The King's Key (7 page)

Ruby glared at him with a wild look in her eye. ‘Are you saying I need a beauty treatment, Horace?'

Horace covered his face with his hook.

‘No,' he squeaked. ‘I was just … saying.'

‘Humph!' Ruby snorted and turned away.

Horace lowered his hook and gave Whisker a pleading stare.

‘Go on,' he begged. ‘Say something to her.'

‘Huh?' Whisker said in confusion.

‘So she calms down,' Horace whispered. ‘We both know she's worse than a bull with a bee sting when she's angry. And she won't believe a word I say.'

Whisker doubted anything he said would make a difference. It was only recently that Ruby had dropped her major grudge against him. The
Apple Pie
was her domain. The Captain was her uncle and he simply got in her way.

‘What should I tell her?' Whisker asked hesitantly.

‘Tell her she looks ravishingly beautiful even when she's covered in mud,' Horace whispered. ‘Girls love hearing that sort of rubbish, especially from handsome young apprentices.'

‘I can't say that!' Whisker exclaimed, far louder than he'd intended.

‘What can't you say?' the Captain asked, intrigued.

Ruby raised her eye and looked at Whisker. Whisker hoped there was enough mud on his face to hide his reddening cheeks.

‘I, err … can't say if mudskippers will be in the marsh,' he lied.

‘They won't be,' Mr Tribble said confidently. ‘Freshwater crocodiles, perhaps, but definitely no mudskippers.'

Horace flopped backwards into the sand.

‘Crocodiles,' he whimpered, ‘Can't you give us some good news?'

‘Pull yourself together, Horace,' the Captain snapped. ‘You haven't stopped whining since we left the boat. Anyone would think you had an acute case of land-sickness.'

‘I do,' Horace coughed dramatically. ‘I can feel the infection spreading. I'm beyond saving … feed me to a crocodile and put me out of my misery…'

The Captain shook his head and dragged Horace to his feet. ‘No one's going to feed you to a crocodile, Horace. We'll avoid the pools and stick to the grass. Come on.'

Horace trudged after the Captain, steering well clear of Ruby. She was still cleaning mud off her arms and looked no less angry when Whisker walked past. He plucked up the courage to say something.

‘Um, Ruby …' he began.

‘What is it?' she said, frowning at the mud.

He tried to find the right words. ‘I was just going to say…' He panicked. ‘Err … ladies first.'

‘Oh,' she said, losing the frown. ‘Thanks,
mud boy.
I'm glad there's one gentleman in the crew, even if he does need a good scrub.' She spun on her heel and hurried after the others.

Whisker trailed behind her, scraping mud from his flushed face.

The trek through the marsh was a slow and cautious process. Smudge flew high above the expedition party, guiding them along the grassy banks between pools. More than once the Pie Rats ran into dead ends and more than once they were forced to paddle through shallow water. In places where the reeds grew thick, they clambered up tall stalks and leapt from reed to reed. Despite the challenges of the crossing, the faint croaks of frogs were the only sounds they heard.

As the foot of the jungle drew closer, fallen trees formed natural bridges, reeds intermingled with leafy jungle plants and pools turned to sandy bogs.

In unison, the Pie Rats looked up at the thick canopy of trees in front of them.

‘The glorious jungle,' Mr Tribble sighed. ‘Walking should be much easier from here.' He stepped off a log onto a sandy patch of ground and immediately began to sink. ‘H-h-help!' he cried, waving his paws in the air.

His ankles quickly disappeared.

‘Quicksand!' Horace gasped. ‘Stay perfectly still, Mr Tribble.'

Ignoring the advice, Mr Tribble thrashed his legs in a desperate attempt to escape. He sank to his waist.

Whisker lowered his body over the side of the log and stretched out his arm.

‘Grab my paw,' he cried.

Mr Tribble made a frantic grab for Whisker, but his paw was well beyond reach. The hysterical mouse continued to panic and the quicksand rose to his chest.

‘Stop moving or you'll go under,' the Captain shouted.

Mr Tribble kept moving.

‘Mr Tribble. Stop!' Eaton squeaked.

With only his head and arms above the quicksand, Mr Tribble finally stopped.

‘Don't move a muscle,' the Captain ordered. ‘You'll only sink faster. Just relax your body and we'll get you out.'

Ruby removed a long candy cane from her backpack and passed it to Whisker.

‘Essential survival item,' she said smugly. ‘This should do the job.'

Whisker extended the sugary stick to Mr Tribble.

‘Take hold of it,' he directed.

Mr Tribble grasped the candy cane in both paws.

‘Pull me up,' Whisker cried.

Ruby and the Captain grabbed Whisker's legs, hauling him backwards and Mr Tribble's sandy body slowly rose from the quicksand.

‘And I thought students had trouble following instructions …' Horace muttered, dragging Mr Tribble onto the log.

Mr Tribble straightened his glasses. ‘Are you volunteering to be our new guide, Horace?'

‘N-no,' Horace said, changing his tune. ‘I'm quite happy in the middle of the pack.'

The Captain stood up and peered into the jungle. ‘How far does the quicksand continue, Smudge?'

Smudge buzzed off into the undergrowth to explore. He returned several minutes later and landed on the rough bark of the log, repeatedly thrusting one arm towards the jungle.

‘I think that means a long way,' the Captain said.

‘Too far to leap,' Horace conceded, glancing down at his stumpy legs. ‘… though, we could use the bark to make a bridge.'

He tore off a large sheet of bark with his hook and held it up for the others to see.

‘We'd require an enormous amount of bark to cross the quicksand,' Mr Tribble said, warily.

Ruby threw her paws in the air. ‘Look around. Trees are everywhere.'

Whisker stared into the jungle and suddenly another idea came to him.

‘Bridges don't have to be on the ground,' he said excitedly. ‘There are endless branches, leaves and vines we can cross in the air.'

Mr Tribble wasn't convinced. ‘We're not all trapeze artists with circus experience, Whisker.'

‘Who needs experience?' Horace scoffed. ‘If monkeys can swing off vines then so can rats and mice. It's either the trees or the quicksand.'

‘Trees,' Mr Tribble replied quickly.

The Pie Rats formed a small bridge of bark over the quicksand and crossed to the nearest tree. Using strangler vines for paw holds they pulled themselves up the thick trunk. When they reached the upper branches they searched for hanging creepers.

‘Here's the fun bit,' Horace said, grabbing a sturdy vine. ‘Geronimo …'

He leapt off the branch and swung through the air in a wide arc. In moments he had reached the next tree. Whisker was right behind him, surprised at how easy and enjoyable it was. With so many leaves and vines around him, even a small slip meant he had something to grab hold of.

‘I could live up here,' Horace exclaimed, using his hook to catch a passing branch.

‘It's still a long way down,' Mr Tribble gulped, holding on for dear life.

‘Look,' Ruby exclaimed. ‘Monkeys.'

Sure enough, to the left and right of the Pie Rats, small brown monkeys with white ear tufts and long banded tails appeared in the trees.

‘Marmosets,' Mr Tribble pointed out. ‘Good natured creatures, though a little cheeky at times.'

‘Hello monkeys,' Horace shouted. ‘We're swinging just like you.'

Whisker wasn't sure if the monkeys took offence to Horace's comment, but the next moment, several of them crashed into the rodents with angry hisses.

‘Hey!' Horace exclaimed. ‘Get your own vine. It's a free forest.'

Whisker ducked out of the way as a monkey in a rusty metal helmet tried to head-butt him out of the tree. His tail coiled around a vine, but before he had time to steady himself, he felt a hard kick to the head.

Losing his grip, he half jumped, half fell onto a branch and scrambled towards the safety of a huge tree. He'd nearly reached a hole in the trunk when the sound of bells filled his ears.

A monkey in a jester's hat plunged through the foliage, landing on Whisker with a
jingle, jingle, THUD!
Unable to support the weight of his attacker, Whisker's legs crumpled beneath him. He tried using his tail to shake the monkey off his back, but the side-to-side motions sent him sliding over the edge of the branch.

The monkey leapt clear as Whisker tumbled down, scratching helplessly at passing vegetation. As the ground raced towards him, he threw his paws forward to cushion the impact. Instead of the rough sting of quicksand, he felt the tightly woven strands of a net. It flexed under his weight, tightened, and then catapulted him into the air.

He somersaulted, twisted sideways and landed on his back. Dizzy and dazed, Whisker stared up at the treetops and thanked his lucky stars for safety nets.

Marvellous Marmosets

Whisker's safety was short-lived. Above him, the bodies of the Pie Rats dropped from the sky like meteors.

He rolled to his left as the Captain landed beside him, he rolled to his right as Mr Tribble and Eaton sprawled into the net. Finally, Ruby and Horace tumbled down together in a tangle of vines.

The net stopped bouncing.

‘Rotten Pies to marmosets,' Horace groaned, untangling himself from Ruby. ‘Life in the trees is so overrated.'

Smudge landed next to the Captain, waving his arms in frantic circles.

‘It's time to depart,' the Captain said earnestly. ‘Smudge says we're at the end of the quicksand.' The Captain clambered to his feet and promptly fell over again. The net was moving.

Whisker looked up. Long ropes stretched from the four corners of the net to the tops of the trees. Monkeys heaved on the ropes and the sides of the net moved upwards and inwards.

‘Climb!' Ruby hissed, leaping up the side of the net.

Whisker clambered after her. The monkeys heaved harder. Ruby was almost at the top when the four corners of the net closed in above her, blocking the forest light. In frustration, she kicked the net with her foot.

‘Try your scissor swords,' Mr Tribble croaked from the gloom below.

Whisker reached for his sword. It wasn't there.

Ruby snarled, Horace gasped and the Captain groaned. Their scissor swords were gone. Despondently, Whisker and Ruby lowered themselves down.

‘Take a look outside, Smudge,' the Captain whispered, ‘and see what they're up to.'

Smudge squeezed through a small gap in the net. There was a
BUZZ
of wings, a dull
CLINK
and then silence.

‘What was that?' Horace asked, confused.

‘Judging by the echo, the lid of a pottery jar,' Mr Tribble guessed. ‘At least it's not air tight.'

‘There go our weapons and our spy,' Ruby muttered in annoyance.

‘They haven't taken our matches,' Horace said, rifling through his backpack.

Ruby let out a long gasp of air. ‘Don't even think about it, Horace. We need an escape plan, not a recipe for barbequed rat …' She stopped. The net was lowering to the ground.

‘Hold tight,' the Captain said. ‘We may have a chance to negotiate our release. Monkeys are far friendlier enemies than cats.'

There was no other choice. The Pie Rats grasped the sides of the net as it collapsed on the forest floor. With a jerk, the net slid forward, scraping through the dirt and gathering momentum. It was soon bumping over logs, rustling through dry leaves and snaking around rocks. After what seemed like an eternity of battering and bruising, it finally came to a stop.

The dazed prisoners were dragged from their moving cell and tied against trees surrounding a small, grassy clearing. A tribe of marmosets stood in front of them, pointing and murmuring. Several metres from the prisoners, a small clay pot was placed on the ground and the Pie Rat's calico backpacks were piled nearby.