The King's Key (26 page)

A lantern hung from a wall at the bottom of the first flight of stairs, spreading a faint glow through the main corridor. The whole place smelt like rotten fish. Whisker resisted the urge to hold his nose.

You're a warrior now,
he tried to convince himself.
Warriors don't hold their noses. They hold their swords.

He touched the handle of his scissor sword, hanging by his side, and pictured himself wielding it in battle. He didn't want to disappoint Ruby but he still had his doubts about his ability. Cat Fish fought with cheese knives – not sticks.

Trying to remain positive, Whisker refocused on his surrounds. Four doorways lined the tight corridor. A loud wheezing sound drifted through the first doorway to the right – the door was ajar.

The Captain looked straight at Horace and motioned to the door. Horace slipped through the gap and disappeared into the darkness.

The second door was painted bright red and stood closed. Two words were scratched into its shiny surface:
Girls Only.

Cleopatra and Siamese Sally
, Whisker thought. He'd run into them once before in a dark corridor, and on that occasion he'd only just survived. He felt his tail begin to shake.

Ruby pointed to the writing on the door and flashed Whisker a mischievous grin. She slowly turned the handle and stepped inside.

There were two doorways left. A heavy oak door stood at the end of the corridor, decorated with an intricately carved fish skeleton. It was undoubtedly the Captain's cabin. Opposite the ladies' cabin was a partially open doorway. A terrible fishy smell wafted through the gap.

As the Captain crept towards Sabre's cabin, Whisker knew his fate. Grabbing his nose, he entered the pungent smelling mess room of the Cat Fish.

The mess room was a mess. A huge table stood in the centre of the cramped space, covered with the remains of a seafood feast. Fish heads, octopus tentacles, mussel shells and sardine tails sprawled onto the floor. Unwashed milk bottles were stacked against the wall to form crude towers, waiting to topple over at the slightest touch.

Whisker climbed onto a stool and peered down at the clutter on the table. He caught a glimpse of a silver plate buried deep beneath the scraps and wondered what other precious items lay concealed in the heap.

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
f
low 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.