The King's Key Page 15

  Time sped up. Whisker twisted his hips, flicked his tail in a wide arc over his shoulder and curved it down in front of him. Simultaneously, he extended his left paw downwards and thrust his right paw upwards. He felt a sharp tug on his left paw followed by a sharper tug on his right paw. Gritting his teeth, he hoped his aching fingers were strong enough to do their job.

  His body stopped moving. Cautiously, he looked around. He was lying next to Ruby on the very edge of the ravine. His right paw gripped a large rock and his left paw clutched Ruby’s arm. He could feel his tail dangling over the cliff, wrapped tightly around the key.

  His prize was secure but there was still one problem. The furious chameleon towered over him. It narrowed its eyes, lowered its head and aimed its horns directly at his chest.

  Whisker waited for the painful stab. There was a loud shout from the plateau and the chameleon whipped around to face the new threat.

  Seizing his opportunity, Whisker staggered to his feet, pulling Ruby up with him, and his tail dragged the key onto the ledge. Horace stood several metres away, brandishing a flaming torch in one paw and a stick of unlit dynamite in his hook.

  ‘Burn you brutish beast!’ he cried, waving the torch at the chameleon. ‘And if you touch my friends again, you’ll be sucking on a sizzling stick of dynamite.’

  The chameleon moved to its left, its eyes darting between Horace and the dense jungle. Horace stepped in its path, denying it an easy escape.

  ‘Let it pass,’ Whisker shouted. ‘We have the key.’

  Obediently, Horace lowered the torch and moved out of the reptile’s way. The chameleon eyed him cautiously but refused to budge.

  ‘W-what’s it doing?’ Horace stammered, raising the torch again.

  As Whisker and Ruby watched, the Captain and the mice burst from the undergrowth, puffing hard. Smudge scrambled into the Captain’s backpack when he saw the chameleon. The Captain pointed his sword at the creature and panted, ‘Chameleon – here – but how? – behind us – a minute ago –’

  Whisker saw the danger before the others, but it was Ruby who found the lungs to scream, ‘BEHIND YOU! LOOK OUT!’

  A green shape hurtled out of the jungle, knocking Eaton and Mr Tribble off their feet. The Captain dived out of the way, as a hornless chameleon charged across the plateau.

  ‘Argh me pastries,’ Horace gasped. ‘The chameleon has a mate.’

  The second chameleon fixed its yellow eyes on Whisker’s tail and made a beeline for the key. Before Whisker could untangle the key from his tail, the chameleon’s tongue shot out and caught hold of it – tail and all. Whisker jerked forward as the chameleon reeled him in.

  Ruby ran to Whisker’s aid but the horned chameleon battered her backwards with a flick of its tail. She crashed into Horace, sending the dynamite flying. There was a shower of sparks as the fuse spun through the flames of the torch, igniting on impact.

  The hissing stick of dynamite hit the ground, only inches from the second chameleon. Oblivious to the danger, it continued to drag Whisker closer.

  Whisker grabbed his tail with his paws to stop himself sliding. It was a tail versus tongue tug-of-war. And he was losing.

  He heard thundering footsteps to his left and turned to see the first chameleon charging at him. There was only one direction he could go. He leapt towards the second chameleon and the end of his tail disappeared into its mouth. Three brown horns brushed past him, narrowly missing his head.

  He watched helplessly as the chameleon’s jaws closed shut. He held his breath and waited for the bite.

  With an agonising CRUNCH, the chameleon’s jaws stopped. Whisker exhaled with relief – the key lay wedged between its teeth.

  ‘Catch,’ Horace shouted, hurling Whisker the torch.

  Whisker plucked the flaming torch from the air and thrust it into the chameleon’s mouth. There was a hiss of steaming saliva. The chameleon rolled its eyes and spat out Whisker’s tail.

  Whisker stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding a second collision with the horned chameleon. Hastily, he unravelled the gooey key from his tail and shoved it deep into his pocket.

  ‘Get going,’ he yelled. ‘I’ll hold them off.’

  He waved the torch in wide sweeps through the air as the rest of the Pie Rats scrambled for the rope. The stick of dynamite continued to sizzle behind the chameleons, its extra-long fuse already three-quarters burnt.

  ‘Hurry!’ Whisker shouted. ‘We’ve got a deadline to meet.’

  Mr Tribble fumbled with a safety harness.

  ‘Survival before safety,’ Ruby snapped, throwing the harness over the cliff. ‘There’s no time to climb.’

  ‘So how do we get across?’ Mr Tribble gasped.

  Ruby thrust a sticky candy cane into his paws.

  ‘Essential survival item,’ she hissed.

  Mr Tribble stared at the sugary object.

  ‘W-what am I supposed to do with this?’ he stammered.

  The Captain grabbed Eaton under one arm and hooked Ruby’s second candy cane over the rope.

  ‘You hold on tight!’ he cried, leaping off the cliff.

  Eaton squealed in terror as they raced down the rope. In seconds they had reached the opposite side of the ravine and crash-landed into the catapult.

  Whisker’s torch began to smoulder. The chameleons crept closer, their fear dwindling.

  ‘We have a problem,’ Whisker coughed through the smoke.

  Mr Tribble froze on the edge of the cliff.

  ‘You’ve got three seconds before I throw you off, Tribble,’ Ruby shouted, hooking the candy cane over the rope. ‘One … two …’

  Mr Tribble clasped the stick.

  ‘… three!’ Ruby gave him a hard shove and he was gone. ‘You’re up next, Horace,’ she yelled.

  Horace looped his hook over the rope.

  ‘No assistance necessary,’ he panted. Ruby gave him a firm kick all the same, and he sped down the rope like a bullet.

  Horace was almost at the opposite side when Whisker’s torch went out completely. He hurled the smoking stump at the closest chameleon and ran for his life.

  He could hear the clatter of chameleons behind him and the crackle of the fuse burning to its end, but his eyes were fixed on one thing: Ruby – she wasn’t leaving without him. She stood on the edge of the cliff holding the last remaining candy cane in her paws with a look that said get here at once, apprentice.

  Whisker wasn’t one to disappoint. He scrambled over the rocks faster than a rat trying to outrun two killer chameleons and a ticking time bomb. In moments he’d reached the rope.

  Whisker was muddy, smoky, soggy and dripping with chameleon spit. As he wrapped his filthy arm around Ruby’s waist and leapt off the cliff, he hoped she’d forgive him for ruining her outfit.

  The two rats rocketed down the rope. Whisker’s heart pounded like a drum. The wind buffeted his cheeks, the crisp air stung his eyes. He was on a flying-fox ride on overdrive. Halfway down, he glanced over his shoulder to see the defeated chameleons disappear into the jungle. He turned back. The opposite cliff was right in front of him.

  KABOOM … KABOOM … KABOOM …

  The stick of deadly dynamite exploded with volcanic intensity. Whisker and Ruby were thrown from the rope, somersaulting through the air onto the cliff top. Their bodies tumbled over slippery stones and came to rest in a leafy bush. No sooner had they landed, than a hailstorm of rubble peppered the cliff top.

  ‘RUN!’ Horace shouted.

  Ruby was on her feet in an instant and sprinted after the escaping crew. Whisker untangled his foot from a branch and stumbled blindly into the jungle. Rocks slammed into tree trunks around him, sending shards of stone crashing through the dense layers of leaves. He ducked for cover behind a log and waited.

  When the last flying projectile had come to a stop, he cautiously raised his head and looked around. He was alone. The distant drone of Horace counting backwards told him where to find his companions: the mountain stairs.

&nbs
p; He rose to his feet, took a step through the undergrowth – and stopped. Something felt terribly wrong.

  In rising dread, he stuck his paw in his pocket and double checked its contents. His fingers touched the jagged tooth of a key. He reached his arm over his shoulder and felt the map canister bulging from his backpack. The key and map were safe, but his feeling of unease remained.

  What is it? he thought. What did I see?

  Searching for clarity, he tried to recall the day he first crossed the ravine. He closed his eyes and pictured the cliff tops.

  Ruby left the rope dangling into the ravine. Today we found it stretched tightly across …

  Whisker’s chest grew tight. He began to run. He didn’t know who and he didn’t know why, but he knew he wasn’t alone.

  I have to warn the others, he thought with dire urgency.

  He heard a SNAP to his right, glimpsed a bright flash of silver and, with a hard blow to the back of his head, everything went black.

  Old Enemies

  'Whisker! Whisker! Wake up!’

  Whisker felt rough paws shaking his body. His mind slowly registered the sounds. He struggled to comprehend where he was or what had happened.

  ‘They’ve taken it,’ a voice cried.

  Whisker forced his eyes open. The sunlight stung his eyes. His head pounded. Dazedly, he looked up. He was lying in the middle of the jungle. Ruby, Horace and Mr Tribble stood over him. Smudge circled overhead.

  ‘The key’s gone,’ Horace cried.

  Whisker slid his paw down his leg and touched his pocket. It was empty.

  ‘Backpack …’ he croaked.

  The Captain came into view, holding the tattered remains of Whisker’s backpack and an empty map canister.

  ‘They have the map, too,’ he said soberly, ‘and your silver plates.’

  ‘Who?’ Whisker spluttered, trying to sit up.

  ‘The Cat Fish,’ Horace gasped. ‘Prowler and Cleopatra. We came looking for you and found them.’

  Whisker felt sick.

  ‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ Mr Tribble said. ‘If Horace hadn’t scared them off with his dynamite, you … well, we don’t think about that.’

  ‘B-but how did they find us?’ Whisker stammered.

  ‘Rat Bait, I’m guessing,’ the Captain replied through clenched teeth. ‘If the scoundrel sold his secret to the Cat Fish or had the truth tortured out of him, they’d know our every move.’

  Whisker laboured to his feet. The map was still his responsibility.

  ‘We can chase – them down –’ he gasped. ‘We can get –’ His head spun. He felt himself swaying and collapsed into Horace.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ the Captain said firmly. A cheese-knife-blow to the head requires rest and recuperation.’

  Whisker looked at Ruby for support.

  ‘The important thing is that you’re alive,’ she said, giving him a hard stare. ‘The key and the map are long g …’

  ‘Don’t give me that rubbish,’ Whisker shouted. ‘We haven’t come this far just to give up.’ He pushed Horace aside and drew his sword. ‘Tell me which way they went.’

  Expressionless, Ruby pointed down the mountain.

  The Captain took a deep breath and sighed. ‘What have you been teaching him, Ruby?’

  ‘Stubbornness, for a start,’ Horace muttered.

  ‘That’s not stubbornness,’ Ruby said with a hint of admiration, ‘that’s determination.’

  Without a response, Whisker staggered into the trees. He knew it was more than determination – it was desperation.

  He found Eaton sitting on the top step, staring silently at the ground. Whisker felt a sudden rush of pity for the young mouse.

  Poor little fellow, he thought. He’s just a kid. How many school boys face chameleons, death drops and Cat Fish all in one day?

  Eaton looked up.

  ‘D-don’t go,’ he pleaded. ‘T-they’ll kill you.’

  ‘I have to,’ Whisker answered. ‘… I just have to.’

  ‘But why?’ Eaton asked.

  Whisker had never revealed his true reason for wanting the map. He knew it was nothing more than a childish hope. But Eaton was a child and he deserved an answer.Whisker knelt down beside him.

  ‘You have a sister, Eaton,’ he said. ‘And I know you want to see her again.’

  Eaton nodded.

  ‘I have a sister too,’ Whisker explained. ‘Her name is Anna. She’s only little, but she loves books nearly as much as you do, though she only looks at the pictures. I used to read her stories about gallant heroes on dangerous adventures. Her favourite story was The Brave Little Mouse and the Twelve Tigers.’

  ‘I know that one,’ Eaton said.

  ‘Then you’ll know what the mouse did to save his family from the tigers,’ Whisker said. ‘Twelve tigers are six times worse than a couple of Cat Fish.’

  Eaton managed a reserved smile.

  ‘Without the map,’ Whisker continued, ‘I may never see my sister again. What kind of ending would that be?’

  ‘A miserable one,’ Eaton answered, rising to his feet. ‘You’d better hurry if you want to catch them. Cats are nearly as quick as tigers.’

  Whisker half leapt, half fell down the rough stone steps with Eaton scampering behind him.

  What a brave little mouse, Whisker thought to himself.

  ‘Wait for us!’ Horace cried, bursting from the jungle with the rest of the crew. ‘We’re coming too … one thousand two hundred and sixty three … one thousand two hundred and sixty two …’

  The Pie Rats reached the bottom of the stairs and continued along the main track, only stopping to catch their breaths once they heard the roar of Silver Falls.

  The Captain pointed to fresh paw prints in the mud.

  ‘The Cat Fish took the river track,’ he panted. ‘I suspect the Silver Sardine is anchored in the estuary. We have two options – follow their trail, or take the shortcut back to the Apple Pie and hope Fred has baked enough pies for an improvised sea assault.’

  ‘Shortcut?’ Ruby muttered. ‘I’d hardly call marmosets, mudskippers and sinking sand a time saver.’

  Seven heads nodded their agreement and the Pie Rats raced towards the river. Whisker’s head still ached. He was hungry, tired and thirsty, but the adrenalin pumping through his body kept his legs moving. Deep down inside he knew they would never catch their enemies on foot unless Prowler and Cleopatra stopped for a catnap – rats and mice simply didn’t have the speed.

  The overgrown track continued along the muddy bank of the river. Drawing level with a patch of waterweed, Whisker stopped and stared into the rushing water. The rapids were smaller than at the foot of the falls, but the current still moved at a tremendous pace.

  He picked up a stick and hurled it into the river. In moments, it had been swept away.

  ‘Wait!’ he shouted.

  The Pie Rats skidded to a halt.

  ‘What have you seen?’ the Captain cried, drawing his sword.

  ‘Speed,’ Whisker replied.

  ‘Huh?’ Horace said, puzzled.

  ‘The river,’ Whisker exclaimed. ‘Look how fast it’s moving. And there are logs and vines all over the ground.’

  ‘Everything we need to build a raft,’ the Captain applauded.

  ‘Everything except life vests,’ Mr Tribble added under his breath.

  ‘Lighten up, Tribble,’ Horace said, grabbing the closest log. ‘We won’t let you drown – not when you’re carrying a backpack of silver.’

  Mr Tribble didn’t look impressed.

  ‘Here, make yourself useful,’ Ruby said, throwing him the ball of string. ‘A tight knot is a safe knot.’

  The rats rolled half-a-dozen small logs over to the riverbank while the mice tied them together with Ruby’s string. Smudge pointed his tiny arms this way and that, trying to direct traffic, but generally got in everyone’s way.

  When the sixth log was secured, the raft was pushed into the shallows and the crew clamb
ered aboard. The Captain stood at the back of the raft with a long stick in his paws and a loop of string tied around his waist. The rest of the crew crouched on their knees and held onto small cords of string.

  ‘Keep an eye on the river, Smudge,’ the Captain ordered as he pushed off from the bank, ‘and tell us if you see any white water rapids.’

  Mr Tribble gulped and gripped tighter on the string. Horace tapped a log with his hook and grinned. ‘Safe as a mouse’s house.’

  The raft bobbed and bumped its way into the centre of the river, gathering speed. Once the river took control there was nothing the Captain could do. The vessel travelled four times faster than the Pie Rats could ever run, making up ground with every splash.

  Small rapids approached. The front of the raft dipped under the water, splashing cool water in the faces of the Pie Rats. The raft creaked, the string strained and the logs scraped over shallow rocks, but the vessel held together.

  Whisker felt invigorated and full of hope. His tail dangled over the side of the raft, soaking up the energy of the river. Wide-eyed, he scanned the riverbank for any signs of the Cat Fish.

  We’re getting closer, he thought. I can feel it.

  The small vessel turned a sharp bend in the river where the water was deep and wide. Smudge flew frantically above the crew, looping-the-loop to grab the Captain’s attention.

  ‘What is it?’ the Captain asked, peering into the jungle.

  Smudge pointed to the river. The water moved swiftly, but there were no signs of raging rapids, whirlpools or protruding logs.

  Whisker felt a sudden stabbing pain at the end of his tail. Instinctively, he whipped it out of the water and yelped. Looking down, he saw a circle of tiny teeth marks in his skin.

  Horrified, the rest of the Pie Rats grabbed their own tails and shuffled closer to the centre of the raft. Grey and red shapes appeared in the water beside them, circling the vessel. Fins beat the surface of the river, tails splashed wildly about. Peering overboard, Whisker caught glimpses of silvery, red-flecked eyes.

  ‘Red-bellied piranhas!’ Mr Tribble exclaimed. ‘They’re in a feeding frenzy. One taste of flesh and they’re hooked.’

  Whisker’s tail froze in fear.