The King's Key Page 7

  In a final desperate effort to save the goal, he flicked his tail behind him, lassoing the ball. Like a cowboy restraining a stampeding bull, Whisker held on. He felt a stinging, tearing pain in his tail as it stretched to breaking point.

  In agony, he crashed to the turf. The ball slipped from his grasp, bounced twice and stopped – only millimetres from the goal line.

  With a HISS and a HOWL, the furious King made a desperate dash for the ball. Whisker mustered the last of his strength and pulled the ball towards him. He wrapped his arms and legs around the precious object and waited for the collision.

  ‘TOOT TOOT TOOOOT.’ A high pitched whistle filled the air.

  Whisker lay still, listening to the sounds of running footsteps. A body landed on top of him. Something hard dug into his back.

  ‘We did it!’ Horace cried, shaking Whisker with his hook. ‘We knocked their royal socks off.’

  Before Whisker could respond, he felt another hard thud as Ruby joined the pile.

  ‘You’re brilliant, Whisker!’ she exclaimed. ‘You and your deranged tail.’

  For once, Whisker didn’t blush. With his face squashed into the dirt, and two rats on top of him, all he could manage was a relieved sigh. One by one, the entire team threw themselves onto the winner’s stack.

  The crowd booed and hissed as the outcome of the match sunk in.

  King Marvownion raised his arms to settle them.

  ‘Marvellous monkeys of Marmosettia,’ he shouted. ‘Do not be dismayed …’

  ‘I don’t like the sounds of this,’ Horace muttered from the middle of the pile.

  ‘Off with their heads!’ chanted the crowd. ‘Give us an execution!’

  ‘Great ghouls in the gallows!’ the King gasped. ‘I can’t execute them now, even if they are filthy rodents. There are rules to follow.’

  ‘Who cares about the rules?’ mumbled Mandy or Mindy or one of the others. ‘You’re the King.’

  ‘What, what?’ King Marvownion spluttered. ‘Who’s the King?’

  Queen Marmalade giggled.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Golly gosh, that would be me. Right. Well, as the King, I can offer you something far more exciting than a dreary old execution …’

  ‘A rematch,’ cheered the crowd. ‘A rematch to the death!’

  ‘Giant genies in jam jars!’ the King exclaimed. ‘Enough of the death talk. We’re going to have a rip-roaring, nose-snorting victory celebration instead.’

  ‘Victory!’ cheered the crowd. ‘Victory is ours!’

  ‘Err, excuse me, King Marvellous Onion,’ Horace squeaked, ‘technically, it was our victory, not yours.’

  ‘Don’t be such a pretentious peacock,’ the King growled. There’s plenty of victory for everyone.’

  ‘But …’ Horace began.

  The Captain elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Take as much victory as you want, Your Majesty. We’re content with our… bruises, aren’t we, crew.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ cried the Pie Rats. ‘… extremely content. Lovely bruises … best we’ve ever had.’

  ‘Smashingly splendid!’ the King declared. ‘And seeing as you’re all practically family now, I insist you stay for our little party. Bring out the jungle drums.’

  With a BOM BOM BOM and a BOMPER DEE BOM, the drumming began. The royal family danced around the clearing in a conga line as the Pie Rats staggered to their feet.

  ‘They’re mad,’ Horace muttered, twirling his hook around his ear. ‘Totally, utterly bonkers.’

  Golden Bananas

  Mad monkeys were much easier to handle than execution-crazed monkeys. Whisker quickly forgot the whole death ordeal when the endless stream of exotic fruits and jungle delights rolled into the clearing. As his mother once told him, Bruises feel better with a banana in your belly.

  Horace was soon dancing on a tree stump with Jester Mimp and Princess Mayenya, while Eaton and Mr Tribble played a game of throw the banana peel over the sundial with Prince Marcabio and Sir Mecks. King Marvownion and the Captain sat at a table and talked about Death Ball like they were best buddies from way back when.

  ‘I hear that disastrously dangerous Pirate Cup is on again,’ the King remarked, biting a banana without bothering to peel it. ‘Are you entering?’

  The Captain glanced at Ruby.

  ‘We do have an opportunity to enter,’ he said cautiously, ‘but there are more pressing matters at hand …’

  ‘Grand goblets of goblins!’ the King blurted out. ‘Do you think they’d let me enter? I know I’m not technically a pirate, but golly gosh, I’ve strung up more innocent victims than the Sea Dogs and Penguin Pirates put together.’

  Whisker had a strong feeling the King wasn’t exaggerating.

  ‘The entry fee for the Pirate Cup is enormous,’ he said, trying to discourage the King from entering. ‘I don’t think they’d accept bananas.’

  The King shrugged and stuffed the rest of the banana down his throat. The Queen lowered her piece of paw paw and giggled. ‘Money’s not a problem for us marmosets. We have oodles of treasure.’

  ‘Really?’ Ruby asked suspiciously.

  ‘Great gulping gorillas!’ the King spluttered. ‘I just remembered. We have an entire trunk of treasure.’

  ‘How big is this trunk?’ Ruby asked in a matter-of-fact voice.

  ‘It’s a tree trunk,’ the Queen laughed. ‘You can have a look at it if you want. It’s just over there.’

  The King led Whisker, Ruby and the Captain past a garden of ferns and pointed to a huge hollow tree.

  ‘Stick your snouts in there,’ he chuckled. ‘But if you touch a thing, I’ll stuff your insides with chillies and feed you to an alligator.’

  The rats put their paws in their pockets and peered inside. Whisker had never seen anything like it. He stared in awe at the glittering objects, his eyes wider than jewel-encrusted soup bowls. The entire tree was filled with treasure: diamonds, jewels, necklaces, bracelets and hundreds of golden bananas.

  The King held one of the bananas.

  ‘Solid gold,’ he said, trying to bite it.

  ‘Where did it all come from?’ Whisker asked in amazement.

  ‘Where?’ the King exclaimed. ‘From the snobs on the hill, of course.’

  ‘Snobs on the hill?’ Whisker repeated.

  ‘Those arrogant apes!’ the King roared. ‘Those conceited chimps. Those I’m so fancy with my big brain creatures that lived in the citadel.’

  ‘The ancient kings?’ Whisker gasped.

  ‘Former kings,’ the King corrected. ‘I’m the only king left on this island.’

  ‘Exactly when did you steal all this stuff?’ Ruby enquired.

  ‘Grubs in my gizzards!’ he cried. ‘I didn’t steal it. My ancestors stole it. No one’s been up the hill for years. The place is a ramshackle ruin.’

  ‘Just out of curiosity …’ the Captain said in a casual voice. ‘Are there any keys in your treasure trove?’

  ‘What, what?’ the King spluttered. ‘Keys? Good grief no! What would I want with a key? I don’t have any doors.’ He threw the golden banana inside. ‘Come along then. Let’s have some real bananas. That one’s given me a tooth ache.’

  Reluctantly, Whisker pulled his eyes away from the sparkling fortune and followed the King back to the clearing.

  The victory celebrations continued throughout the afternoon. Black clouds gathered overhead, prompting a raucous rain dance from the monkeys. As the night approached, the downpour arrived.

  The exhausted Pie Rats sat yawning in the rain, while water pooled around them. Oblivious to their guests’ discomfort, the monkeys continued their merriment.

  Finally realising the Pie Rats had no desire to sleep in puddles, Queen Marmalade offered the visitors treetop hammocks for the night. The Pie Rats eagerly accepted and dragged their dripping bodies up the towering trees.

  The hammocks hung in groups of three, protected from the rain by a roof of banana leaves. The Captain, Mr Tribble and Eaton took the lower grou
p. Smudge curled up inside the Captain’s backpack, and immediately fell fast asleep.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Whisker yawned, climbing past the Captain to the second group of hammocks. Horace overtook him and scrambled into the shelter first.

  ‘I bags the trunk side,’ he cried. ‘At least if I sleepwalk I’ll have the tree to protect me on my left and a sleeping body on my right.’

  Ruby glared at Horace and snuggled into the hammock furthest away from the trunk. Whisker climbed into the middle hammock, looped his tail through the netting and hoped sleepwalking wasn’t contagious.

  It didn’t take long for Horace to start muttering in his sleep. Whisker remained wide awake, listening to the pitter patter of raindrops above him and the sounds of drumming and chanting far below.

  ‘Can’t sleep either?’ Ruby whispered.

  ‘No,’ Whisker replied softly. ‘It must be the drumming.’

  ‘Drums I can handle,’ she said. ‘It’s that infuriating King and Queen I can’t stand. Just listen to them.’

  Whisker listened closely. Through the mumbles of Mimp and the chattering of Mackie, Maggie and the rest of the tribe, he heard the distinctive giggle of the Queen and the enthusiastic rants of the King.

  ‘Great goslings in gumtrees!’ the King shouted. ‘We should have another game of Death Ball tomorrow. Maybe the mudskippers would take up the challenge …’

  ‘Are all parents like that?’ Ruby asked, rolling over to face Whisker. ‘I never knew my mum and dad.’

  Whisker shook his head. ‘My parents aren’t …’

  ‘What are they like?’ Ruby asked casually.

  Whisker wondered if Ruby was still dazed from the Death Ball match. She’d never asked about his family before.

  ‘They’re – normal,’ he answered.

  ‘No one’s normal,’ Ruby argued, before adding, ‘I-I don’t mean to imply your parents are crazy or anything.’

  Whisker smiled. ‘They’re as normal as circus rats can be: no nooses in the top drawer, no guillotines in the closet –’ He paused and tried to picture his parents. With the sound of rain in his ears, all he could see was their red boat disappearing into the cyclone.

  ‘Your parents must be really clever,’ Ruby said. ‘You know, for you to have so many good ideas.’

  ‘They’re not smart like Mr Tribble or Pete,’ Whisker admitted. ‘They just know what to do with what they’ve got. My dad’s good at inventing stuff. He makes all sorts of weird and wonderful inventions for the circus – like costumes with third arms that move on their own and hats that shoot confetti.’

  Ruby’s eye lit up. ‘And what about your mother? Tell me about her … I-I don’t know much about mothers, only grumpy grandmas who get really cross when they find tiny specks of mud on skirts.’

  ‘Sorry, who gets cross with mud on skirts?’ Whisker asked, pretending he hadn’t heard her.

  ‘Fair call,’ Ruby said. ‘Like grandmother, like granddaughter …’ She sighed. ‘My gran’s ok, she’s just short-tempered and impatient.’

  ‘Another family trait?’ Whisker said playfully.

  ‘I thought we were talking about your family,’ Ruby snapped.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Whisker said, not wanting to be hurled out of his hammock. ‘My mother, Faye, was a fruit and vegetable grower. She knows lots about weather and nature and healthy eating …’

  ‘Is that why you chose the vegetable sails?’ Ruby cut in.

  Whisker grinned. ‘My mother always said that vegetables would keep me alive.’

  Ruby rolled her eye. ‘Save the bad jokes for Horace … But tell me, how did a green paw like your mother meet a circus rat like your father?’

  ‘Well,’ Whisker began, ‘when the circus came to Faye’s village in Freeforia she set up a roadside stall not far from the big top. My father, Robert, who was supposed to be mending tents and costumes, bought vegetables from her every morning and every evening, even if she only had mouldy potatoes left.’

  ‘He clearly wasn’t there for the potatoes,’ Ruby laughed.

  ‘Try telling Mum that,’ Whisker said. ‘She’s a bit naïve when it comes to that sort of thing. Anyway, there’s no currency in Freeforia, so Robert traded his inventions for Faye’s fruit and vegetables. At the end of two weeks he was running out of wind-up potato peelers and temperature-controlled flowerpots to give her.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just tell her how he felt?’ Ruby asked. ‘It’s much easier than pretending he liked rotten potatoes.’

  ‘Good point,’ Whisker agreed, ‘but Dad’s pretty clueless in that department, too.’

  Ruby rolled her eye again. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Being a poor farmer’s daughter,’ Whisker explained, ‘Faye had never been to the circus before, so Robert promised her the best seats in the house for the final show.’

  ‘Like a date?’ Ruby said.

  ‘I guess,’ Whisker shrugged. ‘When the night finally arrived, Robert smuggled Faye through the back door of the big top and the two of them watched the performance from the rafters.’

  There was a rumble of drums below. Whisker glanced down at the festivities.

  ‘It’s a bit like us in this tree,’ he said innocently. ‘We’ve got the best two hammocks in the house.’

  ‘Except there are three of us,’ Ruby pointed out.

  ‘OH!’ Whisker gasped, realising what he’d just implied. ‘Yes, of course, Horace … three friends in a tree.’

  ‘Goodnight, Whisker,’ Ruby yawned, closing her eye. ‘Thanks for the bedtime story …’

  ‘Night,’ Whisker squeaked, with redder cheeks than a baboon’s bottom.

  He lay awake for some time, staring at a banana leaf and wishing he’d inherited a smooth-talking tongue from his parents.

  Rays of morning sunlight poked through gaps in the jungle canopy. Water dripped from leaves into puddles far below. The occasional snore echoed through the still forest.

  Whisker uncoiled his tail from his hammock and sat up. Horace opened his eyes, yawned, closed his eyes again and pretended he was still asleep. Ruby was nowhere in sight.

  Fastening his backpack, Whisker climbed down from the tree. He quietly pushed through the ferns on the forest floor and discovered Ruby next to a large rock, cleaning a pile of scissor swords.

  ‘I found our weapons in a hollow log,’ she said, raising her eye. ‘They’ll rust in no time in this weather. Scissor swords must be sharp at all times, remember?’

  She handed Whisker his green sword and lowered her voice. ‘I don’t trust that royal family one bit. If they try any monkey business today, we’ll be ready.’

  Whisker nodded. There was a rustle of ferns behind him. Ruby grabbed the nearest sword and pointed it at the plants.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she hissed.

  ‘Only a dog looking for his bone,’ Horace yawned, stumbling out.

  Ruby flashed Horace a look of irritation and threw him his blue-handled scissor sword. He clumsily caught it with his hook.

  ‘Don’t drop it in the mud!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve been up since before dawn polishing it for you.’

  ‘Alright, alright, I’ll keep it clean,’ he mumbled, sticking it in his belt. ‘Now who’s up for breakfast?’

  ‘Breakfast will have to wait,’ whispered a deep voice from behind the rock.

  The three rats turned to see the Captain stepping out of the undergrowth.

  ‘Smudge has discovered a path to Silver Falls,’ he explained. ‘An early start would be advantageous.’

  ‘An early start or a quick getaway?’ Horace muttered.

  ‘I’d leave a note,’ the Captain said, unimpressed, ‘but who would read it? Jester Mimp?’

  ‘Point taken,’ Horace conceded.

  ‘Mr Tribble and Eaton are already on the path,’ the Captain said earnestly, ‘so we’d best hurry.’ He picked up his black scissor sword and disappeared into the bushes with Ruby and Whisker on his heels.

  ‘It’s lucky I had a big dinner,’ Horace
sighed, staggering after them.

  The track was overgrown with large-leafed plants and matted vines. It was clear the monkeys preferred travelling through the tree tops than overland. Although the plants obscured their view, the rats had no doubt about the direction they were hiking. The unmistakable roar of the waterfall could be heard half a jungle away.

  The rats caught up with the mice as they neared Silver Falls. The jungle opened out onto a wide riverbank. Lush patches of grass grew to the edge of a fast-flowing river where water swirled over submerged rocks to form frothing rapids.

  Towering over the river stood a mighty cliff. Crumbling boulders and mossy plants covered its weathered face. A torrent of water cascaded from its hazy heights, thundering to the rocks below. From a pool at the base of the cliff, a fine spray rose into the air, shimmering in the morning sunlight. Silver Falls was at once both glorious and terrifying. The Pie Rats had two options: cross the river, or climb the falls.

  ‘I say we climb,’ Horace declared, pointing to the cliff with his hook. ‘Raging rapids and short-statured rats make a lethal combination.’

  Mr Tribble agreed. ‘There’s plenty of vegetation to grab hold of on the cliff face, and we can cross the river upstream where the water is calmer.’

  No one needed any further convincing. They tightened their backpacks and crept to the base of the cliff. At close range, the roar of the water was almost deafening.

  ‘KEEP AWAY FROM THE WATERFALL,’ the Captain bellowed. ‘ONE SLIP AND YOU’RE HISTORY!’

  The Pie Rats edged further away from the spray-covered rocks, heading for the drier sections of the cliff. Small tufts of grass growing between boulders provided paw-holds, but the dirt was loose and the grass fell away like moulting fur in springtime.

  As the Pie Rats climbed higher, a wide overhanging rock forced them closer to the waterfall. Trickles of water seeped from cracks and dribbled over slippery, moss-covered stones, making every move even more treacherous.

  With their eyes fixed on the cliff, none of the climbers noticed the sky darkening or the storm clouds rolling in. They were only halfway up when the heavens opened and the rain pelted down. It was impossible to continue.