The King's Key Read online

  The King’s Key

  Titles available in the Pie Rats series

  (in reading order):

  The Forgotten Map

  The King’s Key

  The Island of Destiny

  The Trophy of Champions

  For my brother, Tyson, inventor and encourager.

  Here’s to explosions of grand proportions.

  First published by Daydream Press, Brisbane, Australia, 2014

  This electronic version published 2015

  Text and illustrations copyright © Dr Cameron Stelzer 2014

  Illustrations are watercolour and pen on paper

  No part of this book may be reproduced electronically, verbally or in print without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  ISBN: 978-0-9942486-1-9 (eBook)

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Author: Stelzer, Cameron, 1977 –

  Title: The King’s Key / by Cameron Stelzer

  Series: Stelzer, Cameron, 1977 – Pie Rats; bk. 2

  Target audience: For primary school age.

  Subjects: Rats – Juvenile fiction. Pirates – Juvenile fiction.

  Dewey number: A823.4

  Digital edition distributed by

  Port Campbell Press

  www.portcampbellpress.com.au

  Conversion by Winking Billy

  Though the voyage may be long

  and the waves may be fierce,

  there is always hope –

  Hope that land is but a blue horizon away

  and one must keep sailing to find it.

  Anso Winterbottom

  Explorer, Discoverer and Adventurer

  Guests

  Scratch, scuttle, rustle.

  The faint sounds woke Whisker from his dreams. He turned in his hammock, let out a sigh and drifted back to sleep.

  SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE.

  The sounds came again – much louder this time. Whisker opened his eyes and peered around the tiny cabin. Nothing stirred.

  Perplexed, he swung his body from the hammock and lowered his feet to the floor. As quiet as a rat on a sleeping ship, he tiptoed past his two cabin mates and pressed his ear against the wall.

  SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE. SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, SCRAPE.

  The strange noises echoed through the wood, sending an itchy vibration down his body. He pulled his ear away and shuddered. Something was out there.

  In growing fear, he turned to the sleeping figure of Hook Hand Horace and gave his friend a gentle shake. Horace opened one eyelid and gazed sleepily up at Whisker.

  ‘Can you hear it?’ Whisker asked softly.

  SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE. SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, SCRAPE.

  Horace’s second eyelid sprang open and, with a sudden rush of adrenalin, his body lurched out of his hammock.

  ‘Shiver me britches!’ he gasped, landing hook-first on top of Fish Eye Fred.

  ‘Ouch,’ moaned the startled chef, brushing Horace aside with a mighty paw. ‘Is it breakfast time already?’

  ‘No, you oversized fish finger!’ Horace exclaimed. ‘We’ve got company.’

  Fred dropped his huge feet to the ground and swivelled his enormous left eye in the direction of the sounds.

  ‘Breakfast guests?’ he enquired.

  ‘Uninvited guests,’ Horace replied, handing Fred a large fork. ‘Let’s show them some Pie Rat hospitality.’

  Horace picked up a blue-handled scissor sword and headed for the door. Whisker hesitantly followed, thrusting a green scissor sword into his belt.

  The three rats raced down the dark corridor. Horace hurriedly tapped each door they passed with his hook. Without waiting for a reply, the rodents leapt up the stairs and burst onto the deck of the Apple Pie. The entire deck was deserted.

  Whisker scanned the ocean for clues. The silent wrecks of Shipwreck Sandbar surrounded the ship like a forest of statues, dark and foreboding. Strands of dry, brown seaweed dangled lifelessly from their rotting masts. A stiff breeze stirred up small waves, but neither wind nor water carried any sign of visitors.

  It was only as the dim light of dawn began spreading through the sky that Whisker finally saw them.

  His tail flinched behind his back.

  Whisker’s over-emotional tail had a nasty habit of acting on its own whenever he was anxious or afraid – and now Whisker was anxious and afraid.

  ‘Steady on,’ Horace whispered. ‘Save your energy for the formal introductions. How many guests can we expect, Fred?’

  Fred’s powerful eye darted from left to right on a surveillance sweep of the ship.

  ‘Ten to the left,’ he grunted, ‘and ten to the right.’

  Horace looked relieved.

  ‘I’m sure we can cater for twenty visitors,’ he said, doing the maths.

  ‘Um … there might be a few more,’ Fred confessed. ‘I’m only good with numbers up to ten …’

  Whisker gulped as no fewer than ten-times-ten pale blue crustaceans emerged from the shadows. They came from everywhere, clambering over the wooden pastry-crust bulwark of the ship, scrambling out of barrels and dropping from the masts like webless spiders, ready to attack.

  ‘Rotten pies to Blue Claw commandos,’ Horace groaned, drawing his sword. ‘I hope they’re not expecting a buffet breakfast.’

  The advancing soldier crabs got within striking range and suddenly halted. A crab wearing a blue beret raised his claw and spoke, ‘By order of his exalted Excellency, the Honourable Cazban, Governor of Aladrya, you are hereby under arrest for heinous crimes committed against the State.’

  Fred scratched his head with his fork, trying to fathom what the crab had just said.

  ‘W-what crimes?’ he mumbled.

  ‘Piracy, theft, hooliganism …’ the crab rattled off impatiently. ‘… all-round anti-social behaviour.’

  ‘ANTI-SOCIAL?’ Horace cried in outrage. ‘We’re extremely social. Not that you empty-shelled mud eaters know anything about socialising.’

  With the angry snap of claws, two hundred furious eyes glared at Horace. Whisker drew his sword and prepared for the inevitable.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Horace whispered. ‘They’re easier to fight when they’re annoyed.’

  Whisker wasn’t convinced. His terrified tail twisted from side to side like an out-of-control cobra.

  The crab with the armband raised his second claw. ‘Attention, troops. I want the entire crew of this ship brought into custody – dead or alive.’ He swept his claw through the air and, with the stampede of eight hundred frantic feet, the battle was on.

  Horace was extremely short for a rat but his enthusiastic fighting style more than compensated for what he lacked in stature. Every move he made was doubled in intensity by his over-the-top running commentary.

  ‘AVAST YE SCURVY SEA DWELLERS … TAKE THAT, YOU OVERCOOKED CRAB CAKE … FEEL THE HORROR OF THE HOOK … ARGH, ME CRABBIES … YOU CALL THAT A CLAW …?’

  Fred was a giant, and a strong one at that. He flexed his tattooed arm, shook his safety pin earring and hurled crabs overboard with his fork like they were nothing more than unwanted ants on a picnic table.

  Whisker, the cyclone-surviving circus rat, had been rescued by the Pie Rats only seventeen days ago. He’d owned his scissor sword for exactly one hour and thirty-six minutes and for most of that time he’d slept. His sword-fighting skills were limited to one infamous move that involved cutting through a piece of rope. As the crabs pressed in around him, he knew he needed a plan – and fast.

  What would Ruby do? he asked himself, annoyed that Horace hadn’t knocked harder on the champion swords-rat’s door. He thought back to the morning he’d seen her practicing on th
e deck. There’s got to be a move I can use.

  With a sharp nip to his tail from an attacking claw, the answer leapt into his head – SPIN!

  Focusing all his energy on his stinging tail, he coiled it around the handle of his scissor sword and, imagining he was the world’s first rat-tornado, began to spin on one foot. At first, his sword clanged awkwardly behind him, but as the spinning increased it rose into the air. One by one, the approaching crabs were sent flying into the ocean.

  ‘Hurricane Whisker has arrived!’ Horace cheered. ‘Batten down the hatches.’

  Despite Whisker’s success, he knew there were two significant flaws in his tornado tactic. First, crabs can swim, and as soon as they splashed into the sea, they turned around and paddled straight back. And second, spinning leads to dizziness. It wasn’t long before Whisker began to sway awkwardly from side to side like a spinning top losing momentum.

  Just when he thought he was destined to join the crabs in an early morning salt bath, Whisker heard the buzz of tiny wings. He looked up to see a flash of green as Smudge, the loyal blowfly of the Pie Rats, launched an aerial attack with a piece of stale pie crust. The remainder of the crew bounded up the stairs behind him.

  Pencil Leg Pete, the runny-nosed Quartermaster, skidded to a halt on his red pencil leg.

  ‘Oh my precious paws,’ he gasped. ‘Accidental decapitation by an apprentice is never advisable this early in the morning.’

  Whisker grabbed a mast to stop himself spinning and promptly collapsed on the deck. He glanced up to see the swirling green eye of Ruby staring down at him, her crimson eye patch circling around her face. Whisker felt light-headed – and not just from the spinning.

  ‘Nice move, cyclone boy,’ Ruby smirked, ‘I’ll collect my royalty cheque later.’

  ‘Oh, h-hi there, Ruby,’ Whisker squeaked, sounding more like a deflating balloon than a roaring tornado. ‘I-it’s a l-lovely morning for a sword fight … isn’t it?’

  Ruby rolled her eye and turned to casually fend off an attack with two scarlet scissor swords. Whisker shut his mouth before more embarrassing words could squeeze their way out.

  ‘Enough of this rat-foolery!’ Captain Black Rat bellowed, striding into Whisker’s view. ‘Get those sails up quick smart before reinforcements arrive from the mainland. I want every paw on deck. And that includes the honorary members of the crew.’ He glanced at the stairwell. ‘Mr Tribble, are you down there?’

  ‘Aye, Captain,’ came a nervous voice from the stairs.

  ‘You’re on the wheel,’ the Captain ordered. ‘And the twins can assist with the sails.’

  ‘Very well,’ Mr Tribble sighed. ‘Come along, Eaton. Come along, Emmaline.’

  A middle-aged grey mouse with thick glasses emerged onto the deck with two small mice sporting matching school blazers.

  ‘Ooh! A real pirate battle.’ Emmie cried excitedly. ‘This is the best school excursion ever!’

  Her twin brother Eaton looked far less enthusiastic.

  ‘This way,’ the Captain ordered, booting an advancing crab overboard. ‘Whisker will show you the ropes.’

  Whisker brushed the unruly fur out of his eyes, straightened his one-sleeved shirt and staggered to his feet as the two mice rushed over to the giant cutlery masts.

  It was a difficult job tying knots, doubling as a body guard and fighting soldier crabs at the same time; but with an energised tail and two able assistants, Whisker managed to raise the T-shirt mainsail, the handkerchief foresail and the underpants jib-sail without death, amputation or crab-claw lacerations.

  Nearby, Ruby fought to keep the middle of the deck crab-free. Whisker had never seen anyone fight with so much speed and precision – strike, block, pivot, counter, lunge, step, guard, grapple. Each move led seamlessly into the next like a perfectly choreographed dance.

  ‘Wow,’ he gasped in awe.

  ‘Eyes on the job, blue eyes,’ Horace shouted, knocking a sneaky crab from the mainsail.

  ‘S-sorry,’ Whisker stammered. ‘I was learning some new moves.’

  Horace gave him a sly grin. ‘Sure you were … now lend me a paw to raise the anchor.’

  It took the combined strength of Horace, Whisker and the two mice to heave the heavy anchor onto the deck. It was officially Fred’s job, but his paws were busy fighting two dozen crabs at the bow of the boat.

  With the anchor raised and the sails unfurled, the Apple Pie moved swiftly through the waves.

  ‘Where am I headed?’ Mr Tribble called from the helm.

  ‘Away from these cursed commandos!’ the Captain barked. ‘Just watch out for shipwrecks and shallow water.’

  Mr Tribble gave the wheel a hard spin and the Apple Pie jerked violently to the left. Half a dozen crabs tumbled overboard.

  ‘Turn starboard,’ Horace shouted. ‘We’re headed for a wreck!’

  Mr Tribble swung the wheel frantically in the opposite direction.

  ‘Port!’ Pete hollered. ‘You’re steering into the sandbar.’

  ‘I’m a teacher, not a navigator!’ Mr Tribble shrieked, spinning the wheel chaotically from side to side.

  ‘Just turn the wheel gently,’ Pete spluttered.

  Mr Tribble took a deep breath, steadied himself and delicately turned the wheel.

  The attacking crabs thinned out and swimmers fell by the wayside as the Apple Pie continued through the early morning obstacle course of water-logged hulls and sunken cargo ships. Whisker looked down from his position on the rigging to see the last handful of clawed commandos standing in the corner of the deck.

  ‘They’re mine,’ Horace cried, rushing forward.

  Ruby appeared out of nowhere and stepped in his way.

  ‘Ladies first,’ she smirked.

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Horace protested. ‘You’ve got two swords and you always get more crabs.’

  ‘Stop complaining!’ Ruby snapped. ‘You had a head start.’

  ‘Whatever happened to sharing?’ Pete groaned from across the deck.

  As Ruby and Horace continued bickering, the huge shape of Fred emerged behind them. The remaining crabs took one look at the giant and leapt overboard.

  ‘Putrid pastries!’ Horace huffed in annoyance. ‘Two more crabs and I would have reached thirty.’

  ‘What a shame,’ Ruby hissed. ‘One more and I would have had fifty.’

  Horace ignored her and turned to Fred. ‘How many big fella? Eighty? Ninety?’

  ‘Ten,’ Fred replied with a baffled shrug.

  Ruby grinned triumphantly at Horace and pranced down the stairs to hunt for unwanted passengers below. The remaining crew assembled at the helm. Mr Tribble looked extremely relieved when Pete offered to take the wheel.

  ‘It’s much harder than it looks,’ he admitted.

  ‘So what did our new friends want?’ the Captain asked quietly. ‘They didn’t mention you-know-what did they?’

  ‘The Forgotten Map?’ Whisker gasped. ‘No …’

  It had only been a few hours since Whisker’s daring map-retrieval mission (he still stank of perfume from his flamboyant getaway from Madam Pearl’s boutique shop) and the last thing he wanted was for the map to fall into the claws of the Aladryan Navy.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Captain,’ Horace said confidently. ‘Those hard-headed coral crunchers wouldn’t know the difference between a treasure map and a piece of toilet paper.’

  ‘Then perhaps their attack was connected to last night’s raid?’ the Captain wondered.

  ‘You mean today’s raid,’ Pete muttered, pointing a bony finger out to sea. ‘The note we intercepted mentioned a blockade of warships to the west, and we’ve just sailed out of our only safe haven.’

  The Captain stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t intended on leaving Shipwreck Sandbar until the blockade had disbanded on Saturday morning. But then again, no Claw-of-War would venture within firing range of the sandbar – the water is far too shallow. If we head due-south through the remaining wrecks, we may esc
ape unseen …’

  ‘And then what?’ Pete said sceptically. ‘Drop in for a slice of pie on Prison Island?’

  Horace gave Pete a prod with his hook. ‘Lighten up, grumpy bones. If we turn west before we reach Prison Island, we’ll be on a direct course for the Island of Kings – where the missing key awaits us.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy, Horace,’ Pete muttered. ‘I’ll wager my breakfast there’s a Claw-of-War lurking beyond the last wreck.’

  ‘I’ll accept your wager,’ Horace said eagerly. ‘If the coast is clear, I’m a well fed rat.’

  ‘You’ll be a well starved rat …’ Pete sniggered under his breath.

  Pete turned the Apple Pie to the south and Whisker helped the mice adjust the sails. Horace and Fred busied themselves removing broken crab claws and other debris from the deck. Ruby soon emerged at the top of the stairs and stood frowning at the multitude of scratch marks left by the crabs.

  ‘Anything to report, my dear?’ the Captain asked with interest.

  ‘No, Uncle,’ she replied, her expression lightening. ‘I found your cabin untouched and the Forgotten Map still hidden in the top drawer.’

  Whisker let out a sigh of relief. Legend foretold that the Forgotten Map led to a mysterious treasure of great power on the Island of Destiny. It was Whisker’s silent hope that the treasure would bring back his parents and sister, who disappeared in their little red boat on the night he was washed overboard in the cyclone. Whisker clung to the belief they were still alive …

  His thoughts were interrupted by an excited cry from Horace: ‘Argh me pastries! Last wreck to our starboard side. Put the kettle on, Fred.’

  ‘Hold your rat’s tails,’ Pete said warily. ‘I think the Captain should take a look at this.’

  The Captain clambered up to the helm and raised a short telescope to his eye. Horace and Whisker scurried after him. Pete stood motionless behind the wheel, looking queasy.

  ‘So?’ Horace squeaked, tugging the Captain’s sleeve. ‘Who misses breakfast?’

  The Captain lowered the telescope. ‘I’m afraid you both do.’

  ‘What?’ Horace gasped, turning a sickly shade of green.