘Maybe there’s another passage to the tower?’ the Captain said, taking a step backwards.

  ‘Wait!’ Eaton squeaked, tipping his lantern upwards to illuminate the roof of the stairwell. Directly above the pile, several interlocking stones had fallen away. Eat
on flipped the three mirrored sides of his lantern closed. A single bright beam projected through the hole to reveal a small room directly above the passage.

  Ruby raced up the pile of rubble and stuck her head through the hole.

  ‘Jackpot!’ she exclaimed, pulling herself through. ‘Come and take a look.’

  Smudge buzzed his wings excitedly and followed after her. Horace and Whisker leapt up the rocks like two mountain goats.

  ‘I can’t quite reach the hole,’ Horace said, standing on his toes. ‘I wouldn’t usually ask, but …’

  ‘You want a boost?’ Whisker said. ‘Sure thing.’

  Whisker cupped his paws together and Horace climbed up.

  ‘Come on, short stuff,’ Ruby laughed, pulling Horace through the hole. ‘I’ve found you a high chair.’

  Whisker hoisted himself up and helped the rest of the crew into a rectangular waiting room. Small doorways stood at either end. There was enough light shining through the hole for Whisker to make out the symbols.

  The doorway closest to the hole carried a symbol of three descending stairs. Whisker guessed this doorway led to the blocked stairwell.

  The furthest doorway was bathed in a pale green light. The symbol chiselled into the underside of its arch was neither a tunnel nor a set of stairs. It was a five-fingered paw print.

  Mr Tribble pointed to the paw and gasped, ‘That symbol! I’ve seen it before. It’s the right paw of royalty. If it’s carved here, the doorway must lead to …’

  ‘The throne room,’ Horace cried, dashing through the archway. Excitedly, Whisker scampered after him, entering the green-tinged interior of a glorious chamber.

  The throne room was no ordinary room. It was the very heart of the citadel. Its circular wall rose up and up to the highest point of the stone tower. Small stairs jutted out from the stonework to form a narrow staircase spiralling up the wall.

  Whisker immediately understood the reason for the strange green light. Dozens of small windows dotted the walls of the tower. Creepers and jungle vines covered the window openings, concealing the throne room from the world outside. Where the morning sun penetrated the dense foliage, evergreen leaves shone like stained glass shards on a moonlit night.