The King's Key Read online

  Surely the map isn’t under there, he thought.

  He glanced around the room, searching for clues. Light streamed through a gap under a closed door in the far corner.

  The ship’s galley, he told himself. More fishy food.

  Carefully, Whisker climbed down from the stool and navigated his way past an eel’s tail and three sea cucumbers, towards the small door. Refusing to release his nose, he turned the handle with his free paw. The door unlatched with a soft click and opened inwards.

  Whisker wasn’t prepared for what he saw. A single lantern hung from a rafter, illuminating the small room. The floor was littered with empty milk bottles and sardine skeletons. In the centre of the room, sleeping soundly on a kitchen bench was the unmistakable striped and spotted body of Captain Sabre. Partly covered by his left paw, lay an open map and a three-toothed key.

  Whisker stared at Sabre, not daring to blink. He half expected the vicious captain to wake up at any moment and fly at him in a terrible rage. The last time Whisker had been this close to Sabre, he had thrown a mug of Apple Fizz in his face. He doubted Sabre was one to forgive or forget.

  With a silent breath, Whisker stepped closer.

  This is what you wanted, he told himself. There’s no backing down.

  He removed his paw from his nose and the unsavoury smell of Sabre’s fish-shake breath filled his nostrils. Trying to ignore Sabre’s purring snores, he reached out and touched the key. It was smooth and clean. He could see the words, Rock of Hope written on the oval handle. Painted rocks and the outline of a mountain decorated the shaft of the key, and a small X lay in the centre of the lower tooth.

  This is the King’s Key, Whisker marvelled.

  Ever so gently, he lifted Sabre’s paw and slid the key towards him.

  Sabre stirred.

  Petrified, Whisker stopped, still clutching Sabre’s paw, not daring to move.

  Sabre burped, sighed and continued sleeping.

  Whisker tried again. Delicately, he slid the key from the bench and slipped in into his pocket.

  Nearly there.

  He moved his fingers back to the bench, gripped the crumpled edge of the map and gave it a soft tug. The map slid freely over the wooden surface and over the side of the bench. With utmost care, Whisker lowered Sabre’s paw gently back down.

  … like stealing milk from a kitten, he thought proudly.

  He shuffled his way around scattered milk bottles, folding the map as he went. Trying to contain his excitement, he stuffed the map into his pocket and stepped through the open doorway, into the mess room.

  A loud shout echoed from the corridor beyond. ‘FIERY FURNACES! THERE’S A PARASITE IN MY HAMMOCK!’

  Sabre’s eyes shot open. Whisker’s heart skipped a beat.

  The furious Captain took one look at the empty bench and leapt to his feet.

  ‘You little thief,’ he snarled, grabbing a cheese knife from a shelf.

  Terrified, Whisker spun on his heel and ran. Halfway across the mess room, he felt the squishy shape of a sea cucumber under his left foot and slipped backwards, hitting the floor with a violent THUD. He looked up to see Sabre standing over him, his hazel eyes ablaze with rage.

  Before Whisker could react, Sabre swung his razor-sharp weapon above his head and prepared to strike.

  THUMP!

  The tip of Sabre’s cheese knife sliced into a wooden rafter and held fast. Sabre heaved with all his might but the blade wouldn’t budge.

  Whisker was familiar with the saying, not enough room to swing a cat. Tonight it was a case of not enough room for a cat to swing.

  By the time Sabre had pulled his knife from the rafter, Whisker had thrown his body under the table.

  There was a sickening CRACK above him as the table split in two, cleaved by Sabre’s sharp blade. Fish eyes and squid ink rained down.

  Whisker leapt clear of the seafood deluge and collided with a tower of milk bottles. He covered his head as the bottles bounced over him, rattling and rolling across the floor in all directions.

  Sabre heaved the broken table out of the way and skulked towards him.

  The muffled shouts of Ruby rang out from the corridor, but with a sideways step, Sabre blocked Whisker’s escape route.

  Mustering all of his strength, Whisker pulled himself to his feet and drew his sword.

  Plough Guard, he told himself, preparing to engage.

  Sabre stopped in his tracks and roared with laughter.

  ‘… Well, well, well. The little captain has found himself a sword. It’s a pity you’ll only get to use it once …’

  ‘I’ve defeated heaps of enemies,’ Whisker lied. ‘Now step aside.’

  ‘Oooh,’ Sabre taunted. ‘Is that any way to speak to your gracious host? Why don’t you calm down and the two of us can have a little drink together like civilised gentlemen.’

  Sabre picked up a full milk bottle and hurled it at Whisker.

  Whisker ducked. The bottle smashed into a tower of empty bottles, spraying milky shards of glass all over the floor. Whisker looked up to see a second bottle flying in his direction.

  Strike of Wrath, he thought, just in time to slice the bottle in half.

  A third bottle raced towards him.

  Crooked Strike – tail manoeuvre. This time Whisker caught the bottle with his tail.

  ‘Two can play at this,’ he hissed, flicking the bottle at Sabre.

  Sabre deflected the bottle with his cheese knife and charged at Whisker with a vicious snarl.

  Study your surrounds, Whisker recalled, sweeping his eyes across the floor. He took a quick step to his left and raised his sword in an Ox Guard position.

  Sabre was almost within striking range when he suddenly howled in pain and stumbled backwards, hopping on one foot. He pulled a large chunk of glass from his heel and tried to steady himself.

  The door to the corridor swung open, and Ruby came into view, driving Cleopatra and Sally down the narrow passage.

  ‘Get out!’ she shouted.

  Whisker knew this was his only chance to escape. It was now or never.

  Control the flow of the fight, he told himself.

  He looked at Sabre, shifted his eyes to the door and immediately he knew what to do. Lowering his sword in a Fool’s Guard position, he leapt over the line of broken glass and stormed towards Sabre.

  With his defences down, Whisker was an easy target. Sabre lowered his injured foot to the ground and swung his blade through the air in a wide arc.

  Whisker was ready. His sword shot upwards, colliding with Sabre’s cheese knife, and sent the weapon flying off course. Then, using the impact of the blow, he propelled his body downwards. Before Sabre knew what was happening, Whisker had disappeared between his legs and was sliding out the door in a pile of slippery sea scallops.

  ‘Mission accomplished,’ Whisker cried, skidding to a halt in the centre of the corridor.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Ruby shouted, pulling him to his feet. ‘The Captain’s on the deck.’

  They darted up the corridor with Sally and Cleopatra hot on their heels. Horace burst from a doorway, spilling sticks of explosives from his open backpack.

  Furious Fur, tangled in a hammock, staggered blindly after him and collided with Cleopatra and Sally. The three cats fell to the floor in a hissing ball of twine and fur. A moment later, Sabre, unable to stop, sprawled on top of them.

  Horace wrenched the lantern from the wall and stuck three fuses in the flame. They instantly sparked to life. He dropped the hissing sticks at the bottom of the stairs and sprinted up with Ruby and Whisker. The cats took one look at the explosives and leapt through the nearest doorway.

  ‘ARE YOU INSANE, HORACE?’ Ruby shouted. ‘YOU’LL KILL US ALL!’

  Horace was too busy ripping off his backpack to respond.

  Whisker saw a brightly coloured stick tumble out and roll down the stairs. It had four fins and a pointy top.

  ‘Fireworks!’ he exclaimed. ‘Genius.’

  ‘Shh,�
� Horace hissed. ‘You’ll spoil the surprise.’

  The three rats reached the top of the stairs to find Fred and the Captain battling Prowler and Master Meow. Smudge buzzed around Meow’s head, poking the enraged cat in his one good eye.

  Horace threw his backpack on the deck and smashed the lantern on top of it. With a symphony of sparks, the flames ignited the fuses.

  Master Meow and Prowler screeched in terror and sprinted into the navigation room, slamming the door behind them.

  ‘Time to go!’ the Captain shouted.

  The Pie Rats scurried over the side of the ship and tumbled into the rowboat.

  BANG! WIZZ! HISS! CRACKLE!

  The Silver Sardine lit up like a psychedelic Christmas tree.

  ‘Oh my precious paws,’ Pete gasped. ‘What the flaming rat’s tail is going on?’

  ‘Happy half-graduation, Whisker,’ Horace cried, falling into the bottom of the boat.

  ‘Get us out of here, Fred,’ the Captain bellowed. ‘NOW!’

  Fred rowed, Pete cursed and the fireworks exploded in a dazzling display of colour and sound. Rockets raced high. Sparks rained down. Red, gold and green flashes filled the sky – every colour majestically reflected in the silver hull of the ship.

  ‘I haven’t seen a performance this good since the Gourmet Gunpowder incident,’ Horace laughed.

  Pete looked far from impressed.

  ‘I take it one of you has the map and key,’ he sniffled.

  ‘Ask Fish Boy,’ Ruby grinned, pointing to a half eaten sardine hanging from Whisker’s belt.

  ‘Ooogh,’ Horace winced. ‘That explains the awful smell.’

  Whisker threw the sardine overboard and tried to hide his embarrassment.

  ‘E-e-everything’s in my pockets,’ he stammered.

  ‘An easy grab-and-run, was it?’ Pete said sceptically.

  ‘Not exactly …’ Whisker began.

  ‘Sabre thought he’d add Whisker to his clam chowder,’ Ruby chimed in. He didn’t count on Whisker’s Fool’s Guard-Horace Shuffle combo.’

  ‘Way to go, Whisker,’ Horace applauded. ‘I said it was a stellar move.’

  ‘Congratulations, Whisker,’ the Captain said proudly. ‘You’ve just passed your third apprenticeship test, paws down. Sabre is no easy cat to …’

  ‘Err, Captain,’ Pete interrupted. ‘I’m sorry to rain on Whisker’s parade, but I’m certain those lights weren’t there a minute ago.’

  ‘W-what lights?’ Horace spluttered.

  ‘The lantern lights moving towards the floating inferno, you half-brained hamster!’ Pete snapped.

  Whisker peered into the distance. Pete was right. Several groups of lanterns approached from the east, moving swiftly in the strengthening breeze.

  ‘Someone’s seen our little pyrotechnics display,’ the Captain observed, his voice suddenly grave. ‘Can you identify them, Fred?’

  Fred swivelled his enormous eye in the direction of the lanterns.

  ‘Three ships,’ he grunted. ‘Two Claws-of-War and a Dreadnaught …’

  ‘Rotten pies to Dreadnaughts,’ Horace muttered. ‘There goes our easy escape.’

  A Not-so-easy Escape

  'The game’s up,’ Pete groaned. ‘We’re sitting dodos in a rowboat to extinction.’

  ‘Hold your tongue,’ the Captain hissed. ‘I doubt Thunderclaw’s seen us through all the sparks and the smoke. If we can reach the Apple Pie before the fireworks stop, we may have a chance to escape unseen.’

  Pete jabbed Fred with his pencil. ‘Row faster, you big oaf. But do it quietly.’

  Fred took no notice of Pete’s demands and continued his slow and steady strokes. The rest of the crew remained silent, staring back at the chaotic scene, hoping darkness would conceal their escape.

  Soon only the occasional stray rocket exploded from the Silver Sardine, a clear sign the performance was drawing to a close.

  The black shape of the Apple Pie came into view and the Captain issued a hasty command: ‘Fly ahead, Smudge. Prepare the mice for an immediate launch the moment we’re on deck.’

  Smudge gave the Captain a two-armed salute and buzzed into the darkness.

  ‘What’s our destination?’ Horace asked anxiously.

  The Captain considered his options. ‘We can’t sail east with a headwind and three warships in the way, and seeing as we’re still close to the Island of Kings …’

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Pete broke in. ‘No one goes in there.’

  ‘Shush, you,’ Horace scolded. ‘It’s the quickest route to the Island of Destiny and no one’s crazy enough to follow us through.’

  ‘Follow us through what?’ Whisker asked in confusion.

  Pete screwed up his nose. ‘The passage, of course. ‘The passage past Devil’s Cliffs.’

  Whisker looked horrified. ‘But don’t the devils throw …’

  ‘Old wives’ tales,’ Horace cut in. ‘We’re more likely to run aground on a submerged rock.’

  ‘And then have an avalanche of stones hurled at us,’ Pete muttered.

  Horace brushed the comment aside with a dismissive wave of his hook. ‘Relax, they won’t even see us coming – it’s the middle of the night.’

  Pete stamped his pencil leg on the bottom of the boat. ‘Tasmanian devils are nocturnal, you uneducated eggplant.’

  The Captain ignored the argument and called for a vote.

  ‘Better the devils you know,’ Ruby said, raising her paw.

  Horace stuck his hook straight in the air. Fred added his support with an affirmative grunt. As an apprentice, Whisker didn’t have a vote, so he kept his paws by his side and waited for the outcome.

  ‘It’s decided,’ the Captain said, raising his paw to Pete’s dismay. ‘We sail through the passage.’

  The Apple Pie slipped silently away from the midnight commotion. The fireworks display had ended, but the party was just beginning.

  The wind carried the frantic sounds of the Cat Fish across the water. Whisker heard hisses and shouts as the frenzied felines scurried across the deck, preparing to flee or fight.

  The warships had not yet fired their cannons. Presumably, a fireworks-exploding pirate ship required careful investigation before an appropriate course of action was taken. The Pie Rats had no desire to find out. In minutes, the Apple Pie was beyond earshot and sailing through the mouth of the perilous passage.

  The moon provided sufficient light for the Pie Rats to see where they were going. No lanterns burned, no voices spoke. The black cliffs of Phoenix Island rose ominously to the north, blocking the stars. The shallow water of the mangrove swamp lay to the south. The Captain set a course through the centre of the passage, where the water was deepest.

  It wasn’t long before the mangroves disappeared and the towering southern cliffs took their place. The passage curved north-west and the cliffs closed in on both sides. A fierce wind howled through the narrow gap, driving the Apple Pie further into the dark abyss. There was no thought of using the Eagle sail. The devils would undoubtedly spot the golden shape the moment it rose above the cliffs.

  Dawn approached and the passage veered west. Whisker had spent much of the journey hanging off the foremast, without spotting a single devil, and he was growing more anxious by the minute. The faint glow of the dawn sky came as no relief. He knew that with every orange-rimmed cloud came the danger of discovery. Light was the Pie Rat’s new enemy.

  The open sea grew visible at the western end of the passage as the first rays of the morning sun struck the tops of the cliffs. For a moment, Whisker thought they were going to make it. He scrambled higher up the rigging for a clearer vantage point. What he saw made his tail shiver in terror.

  Lining the ridge of the northern cliff was an army of shaggy black beasts. Their ears were red with anger. Their mouths were open and snarling. Their sharp claws slashed through the air in a warlike display of rage.

  Panic-stricken, Whisker watched the creatures pick up jagged rocks and drag them to th
e edge of the cliff.

  ‘D-D-DEVILS!’ he shouted. ‘STARBOARD SIDE!’

  The crew gasped in startled horror as the first wave of projectiles splashed into the water, narrowly missing the bow of the ship. The Captain spun the wheel hard left and the Apple Pie lurched to its port side.

  ‘Watch out for the rocks,’ Pete screeched.

  ‘I’m watching,’ the Captain shouted, fixing his eyes on the cliff top.

  ‘Not those rocks,’ Pete hollered. ‘The rocks we’re about to collide with!’

  Whisker looked down. Dark shapes rose from the surface of the indigo water, blocking half the passage.

  The Captain jerked the Apple Pie to its starboard side, barely clearing the rocks but forcing the ship dangerously close to Devil’s Cliffs.

  ‘Shipwrecks … sandbars … warships … rocks …’ Horace groaned. ‘There’s always something in the way.’

  The second wave of missiles rained down. This time a handful of rocks hit their target, smashing craterlike holes in the deck and splintering the side of the bulwark. The devils threw their paws in the air and hooted in delight.

  ‘We can’t sustain this for long, Captain,’ Pete shouted. ‘Once they puncture the hull, we’re history!’

  ‘Return fire,’ Ruby hissed. ‘Are the cannons ready?’

  ‘The angle’s too steep,’ Horace cried. ‘We need a catapult.’

  ‘There’s no time to build one,’ Mr Tribble called from the navigation room. ‘Let’s hope the devils retreat with the daylight.’

  ‘Fat chance,’ Pete shot back. ‘They’re devils, not vampires.’

  Whisker knew Pete was right – but Mr Tribble wasn’t necessarily wrong … The Apple Pie lay in the shadows of the cliffs, but the tips of the cutlery masts were bathed in sunlight. Rays of light bounced off the shiny prongs of the giant fork.

  ‘Emmie! Eaton!’ Whisker shouted. ‘Have you finished polishing the plates?’

  ‘Almost …’ Emmie squeaked.

  ‘I need them NOW!’ Whisker yelled.