The King's Key. Cameron Stelzer

to be true, it probably is too good to be true.’ Whisker took this to mean: Stop. Take a careful look around – and prepare to panic.

      Whisker stopped and looked around. Mr Tribble did the panicking.

      ‘Th-Th-Thunderclaw,’ he stuttered. ‘D-D-Dreadnaught. B-b-behind us.’

      Whisker’s eyes grew wide. The blockade of ships lay far to the east. One ship, however, had broken from the fleet and was charging through the water towards them. Its colossal size made the other warships look like matchstick models. It was a four-masted monstrosity and it needed no introduction.

      Every teacher, student, pirate, blowfly and circus rat on the Isle of Aladrya knew what it was. It was the blue jewel of the navy. It was the pride of the fleet. It was the pirate crusher, the smuggler smasher. Captained by the General of the navy himself, it was a destroyer in a class of its own. It was the mighty Dreadnaught.

      The sight of the terrifying ship told Whisker one thing: General Thunderclaw, the most feared officer on the seas, wanted them dead. He was rarely outsmarted and he never made arrests.

      The Captain removed his hat like a mourner at a funeral.

      ‘Well, that spoils everything,’ he sighed. ‘We’ve bitten off more than we can chew this time. Thunderclaw’s no fool. If he’s after us, he’s on to us.’

      Whisker’s tail dropped to the deck.

      ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, pointing at the jib sail. ‘I should have removed the red underpants.’

      ‘It’s no one’s fault, Whisker,’ the Captain assured him. ‘Your plan was exceptional.’ He raised his telescope and assessed the situation.

      ‘Can we fight them?’ Ruby asked, hopefully.

      ‘Suicide,’ the Captain said coldly. ‘The Dreadnaught, like the rest of the fleet, is carrying reinforced troop numbers – four hundred crabs, at least. She’s sitting low in the water, which tells me she’s armed with enough volcanic rocks to sink us six times over. She’ll either ram us from behind or blast us to bits from the side.’

      ‘Oh my!’ Mr Tribble gasped. ‘Surely we can outrun her?’

      ‘Slim chance,’ the Captain replied. ‘She may be overloaded, but she’s fully rigged with twelve sails. The Apple Pie has three, including the underpants. Spare sails aren’t much good without masts.’

      ‘Perhaps we could surrender?’ Horace said tentatively.

      ‘That option’s long gone,’ Pete sniffled.

      ‘But – but – there must be something we can do,’ Mr Tribble pleaded in desperation.

      The Captain shook his head in defeat and took his place behind the wheel. Mr Tribble put his arms around the mice, Smudge hid behind a pile of books, Pete scribbled RIP: Rest in Pies on the deck and the others stared hopelessly up at the sky.

      The clouds overhead were fluffy and white. Whisker wished they were heavy and black – storms clouds had saved them before.

      Fred pointed high into the air.

      ‘If only we could fly like those birds,’ he said dreamily. ‘They’re much faster than our ship.’

      ‘Well, we can’t!’ Pete quibbled. ‘We don’t have any wings. Besides, the wind is stronger up there, so the lazy creatures are getting a free ride.’

      ‘Birds aren’t lazy,’ Fred said defensively. ‘A falcon once spent a whole hour trying to catch me for its dinner before I beat it off with a stick.’

      ‘Are you sure it was a real bird and not that ridiculous eagle sail flapping around in the navigation room?’ Pete said spitefully.

      Fred’s ears drooped. Whisker’s tail shot straight into the air – of course!

      He looked at the sky. He looked at the navigation room. He looked at Ruby. Her green eye sparkled back at him. She knew what he was thinking.

      ‘You get the Eagle,’ she said excitedly, ‘and I’ll get the rope.’ She rushed over to Fred and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re a genius, Fred.’

      Fred gave Ruby a confused smile. Pete screwed up his nose.

      ‘Hey!’ Horace exclaimed. ‘I’ve never got a kiss for a brilliant suggestion before.’

      Ruby rolled her eye. ‘I’d hardly call your suggestions brilliant, Horace.’

      ‘Well, what about Whisker?’ Horace asked audaciously. ‘He has brilliant ideas all the time.’

      Whisker felt his cheeks ripen to a triple-strength tomato red.

      ‘Just-just give Whisker a hand with the Eagle,’ Ruby spluttered. ‘Or you’ll both be kissing crabs!’

      

      Let’s go Fly a Kite

      Things moved quickly when Ruby took control. She was impatient, but she was efficient. As the ship’s boatswain, the deck was her domain.

      ‘Find me four strong fixing points on the bulwark,’ she barked. ‘And bring me every rope that’s not holding up a sail. Who’s good at tying knots?’

      ‘Not me,’ Horace replied, holding up his hook. ‘Ask the mice. They’ve got small fingers.’

      Ruby pointed at Mr Tribble. ‘Give me your best Double Fisherman’s knot, pronto.’

      Mr Tribble gave Ruby a timid salute and, with Eaton and Emmie’s assistance, began tying short lengths of rope together. Fred reinforced the fixing points with saucepan handles, while Whisker and Horace dragged the eagle sail onto the deck. Soon four enormous lengths of rope were attached to the corners of the sail. The Pie Rats had their kite sail.

      The Dreadnaught continued its swift approach, halving its distance to the Apple Pie in a few short minutes.

      ‘I need four strong teams to feed the rope through the fixing points,’ Ruby snapped, ‘and a volunteer to launch the Eagle. Whisker. Up the mast!’

      Whisker was accustomed to Ruby’s demands, so without protest he wrapped his tail around the sail and scampered up the rigging. The rest of the crew took their positions on the ropes.

      ‘Swing us around so we’re running downwind,’ Ruby shouted to the Captain.

      ‘Aye, aye, my dear,’ the Captain cried, with a vigorous turn of the wheel.

      Whisker felt a strong gust of wind on his back as he reached the top of the foremast. Twisting his tail around the rigging to steady himself, he grasped the sail in both paws and shouted down to the waiting crew, ‘Let her out!’

      The crew fed the ropes through the fixing points and the kite sail expanded with air, rising steadily upwards. Whisker held on with all his might until he was certain it had enough lift and released his grip. The golden eagle soared majestically into the sky.

      On any other day, Whisker would have raised his arms to the heavens and shouted in triumph. But on any other day, there wasn’t a Dreadnaught on his tail.

      He glanced over his shoulder. The giant ship had shifted to a port side position in readiness for a broadside cannon attack.

      ‘Get down from there, Whisker,’ the Captain shouted with urgency. ‘The volcano is about to erupt.’

      Whisker saw the flashes before he heard the booms. Half a dozen volcanic rocks hurtled through the air. He grabbed the mast with both paws and squeezed his eyes shut.

      Terrified, he waited for the impact.

      SPLASH!

      SPLASH!