‘Aye aye, Captain,’ Ruby and Whisker chanted in unison.
‘Booby traps, here we come,’ Horace added, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.
Several hours later, three frustrated rats finished triple-checking the courtyard buildings.
‘No key, no lunch, no afternoon siesta,’ Horace groaned. ‘Only stones, stones and more stones.’
Ruby wiped the water from her brow. ‘Don’t forget thorny vines and afternoon drizzle. My swords will rust before nightfall.’
‘At least we’ve avoided the booby traps,’ Whisker pointed out, trying to lighten the mood.
There was a faint whistle from inside the palace.
‘That sounds more promising,’ Horace exclaimed, taking off up the stairs.
Whisker and Ruby sprinted after him, following the main passage until they reached the three arched doorways.
‘Which way?’ Horace asked.
‘Listen,’ Ruby hissed.
A whistling sound echoed from the left doorway.
‘Down,’ Whisker said.
The rats descended the left staircase, fumbling their way through the darkness and tripping over loose stones. They came to two doorways and stopped.
‘I can’t hear the whistling,’ Horace whispered, ‘and it’s too dark to see the symbols.’
‘UNCLE,’ Ruby shouted at the top of her lungs. ‘CAN YOU HEAR ME?’
A faint reply drifted from the right doorway. Ruby chuckled to herself. ‘Problem solved.’
The adventurers stumbled down a flight of worn, uneven steps, the air growing mustier as they continued.
‘We should have brought a second lantern,’ Horace grumbled, kicking something soft and squishy. ‘I hope that was a mushroom and not a giant leech …’
‘It’s getting lighter,’ Ruby said from further down the stairs. ‘They must be close.’
The stairs spiralled to the left and stopped at the base of a small rusty gate. The gate was padlocked shut, but several of the bars had crumbled away and the rats easily squeezed through. Whisker looked up at the symbol above the gate. It was another paw – a left paw.
The gate led to a large cave-like room. Dozens of metal rings were attached to the rough stone walls. Eaton’s lantern stood on a flat rock in the centre of the room. A long, deep gash ran across the centre of the rock.
‘An executioner’s stone,’ Horace gulped. ‘Something tells me we’re not in a guest bedroom.’
‘Hello there,’ Mr Tribble said, turning to face the three rats. ‘Welcome to the palace dungeon, where the left paw of despair watches over the sorry souls who will never again see the light of day.’
Whisker’s tail dropped limply to the floor. ‘How cheerful.’
‘The left paw is also the symbol of the great brown bear,’ Mr Tribble explained. ‘And judging by the size of those rings, a large bear or two may have been chained up down here.’
‘Where are they now?’ Horace gasped. ‘You don’t think the bears could be –’
‘– running wild in the jungle?’ the Captain said, completing his sentence. ‘No, Horace. Bears leave big tracks and we haven’t seen or heard anything.’
‘So why are we down here?’ Ruby asked abruptly. ‘Did you find the key?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ the Captain replied. ‘But we did find this.’ He pointed to a small anvil standing in a corner.
‘An anvil?’ Whisker said, puzzled.
‘Not only an anvil,’ Mr Tribble added excitedly, ‘but the remnants of a coal forge and several blacksmith’s tools.’ He unfolded a dirty white cloth to reveal a hammer and a pair of tongs.
‘Why would the apes use the dungeon for metalwork?’ Whisker asked.
‘They didn’t,’ Mr Tribble replied. ‘But someone else did – more recently.’ He led the rats over to the anvil. ‘Take a look at the rocks.’
Whisker crouched down. The grimy rocks of the floor were dotted with small splotches of gold and brass and a clear substance that Whisker guessed was a by-product from the forging process.
‘These rocks are evidence that our mysterious mapmaker used this secluded room to forge two keys,’ Mr Tribble explained. ‘One key was made from gold and the other from brass.’ He patted Eaton on the head. ‘Eaton also discovered several drips of paint on the anvil.’
‘Which suggests the second key was painted to match the Forgotten Map,’ Whisker thought aloud.
‘That’s all well and good,’ Ruby said, ‘but we still don’t know where to find this key.’
Mr Tribble opened his notebook.
‘I have successfully identified every symbol in the palace,’ he stated. ‘I’m afraid there is nothing to suggest the key is hidden within these walls.’
Whisker looked down at the open page. It was filled with navigational symbols and their meanings.
‘Your list includes symbols for water and a bridge,’ he commented. ‘I wouldn’t expect to find a river in the palace.’
‘We discovered a small underground stream beneath the citadel,’ Mr Tribble said. ‘We reached it by taking the last doorway to the left. The bridge leads to a concealed rear entrance.’
‘Like the Sally Port on Prison Island,’ Horace exclaimed.
The Captain nodded.
‘… the shadows behind,’ Whisker pondered. ‘Perhaps we should take another look at this secret entrance.’
‘What about Smudge?’ Mr Tribble asked. ‘Has anyone seen him recently?’
‘Not since we left,’ Horace answered. He probably found a rotten pile of paw paws to roll in.’
‘I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later,’ the Captain said, unconcerned. ‘Come on, this place is giving me an itchy neck.’
The crew followed the Captain past the executioner’s stone. Horace snatched the white cloth from the anvil on his way out.
‘Got a runny nose, Horace?’ Ruby joked. ‘Or simply fed up with using spiky leaves for toilet paper?’
Horace stuffed the cloth under his belt. ‘If you really must know, Ruby, it’s for a flaming torch – no more stubbing my toes in dark passages.’
‘Well, keep it well away from me!’ Ruby snapped. ‘I know what you’re like with fire.’
Bickering among themselves, the Pie Rats made their way up the dungeon stairs to the last junction. They took the left doorway and descended a steep path. The soft murmur of running water soon filled their ears.
The path opened out into a small cave, where a slow stream of water trickled from a rock in the wall. It playfully splashed across the floor before disappearing down a hole on the opposite side of the cave. The Pie Rats followed a rock bridge over the stream and continued up a carved flight of stairs.
The stairs levelled out into a short passage. Its stone floor dropped away to reveal a deep, round hole. Curved stone walls extended downwards into the darkness and upwards towards the sky. Looking up, Whisker could see a thick blanket of rain clouds high overhead.
‘Argh me pastries!’ Horace exclaimed. ‘We’re halfway down a well.’
‘There weren’t any wells in the courtyard,’ Whisker recalled, trying to get his bearings. ‘We must be beyond the citadel.’
‘So how do we get out?’ Ruby asked, fiddling with the grappling hook.
The Captain stuck his head over the edge and peered up.
‘There are metal handles running up the wall,’ he said. ‘They look sturdy enough to climb, though a little slippery.’
Horace pushed past the Captain.
‘I’ll give it a shot,’ he volunteered, ‘Catch me if I fall.’ Haphazardly, Horace climbed the side of the well, noisily scraping each rung with his hook. ‘Nothing to it,’ he yelled from the top. ‘Come on up.’
One at a time, the Pie Rats clambered out of the well. Whisker reached the last rung to see the huge outer wall of the citadel towering above him. Several thick berry bushes grew nearby. Horace was already busy stuffing fruit into his mouth.
‘Hey, save some for us,’ Ruby scolded, rushing over.
‘You’ve nearly eaten them all.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ Horace spluttered. ‘The bushes were half empty when I got here.’
‘Maybe it was him,’ the Captain said, pointing to a green speck flying towards them. Smudge buzzed around the Captain’s head and landed on a branch. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ the Captain asked gruffly.
Smudge raised four arms as if to say where on earth have YOU been?
‘Have you seen the key?’ Ruby asked.
Smudge shook his head and pointed to a leaf.
‘You’ve seen a leaf?’ Ruby taunted. ‘Well, good for you.’
Smudge took the leaf in his arms and began to shake it. Ruby ignored him and helped herself to a pawful of berries. Intrigued, Whisker watched Smudge closely. The agitated blowfly continued to shake the leaf while pointing into the jungle.
‘You saw something moving through the leaves,’ Whisker exclaimed.
Smudge nodded.
‘Did you see what it was?’ the Captain asked.
Smudge shook his head. Horace offered a guess.
‘B-b-berry thief,’ he stuttered, glancing warily over his shoulder. ‘C-c-coming to g-g-get us …’
The Pie Rats anxiously looked at one another.
‘We don’t have long until nightfall,’ the Captain said in a low voice. ‘I suggest we search for the key while we still have light and then set up camp in the palace.’
‘I’m not searching in there,’ Horace gasped, fixing his eyes on the darkening jungle.
‘We’ll stick to the wall,’ the Captain said. ‘The drizzle is easing, so it shouldn’t take long to cover four sides.’
‘As long as I can have my flaming torch,’ Horace quibbled. ‘Wild animals hate fire.’
He shakily wrapped the cloth around the end of a branch, drenched it in Eaton’s lantern oil and lit it with a match. At first the torch did nothing but hiss in the drizzle, but with some gentle blowing, the flames began to burn steadily across the cloth. The fire seemed to revitalise Horace’s spirits.
‘Come on, Whisker,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m sure the key is this way.’
Whisker followed Horace along the northern wall of the citadel while the others went east, disappearing around the corner of a squat tower. In the fading light, Whisker saw nothing he hadn’t seen before – stacked stones, creeping vines, waxy leaves, sprawling shrubs.
The two rats came to a large pile of rocks where the entire wall had collapsed.
‘I doubt we could dig through that,’ Horace murmured.
‘You search left,’ Whisker said, ‘and I’ll search right. I’ll see you on the other side.’
Horace gave Whisker a salute with his hook and disappeared behind the pile. Whisker followed the jungle side of the rocks and soon found himself surrounded by dense vegetation. He hastily drew his scissor sword and began hacking his way through the undergrowth. The citadel stones lay covered in a web of twisting vines and dense, broad leaves. If the key was there, he would never find it.
He came to a large tree, its bark rough and peeling.
SWISH.
He heard the sound and stopped. Puzzled, he scanned the forest floor for any signs of movement – the jungle was still and silent. Cautiously, he took another step into the undergrowth.
SWISH.
The sound came again. Whisker flattened himself against the trunk of the tree, his tail thudding anxiously against the bark.
Wind? he asked himself, looking up at the treetops. It can’t be. It’s dead calm.
SWISH.
He heard the sound a third time, clearer and louder. In rising fear, he lowered his eyes and peered into the shadowy twilight of the jungle. All he could see were green leaves and grey stones. His heart began to pound.
SWISH.
The sound was right in front of him now and, with a flicker of movement, it finally took shape. Astonished, Whisker rubbed his eyes.
‘It can’t be,’ he gasped. ‘It’s impossible.’
Suspended in midair, and moving towards him like a ghostly apparition, was the unmistakable shape of a three-toothed key.
Appearances
Spellbound, Whisker could do nothing but stare as the key drifted closer. Leaves rippled and pulsed in its wake, changing colour from green to blue. Whisker willed it on. It was magical, it was mesmerising, it was … an illusion.
Whisker saw the eyes before anything else – two tiny black pupils covered by yellow circles of skin. They darted in different directions, fixing and focusing on their surrounds.
Next he saw the horns – three stick-like shafts protruding from the creature’s nose and head.
Finally the body materialised in front of him, long and scaly, with patches of green, grey and blue – the perfect jungle camouflage. Its reptilian tail coiled behind it in an emerald spiral, its four legs crept stealthily across the forest floor.
SWISH.
Attached to a fine chain around the creature’s neck, dangled the King’s Key.
Whisker raised his sword and the words of the riddle flashed through his mind … its guard appears as leaves and stone …
What a fool I have been, he thought. The guard is not the leaves and stone of the jungle, it is the creature that takes their appearance: the three-horned chameleon.
The green guardian stopped in its tracks and eyed Whisker suspiciously. Whisker’s tail began to spasm.
Don’t panic, he told himself. It could be friendly. Just hold your ground and hold onto your sword.
The chameleon opened his mouth, as if to yawn. Before Whisker knew what was happening a sticky tongue shot out and wrenched the sword from his paws. The chameleon spat the sword into the bushes and lowered its horns.
‘Time to panic,’ Whisker gulped.
The chameleon leapt into action, charging forward. Defenceless, Whisker grabbed hold of a vine and pulled himself up the trunk of the tree. The chameleon was right behind him. Its tong-like feet gripped the rough bark with ease and in moments it had reached him.
Whisker abandoned his vertical escape and leapt from the tree into a small bush. Prickly burs dug into his fur, but the leafy branches broke his fall. The chameleon turned itself around and scurried to the ground.
In a frenzy, Whisker burst from the branches, almost tripping over his scissor sword. He scooped up the slimy object and took off in the direction of the citadel with the chameleon racing after him in hot pursuit.
The stone wall came into view and Whisker felt the chameleon’s tongue catch his ankle. His leg came to an abrupt halt but his upper body kept moving, tumbling into a pile of dry leaves. His sword flew from his grasp and he rolled onto his back as the chameleon bore down on him.
There was a fiery flash to his right and a loud shout of ‘AVAST, YE SCURVY REPTILE!’
At the sight of Horace’s flaming torch, the chameleon recoiled in terror, turned on its heel and fled into the jungle.
‘Come back, you cowardly chameleon,’ Horace yelled, waving his torch through the air. ‘We’re having roast reptile for dinner!’
Stunned, Whisker lay motionless in the pile of leaves, staring up at his pint-sized saviour.
‘Thanks,’ he murmured.
Horace lowered the torch and extended his hook to Whisker.
‘Having trouble with the natives?’ he asked.
‘Only one of them,’ Whisker replied, pulling himself to his feet. ‘Your mysterious berry thief.’
‘He’s more than a berry thief,’ Horace said, with wide eyes. ‘I saw what he was carrying. That’s some lucky charm.’
Whisker moved his paw to his gold anchor pendant.
‘The chameleon won’t part with the key willingly,’ he said. ‘That I’m certain of.’
‘We’d better find the Captain,’ Horace said, staring into the jungle. ‘The torch won’t burn forever, and I can feel that scaly creature watching us.’
Whisker felt it, too. Swords raised, the two rats scurried along the stone wall as the eerie darkness of night clo
sed in.
That evening, a mighty fire blazed in the centre of the throne room. Sparks and embers drifted up with the smoke through the high chimney that was once the royal tower. The Pie Rats had slashed many of the vines from the windows, allowing fresh air to be drawn into the space, feeding the flames. The sky overhead was clear and the night air of the jungle was warm. The fire wasn’t for heating. It was for protection.
The companions sat on fallen stones, a comfortable distance from the fire, and pondered their predicament.
‘Are you sure it was the correct key?’ Mr Tribble asked, writing notes in his book.
‘I think so,’ Whisker replied. ‘I didn’t get a close look but it definitely had the same shape as the hole in the map.’
‘How old was the chameleon?’ the Captain enquired. ‘The map was made many years ago.’
‘It’s not going to drop dead of old age, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ Horace said. ‘The key must have anti-ageing powers.’
Ruby snorted.
‘What?’ Horace shot back. ‘Haven’t you heard of the fountain of youth?’
‘Of course,’ Ruby said sarcastically. ‘I saw it this afternoon when I was …’
‘Ahem,’ the Captain interrupted.
Ruby and Horace silently glared at each other.
‘Scientifically speaking,’ Mr Tribble said, ‘it is more probable that the chameleon is a descendent of the original guardian and that the key has been passed down from generation to generation.’
‘Lucky us for getting the grumpy grandson,’ Horace muttered. ‘Shouldn’t he just hand over the key? We figured out the riddle.’
‘I’m not sure it works like that,’ the Captain said. ‘It appears we’re in the middle of a dangerous duel with the mapmaker. If we want the key badly enough we will have to outwit and outsmart his guardian.’
‘Outfighting the chameleon sounds like a better idea,’ Ruby said, polishing her swords. ‘It’s seven against one.’
‘Hmm,’ the Captain pondered. ‘I doubt he’ll show himself in the open again, and if we try to hunt him through the jungle, he’ll be gone long before we even get close.’
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