The King's Key (6 page)

‘Not exactly
Survival Mouse
, is he?' Horace whispered to Whisker.

The Captain shot Horace an unimpressed look. ‘Crew members who do not wish to join us are free to remain on the
Apple Pie
in readiness for a quick escape, should our whereabouts be discovered. Volunteers for the expedition, please step forward now.'

Whisker, Ruby and Horace took a step towards the Captain. Smudge flew in a circle around the Captain's head and settled on his shoulder. Eaton looked at Mr Tribble and hesitantly stepped forward. The others remained firmly where they stood.

‘It looks like I'm stuck with beauty and the beast,' Pete sniffled.

Emmie gave Fred a big hug. ‘Don't listen to him, Uncle Fred. We'll have hours of fun baking pies in the galley.'

Fred smiled fondly at her. Pete screwed up his nose in disapproval.

‘What's Pete got to complain about?' Horace muttered to Whisker. ‘He's got two personal chefs and not a single leech, strangling vine or rat-eating plant to contend with.'

Whisker's tail went limp. He'd forgotten about the rat-eating plants. Volunteering suddenly seemed like a bad idea. It was only the thought of finding his family that stopped him rushing below to join the cooking class.

The Captain went on, ‘Members of our expedition are required to carry essential survival items. Please collect any items you wish to include and place them on the deck immediately.'

‘Aye, aye, Captain,' cheered the volunteers.

Whisker made his way down the stairs, forming a list of items in his head:
Number one – a scissor sword. Number two – a hearty fruit pie. Number three …

Matches,
he said to himself as he reached the gun deck.
A Pie Rat can't survive without them.

He entered the dark space and searched behind a couple of cannons for a matchbox. Unable to locate a single match, he turned his attention to a crate filled with strange looking rocket shapes.

‘Apprenticeship graduation fireworks,' he said quietly, picking up a blue rocket. ‘Hmm. That's a long way off.'

He tried to remember the seven tests he had to pass before he became a full member of the crew.
Survival, Strength, Strategy, Self-reliance, Sailing, Swords-rat-ship
and
Sacrifice.

‘I've passed two tests,' he thought aloud. ‘
Survival
and
Strategy
… but they were accidents …'

‘They weren't accidents,' whispered a voice from the dark.

Whisker jumped. ‘W-who's there?'

‘Only me,' Horace whistled, stepping out of the shadows. ‘I wouldn't recommend the fireworks. They're a little temperamental in rainforest environments.'

‘Err, point taken,' Whisker said, hastily returning the rocket to the crate. ‘Have you seen any matches?'

Horace held up two boxes with his hook, keeping his paw hidden behind his back. ‘I'm one step ahead of you.'

Whisker looked at him suspiciously. An open crate lay to Horace's right.

‘What else have you got?' Whisker asked.

‘Oh … nothing,' Horace replied guiltily. ‘Just a few
essential
items …'

‘A few sticks of Deadly Dynamite you mean!' Whisker exclaimed. ‘The Captain would never allow it.'

‘Shh,' Horace hissed. ‘You're beginning to sound like Pete. The Captain doesn't have to know …'

Whisker was well aware of the trouble the dynamite could get them both into and held his ground.

‘Look,' Horace whispered, holding up the sticks. ‘They've got extra long fuses, so we'll have plenty of time to run away.' He gave Whisker a pleading look. ‘Come on, Whisker. They've saved us before.'

‘Alright,' Whisker finally agreed, remembering the exploding pie incident. ‘But only a couple …'

‘You won't regret it,' Horace said, stuffing two sticks into a backpack.

Whisker sighed. Something told him he would.

Back on the deck, the crew laid out their essential items. There were six boxes of matches, five scissor swords, three water flasks, two fruit pies, a notebook, a small stub of pencil, a coil of rope, a compass, Eaton's mirrored lantern, a bottle of lantern oil, a ball of string, three candy canes and the Forgotten Map rolled up in a canister.

Horace scratched his head with his hook. ‘How are candy canes essential items?'

Ruby gave him a sour look. ‘I thought that was obvious. We tie them together to make a grappling hook, or eat them if we run out of food.'

‘Fair enough,' Horace shrugged. ‘Speaking of all things sweet, do we have any of Pete's treacle medicine?'

‘We're all out,' Pete grumbled. ‘Whisker drank it all.'

‘Oh yeah,' Horace recalled. ‘After that giant spider crab tried to rip his arm off.'

Whisker rubbed his shoulder and winced.

‘Come to think of it,' Pete considered, ‘you're likely to find the two herbs I need for a new batch while you're frolicking in the jungle. The first herb comes from a large-leafed plant that looks like this –' He hastily sketched the plant on the deck. ‘I don't need the leaves, just the dried roots.'

‘I'm aware of that species,' Mr Tribble said knowledgeably.

‘Good for you,' Pete sniffled. ‘Make sure Horace doesn't bring back a bag of shrivelled sweet potatoes by mistake.'

Horace stuck out his tongue.

‘The second herb,' Pete continued, ignoring Horace, ‘comes from the red fruit of a climbing plant. When the fruit ripens, it pops open like an eyeball. You can't miss it. Bring me the black seeds. Autumn is approaching, so there could be some early ripe fruit.'

‘What quantity do you require?' Mr Tribble asked.

‘Equal quantities of each dried herb,' Pete stated. ‘One to numb the pain and the other for a healing rush of energy. Bring as much as you can carry. With a reckless apprentice on board, I'm sure to run out in no time.'

Whisker considered sticking out his tongue but decided that Pete was probably right.

The supplies were packed into calico backpacks and the team of jungle adventurers clambered into the small rowboat. Pete and Emmie waved goodbye from the deck to the out-of-tune chants of, ‘
Row, row, row your boat'
as Fred ferried the companions to shore.

The quest for the key had begun.

Puddle Mucking

'Mud, mud, mud,' Horace moaned. ‘Nothing but mud.'

It was low tide and the mangrove-dotted mudflat prevented the rowboat from travelling any further. With a soft bump, the vessel ran aground.

‘That will do, Fred,' the Captain said. ‘We can walk from here.'

‘Squelch through muddy puddles, more like it,' Horace muttered sulkily. ‘It's easy for you tall folks, but look at me. I've hardly got the long legs of a flamingo.'

‘Or the elegance,' Ruby smirked, as Horace stumbled out of the boat, landing spreadeagled in the mud.

Whisker swung his body over the side of the small vessel. Sticky mud oozed through his toes. Reluctantly he hoisted up his trousers and trudged after Horace. Fred gave the companions a departing grunt and began rowing back to the
Apple Pie
.

The Pie Rats hadn't trekked far when Whisker heard a loud
SPLOOSH
behind him. He whipped his neck around to see a large ripple expanding from the centre of a nearby puddle.

‘What was that?' he asked anxiously.

‘Probably a bored toadfish,' Horace replied morosely. ‘I suspect he's tired of eating mud for breakfast.'

Whisker gazed into the puddle. There was another
SPLOOSH
to his right. He looked up to see a long, scaly creature, twice his size, with a brown, sausage-shaped body twisting in the air. With a sharp flick of its tail, it knocked Horace face-first into the mud before disappearing into the water.

‘Jumping jelly cakes!' the Captain exclaimed as Whisker pulled Horace from the mud. ‘That's no toad fish.'

‘Disgustingly disgusting!' Horace spat. ‘Which one of you clowns pushed me in?'

‘H-h-he did,' Eaton stammered, pointing to a muddy puddle.

Two black eyes pierced the surface of the water, gazing up at the companions.

‘Periophthalmodon schlosseri
,' Mr Tribble said quietly.

‘
Perio
-I'm-gonna-chop-its-ugly-head-off!' Horace roared, reaching for his sword.

‘
Periophthalmodon schlosseri
,' Mr Tribble repeated, ‘is an amphibious fish that uses its pectoral fins to walk on land. It is commonly known as the
giant mudskipper
.'

‘Oh joy,' Horace groaned. ‘Yet another creature with the word
giant
in its name. Why can't it be a miniature mudskipper for a change?'

Ruby drew both of her swords. ‘Can it eat us?'

‘It is carnivorous …' Mr Tribble replied.

Smudge wasted no time in scrambling inside the Captain's backpack. There was another
SPLOOSH
and a second mudskipper launched itself from a pond. Its powerful tail thrashed from side to side, its stumpy fins beat the air and its dorsal fin fanned out like the crest of a crazed cockatoo.

‘Duck!' the Captain shouted.

The Pie Rats belly-flopped in the mud. The second mudskipper soared over their heads, landing with a
SQUELCH
on top of the first mudskipper. There was a flurry of fins as the two creatures engaged in a savage wrestling match.

‘They're territorial,' Mr Tribble cried. ‘We've got to keep moving.'

The rodents scrambled to their feet and took off through the mud. Dozens of mudskippers emerged around them, dragging their slimy bodies from the water. With savage flicks of their tails, they slithered across the mud in pursuit.

‘Down on all fours,' the Captain commanded. ‘Stay on top of the mud.'

With heads down and front paws scrambling, the Pie Rats raced to escape. They kept to the driest spots, but every puddle they passed contained another waiting menace.

It was fortunate the mudskippers disliked each other more than the trespassers. The moment one got within striking range, another would leap out to protect its territory. Whisker discovered it was safer to run towards the mudskippers and jump clear when the wrestling began. It was messy work, but his brazen tactic ensured the mudskippers took out their fury on each other – not on the rodents.

The Pie Rats reached the first mangrove tree and scampered up its slippery trunk, filthy but unscathed. The mudskippers continued to brawl below.

‘It's ridiculous,' Horace muttered from an outer branch. ‘They're fighting over a patch of mud.'

‘Mud to a mudskipper is like a pie to a Pie Rat,' Mr Tribble reasoned. ‘Just be thankful they haven't dragged you off to their underwater mud burrows.'

‘Oh, I'm thankful alright,' Horace gulped, turning his attention back to the fight.

When the mudskipper brawl was over, the companions scurried down the trunk. Fresh attackers joined the pursuit and the Pie Rats dashed towards the next tree. One mangrove at a time, they zigzagged their way through the danger zone. The mud became sandier and the trees grew thicker closer to the shore. Finally, the puddles were little more than moist patches in the hardened mud. Conceding defeat, the mudskippers gave up the chase and retreated to their underwater lairs.

Exhausted, the adventurers collapsed in a dirty heap on the sand and lay panting for several minutes. Not even Horace had the breath to speak.

Whisker sat up and surveyed his surroundings. He was on a sandy strip of earth, separating the mudflat from the freshwater pools of the marsh. A line of shady beach oaks lined the bank. Ruby was already on her feet, impatiently scratching mud from her neck and face.

‘Mud is great for your complexion,' Horace remarked, still lying on his back. ‘It's a popular beauty treatment back home on Freeforia.'