The King's Key (20 page)

In a frenzy, Whisker burst from the branches, almost tripping over his scissor sword. He scooped up the slimy object and took off in the direction of the citadel with the chameleon racing after him in hot pursuit.

The stone wall came into view and Whisker felt the chameleon's tongue catch his ankle. His leg came to an abrupt halt but his upper body kept moving, tumbling into a pile of dry leaves. His sword flew from his grasp and he rolled onto his back as the chameleon bore down on him.

There was a fiery flash to his right and a loud shout of ‘AVAST, YE SCURVY REPTILE!'

At the sight of Horace's flaming torch, the chameleon recoiled in terror, turned on its heel and fled into the jungle.

‘Come back, you cowardly chameleon,' Horace yelled, waving his torch through the air. ‘We're having roast reptile for dinner!'

Stunned, Whisker lay motionless in the pile of leaves, staring up at his pint-sized saviour.

‘Thanks,' he murmured.

Horace lowered the torch and extended his hook to Whisker.

‘Having trouble with the natives?' he asked.

‘Only one of them,' Whisker replied, pulling himself to his feet. ‘Your mysterious berry thief.'

‘He's more than a berry thief,' Horace said, with wide eyes. ‘I saw what he was carrying. That's some lucky charm.'

Whisker moved his paw to his gold anchor pendant.

‘The chameleon won't part with the key willingly,' he said. ‘That I'm certain of.'

‘We'd better find the Captain,' Horace said, staring into the jungle. ‘The torch won't burn forever, and I can feel that scaly creature watching us.'

Whisker felt it, too. Swords raised, the two rats scurried along the stone wall as the eerie darkness of night closed in.

That evening, a mighty fire blazed in the centre of the throne room. Sparks and embers drifted up with the smoke through the high chimney that was once the royal tower. The Pie Rats had slashed many of the vines from the windows, allowing fresh air to be drawn into the space, feeding the flames. The sky overhead was clear and the night air of the jungle was warm. The fire wasn't for heating. It was for protection.

The companions sat on fallen stones, a comfortable distance from the fire, and pondered their predicament.

‘Are you sure it was the correct key?' Mr Tribble asked, writing notes in his book.

‘I think so,' Whisker replied. ‘I didn't get a close look but it definitely had the same shape as the hole in the map.'

‘How old was the chameleon?' the Captain enquired. ‘The map was made many years ago.'

‘It's not going to drop dead of old age, if that's what you're wondering,' Horace said. ‘The key must have anti-ageing powers.'

Ruby snorted.

‘What?' Horace shot back. ‘Haven't you heard of the
fountain of youth
?'

‘Of course,' Ruby said sarcastically. ‘I saw it this afternoon when I was …'

‘Ahem,' the Captain interrupted.

Ruby and Horace silently glared at each other.

‘Scientifically speaking,' Mr Tribble said, ‘it is more probable that the chameleon is a descendent of the original guardian and that the key has been passed down from generation to generation.'

‘Lucky us for getting the grumpy grandson,' Horace muttered. ‘Shouldn't he just hand over the key? We figured out the riddle.'

‘I'm not sure it works like that,' the Captain said. ‘It appears we're in the middle of a dangerous duel with the mapmaker. If we want the key badly enough we will have to outwit and outsmart his guardian.'

‘Outfighting the chameleon sounds like a better idea,' Ruby said, polishing her swords. ‘It's seven against one.'

‘Hmm,' the Captain pondered. ‘I doubt he'll show himself in the open again, and if we try to hunt him through the jungle, he'll be gone long before we even get close.'

‘What about a trap?' Whisker suggested. ‘The chameleon seemed rather curious, and I'm sure if we found the right bait …'

‘Insects!' Horace exclaimed. ‘Chameleons love insects.'

Smudge leapt off the Captain's shoulder and buzzed through an open window.

‘Come back, Smudge,' Horace called after him. ‘I didn't mean you … I was thinking of a big juicy cockroach.'

Smudge didn't return.

‘We know the chameleon likes berries,' Whisker remarked.

‘So does Horace,' Ruby said, rolling her eye. ‘He stripped the bushes bare.'

‘You ate your fair share,' Horace retorted. ‘If anyone's to blame it's …'

‘I wasn't thinking of wild berries,' Whisker cut in. ‘I was thinking of the berries in our pie.'

‘Red Berry Combo,' Horace gasped. ‘That's our dinner!'

Mr Tribble reached his paw into his backpack and pulled out the second pie. He brushed several long roots off the pastry and placed it on a rock. Smudge suddenly reappeared.

‘It does look rather delicious,' Mr Tribble considered, licking his lips. ‘If we remove the top crust, the berry filling will be irresistible.'

‘Alright,' the Captain agreed. ‘It's worth a try. But what do we do when the chameleon starts eating?'

‘We could wait for it to fall asleep,' Horace suggested. ‘Lots of animals do that after a big meal.'

‘We can't be certain,' Mr Tribble said. ‘And besides, it will wake up in a flash when it feels twelve furry paws snatching at the key.'

Something Mr Tribble said triggered a memory in Whisker's mind. He picked up a shrivelled root from the floor and examined it closely.

‘What if the chameleon can't feel a thing?' he thought aloud.

The rest of the crew turned to him, awaiting an explanation. Whisker held up the root.

‘Pete's treacle medicine,' Horace exclaimed.

‘Whisker's berry medicine, more like it,' the Captain laughed. ‘I think we have our solution. The chameleon will be fast asleep and numb from horns to tail before he's even finished the pie.'

‘We can dry the herbs by the fire and grind them into a powder with the stones,' Mr Tribble said excitedly.

‘Um, there's one little problem,' Whisker said, walking over to the Captain's bag.

He pulled out a black eyeball seed and held it up with one paw, raising the root in the other.

‘One of these herbs is to
numb the pain
,' he said, quoting Pete, ‘and the other is for a
healing rush of energy
. Pete never told us which herb is which.'

The Captain shrugged and scratched his head.

‘Pete mentioned
roots
before he mentioned
seeds
,' Mr Tribble recalled. ‘And he also mentioned
numbing the pain
before
healing rush of energy
. Therefore, taking a sequential interpretation, the roots are more likely to be the numbing herb.'

‘You've lost me there,' Horace responded. ‘I would have said the eyeballs were the numbing herbs. When I think of roots I think of energy rising from the earth.'

‘Why don't we do a little experiment?' Ruby proposed. ‘Mr Tribble can eat a root and Horace can eat an eyeball. The first rodent to fall asleep is the winner.'

Mr Tribble looked horrified.

‘What if one of us never wakes up?' he choked. ‘We know the herbs work harmlessly together, but on their own …'

The Captain glanced across at Eaton, busily refilling his lantern with oil.

‘What do you think, Eaton?' he asked. ‘You don't say much, but you're a bright little lad.'

‘Me?' Eaton squeaked, looking up. ‘W-well, Pete said equal quantities of each herb …'

‘There you have it,' the Captain cheered. ‘From the mouths of mice – problem solved. We'll use both herbs in equal proportions. If my memory serves me correctly, we'll have approximately twenty minutes to steal the key before the chameleon wakes up in a raging frenzy.' Without waiting for further debate, the Captain began scattering eyeball seeds onto the warm stones near the fire.

‘Twenty minutes,' Mr Tribble considered. ‘That should give us sufficient time to get to the ravine … if we run.'

‘Relax,' Horace reassured him. ‘It's all downhill. We'll be there in ten minutes tops.'

Mr Tribble gave Horace an unconvincing nod and picked up a pawful of roots from his bag.

‘These roots are your responsibility, Horace,' he said, laying them on a stone. ‘Constant supervision is required to ensure they dry slowly and evenly. Turn them over every five minutes and make sure they never catch alight.'

‘How uninspiring,' Horace yawned. ‘I'll be here all night.' He glanced over his shoulder at Whisker. ‘At least I'll have someone to talk to. Pull up a rock, Whisker. I know hours of campfire ghost stories you're going to love.'

‘Whisker's busy right now,' Ruby blurted out.

‘Am I?' Whisker said, confused.

‘Yes you are!' Ruby snapped. ‘You're busy with your, err … first sword fighting lesson, which means I'm busy instructing you and Horace will need to find someone else to listen to his ghost stories.'

Horace shook his hook at Ruby.

‘I know what you're playing at, you vile vixen,' he taunted. ‘You don't want Whisker to hear a certain ghost story about a pretty young rat and a white sheet …'

Ruby flushed red.

‘I-I don't know what you're talking about,' she gabbled. ‘Come on, Whisker, it's too distracting in here for a proper lesson.'

Ruby dragged Whisker towards the waiting room. Horace grinned, and then continued, ‘So Eaton, have you heard the one about the vampire bat and the vicar …?'

Master Strikes

As intrigued as he was about Horace's white sheet story, Whisker decided it was best not to raise the subject, especially when Ruby was facing him with a sword in each paw.

‘S-so where do we begin?' he asked, nervously drawing his own green scissor sword.

‘We already know your tail has some talent,' Ruby said bluntly. ‘But as for your paws, well, that's a different story.'

Whisker knew Ruby wasn't going to be the friendliest of tutors, and she definitely wasn't going to inflate his head with praise. But sword fighting wasn't about feeling good, it was about staying alive. Whisker raised his chin and prepared for whatever came his way.

‘There are two rules in the training arena,' Ruby began. ‘Rule one: Listen to what I say. Rule two: Do what I say. Is that understood?'

‘Yes, ma'am,' Whisker replied.

‘And don't call me ma'am!' she snapped. ‘I'm not your mother.'

‘S-sorry, Ruby,' Whisker said timidly.

She continued, ‘Sword fighting in the Pie Rat tradition involves two basic types of manoeuvres –
guards
and
strikes
.
Guards are fighting stances giving you defensive protection, as well as a range of attacking possibilities. Strikes are movements that lead from one guard to the next. They can be attacking blows or defensive blocks.'

Ruby placed one of her swords on the ground and grasped the second sword in both paws.

‘There are four primary guards,' she explained. ‘The first is called the
Plough Guard
. It is simple to master, but hard for your opponent to penetrate.' She moved her left foot in front of her and twisted her right foot ninety degrees. ‘Take note of my stance,' she said. ‘One foot forward, one foot back. It will give you the best stability. Twist your torso so your belt buckle faces your opponent.'

Whisker tried to mimic her stance.

‘Lower your paws to your right hip,' she instructed, ‘and angle the blade so it points at your opponent's neck.'

Whisker awkwardly followed her directions.

‘Relax your arms,' Ruby hissed. ‘You're too tense … and remember to breathe … stop waving your tail … bend your elbows … move your arms closer to your body …'