The Golden Anchor

by Cameron Stelzer

  Pete shut his trap but continued to bang his head despondently against the table.

  With an entire room of gold-hungry eyes staring straight at him, Whisker knew there was no backing out. He took a deep breath and announced, ‘Any pirate crew willing to take a stand against the Blue Claw and promising not to set foot on Freeforia, will receive an equal share of our winnings.’

  The buzz grew louder as the pirates mulled over the offer, their minds whirring as they estimated how much gold they stood to gain.

  Whisker glanced hesitantly at the Captain, hoping he hadn’t overstepped the mark.

  ‘A rather selfless gesture,’ the Captain whispered, smiling his approval. ‘And one that will surely garner results.’

  ‘Rash would be a more accurate description,’ Pete muttered, raising his head off the table. ‘All our winnings – gone.’

  The wild boar suddenly stood up from his chair.

  ‘Why don’t we just steal the gold an’ escape to the island?’ he snorted.

  ‘You could do that,’ the Captain admitted, ‘but there’s an entire navy of Blue Claw soldier crabs waiting to hunt you down. Not to mention that my niece is standing at the door with a full quiver of arrows and a loaded bow.’

  ‘Oh, pig slop,’ the boar muttered, looking across to see Ruby, now dressed in her normal attire, aiming an arrow at his belly button. ‘Not her again.’

  At the sight of the crimson-clad rat clutching a massive loaded longbow, several captains closest to the door raised their arms in acceptance of the offer.

  The captains sitting at the table were not so hasty.

  ‘Thunderclaw’s warships outnumber us three to one,’ the possum said, staring through her monocle at the small wooden ships spread across the map. ‘We don’t stand a chance in a traditional sea battle.’

  ‘I’m not talking about a traditional sea battle,’ Whisker argued. ‘I’m talking about an escape.’ He ran his finger westward through the line of white ships and into the Central Channel. ‘This is our most direct escape route. Once we reach the channel we’ll have the wind at our backs to speed us to safety.’

  ‘You’re overlooking one vital point,’ the possum said. ‘As soon as Thunderclaw figures out what we’re trying to do, he’ll pull his fleet back into the channel and we’ll never break through his defences.’

  ‘Then we have to convince Thunderclaw that we’re not trying to escape,’ Captain Black Rat said, patting his young apprentice on the shoulder.

  ‘And how do we do that?’ Brawl asked.

  ‘We don’t,’ Whisker said, an idea forming in his mind. ‘We convince him we’re trying to escape in the wrong direction.’ The murmur started up again. Whisker separated the black ships into two groups and began moving them across the map. ‘Half our fleet will sail north-west, as if we intend to escape above the Crumbling Rocks Islands. The other half will set off in a south-west direction, aiming to skirt around the southern group of islands. With any luck, Thunderclaw will follow our movements and send the bulk of his force to the north and south to head us off, leaving only a handful of ships near the Central Channel.’

  He spaced the white ships to reflect his theory. ‘Once the warships are on the move, we can revert to our true course and sail, downwind, in a V formation towards the channel. By the time the outer Claw-of-War ships have raised their sails and changed direction to pursue us, we’ll have blasted our way through the thin defensive line, leaving an obstacle course of sinking ships in our wake.’

  He moved the ships into their final positions, knocking over one of the white ships for effect, and looked up at the sea of enthralled onlookers.

  The pirates were, on the whole, a rather simple bunch when it came to battle tactics, and it took them a moment to process everything Whisker had said. From the muttered conversations echoing around the room, however, Whisker gauged that the majority of the pirates were warming to his idea – some because they recognised the genius of the plan, and some because they thought a plan so confusing must surely be the work of a genius.

  And for the briefest of moments, Whisker didn’t feel like the same loathed and despised rat who had handed the Trophy of Champions to the governor. He felt like the great-grandson of Admiral Anso Winterbottom, the most revered strategist ever to command a fleet.

  ‘Perhaps we should vote on the plan before Thunderclaw arrives to find us all still sitting here,’ Pete said, trying to move proceedings along.

  ‘Alright,’ Brawl said. ‘But only if you agree to pay us in full before we leave this ship.’

  Pete snorted in disapproval. ‘We’ll pay you half.’

  ‘And what will happen to the rest of our gold when this piece of junk takes a direct hit and sinks to the bottom of the ocean?’ Penelope Pond Scum croaked.

  ‘A valid point, madam,’ the Captain said before Pete could reply. ‘And as such, I’m willing to agree to your terms – payment in full for your oath of allegiance. All those in favour, please raise your paws.’

  One by one, muscled, scarred and tattooed arms began rising around the room.

  Whisker sighed as several of Sven’s hairy arachnid arms shot upwards, prompting many of the uncommitted pirates to follow. Thanks to the promise of gold and a better than average chance of survival, every captain present was soon in agreement with Whisker’s battle plan.

  ‘It’s a unanimous decision,’ the possum announced.

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ Brawl growled, punching a clenched fist into his open palm. ‘It’s time to bust open some crab shells!’

  ‘Charming,’ Pete sniffled, with a final glare at Whisker. ‘I’ll start divvying up the gold.’

  While Pete trudged down to the cargo hold to count gold coins into empty flour sacks under the watchful eye of the possum, Whisker made his way onto the deck. He found Horace and Athena, both dressed in stripy pirate shirts, leaning over the bulwark and waving to the descending submarine. Athena, he quickly discovered, had refused to leave the ship while her beloved Pete was on board, telling her sisters it was time for her to have a real adventure. Hera and Aphrodite had both shaken their heads and promised to read a poem at her funeral.

  Although Whisker was disappointed to have missed the farewells, he was thankful Madam Pearl and the mice were speeding away to safety.

  ‘Benny has invited you to his island treehouse for a banana smoothie when this is all over,’ Horace relayed.

  ‘I might just take him up on that offer,’ Whisker said with a small smile. He liked the laidback chimp, and the idea of returning to Freeforia under more pleasant circumstances was a welcome boost to his morale.

  When the last pirate captain had been escorted off the ship with his portion of gold, the three young rats returned to the navigation room to give the Captain a brief run-down of what they had discovered on the island. Before the Captain could even comment on their revelations, Pete clomped through the doorway with Fred by his side.

  ‘Thanks to our charitable apprentice, we are down to our last sack of gold,’ he declared.

  Fred dropped two bulging flour sacks of gold inside the door and dusted off his paws.

  ‘I count two sacks,’ Horace said puzzled.

  ‘How very observant of you,’ Pete droned. ‘The first sack is ours, the second is reserved for the one captain we are yet to win over.’

  ‘Oh kitty litter!’ Whisker exclaimed, slapping his paw against his forehead. ‘I’d forgotten about Sabre. He wasn’t in the council of war.’

  The Captain looked grave. ‘From what I have just heard, we need every pirate ship to commit to our plan in order to protect the Freeforians and stop the governor from taking control. If a single Cat Fish steps foot on the island before sundown, Cazban has already won.’

  ‘We may still have a chance to convince Sabre to join us,’ Pete said, gesturing over his shoulder. ‘I just saw Chatterbeak landing on the deck after a flyover of the pirate fleet. He says there’s a nasty big storm brewing over Freeforia, plus there’s a ro
wboat heading for the Apple Pie. It appears the Cat Fish are on the prowl.’

  Bitter Rivals

  The enormous orange body of Captain Sabre cast a long shadow through the doorway of the navigation room. Covered in black stripes and spots and dozens of fighting scars, he looked more like a vicious tiger than a sweet-natured pussy cat. The silver fish skeleton adorning his captain’s hat shimmered in the afternoon sunshine as he turned his head to glance disdainfully at his surrounds.

  ‘Weapons, if you please,’ Fred said, gesturing to the razor-sharp cheese knife hanging off the Bengal’s shoulder belt.

  Sabre glared at him.

  ‘I don’t please,’ he spat.

  Ruby raised her loaded bow. ‘They say you’re fast with that blade, Captain Sabre, but just how fast remains to be seen.’

  Sabre considered her statement for a moment, then, with a hiss of annoyance, slowly removed his weapon.

  ‘You, too,’ Ruby said, swivelling her bow to face the white-furred Persian standing behind Sabre.

  ‘Fine,’ Furious Fur growled, handing his cheese knife to Fred. ‘I don’t need a weapon when I can crush the lot of you pipsqueaks with my bare paws!’ Punching his furry fists together like a boxer, he followed Sabre into the room.

  ‘Welcome,’ the Captain said politely from the far end of the table where he sat with Pete, Whisker and Horace. ‘Please, take a seat.’

  ‘Let’s cut the pleasantries, shall we,’ Sabre said, making no attempt at diplomacy. ‘I’m here about your proposal.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the Captain smiled, pointing towards the door. ‘Your sack of gold is right there if you’re ready to accept our terms.’

  ‘Don’t insult me with your pathetic offer,’ Sabre hissed, without even looking at the gold. ‘I could make double that amount by selling a few Freeforians as slaves.’

  ‘And the rest would make good eating,’ Furious Fur chimed in.

  ‘Alright, I’ll offer you two sacks of gold,’ the Captain said quickly.

  Pete opened his mouth to protest, but the Captain raised a finger to silence him. ‘Are we in agreement, Sabre?’

  Sabre wasted no time in responding.

  ‘No deal!’ he snapped.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re at a stalemate then,’ the Captain said, folding his paws in front of him. ‘Two sacks of gold are all we have to offer you.’

  ‘Liar!’ Sabre roared, slamming his paw against the table and sending miniature ships bouncing all over the floor. He leaned menacingly toward the Captain. ‘You have much more than that.’

  Pete stood up in his chair. ‘I can assure you, Captain Sabre, that those two sacks of gold are –’

  ‘I’m not talking about gold!’ Sabre hissed. ‘I’m talking about the treasure you found on the Island of Destiny.’

  Pete’s usually pale face turned even paler.

  ‘What treasure?’ Horace asked, chewing nervously on his hook.

  Sabre picked up a miniature ship and hurled it in his direction. ‘The treasure that helped you win the Centenary Games, you insolent little grub!’

  Horace ducked for cover as a second ship came hurtling towards him and Sabre turned his hateful gaze on Whisker. ‘I know you found something on that island. So, don’t pretend otherwise. How else would a pathetic team of circus freaks beat my masterful cats?’

  ‘Err, Frankie Belorio’s set play in the Death Ball final came in pretty handy,’ Horace squeaked from under the table.

  ‘Rat’s droppings!’ Sabre howled, gouging a hole in the wood with his claws.

  Horace scrambled backwards, finding refuge under the Captain’s chair.

  Sabre edged closer to Whisker until he was towering over the seated rat.

  ‘You started this, Little Captain,’ he said in a low, menacing voice, ‘so it’s only fitting that you finish it. I’ll give you till the count of three to tell me where that treasure is hidden, or the blood of the Freeforians will be on your paws.’

  ‘One.’

  Whisker’s heart began to race. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Book of Knowledge partially concealed under a large red bag on the bookcase.

  Could he simply hand it over?

  ‘Two.’

  There was no telling what havoc Sabre would wreak with the book in his possession – what terror he would inflict on his victims.

  But what about the Freeforians? Could Whisker sacrifice their lives for the greater good?

  ‘Three.’

  There was no time to think. He had to choose.

  And there it was – the number three. Sabre’s deadline. Whisker’s third option.

  ‘Alright,’ Whisker said, scrambling out of his chair. ‘You win. For the sake of the Freeforians, I’m prepared to hand over what I found on the island.’

  Pete let out a despondent groan, but with the Captain’s paw on his shoulder, he made no attempt to intervene.

  Sabre grinned with triumph and extended an open paw towards Whisker. ‘Well? Where is it?’

  Slowly, ever so slowly, Whisker reached into his brown drawstring bag and pulled out a single object. He concealed it in his paws for some time, glancing from side to side as if waiting for something to happen.

  Finally, he removed his top paw, placing the item delicately on the table.

  ‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘My treasure.’

  Pete and the Captain exchanged a puzzled look.

  Sabre stared down at the Hermit’s ancient brass compass and screwed up his face.

  ‘A compass?’ he said in disgust. ‘You call this prehistoric piece of junk your treasure?’

  ‘It’s no ordinary compass,’ Whisker defended. ‘It points to gold. Take a –’

  ‘Don’t insult my intelligence,’ Sabre fumed in rage, grabbing Whisker by the collar and lifting him off his feet. ‘You are a swindler, a wretch, and worm-ridden pile of dung. And I’d happily rid you of that lying tongue of yours if there weren’t an arrow aimed at my back!’

  ‘Err, Boss,’ Furious Fur interrupted. ‘I think the little runt is telling the truth.’

  Sabre let out a hiss of annoyance and dropped Whisker roughly to the floor.

  ‘Show me!’ he snapped.

  Fur gestured to the compass. ‘There. The needle is pointing straight to the sacks of gold.’

  Sabre peered down at the compass, his curiosity suddenly aroused.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said cautiously. ‘Or perhaps it is merely a coincidence. Due north is roughly in that direction.’

  ‘I thought north was that way,’ Fur said, glancing out a window.

  As Sabre turned his head to look, Whisker scooped up the compass and bounded over to the bookcase.

  ‘Let me prove it to you,’ he said, sweeping the red bag off the Book of Knowledge. He handed the loose bag to Pete and asked politely, ‘Would you be so kind as to fill this with gold, please?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Pete said with unusual willingness. Tucking the red bag under his arm, he hobbled over to the door CLOMP, patter, CLOMP, and motioned for Fred to open the first gold sack.

  ‘And the other sack, too,’ Sabre hissed. ‘I want to see coins from both sacks, in case you devious little sneaks are trying to pull the fur over my eyes.’

  ‘As you wish, Captain Sabre,’ Pete said graciously.

  He whispered an instruction to Fred, who opened the second sack for him. Pete held up a pawful of coins for Sabre to see and then stuffed the gold into the red bag, repeating the process with the first sack.

  ‘Okay,’ Whisker said when the red bag was full of coins from both sacks. ‘Now bring the gold over here.’

  Obediently, Pete made his way towards Whisker in the centre of the room, cradling the bag in his arms like it was a newborn child.

  As Pete clomped closer, Whisker moved the compass into plain sight of the Cat Fish. The needle vibrated for a second and then spun in the direction of the bag.

  Furious Fur let out a gasp of astonishment.

  Pete continued his walk, moving from lef
t to right in front of Whisker. The needle followed his every move.

  Sabre’s eyes grew wide in greedy delight.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ he purred. ‘It is as the legend foretold. A treasure with the power to alter one’s very destiny.’

  He moved closer and closer, as if hypnotised by the compass, until he was right beside Whisker. Without warning, his paw darted out to grab the brass object, but Whisker had anticipated the move and snatched the compass away.

  ‘Not so fast,’ he said, slipping it out of sight into his brown drawstring bag. ‘First promise me you won’t set foot on Freeforia.’

  ‘Alright,’ Sabre said, his eyes fixed on Whisker’s bag. ‘You have my word as a captain and a gentleman that I won’t go near that stinking, rodent-infested island. Now give me my compass!’

  Maintaining a blank face, Whisker untied the small bag and handed it to Sabre.

  ‘It comes with the bag,’ he said in clarification.

  Sabre peered inside the bag and, satisfied his prize was held safely within, tied the bag to his belt and strode from the room without so much as a goodbye.

  Reaching the door, he looked down to see the two sacks of gold were gone – along with Fish Eye Fred. He shrugged, muttered something under his breath, then picked up his cheese knife and waved for Furious Fur to follow him.

  Pete shuffled closer to Whisker as Sabre and Fur skulked across the deck. He gestured to the empty space where the sacks had once stood, and whispered, ‘We can’t have the Cat Fish taking all of our treasure – especially after Sabre had the arrogance to reject it in the first place.’

  ‘Well played,’ Whisker said, simply relieved that Sabre had been denied an opportunity to test the compass for himself.

  They watched as Ruby trailed the cats to the rope ladder, an arrow still nocked to her bow. When she was satisfied they were no longer a threat, she lowered her bow and returned to the navigation room.

  ‘It’s safe to come out now, Horace,’ Whisker said to the small rat hiding under the Captain’s chair.

  Horace poked his nose out and peered up at Whisker.