The King's Key. Cameron Stelzer

      For my brother, Tyson, inventor and encourager.

      Here’s to explosions of grand proportions.

      First published by Daydream Press, Brisbane, Australia, 2014

      This electronic version published 2015

      Text and illustrations copyright © Dr Cameron Stelzer 2014

      Illustrations are watercolour and pen on paper

      No part of this book may be reproduced electronically, verbally or in print without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      ISBN: 978-0-9942486-1-9 (eBook)

      National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

      Author: Stelzer, Cameron, 1977 –

      Title: The King’s Key / by Cameron Stelzer

      Series: Stelzer, Cameron, 1977 – Pie Rats; bk. 2

      Target audience: For primary school age.

      Subjects: Rats – Juvenile fiction. Pirates – Juvenile fiction.

      Dewey number: A823.4

      Digital distribution by Ebook Alchemy

      Conversion by Winking Billy

      Though the voyage may be long

      and the waves may be fierce,

      there is always hope –

      Hope that land is but a blue horizon away

      and one must keep sailing to find it.

      Anso Winterbottom

      Explorer, Discoverer and Adventurer

      Guests

      Scratch, scuttle, rustle.

      The faint sounds woke Whisker from his dreams. He turned in his hammock, let out a sigh and drifted back to sleep.

      SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE.

      The sounds came again – much louder this time. Whisker opened his eyes and peered around the tiny cabin. Nothing stirred.

      Perplexed, he swung his body from the hammock and lowered his feet to the floor. As quiet as a rat on a sleeping ship, he tiptoed past his two cabin mates and pressed his ear against the wall.

      SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE. SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, SCRAPE.

      The strange noises echoed through the wood, sending an itchy vibration down his body. He pulled his ear away and shuddered. Something was out there.

      In growing fear, he turned to the sleeping figure of Hook Hand Horace and gave his friend a gentle shake. Horace opened one eyelid and gazed sleepily up at Whisker.

      ‘Can you hear it?’ Whisker asked softly.

      SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, RUSTLE. SCRATCH, SCUTTLE, SCRAPE.

      Horace’s second eyelid sprang open and, with a sudden rush of adrenalin, his body lurched out of his hammock.

      ‘Shiver me britches!’ he gasped, landing hook-first on top of Fish Eye Fred.

      ‘Ouch,’ moaned the startled chef, brushing Horace aside with a mighty paw. ‘Is it breakfast time already?’

      ‘No, you oversized fish finger!’ Horace exclaimed. ‘We’ve got company.’

      Fred dropped his huge feet to the ground and swivelled his enormous left eye in the direction of the sounds.

      ‘Breakfast guests?’ he enquired.

      ‘Uninvited guests,’ Horace replied, handing Fred a large fork. ‘Let’s show them some Pie Rat hospitality.’

      Horace picked up a blue-handled scissor sword and headed for the door. Whisker hesitantly followed, thrusting a green scissor sword into his belt.

      The three rats raced down the dark corridor. Horace hurriedly tapped each door they passed with his hook. Without waiting for a reply, the rodents leapt up the stairs and burst onto the deck of the Apple Pie. The entire deck was deserted.

      Whisker scanned the ocean for clues. The silent wrecks of Shipwreck Sandbar surrounded the ship like a forest of statues, dark and foreboding. Strands of dry, brown seaweed dangled lifelessly from their rotting masts. A stiff breeze stirred up small waves, but neither wind nor water carried any sign of visitors.

      It was only as the dim light of dawn began spreading through the sky that Whisker finally saw them.

      His tail flinched behind his back.

      Whisker’s over-emotional tail had a nasty habit of acting on its own whenever he was anxious or afraid – and now Whisker was anxious and afraid.

      ‘Steady on,’ Horace whispered. ‘Save your energy for the formal introductions. How many guests can we expect, Fred?’

      Fred’s powerful eye darted from left to right on a surveillance sweep of the ship.

      ‘Ten to the left,’ he grunted, ‘and ten to the right.’

      Horace looked relieved.

      ‘I’m sure we can cater for twenty visitors,’ he said, doing the maths.

      ‘Um … there might be a few more,’ Fred confessed. ‘I’m only good with numbers up to ten …’

      Whisker gulped as no fewer than ten-times-ten pale blue crustaceans emerged from the shadows. They came from everywhere, clambering over the wooden pastry-crust bulwark of the

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