The King's Key. Cameron Stelzer

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СКАЧАТЬ General Thunderclaw and no sightings of the Cat Fish.

      The sun rose in the east, and the Island of Kings appeared in the west. Bathed in morning light, the glorious green jungle stretched high into the mountains. Misty patches of cloud clung to the canopy of dense trees. To the north of the island, the foreboding shapes of Devil’s Cliffs rose from the ocean like the walls of a great canyon. Mangroves and mudflats covered the southern shore of the passage. Beyond the mangroves, a grassy marsh extended to the foot of the jungle. Silently, the Apple Pie slipped into the passage and anchored out of sight.

      While the sun was still low, the Captain gathered the sleepy crew onto the deck. It took a few firm jabs in the backside from Pete’s pencil to fully awaken Horace, but when he was finally standing to attention, the Captain began.

      ‘The perilous jungle lies before us. Our mission to retrieve the key will be challenging, to say the least. Due to the unique dangers of the island, Mr Tribble has offered to act as our official guide. He has extensive knowledge of its flora and fauna and understands its complex history.’

      Mr Tribble nodded timidly and fumbled with a button on his chequered waist coat.

      ‘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 СКАЧАТЬ