The King's Key. Cameron Stelzer

      Whisker squinted through one eye – just to make sure he hadn’t mistaken a splash for a crash.

      ‘Not even close,’ Horace shouted into the wind. ‘So long, snappers!’

      Whisker was halfway down the rigging when the cannons exploded again. This time he kept his eyes open. There was nothing to fear. The Eagle was airborne and the Pie Rats were flying without wings.

      One-and-three-quarter potato pies later, Whisker rubbed his bulging belly and wiped the last crumb from his cheek. He couldn’t remember a more enjoyable lunch – even if it was just plain potato pie. Horace and Pete sat next to him, still munching away and reflecting on their good fortune.

      While the others finished their pies, Whisker absentmindedly fiddled with the gold anchor pendant around his neck, a gift from his parents. Some called it a lucky charm. To Whisker, it was a symbol of hope.

      Horace watched him closely.

      ‘There’s ordinary luck,’ Horace mumbled between mouthfuls, ‘and then there’s how on earth did we survive that luck.’

      ‘I don’t believe in luck,’ Pete said scathingly. ‘I believe in rules.’

      As the Quartermaster of the ship, Pete was a stickler for rules, especially when it came to the Pie Rat code, a six hundred page book in his possession. Whisker followed most of the rules, though he still had to learn how to fight.

      ‘It’s simple logic,’ Pete argued. ‘By following the code, we’re best equipped for whatever dangers come our way. Luck has nothing to do with it.’

      ‘Don’t spoil the moment with your logic talk,’ Horace spluttered, spraying bits of potato all over the table. ‘Don’t you see? The power of the map is at work.’

      Pete screwed up his nose. ‘The map has no power, you brainless barnacle. The treasure has the power. And at this rate, we’ll all be dead before we find the blasted key.’

      ‘The King’s Key,’ Horace exclaimed. ‘Do you think it’s lucky, too?’

      ‘No, I don’t!’ Pete snapped. ‘That infuriating riddle said nothing about luck.’

      ‘Why don’t we take another look?’ Horace said in a low voice. ‘We know where the map is hidden …’

      Whisker felt a sudden surge of excitement race through his tail.

      Pete eyed Whisker and Horace cautiously.

      ‘Alright,’ he agreed. ‘There’s no harm in looking, and we’ve got plenty of time before we’re on Eagle duty.’ He stood up to go. ‘There’s one condition, Horace: finish eating first. We don’t want the Island of Destiny looking like Potato Pie Island.’

      While Horace cleaned his teeth with an old scrubbing brush from the galley, Whisker wiped the table clean of crumbs and potato slobber. Pete returned with the Forgotten Map in one paw and a map of the Crescent Sea in the other.

      As Pete unrolled the maps, Ruby walked in with a tray of empty pie platters. She took one look at the three rats and hurriedly plonked the tray on the nearest serving bench.

      ‘Secret boy’s business,’ she muttered, turning to go.

      ‘H-how’s the Eagle?’ Whisker asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

      Ruby took the question as her invitation to stay and hastily pulled up a chair.

      ‘The Eagle’s flying high,’ she said proudly. ‘Mr Tribble and the twins have things under control.’ She shot a quick glance at Horace. ‘It’s nice to have crew members who do what they’re told for a change.’

      Horace shook his hook at her. ‘We sank their boat with a flying pie; of course they’re going to cooperate.’

      Ruby shrugged and continued, ‘Sea Shanty Island is coming up on our starboard side. The Captain thinks it’s wise to continue to the Island of Kings while we still have the wind.’

      Pete nodded his approval. ‘Thunderclaw won’t give up easily, even if he is miles behind us. He’ll expect to find us cowering in fear on Sea Shanty Island. He’ll be bitterly disappointed.’

      The four rats grinned with satisfaction and turned their attention to the Forgotten Map.

      ‘So, what do we know about this missing key?’ Pete asked curiously.

      ‘We know what it looks like, for a start,’ Horace said, stating the obvious. ‘The hole in the map is a dead giveaway.’

      Pete snorted. ‘Anything besides the fact that the key looks like a key?’

      Horace shrugged and read out the mysterious riddle:

      Whisker ran his finger over the first verse of the riddle, recalling Mr Tribble’s interpretation of the words.

      ‘The King’s Key is believed to be hanging in the throne tower of the ruined citadel on the Island of Kings,’ he explained. ‘The key is guarded by leafy vines and high stone walls.’ He looked back at the map. ‘The second verse is also relevant: Uncover the key and enlighten your mind, though I doubt we’ll know what that means until we’ve located the key.’

      ‘What about the last line?’ Horace said puzzled. ‘… wisdom is found in the shadows behind. Is that telling us to learn from the bad things that happen along the way?’

      ‘Always the optimist, aren’t you, Horace?’ Pete taunted. ‘I hate to admit it, but for once you could be right.’

      Horace beamed with pride.

      ‘How ‘bout that, Ruby,’ he said, pointing to his cheek.

      Ruby responded with a well-placed slap across his face, knocking Horace off his chair.

      Dazedly, he staggered back to his seat, muttering, ‘That’s not what I had in mind …’

      Chuckling to herself, Ruby turned her attention to the map of the Crescent Sea.

      ‘This is our current course,’ she said, moving her finger from Sea Shanty Island to the Island of Kings. ‘Tribble believes there’s an overgrown track that follows the eastern river to the mountain citadel.’

      ‘The Eastern River estuary is a risky place to anchor,’ Pete said sceptically. ‘We can’t sail upstream, and the Apple Pie will be in full view of any passing ships.’

      ‘Exactly,’ Ruby agreed. ‘That’s why we should anchor here.’ She pointed to the mouth of a passage, north of the river. ‘We can cut through the marsh and cross the river at Silver Falls. From there, we can join the main track and take the bridge over the ravine. It’s a shorter route and the Apple Pie will be well concealed by the mangroves.’

      Whisker looked carefully at the map.

      ‘Why are the cliffs above the passage called Devil’s Cliffs?’ he asked anxiously.

      ‘Because devils live there,’ Pete sniffled.

      ‘Devils!’ Whisker gasped. ‘Horned beasts with pitchforks and spiky tails?’

      ‘Not those kind of devils,’ Horace groaned, rubbing his swollen cheek. ‘Tasmanian devils. You know, nasty marsupials that enjoy hurling rocks at passing ships.’

      ‘Oh,’ Whisker said, unsure if he should be relieved or even more anxious.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Horace reassured