The King's Key. Cameron Stelzer

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СКАЧАТЬ 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!

      Focusing all his energy on his stinging tail, he coiled it around the handle of his scissor sword and, imagining he was the world’s first rat-tornado, began to spin on one foot. At first, his sword clanged awkwardly behind him, but as the spinning increased it rose into the air. One by one, the approaching crabs were sent flying into the ocean.

      ‘Hurricane Whisker has arrived!’ Horace cheered. ‘Batten down the hatches.’

      Despite Whisker’s success, he knew there were two significant flaws in his tornado tactic. First, crabs can swim, and as soon as they splashed into the sea, they turned around and paddled straight back. And second, spinning leads to dizziness. It wasn’t long before Whisker began to sway awkwardly from side to side like a spinning top losing momentum.

      Just when he thought he was destined to join the crabs in an early morning salt bath, Whisker heard the buzz of tiny wings. He looked up to see a flash of green as Smudge, the loyal blowfly of the Pie Rats, launched an aerial attack with a piece of stale pie crust. The remainder of the crew bounded up the stairs behind him.

      Pencil Leg Pete, the runny-nosed Quartermaster, skidded to a halt on his red pencil leg.

      ‘Oh my precious paws,’ he gasped. ‘Accidental decapitation by an apprentice is never advisable this early in the morning.’

      Whisker grabbed a mast to stop himself spinning and promptly collapsed on the deck. He glanced up to see the swirling green eye of Ruby staring down at him, her crimson eye patch circling around her face. Whisker felt light-headed – and not just from the spinning.

      ‘Nice move, cyclone boy,’ Ruby smirked, ‘I’ll collect my royalty cheque later.’

      ‘Oh, h-hi there, Ruby,’ Whisker squeaked, sounding more like a deflating balloon than a roaring tornado. ‘I-it’s a l-lovely morning for a sword fight … isn’t it?’

      Ruby rolled her eye and turned to casually fend off an attack with two scarlet scissor swords. Whisker shut his mouth before more embarrassing words could squeeze their way out.

      ‘Enough of this rat-foolery!’ Captain Black Rat bellowed, striding into Whisker’s view. ‘Get those sails up quick smart before reinforcements arrive from the mainland. I want every paw on deck. And that includes the honorary members of the crew.’ He glanced at the stairwell. ‘Mr Tribble, are you down there?’

      ‘Aye, Captain,’ came a nervous voice from the stairs.

      ‘You’re on the wheel,’ the Captain ordered. ‘And the twins can assist with the sails.’

      ‘Very well,’ Mr Tribble sighed. ‘Come along, Eaton. Come along, Emmaline.’

      A middle-aged grey mouse with thick glasses emerged onto the deck with two small mice sporting matching school blazers.

      ‘Ooh! A real pirate battle.’ Emmie cried excitedly. ‘This is the best school excursion ever!’

      Her twin brother Eaton looked far less enthusiastic.

      ‘This way,’ the Captain ordered, booting an advancing crab overboard. ‘Whisker will show you the ropes.’

      Whisker brushed the unruly fur out of his eyes, straightened his one-sleeved shirt and staggered to his feet as the two mice rushed over to the giant cutlery masts.

      It was a difficult job tying knots, doubling as a body guard and fighting soldier crabs at the same time; but with an energised tail and two able assistants, Whisker managed to raise the T-shirt mainsail, the handkerchief foresail and the underpants jib-sail without death, amputation or crab-claw lacerations.

      Nearby, Ruby fought to keep the middle of the deck crab-free. Whisker had never seen anyone fight with so much speed and precision – strike, block, pivot, counter, lunge, step, guard, grapple. Each move led seamlessly into the next like a perfectly choreographed dance.

      ‘Wow,’ he gasped in awe.

      ‘Eyes on the job, blue eyes,’ Horace shouted, knocking a sneaky crab from the mainsail.

      ‘S-sorry,’ Whisker stammered. ‘I was learning some new moves.’

      Horace gave him a sly grin. ‘Sure you were … now lend me a paw to raise СКАЧАТЬ