The King's Key Read online

  ‘Great gym-junkies!’ the King exclaimed, stepping onto the field. ‘What a ridiculous sight. Your filthy fly will never lift that ball. It’s three times his puny size.’

  ‘Smudge isn’t puny,’ Horace said, sticking up for him. ‘He’s extremely big for a fly. And it’s not his fault your ball’s above regulation weight.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks!’ the King cried. ‘I made that ball myself.’

  Smudge raised his tiny fists at the King and the King’s eyes widened. ‘Golly gosh! If your miniscule mascot wants a paw pounding that badly, he can join your team as a second reserve. He won’t make an iota of difference to your piddly score line.’

  ‘Untie us,’ Horace demanded, ‘and we’ll find out.’

  Sir Mecks untied the prisoners and the Pie Rats stretched their aching paws. Straightening his crown, King Marvownion proceeded to explain the rules.

  ‘Cowardly captives, the rules of Due-Esda are as follows: One point is scored when the ball is kicked or hit under the crossbar between two trees. The ball may be carried, thrown, kicked or passed from one side of the field to the other. It must not be hidden down one’s trousers. I personally detest anyone wearing trousers, with of course the exception of baboons who have unsightly red bottoms…’

  ‘Stick to the topic,’ cried a voice from the crowd.

  ‘What, what?’ the King shot back. ‘You’re sick of the tropics? How rude! If you dislike the jungle that much, you can go and sit in an igloo. Your trouser-less bottom will look redder than a baboon’s backside in less than a week, guaranteed!’

  There was a dull murmur from the crowd and the King returned to the rules. ‘A player possessing the ball may be tackled, tripped or wrestled until they release the ball. Players not involved in a tackle are limited to shoulder contact only. If the ball goes out of bounds, the crowd has the right to throw it to their favourite player …’

  ‘That won’t be me,’ Horace droned.

  ‘Don’t interrupt,’ the King snapped. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes. The ball is bounced in the centre circle at the beginning of each half and after each goal. Teams change directions at half-time.’

  King Marvownion took a short stick and stuck it in the ground. Using his finger, he scratched four close lines from the base of the stick.

  ‘This is a sundial,’ he said proudly. ‘I invented it. As the sun rotates around my marvellous kingdom, the shadow of the stick magically moves.’

  Mr Tribble coughed awkwardly.

  The King glared at him and carried on, ‘When the shadow reaches the first line, the game begins. When it reaches the second line, we all stop for a cup of jungle tea. When it reaches the third line, the second half excitement gets under way. And when it reaches the fourth line, the game is over and you all lose your heads. Any questions? No? Let the countdown begin.’

  As the shadow of the stick crept towards the first line, the Pie Rats gathered in a huddle to discuss last-minute tactics. Whisker glanced over his shoulder to see the opposition walking onto the field. Predictably, the monkey’s team consisted of the royal family plus Sir Mecks and Jester Mimp. A tribe member, whose name slipped Whisker’s mind, acted as the referee and carried a short panpipe for his whistle.

  ‘What’s the game plan?’ Horace whispered.

  ‘We win,’ Ruby said bluntly. ‘And then we get out of this mad house.’

  ‘Err, okay,’ Horace said. ‘Anything more specific?’

  ‘Defence,’ the Captain stated. ‘We keep their goals to a minimum in the first twenty minutes while we discover their defensive weaknesses …’

  ‘We won’t have twenty minutes,’ Mr Tribble said frantically. ‘Judging by the lines on the sundial, each half will be no longer than six or seven minutes.’

  ‘Rotten pies to scurvy sundials,’ Horace groaned.

  ‘A short game’s a survivor’s game,’ the Captain said calmly. ‘Remember, defence is the key.’

  As the panpipe blew for the start of the match, Whisker knew defence meant one thing: goalkeeping. He flexed his tail, loosened his limbs and prepared to defend to the death.

  The ball bounced in the centre circle and Ruby leapt high into the air – Princess Mayenya leapt even higher. Gracefully, she plucked the ball from the sky and passed it to her brother on the wing.

  Prince Marcabio caught the ball with one paw, using his free paw to defend against Horace. In a futile attempt to tackle the Prince, Horace threw himself, hook first, at Marcabio’s legs. Deftly, Marcabio sidestepped to his left, leaving Horace clutching at blades of grass.

  Tucking the ball securely under his arm, Prince Marcabio sprinted down the boundary line, sparking a Mexican wave from the crowd. Ruby tried to intercept him before he reached the forward pocket, but Princess Mayenya knocked her flying with a shoulder charge.

  In the moment it took Ruby to recover, Marcabio paw-passed the ball to the King who bounce-passed the ball to the Queen via Mr Tribble’s head. Mr Tribble somersaulted over the sideline and his glasses spun into the crowd. The crowd roared with laughter and threw him back into play without his glasses.

  The frantic pace continued.

  Prince Marcabio crossed infield to receive a long overhead pass from the Queen. He hastily tossed the ball into the air and prepared to slam it with his paw.

  Scrambling off his wing, Horace made a desperate lunge for the Prince and ankle-tapped his left foot with his hook. Marcabio stumbled forward, missed the ball completely, and crashed to the ground. Seizing his opportunity, Whisker scooped up the ball while the Prince was still down.

  ‘Over here,’ Ruby shouted, breaking away from Mayenya on the right wing.

  Whisker hurdled over Marcabio and kicked the ball as hard as he could in Ruby’s direction. His foot stung as it made contact with the hard rubber but the impact sent the ball racing towards its target.

  Ruby threw herself into the air, raising her paws to take the mark. But before she could secure the ball, Mayenya leapt over her head, pounding the ball into the crowd.

  With an ecstatic chant of ‘Mayenya! Mayenya!’ the monkeys threw the ball back to the Princess. Revelling in the attention, she danced around Ruby, dummied to the King and then flick-passed the ball to Sir Mecks. Sir Mecks caught the ball in the centre of the field and charged, unmarked, towards Whisker’s goal.

  Turning defence into attack, Whisker sprinted infield to tackle the knight before he could strike. Sir Mecks attempted a rushed kick for goal but sent the ball hurtling into Whisker’s chest.

  Whisker tumbled backwards, clutching at the ball with his paws, and skidded across the grass. Startled, he looked up to see the Queen bearing down on him. With a powerful sweep of her leg, she kicked the ball straight out of his arms.

  There was a triumphant roar from the crowd as the ball soared majestically through the goal posts.

  Feeling like an oversized golf tee, Whisker thumped the ground in frustration.

  ‘One-nil,’ the referee cried.

  ‘Substitute,’ Mr Tribble squealed, staggering around blindly.

  Eaton reluctantly came off the bench and took his place on the wing while Mr Tribble searched for his glasses in the crowd. Whisker brushed himself off and prepared for the next onslaught.

  The panpipe whistled for the second bounce up. The monkeys won possession and went on the attack. Desperately, the Pie Rats defended their line.

  Whisker found it hard enough staying on his feet with all the barging and charging, let alone attempting to steal the ball. When the half-time whistle sounded minutes later, he wondered how they hadn’t conceded a second goal.

  ‘Great galaxies of gas!’ the King exclaimed, as the teams walked from the field. ‘Is it cup-of-tea time already? Gracious! I haven’t knocked anyone unconscious yet.’

  ‘Chin up, crew,’ the Captain encouraged, removing a strand of monkey hair from his jungle tea. ‘At least we’ve discovered their weakness.’

  ‘What weakness?’ Horace spluttered, spraying tea all over the Captain’s jacket. �
�They’re unstoppable. We touched the ball three times in the entire first half and one of those was Mr Tribble’s head.’

  The Captain wiped the sticky liquid from his clothes and lowered his voice. ‘I admit we need to work on our possession, but hear me out. The monkeys left their goal unattended the whole time we were on the field. One long-range kick is all we need to square things up.’

  ‘If we ever get the ball,’ Horace muttered.

  Last Rat Standing

  The teams assembled on the field for the second half with the ecstatic chants of ‘Marmosets! Marmosets! No one beats a marmoset,’ echoing through the clearing.

  Queen Marmalade insisted she finish her cup of jungle tea at a leisurely pace, and was replaced by Jester Mimp on the wing. Smudge and Mr Tribble squirmed awkwardly beside her on the reserve bench.

  The Pie Rats positioned themselves in a tight defensive structure within their own half. The monkeys prepared to attack and left their goal unguarded. The panpipe blew, the ball bounced, the crowd roared and the carnage began.

  The Pie Rats did their best to repel the monkeys, tackling and tussling to the best of their ability. Even Eaton played like a desperate mouse with six-and-a-half minutes left to live. But as hard as they tried, they couldn’t get that one clean kick away.

  As the minutes wore down, the tension rose.

  With a cheer from the crowd, Prince Marcabio caught the ball deep in the forward corner. He stepped around Horace, barged through Eaton and centred himself for a scoring shot.

  Whisker dashed to his right to protect the goals. Out of nowhere, furry arms grabbed his legs. He struggled to free himself as his body rose into the air. Helplessly, he toppled face-first into a goal post, rebounding backwards into the path of the speeding ball.

  WHACK! The ball hit Whisker square in the nose, ricocheting over the crossbar. Dazed and disoriented, he collapsed on the ground with the ring of bells in his ears.

  ‘Sensational save!’ Horace shouted.

  ‘Illegal tackle,’ Ruby hissed. ‘Whisker didn’t have the ball.’

  ‘Yes he did!’ roared the crowd. ‘He was carrying it with his nose.’

  A whistle rang out and the crowd lowered their voices to a dull murmur. Whisker looked up with watering eyes to see the referee standing over him. The referee pulled a yellow card from his armpit and bent down.

  ‘Due-Esda is a sacred game,’ he said in a stern voice. ‘There are consequences for breaking rules. Yellow card offences attract a penalty shot at goal.’

  Whisker felt his watering eyes turn to rivers of misery.

  ‘I’m – I’m sorry,’ he gasped, more to his teammates than to the referee.

  ‘Sorry for what?’ the referee grunted. ‘Just tell me who tackled you and take your shot at goal.’

  It took Whisker a few moments to register what he’d heard. It took him far less time to yell out Mimp’s name and stagger to his feet.

  The disgraced jester was booed from the field. The Queen tipped the rest of her tea over his head and, with a small hiccup, returned to the action. Sir Mecks took his position in the goal box and Whisker wasted no time in lining up his penalty shot.

  ‘Give nothing away,’ Ruby whispered in his ear. ‘Pick a direction but look straight ahead.’

  Whisker nodded and took three steps back.

  Upper left corner, he told himself, staring at the centre of the goal.

  The crowed went silent, awaiting the outcome. Whisker took his run up. Three steps and his foot made contact with a rubbery THUD.

  The ball lifted off the ground, spinning to the left. Sir Mecks leapt high into the air. The nimble knight stretched out his paws to make the vital save but the ball brushed past his fingers, gliding through the upper left corner of the goal.

  Whisker let out a sigh of relief. The crowd groaned.

  ‘One-all,’ the ref declared.

  Horace gave Whisker a subtle hooks-up, but there was no post-goal celebration from the Pie Rats. One-all was hardly a winning score.

  As Whisker made his way back for the bounce-up, he noticed the referee scratching a line in the dirt.

  ‘I’m extending the sundial for extra-time,’ the referee said with a sly grin, ‘on the off chance we end in a draw … it’s in the rules.’

  Whisker looked down in horror. The extra-time section was four times larger than the two halves. The Pie Rats would never survive. They would be annihilated on the field and then hung and beheaded and …

  Whisker felt his vision blur as his mind drifted into his memories. He needed a plan, and he needed it now …

  The crowd of monkeys vanished and a laughing circus audience took their place. Two puppies stood in the centre of the ring, performing a comedic clown routine. Both puppies wore large baggy trousers. One had no belt. Whenever the first puppy tried to pull up his pants, the second puppy would tickle him until he dropped his trousers in a fit of hysterical laughter …

  Whisker’s vision cleared. He looked at the bench. There were no playful puppies, only a tea-soaked jester, a beaten-up teacher and an irate blowfly.

  ‘Substitute!’ he cried. ‘Last minute change.’

  ‘What?’ the Captain gasped. ‘We can’t use Mr Tribble. He’s three-quarters concussed.’

  ‘Not Mr Tribble,’ Whisker said, ‘Smudge.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘There’s no time, Captain. If I’m wrong, you can cut off my head and dangle me from a rope.’

  ‘Very well,’ the Captain muttered. ‘But it’s not just your head that’s on the line.’

  Eaton hurried from the field and Whisker whistled to Smudge. The excited blowfly entered the arena to the roar of laughter from the crowd, landing lightly on Whisker’s shoulder.

  ‘Listen, Smudge,’ Whisker said in a low voice. ‘The joke’s on them. Remember what you did to Horace?’

  Smudge punched his little fists together.

  ‘Good,’ Whisker said. ‘Now I want you to do exactly the same thing to any monkey carrying the ball. But only if they’re carrying the ball. Understand?’

  Smudge didn’t reply. He was already flying towards the centre bounce with a nasty gleam in his eye.

  The panpipe shrilled and the game was on.

  Princess Mayenya outjumped Ruby for the ball, but unlike the previous three bounces, Mayenya didn’t get a quick pass away. Her feet had barely touched the ground when she started giggling uncontrollably and flapping her arms.

  The ball slipped from her paws. Prince Marcabio picked it up and dashed from the centre circle. He tried to goose-step Horace, but broke out in a chorus of chuckles, dropping the ball.

  Surprised at his good fortune, Horace pounced on the ball and looked for an unmarked player.

  ‘This way,’ the Captain shouted, scampering down the left wing.

  Horace tried to hook-pass the ball but was sandwiched by the King and Queen. The ball popped free and bounced into the Queen’s arms. She’d only taken a few steps when her usual giggles turned to howls of laughter.

  ‘Oh my! Oh dear! It’s wonderful. It’s terrible. Stop tickling! No – keep going …’

  In hysterics, she threw her paws in the air and the ball soared over her head. The King made a hasty grab for it but tripped over Horace and landed on his crown.

  With lightning speed, Ruby raced through the centre of the pack, taking the ball with her. She managed to raise her arm and slam the ball in the direction of the goal as Mayenya and Marcabio ploughed into her.

  It wasn’t a great shot and the ball skidded right, lurching towards the sideline. The Captain and Sir Mecks sprinted from opposite corners of the field, attempting to reach the ball first.

  It was moving too fast for either of them and looked destined to bounce into the screaming crowd when, without warning, it hit something small and green in mid-flight.

  The ball teetered in the air, spun to its left and shaved the inside of the goal post. Gobsmacked, the entire crowd stared in disbelief – Smudge had scored.

 
; ‘Two-one,’ the ref muttered with a disbelieving shake of his head.

  The rats cheered. The royal family hissed. Smudge twitched uncontrollably on the ground.

  ‘Medic!’ Horace cried, rushing over to him.

  Mr Tribble carried the stunned body of Smudge to the bench while the others looked on.

  ‘He’ll live,’ the Captain said to his concerned crew. ‘And so will we if we can hold them out for another thirty seconds.’

  Whisker nodded and positioned himself in the goal box. Eaton replaced Smudge on the wing and Jester Mimp took Mayenya’s place opposite Ruby, eager for a quick bounce-up. The entire marmoset team stood shoulder to shoulder behind him.

  The referee raised the panpipe to his lips and blew. The ball bounced. Ruby jumped – Mimp waited.

  With unopposed ease, Ruby plucked the ball from the air and landed delicately on her feet. With the power of a polar bear, Mimp crash-tackled her to the ground and the ball bounced free.

  The monkeys took their cue and shoulder-charged the opposition. The Pie Rats tumbled over like they were nothing more than papier-mâché mannequins on a windy cliff top. Their trampled bodies were left sprawled across the field as the monkeys advanced. King Marvownion scooped up the ball and prepared to level the score. Only one rat stood in his way.

  Whisker crouched in the centre of the goal square, his eyes fixed on the King.

  Which way will you go? he thought.

  The King held his line, moving into striking range. Whisker held his ground, waiting for a sign.

  The ball dropped from the King’s arm as he prepared to kick. His eyes flashed to the left and Whisker knew he had him.

  Gotcha!

  With expert precision, the King’s foot made contact with the ball, launching it into the air. At the same moment, Whisker leapt to his left, raising his paws for the catch. As the ball rose higher towards the goal posts, Whisker realised he’d been cunningly out-played. The ball wasn’t headed left, it was headed right.