The King's Key

The King's Key

Titles available in the Pie Rats series

(in reading order):

The Forgotten Map

The King's Key

The Island of Destiny

The Trophy of Champions

For my brother, Tyson, inventor and encourager.

Here's to explosions of grand proportions.

First published by Daydream Press, Brisbane, Australia, 2014

This electronic version published 2015

Text and illustrations copyright © Dr Cameron Stelzer 2014

Illustrations are watercolour and pen on paper

No part of this book may be reproduced electronically, verbally or in print without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-0-9942486-1-9 (eBook)

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Author: Stelzer, Cameron, 1977 –

Title: The King's Key / by Cameron Stelzer

Series: Stelzer, Cameron, 1977 – Pie Rats; bk. 2

Target audience: For primary school age.

Subjects: Rats – Juvenile fiction. Pirates – Juvenile fiction.

Dewey number: A823.4

Digital edition distributed by

Port Campbell Press

www.portcampbellpress.com.au

Conversion by
Winking Billy

Though the voyage may be long

and the waves may be fierce,

there is always hope –

Hope that land is but a blue horizon away

and one must keep sailing to find it.

Anso Winterbottom

Explorer, Discoverer and Adventurer

Guests

Scratch, scuttle, rustle.

The faint sounds woke Whisker from his dreams. He turned in his hammock, let out a sigh and drifted back to sleep.

SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE.

The sounds came again – much louder this time. Whisker opened his eyes and peered around the tiny cabin. Nothing stirred.

Perplexed, he swung his body from the hammock and lowered his feet to the floor. As quiet as a rat on a sleeping ship, he tiptoed past his two cabin mates and pressed his ear against the wall.

SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE. SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, SCRAPE
.

The strange noises echoed through the wood, sending an itchy vibration down his body. He pulled his ear away and shuddered.
Something was out there.

In growing fear, he turned to the sleeping figure of Hook Hand Horace and gave his friend a gentle shake. Horace opened one eyelid and gazed sleepily up at Whisker.

‘Can you hear it?' Whisker asked softly.

SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE. SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, SCRAPE
.

Horace's second eyelid sprang open and, with a sudden rush of adrenalin, his body lurched out of his hammock.

‘Shiver me britches!' he gasped, landing hook-first on top of Fish Eye Fred.

‘Ouch,' moaned the startled chef, brushing Horace aside with a mighty paw. ‘Is it breakfast time already?'

‘No, you oversized fish finger!' Horace exclaimed. ‘We've got company.'

Fred dropped his huge feet to the ground and swivelled his enormous left eye in the direction of the sounds.

‘Breakfast guests?' he enquired.

‘Uninvited guests,' Horace replied, handing Fred a large fork. ‘Let's show them some Pie Rat hospitality.'

Horace picked up a blue-handled scissor sword and headed for the door. Whisker hesitantly followed, thrusting a green scissor sword into his belt.

The three rats raced down the dark corridor. Horace hurriedly tapped each door they passed with his hook. Without waiting for a reply, the rodents leapt up the stairs and burst onto the deck of the
Apple Pie
. The entire deck was deserted.

Whisker scanned the ocean for clues. The silent wrecks of Shipwreck Sandbar surrounded the ship like a forest of statues, dark and foreboding. Strands of dry, brown seaweed dangled lifelessly from their rotting masts. A stiff breeze stirred up small waves, but neither wind nor water carried any sign of visitors.

It was only as the dim light of dawn began spreading through the sky that Whisker finally saw them.

His tail flinched behind his back.

Whisker's over-emotional tail had a nasty habit of acting on its own whenever he was anxious or afraid – and now Whisker was anxious and afraid.

‘Steady on,' Horace whispered. ‘Save your energy for the formal introductions. How many guests can we expect, Fred?'

Fred's powerful eye darted from left to right on a surveillance sweep of the ship.

‘Ten to the left,' he grunted, ‘and ten to the right.'

Horace looked relieved.

‘I'm sure we can cater for twenty visitors,' he said, doing the maths.

‘Um … there might be a few more,' Fred confessed. ‘I'm only good with numbers up to ten …'

Whisker gulped as no fewer than ten-times-ten pale blue crustaceans emerged from the shadows. They came from everywhere, clambering over the wooden pastry-crust bulwark of the ship, scrambling out of barrels and dropping from the masts like webless spiders, ready to attack.

‘Rotten pies to Blue Claw commandos,' Horace groaned, drawing his sword. ‘I hope they're not expecting a buffet breakfast.'

The advancing soldier crabs got within striking range and suddenly halted. A crab wearing a blue beret raised his claw and spoke, ‘By order of his exalted Excellency, the Honourable Cazban, Governor of Aladrya, you are hereby under arrest for heinous crimes committed against the State.'

Fred scratched his head with his fork, trying to fathom what the crab had just said.

‘W-what crimes?' he mumbled.

‘Piracy, theft, hooliganism …' the crab rattled off impatiently. ‘… all-round anti-social behaviour.'

‘ANTI-SOCIAL?' Horace cried in outrage. ‘We're extremely social. Not that you empty-shelled mud eaters know anything about socialising.'

With the angry snap of claws, two hundred furious eyes glared at Horace. Whisker drew his sword and prepared for the inevitable.

‘Don't worry,' Horace whispered. ‘They're easier to fight when they're annoyed.'

Whisker wasn't convinced. His terrified tail twisted from side to side like an out-of-control cobra.

The crab with the armband raised his second claw. ‘Attention, troops. I want the entire crew of this ship brought into custody – dead or alive.' He swept his claw through the air and, with the stampede of eight hundred frantic feet, the battle was on.

Horace was extremely short for a rat but his enthusiastic fighting style more than compensated for what he lacked in stature. Every move he made was doubled in intensity by his over-the-top running commentary.

‘AVAST YE SCURVY SEA DWELLERS … TAKE THAT, YOU OVERCOOKED CRAB CAKE … FEEL THE HORROR OF THE HOOK … ARGH, ME CRABBIES … YOU CALL THAT A CLAW …?'

Fred was a giant, and a strong one at that. He flexed his tattooed arm, shook his safety pin earring and hurled crabs overboard with his fork like they were nothing more than unwanted ants on a picnic table.

Whisker, the cyclone-surviving circus rat, had been rescued by the Pie Rats only seventeen days ago. He'd owned his scissor sword for exactly one hour and thirty-six minutes and for most of that time he'd slept. His sword-fighting skills were limited to one infamous move that involved cutting through a piece of rope. As the crabs pressed in around him, he knew he needed a plan – and fast.

What would Ruby do?
he asked himself, annoyed that Horace hadn't knocked harder on the champion swords-rat's door. He thought back to the morning he'd seen her practicing on the deck.
There's got to be a move I can use.

With a sharp nip to his tail from an attacking claw, the answer leapt into his head –
SPIN!