The King's Key

by Cameron Stelzer

  ‘What about a trap?’ Whisker suggested. ‘The chameleon seemed rather curious, and I’m sure if we found the right bait …’

  ‘Insects!’ Horace exclaimed. ‘Chameleons love insects.’

  Smudge leapt off the Captain’s shoulder and buzzed through an open window.

  ‘Come back, Smudge,’ Horace called after him. ‘I didn’t mean you … I was thinking of a big juicy cockroach.’

  Smudge didn’t return.

  ‘We know the chameleon likes berries,’ Whisker remarked.

  ‘So does Horace,’ Ruby said, rolling her eye. ‘He stripped the bushes bare.’

  ‘You ate your fair share,’ Horace retorted. ‘If anyone’s to blame it’s …’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of wild berries,’ Whisker cut in. ‘I was thinking of the berries in our pie.’

  ‘Red Berry Combo,’ Horace gasped. ‘That’s our dinner!’

  Mr Tribble reached his paw into his backpack and pulled out the second pie. He brushed several long roots off the pastry and placed it on a rock. Smudge suddenly reappeared.

  ‘It does look rather delicious,’ Mr Tribble considered, licking his lips. ‘If we remove the top crust, the berry filling will be irresistible.’

  ‘Alright,’ the Captain agreed. ‘It’s worth a try. But what do we do when the chameleon starts eating?’

  ‘We could wait for it to fall asleep,’ Horace suggested. ‘Lots of animals do that after a big meal.’

  ‘We can’t be certain,’ Mr Tribble said. ‘And besides, it will wake up in a flash when it feels twelve furry paws snatching at the key.’

  Something Mr Tribble said triggered a memory in Whisker’s mind. He picked up a shrivelled root from the floor and examined it closely.

  ‘What if the chameleon can’t feel a thing?’ he thought aloud.

  The rest of the crew turned to him, awaiting an explanation. Whisker held up the root.

  ‘Pete’s treacle medicine,’ Horace exclaimed.

  ‘Whisker’s berry medicine, more like it,’ the Captain laughed. ‘I think we have our solution. The chameleon will be fast asleep and numb from horns to tail before he’s even finished the pie.’

  ‘We can dry the herbs by the fire and grind them into a powder with the stones,’ Mr Tribble said excitedly.

  ‘Um, there’s one little problem,’ Whisker said, walking over to the Captain’s bag.

  He pulled out a black eyeball seed and held it up with one paw, raising the root in the other.

  ‘One of these herbs is to numb the pain,’ he said, quoting Pete, ‘and the other is for a healing rush of energy. Pete never told us which herb is which.’

  The Captain shrugged and scratched his head.

  ‘Pete mentioned roots before he mentioned seeds,’ Mr Tribble recalled. ‘And he also mentioned numbing the pain before healing rush of energy. Therefore, taking a sequential interpretation, the roots are more likely to be the numbing herb.’

  ‘You’ve lost me there,’ Horace responded. ‘I would have said the eyeballs were the numbing herbs. When I think of roots I think of energy rising from the earth.’

  ‘Why don’t we do a little experiment?’ Ruby proposed. ‘Mr Tribble can eat a root and Horace can eat an eyeball. The first rodent to fall asleep is the winner.’

  Mr Tribble looked horrified.

  ‘What if one of us never wakes up?’ he choked. ‘We know the herbs work harmlessly together, but on their own …’

  The Captain glanced across at Eaton, busily refilling his lantern with oil.

  ‘What do you think, Eaton?’ he asked. ‘You don’t say much, but you’re a bright little lad.’

  ‘Me?’ Eaton squeaked, looking up. ‘W-well, Pete said equal quantities of each herb …’

  ‘There you have it,’ the Captain cheered. ‘From the mouths of mice – problem solved. We’ll use both herbs in equal proportions. If my memory serves me correctly, we’ll have approximately twenty minutes to steal the key before the chameleon wakes up in a raging frenzy.’ Without waiting for further debate, the Captain began scattering eyeball seeds onto the warm stones near the fire.

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ Mr Tribble considered. ‘That should give us sufficient time to get to the ravine … if we run.’

  ‘Relax,’ Horace reassured him. ‘It’s all downhill. We’ll be there in ten minutes tops.’

  Mr Tribble gave Horace an unconvincing nod and picked up a pawful of roots from his bag.

  ‘These roots are your responsibility, Horace,’ he said, laying them on a stone. ‘Constant supervision is required to ensure they dry slowly and evenly. Turn them over every five minutes and make sure they never catch alight.’

  ‘How uninspiring,’ Horace yawned. ‘I’ll be here all night.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Whisker. ‘At least I’ll have someone to talk to. Pull up a rock, Whisker. I know hours of campfire ghost stories you’re going to love.’

  ‘Whisker’s busy right now,’ Ruby blurted out.

  ‘Am I?’ Whisker said, confused.

  ‘Yes you are!’ Ruby snapped. ‘You’re busy with your, err … first sword fighting lesson, which means I’m busy instructing you and Horace will need to find someone else to listen to his ghost stories.’

  Horace shook his hook at Ruby.

  ‘I know what you’re playing at, you vile vixen,’ he taunted. ‘You don’t want Whisker to hear a certain ghost story about a pretty young rat and a white sheet …’

  Ruby flushed red.

  ‘I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she gabbled. ‘Come on, Whisker, it’s too distracting in here for a proper lesson.’

  Ruby dragged Whisker towards the waiting room. Horace grinned, and then continued, ‘So Eaton, have you heard the one about the vampire bat and the vicar …?’

  Master Strikes

  As intrigued as he was about Horace’s white sheet story, Whisker decided it was best not to raise the subject, especially when Ruby was facing him with a sword in each paw.

  ‘S-so where do we begin?’ he asked, nervously drawing his own green scissor sword.

  ‘We already know your tail has some talent,’ Ruby said bluntly. ‘But as for your paws, well, that’s a different story.’

  Whisker knew Ruby wasn’t going to be the friendliest of tutors, and she definitely wasn’t going to inflate his head with praise. But sword fighting wasn’t about feeling good, it was about staying alive. Whisker raised his chin and prepared for whatever came his way.

  ‘There are two rules in the training arena,’ Ruby began. ‘Rule one: Listen to what I say. Rule two: Do what I say. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Whisker replied.

  ‘And don’t call me ma’am!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not your mother.’

  ‘S-sorry, Ruby,’ Whisker said timidly.

  She continued, ‘Sword fighting in the Pie Rat tradition involves two basic types of manoeuvres – guards and strikes. Guards are fighting stances giving you defensive protection, as well as a range of attacking possibilities. Strikes are movements that lead from one guard to the next. They can be attacking blows or defensive blocks.’

  Ruby placed one of her swords on the ground and grasped the second sword in both paws.

  ‘There are four primary guards,’ she explained. ‘The first is called the Plough Guard. It is simple to master, but hard for your opponent to penetrate.’ She moved her left foot in front of her and twisted her right foot ninety degrees. ‘Take note of my stance,’ she said. ‘One foot forward, one foot back. It will give you the best stability. Twist your torso so your belt buckle faces your opponent.’

  Whisker tried to mimic her stance.

  ‘Lower your paws to your right hip,’ she instructed, ‘and angle the blade so it points at your opponent’s neck.’

  Whisker awkwardly followed her directions.

  ‘Relax your arms,’ Ruby hissed. ‘You’re too tense … and remember to breathe … stop waving your tail … bend your elbows … move your arms closer to you
r body …’

  Whisker felt like a marionette puppet on a bumpy cart ride. You can do this, he told himself. Just focus your mind, listen and follow. He took a deep breath and tried to relax. His tail stopped moving and his shoulders loosened. Maintaining his composure, he focused on Ruby and moved into position.

  ‘Much better,’ Ruby said. ‘You’re officially in the Plough Guard stance. From here, there are a number of strikes you can utilise, depending on your opponent’s actions. Guard two is the Roof Guard.’

  Ruby moved her feet closer together and raised the handle of her sword to her left shoulder. The blade of the sword extended vertically above her head, tipping back slightly. Whisker followed her closely, copying her every move. Ruby looked him up and down and nodded.

  ‘The Roof Guard, like most guards, can be assumed on either side of the body,’ she explained, changing position.

  Whisker mirrored her with lightning speed and was in a reverse Roof Guard almost before she was. Blessed with quick reflexes, Whisker was determined to get every move right. He hoped Ruby could tell the difference between a keen student and an arrogant show-off.

  Ruby glared back at him and mouthed something that looked remarkably like arrogant show-off.

  ‘Ox Guard,’ she snapped, raising her rear elbow. She lowered her blade to shoulder height and pointed it horizontally at Whisker. Whisker assumed the stance and the two combatants faced each other like angry oxen, horns raised, ready to charge.

  ‘The last guard is the Fool’s Guard,’ Ruby explained. ‘Rumour has it, it was named after a certain fool in our crew …’

  ‘Hey, I heard that!’ cried a voice from the throne room. ‘I’ll have you know I have a famous move named after me and it’s not the Fool’s Guard. It’s a skilful manoeuvre called the Horace Shuffle.’

  Ruby rolled her eye. Whisker couldn’t help but smile. The tension in the air immediately lifted.

  ‘The Fool’s Guard gives the appearance of vulnerability,’ she continued, lowering the sword so the blade almost touched the ground. ‘Your opponent will consider you a fool for leaving yourself wide open and rush in to attack. When they do …’ Before Whisker knew what was happening, Ruby thrust her sword upwards and took a swipe at an invisible foe. ‘… you’ll be ready.’

  ‘The attacker is the fool,’ Whisker muttered to himself.

  ‘The key to any fight is to find the flow of the battle and control it,’ Ruby said calmly. ‘Foresee a move before it happens and act decisively. As all good Pie Rats say, the best defence is good offence.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember that,’ Whisker said.

  ‘Control only comes with practice and experience,’ Ruby added. ‘There are many moves I can teach you but the four guards, together with the five Master Strikes, will give you a solid fighting foundation. Are you up for some sparring?’

  ‘Sure,’ Whisker said, growing in confidence. ‘Anything beats dried herbs and ghost stories.’

  ‘I can still hear you,’ Horace yelped.

  Ruby ignored Horace and began to explain, ‘The five Master Strikes are: The Strike of Wrath …’ She raised the sword above her head and swung it straight down, stopping the blade only millimetres from Whisker’s head.

  Whisker gulped. With a wink, Ruby raised the sword to her right shoulder.

  ‘The Crooked Strike …’ She curved the blade downwards in an arc across her body, ending the movement when the blade reached her lower left side.

  ‘The Cross Strike …’ Ruby began the strike from her shoulder, took a step forward and twisted her hips. The blade crossed horizontally in front of her face, with the tip pointing directly at Whisker’s nose.

  Whisker shuffled back.

  ‘The Squinting Strike …’ Ruby repeated her actions from the previous strike but ended the motion with a downward thrust to the right side of Whisker’s neck.

  Whisker shuffled back even further.

  ‘And finally, The Scalp Strike …’ Ruby raised both paws high, stepped off line and thrust the sword in the direction of Whisker’s scalp.

  Whisker stared cross-eyed at the tip of the sword and thanked his lucky stars he’d taken two steps backwards.

  ‘What do you think?’ Ruby asked, lowering the blade.

  ‘I-I’m glad I’m on your side,’ Whisker stammered. ‘I doubt I’d have much of a head left in a real fight.’

  ‘The Master Strikes are designed to threaten your opponent,’ Ruby said lowering her voice, ‘not necessarily kill them. A good fighter will know exactly where their blade will end up. Experience will teach you about perception, timing and distance – three things that will save your life as well as giving you the power to spare lives.’

  Whisker sighed. There was one question he’d avoided asking the entire time he’d been on the Apple Pie. It was a question he could no longer ignore. Before he went any further with his training, he had to know the answer.

  ‘Ruby,’ he asked slowly, ‘What does it feel like to, err, k…’ He couldn’t finish the question.

  Ruby gave him one of her stone-cold stares and Whisker decided not to push his luck.

  She bent down to pick up her second sword.

  ‘I know what everyone thinks of me,’ she muttered, ‘and I don’t blame them. I act a certain way – they assume certain things. But remember this, Whisker, appearances can be deceiving.’ She paused. ‘If you want an answer, you’ll have to ask someone who knows. I’m a Pie Rat, not an assassin.’

  Whisker smiled to himself. Ruby had given him the answer he wanted to hear.

  ‘Let Horace believe what he wants,’ Ruby added, quietly. ‘He’s easier to boss around that way. Fear is such a powerful thing. Come on. Help me pick out a couple of sturdy sticks for the training drill.’

  Whisker followed Ruby through the throne room to a pile of dry branches near the fire. Horace was busy talking and laughing with Mr Tribble and the Captain. Horace was doing all the talking and all the laughing. Smudge dozed peacefully on a broken piece of marble.

  ‘Where’s Eaton?’ Whisker asked, looking around.

  Mr Tribble pointed up the wall. Through the smoke, Whisker could just make out the tiny figure of Eaton peering through a hole in a window. He was clutching his lantern in one paw.

  ‘Eaton asked if he could survey the citadel from a safe height,’ Mr Tribble said. ‘He was rather concerned about the chameleon stalking us from the courtyard.’

  ‘Are you sure he wasn’t just spooked by a ghost story?’ Whisker joked, selecting a straight stick from the pile.

  ‘Rotten pies to snide remarks,’ Horace huffed. ‘Eaton loved my ghost stories. Especially the one about the white sheet and the …’

  ‘Can’t stay and chat,’ Ruby cut in, pulling Whisker out of the room. ‘We’ve got heaps of training to cover.’

  The sparring session was intense, to say the least. Whisker was glad they were fighting with sticks and not with swords. His mind struggled to piece together all the moves and combinations required to defend against Ruby and he was soon tender and sore from all the stabs and slashes he failed to block.

  ‘You’re improving,’ Ruby remarked. ‘But your mind is still too busy thinking about what moves to use. You should be feeling your way through each strike.’

  ‘Give him a break,’ Horace said, walking into the room. ‘He’s a million times better than I was in my first lesson.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be hard,’ Ruby scoffed. ‘By the way, aren’t you supposed to be watching the herbs?’

  ‘Tribble gave me an early mark,’ Horace replied. ‘I think my herbs got a little char-grilled …’

  ‘Just stay out of the way!’ Ruby snapped. ‘And if you mention a single word of that ghost story, I’ll use you as a mannequin for decapitation practice – with real swords.’

  Without protest, Horace shirked off into the shadows on the far side of the hole. Ruby gave Whisker a wink. ‘I told you it was easy.’

  Horace, however, didn’t stay quiet for long.


  ‘Err, permission to speak?’ he piped, raising his hook in the air.

  ‘What is it now, Horace?’ Ruby groaned.

  ‘I have a small suggestion for Whisker,’ he replied. ‘Combinations are easier to learn when you put them into a story. For example: The heroic Horace leapt off the roof and struck wrathfully at the ploughman.’

  Ruby rolled her eye.

  ‘Stories can work as learning tools,’ she admitted. ‘But unnecessary details will slow you down. The Captain taught me to use simple word associations to trigger my reflexes.’

  She moved into a Fool’s Guard position and explained, ‘When I think of a fool, I think of someone who needs a few brain cells rammed into their scalp. ‘She shot a quick glance at Horace and continued, ‘An effective way to defend against someone in the Fool’s Guard is by using the Scalp Strike. Another example is the word ox. I associate oxen with their horns, which are bent or crooked. So if someone is attacking me from an Ox Guard position …’

  ‘Your defence would be a Crooked Strike,’ Whisker exclaimed.

  ‘Exactly,’ Ruby said. ‘And after a while you won’t even need the associations. You’ll simply know what moves to use and when to use them – with exceptions of course. It’s important to be aware of your surroundings. A low ceiling height, a hole in the ground, sunlight in your eyes, and so on, can all influence a fight.’

  ‘Don’t forget props,’ Horace added. ‘A rotten guava to the face is a perfect way to throw your enemy off guard.’

  ‘We’re trying to stick to the basics,’ Ruby huffed. ‘That means two paws on the sword at all times, not picking up yesterday’s dinner for a fruit salad food fight.’

  ‘Relax,’ Horace laughed. ‘Whisker can use his tail.’

  Whisker knew he had enough to focus on and filed Horace’s suggestion in the back of his mind. His head soon swam with images of wrathful ploughmen, squinting fools and crooked horned oxen. Less and less of Ruby’s blows penetrated his defences and he even came close to disarming Horace on one occasion.

  ‘Tell me about the Horace Shuffle,’ he panted, stopping for a drink.

  ‘It’s a cunning escape move,’ Horace said proudly. ‘But it only works if you’re smaller than your opponent.’