The King's Key (8 page)

The monkey in the rusty helmet clapped his paws three times and the tribe of watching monkeys parted. Whisker heard the familiar jingle of bells as the monkey in the jester's hat skipped through the crowd, chanting, ‘Manama badabba. Manama badabba.'

‘What's he saying?' Horace whispered.

‘Gibberish,' Mr Tribble muttered, ‘It's not a language I'm familiar with.'

The jester continued, ‘Koo-char koo-ching. Koo-char koo-ching.'

There was an excited roar from the crowd. The jester leapt to one side and four monkeys pranced towards the prisoners. The leader of the line wore a ridiculously large crown, sagging to one side. His shoulders were draped in a flowing purple cloak. The three monkeys following him wore royal headwear of lesser proportions.

‘Manama yeee yuppa!' the jester cried.

The crowd gave an enthusiastic round of applause and the King in the oversized crown waved to the crowd before turning to face the prisoners.

‘Great gallons of grape juice!' he exclaimed. ‘Isn't this a splendid catch: Four rascally rats, two miniscule mice and a blowfly in a brown jar. We haven't had a haul like this since the echidna expedition of '88.'

‘Wasn't that a wondrous time,' giggled a monkey in a gold tiara. ‘All those spiny little critters scampering around while we stuffed them into the net.' She giggled again.

‘I hated it, mother,' mumbled a monkey in a small crown. ‘My paw got pricked and I couldn't peel a banana for three days …'

‘Poor prince party pooper,' teased a monkey in a silver tiara. ‘You're the only heir in the world who needs a nurse to feed you fruit salad.'

‘Shut it, sister!' he snapped. ‘At least I'm not a pathetic little puppet. It's always
yes daddy dearest, no daddy dearest
with you.'

The monkey in the gold tiara nudged the King. ‘Our children say such silly things when we have prisoners. Anyone would think they had to share a tree or line up to use the waterhole like common marmosets.'

‘What, what?' the King muttered. Who's in the waterhole? Speak up, my dear Queen. I can't hear a thing.' He stuck his finger in his ear. ‘Blasted tree sap. It's near impossible to get it out … Wait a minute! I've just had a brainwave. Echidna spines – brilliant! It's a revolution in ear cleaning. Sir Mecks, where are you?'

The monkey in the rusty helmet knelt before the King.

‘Here, Majesty,' he said in a short, sharp voice.

‘Sir Mecks,' the King said excitedly. ‘You are to pluck every echidna spine from the prisoners and bring them to my royal tree at once.'

Sir Mecks glanced at the prisoners.

‘Majesty,' he said. ‘Prisoners – are – rodents.'

‘Good gracious!' the King cried. ‘You're absolutely, positively right. There's not an echidna in sight. I certainly won't be sticking rats' tails in my ears. Carry on with the punishment as planned.'

‘Punishment?' Whisker gasped.

The King jumped.

‘It-it speaks,' he gabbled, clutching his crown in both paws.

‘Of course he can speak,' Horace fired back. ‘We all can. And what's more important, we're all innocent.'

‘Guilty,' Sir Mecks said in his metallic voice. ‘Caught – trespassing.'

‘Trespassing?' the Captain echoed. ‘We didn't see any trespassing signs.'

‘Great golden galoshes!' the King exclaimed. ‘Of course you didn't see any signs. There weren't any. No one reads or writes in the Kingdom of Marvellous Marmosets.'

He turned to the crowd, raised his arms like a conductor and began to lead a chant:

Break all your pencils, tear up your maps.

Books are for grandmas who take morning naps.

Swing from a creeper, bask in the sun,

reading is banned in the kingdom of fun!'

There was a cheer from the crowd as the verse came to an end. Whisker shot a nervous glance at the pile of backpacks and whispered to Horace, ‘We've got to get out of here before they get their map-tearing paws on
you-know-what
.'

‘Don't worry,' Horace replied, without lowering his voice. ‘That clown in the crown will forget we're even here before he finishes his next sentence.'

The King glanced sideways and straightened his crown.

‘Clown?' he hissed. ‘Don't you know who I am?'

Horace looked blank.

‘Great grannies in ghettos!' the King gasped. ‘I'm an international superstar. I'm King Marvownion, the third, exalted ruler of the Kingdom of Marvellous Marmosets.'

‘All – kneel,' Sir Mecks droned.

‘We can't kneel, you metal-headed mushroom!' Ruby snapped. ‘We're tied to trees.'

The Queen broke into a fit of hysterical giggling.

King Marvownion shooed Sir Mecks into the crowd and resumed his introductions.

‘Miserable maggots of the forest floor, I present to you the royal family: Queen Marmalade, Prince Marcabio and Princess Mayenya.'

The crowd cheered. The Queen gave the prisoners a royal wave with her paw and the children pulled ridiculous faces.

King Marvownion moved to the crowd. ‘From our royal court, may I introduce Sir Mecks of the toadstool table and the unfathomable Jester Mimp.'

Mimp jiggled his bells and hopped on one foot singing, ‘Mimp bimp tinkerty dink.'

Sir Mecks shut the metal visor on his helmet and did his best to ignore everyone.

The King proceeded to introduce the rest of the tribe: ‘This is Mary, Mackie, Maggie, Maddie, Mandy, Mindy, Maisie, Manny, Marvin, Martin, Michael …'

‘That will do, my dear,' Queen Marmalade interrupted. ‘You can't expect our prisoners to remember everyone's names. Why don't you skip to the execution bit?'

‘What a splendid idea,' the King said, rubbing his paws together. ‘What shall it be today? Hmm … how about a … beheading.'

‘A BEHEADING!' gasped the Pie Rats.

‘Boo,' chorused the crowd.

‘Boring,' muttered the Prince.

The King's crown sagged further over his face.

‘Don't take it personally, my dear,' the Queen said, gently patting his shoulder. ‘We had a beheading last week. What about some variety? I'm partial to a hanging myself. It takes twice as long and the squirming is so entertaining.'

‘A HANGING!' cheered the monkeys. ‘We want a hanging!'

‘FREEDOM,' pleaded the Pie Rats. ‘Please let us go.'

The Prince and Princess both folded their arms and frowned.

‘No one ever asks what I want,' Prince Marcabio complained.

‘Me neither,' Princess Mayenya added.

‘So what do you want?' Horace shouted over the noise, ‘A royal pardon?'

‘I want what daddy dearest wants,' the Princess replied, grinning angelically at her father.

‘Brilliant,' Horace groaned. ‘We're back to the beheading …'

‘Due-Esda!' Marcabio cried.

The cheering stopped. The entire tribe froze. Only Mimp's tiny bells rang through the silent forest. Whisker held his breath and stared expectantly at the Prince, hoping
Due-Esda
was Mimp's gibberish for
a swift release.

‘Great gardens of garlic!' the King exclaimed. ‘What a smashingly stupendous idea.'

‘Due-Esda!' cheered the ecstatic crowd. ‘Due-Esda! Due-Esda!'

‘Err, what is Due-Esda?' Whisker whispered to the Captain.

‘I haven't the foggiest idea,' the Captain said, dumbfounded.

Ruby shrugged. ‘Never heard of it.'

‘It sounds sinister,' Horace moaned.

‘Ask M-M-Mr Tribble?' Eaton stuttered.

The captives' eyes turned to Mr Tribble.

‘Ooh my!' he gasped. ‘I'm not sure you want to hear this, but Due-Esda is an ancient ball game played by two teams of five players. It uses a hard rubber ball and is commonly known by a different name …'

Whisker's tail went icy cold. He knew the sport. He knew the name. They all did. It was the most brutal, barbaric and bloodthirsty ball game ever invented.

‘Fellow prisoners,' Mr Tribble gulped, ‘are you ready for a match of Death Ball?'

Death Ball

Death Ball, as its name suggests, involves death and a ball. In its modern form, the losing team receives a certificate of participation and a box of bandages. In its ancient form, losers were beheaded, burnt at the stake or exterminated using any method in vogue at the time.

‘Pathetic prisoners,' the King cried excitedly. ‘I hereby challenge you to a match of Due-Esda, the ancient game of death.'

‘Death Ball, Death Ball, Death Ball to the death!' chanted the crowd.

The King continued, ‘If you are victorious, you will be released into the wild jungle. If you are defeated, you will be hanged and beheaded.'

‘A double execution!' roared the crowd. ‘Our King is a genius!'

The Pie Rats looked at each other with a mixture of dread and bewilderment.

‘We're in with a chance,' Horace said optimistically. ‘Death Ball is a popular Pie Rat pastime, not a jungle sport.'

‘I'm afraid you're mistaken, Horace,' Mr Tribble said gravely. ‘The rubber ball is made from latex sap from the
Castilla elastica
tree – a tree found in this very jungle. Historians believe that monkeys invented Death Ball. They've played it for centuries.'

Horace turned pale.

‘Ah, excuse me, your royal hind leg,' he piped, trying to grab the King's attention, ‘but what if we refuse your challenge?'

‘What, what?' The King spluttered, sticking his finger in his ear. ‘Did somebody say something? Goodness gracious. Speak up, whoever you are.'

Horace repeated himself in a loud voice. ‘I SAID, WHAT IF WE REFUSE YOUR CHALLENGE?'

The crowd gasped. Queen Marmalade giggled awkwardly. ‘What a silly little rat. No one refuses the King.'

King Marvownion strode over to Horace and pointed a sap-covered finger at him.

‘Listen up, rude little rat. If you refuse my challenge, I'll skip the ball part of the game and jump straight to the death.'

‘Th-that won't be necessary,' Horace squeaked. ‘I-I was just checking …'

‘We accept your challenge,' the Captain said, before Horace could make things worse.

The crowd cheered and threw their paws in the air like their team had already won.

‘Gobsmackingly good news,' the King said, licking his lips. ‘Cut them down, Sir Mecks – but keep their pickpocketing paws tied behind their backs.'

The Pie Rats were roughly released from the trees and staggered into the centre of the clearing. The monkeys formed a tight circle around the perimeter to prevent them escaping. Long sticks were suspended between two trees at either end of the clearing to form goals and a hard rubber ball was brought forward and placed in a circle of dirt.

‘So, who's played before?' the Captain whispered to his crew.

Horace and Ruby nodded. Mr Tribble and Eaton shook their heads.