The Trophy of Champions

by Cameron Stelzer

  ‘I know what I saw,’ Whisker said stubbornly, ‘and it wasn’t a spectator ferry. Besides, the ship wasn’t headed for the island, it was sailing straight past it.’

  Horace was unusually quiet as he processed what Whisker had said.

  ‘Two sightings of the black ship in less than a week,’ he murmured. ‘And no one else saw it …’

  ‘So?’ Whisker blurted out in confusion. ‘What does that mean? What’s so significant about this ship?’

  Without answering, Horace turned around and began walking up the coastal track.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘It’s time we visited my Mama. She has a few stories you probably should hear.’

  Mama Kolina’s lavish tent was located on the western outskirts of the village. Whisker could hear her singing to herself as he approached the long, triangular structure. He stopped when he reached the entrance to the tent.

  ‘In you go,’ Horace said, hastily pushing Whisker through the open doorway. ‘I’ll be out here if you need me. Mama Kolina prefers to do these things alone.’

  ‘What things?’ Whisker whispered. ‘I thought we were here for a story.’

  ‘Just tell her what you saw,’ Horace said, closing the canvas flaps. ‘Don’t be shy …’

  Anxiously, Whisker stared around the dimly lit interior of the tent. Five stretcher beds ran in a line along one wall, each covered by a detailed patchwork quilt. Strange runes and symbols criss-crossed the patterned fabric. At the far end of the tent, illuminated by the warm glow of a wood stove, sat Mama Kolina in her golden shawl. She was hunched over a small table, polishing what appeared to be a crystal ball. A large cauldron bubbled on the stove beside her.

  Whisker stared at the strange objects around him and a sick feeling of dread grew in his stomach.

  Runes, crystal balls and boiling caldrons, he thought in panic. What have I gotten myself into?

  He considered backing out before Mama Kolina caught sight of him, but her strong voice broke the silence.

  ‘Ah, Whisker,’ she said, without looking up. ‘Welcome, my dear boy. Do come in. I have been expecting you.’

  ‘R-really?’ Whisker stammered. ‘You knew I was coming?’

  ‘Why, of course,’ she replied. ‘Why else would I be waiting here? Now, hurry in before you catch a cursed cold.’

  Curses, Whisker thought in horror. This is getting worse by the minute.

  With his tail trembling uncontrollably behind him, Whisker took a shaky step forward. It was only when he reached the small table and Mama Kolina wrapped a spare blanket around his shoulders that he realised he was wearing nothing but a pair of wet swimmers. Mama Kolina pointed to a folded uniform next to the crystal ball.

  ‘I took the liberty of organising a spare uniform for you,’ she said. ‘Your old one was torn to shreds by the crowd after your dive. Horace promised to pass on the message – though I half expected him to forget.’

  ‘Oh,’ Whisker said, suddenly understanding. ‘So that’s how you knew I was coming?’ He picked up the shirt and moved his eyes to the crystal ball. On closer inspection he realised it was actually a shiny rubber Death Ball.

  ‘Papa Niko won’t leave home without his favourite Death Ball,’ Mama Kolina explained, giving the ball a quick rub with a cloth. ‘And he hates when it gets dusty.’ She picked up a long-handled wooden spoon and stepped towards to the cauldron.

  ‘What’s in there?’ Whisker asked, shifting his attention to the concoction on the stove.

  ‘Something to curl your whiskers,’ Mama Kolina grinned. ‘It is a special batch of my famous hot chilli soup. There’s plenty to go around if you want to stay for dinner. The others will be back from the waterhole shortly.’

  Whisker felt his whole body relaxing. No magic potions, no crystal balls and definitely no witches. He even recognised the symbols on the blanket as harmless Freeforian navigation symbols, not mystic runes as he had first thought.

  ‘Mama Kolina,’ he said, warming his paws by the fire, ‘Horace told me to mention something I saw today.’

  ‘What was it, dear?’ she asked, continuing to stir the soup.

  ‘A black ship,’ Whisker replied slowly.

  Mama Kolina almost dropped her spoon in the pot. ‘The black ship!’ she gasped. ‘You have seen it?’

  ‘Y-yes,’ Whisker said in alarm. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Mama Kolina’s eyes grew wide. ‘That depends …’

  ‘On what?’ Whisker asked, desperate for an answer.

  ‘Whisker,’ she said, trying to calm her voice, ‘do you believe in omens?’

  ‘Omens?’ Whisker repeated, lowering himself onto a tree stump. ‘I-I don’t think so. I mean, I believe in things that are real, not superstitious signs that something bad is about to happen –’ He hesitated. ‘Although lately, I’ve found it safer not to dismiss anything until I fully understand it.’

  ‘A wise answer,’ Mama Kolina said, taking a seat next to him. ‘And one that will prepare you for what you are about to hear. Listen, I will tell you what I know about the black ship. What you choose to believe is entirely up to you.’

  Whisker nodded. ‘Where do we begin?’

  Mama Kolina leant closer and whispered, ‘I have heard rumours of a shadowy, black ship that roams the vast ocean. It moves like the wind – never anchoring, never stopping – vanishing from sight in the blink of an eye.’ She gave him a cold stare. ‘And there are some that claim the black ship sails without a crew.’

  Whisker felt his tail shiver in terror.

  ‘Are you telling me I saw a ghost ship?’ he gasped.

  ‘Some may consider it a ghost ship,’ Mama Kolina said calmly. ‘Others refer to it by a far more sinister name: the Black Shadow. Unlike other vessels that announce themselves with thunderous cannon fire, the Black Shadow appears and disappears in breathless silence, making it even more terrifying. Rarely is it seen by anyone, and those who do see it count their days as numbered. There are some that believe it is simply a hallucination or a trick of the light. There are others who swear it is real –’ She paused. ‘Though most of them disappear before they can prove what they have seen …’

  ‘Disappear,’ Whisker gasped. ‘W-where do they go?’

  Mama Kolina stood up and gave the pot another stir.

  ‘That is the real mystery,’ she said, throwing a pawful of dried herbs into the soup. ‘I have heard they vanish without a trace. My cousin, Thelma, told me about a penniless prospector who wandered into her shop in East Freeforia, begging for supplies. He claimed to have seen the Black Shadow while searching for diamonds on the Wild Peninsula. The other customers simply laughed at him and told him he had gone mad from sticking his head in too many dark crevices. Thelma gave him a sack of food and suggested he abandon his futile search for diamonds and try gold panning in the volcano region instead. He left in a huff and returned to the peninsula, never to be seen or heard of again.’

  ‘Maybe he fell down a hole,’ Whisker said, searching for an answer. ‘Or maybe he’s still out there?’

  ‘Perhaps –’ Mama Kolina began. She was interrupted by a loud squeal from outside. Whisker spun around to see Rat Bait marching into the tent, dragging Horace by his ear.

  ‘Let me go!’ Horace squeaked. ‘You’ve got no right to be holding me captive.’

  ‘Stop yer squirmin’, ye little sneak,’ Rat Bait said gruffly, dangling him over the pot of chilli soup.

  Horace took one look at the boiling liquid and promptly stopped his little performance.

  ‘I be on me security rounds an’ caught this wee lad hidin’ in the dark listenin’ to yer conversation,’ Rat Bait explained.

  ‘Is that true, Horace?’ Mama Kolina asked in a stern voice.

  ‘Partly,’ Horace replied, coyly. ‘But it hardly matters. Whisker would have told me everything, anyway.’ He poked his hook at Rat Bait. ‘What about this one? He was spying, too. I saw him peering straight through a hole in the tent. He only caught me when he
stood on my hook, trying to get a better look.’

  Rat Bait plonked Horace on the ground and pointed to the white letters on his security shirt.

  ‘I be authorised to be spyin’,’ he stated. ‘It’s me job to know what’s goin’ on. Besides, I know a tale or two ‘bout this mysterious black ship.’ Ignoring Horace’s protests, he lowered his voice and whispered to Whisker, ‘I be hearin’ about the Black Shadow from a retired boatswain on Drumstick Island. His doddery old neighbour saw the dreaded ship one evenin’ an’ ran back to her bungalow, shriekin’ in terror. She be so afraid, she bolted the door and refused to come out for anyone. She’s still hauled up in there from what I’ve been told – if she’s still alive …’

  Whisker gulped.

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Whisker,’ Horace said, dismissing the story with a wave of his hook. ‘You’re not a paranoid pensioner. If you ask me, the Black Shadow is nothing more than an oversized fishing boat owned by some grumpy recluse who got so sick of washing his pristine white sails he decided to dye them black to hide the dirt.’

  Rat Bait let out a bemused snort.

  ‘What do you think, Mama Kolina?’ Whisker asked, hoping for a clearer answer. ‘I’ve seen the ship twice in six days, and on both occasions something disastrous happened. I’d hate to think what would happen if I saw the ship a third time.’

  Mama Kolina considered her response carefully.

  ‘There are two ways of looking at this, Whisker,’ she said. ‘The Black Shadow is either an extremely bad omen or it is nothing more than an untimely distraction. Seeing as you don’t believe in omens, your answer is clear.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Horace said, clapping Whisker on the back. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about. As long as you keep your mind on the job and your eyes off the ocean, no spooky ghost ships will ever trouble you again.’

  ‘Right,’ Whisker said, only half convinced. ‘But what happens when I’m on the ocean?’

  Desert Islands

  Whisker decided not to stay for dinner. It wasn’t the devilishly hot soup that put him off, it was the thought of facing Horace’s entire family after his already taxing day. Failed dives and phantom ships were enough for him to worry about without adding dinnertime squabbles to the mix. With a polite goodbye to Mama Kolina, he slipped out of the tent before the sisters arrived.

  Creeping from one shadow to the next, he made his way back to the athletes’ corner of the village. As he hurried past rows of tents and teepees, he thought about his current predicament: the fox was yet to make an appearance, his chances of winning the cup were fading fast, and he didn’t know how he could face Granny Rat or the rest of the team again. The longer he was on the island, the more he wished he was back on the Apple Pie. Life aboard a Pie Rat ship seemed so simple compared to the complexities of the Pirate Cup. On the ship it was just him, the crew and the sea.

  As he walked past the Champions Tavern, he heard the loud cheers of the celebrating marmosets and longed for the humble surrounds of the Apple Pie’s mess room. He stared down the dark path that led to the marina and for a moment considered returning to the ship – at least for the night. He quickly changed his mind when he saw the shadowy outline of a cat slinking through the bushes to the south of the path. Although his fear of the Cat Fish had subsided greatly over the course of the games, he wasn’t going to take any chances, and opted to return to his tent instead.

  The early night proved to be a fortunate move for Whisker, and he woke to the sound of the bell hours before dawn. Horace, who’d been up late eating copious bowls of hot chilli soup, refused to budge from his bed.

  ‘I can’t move a muscle,’ he moaned. ‘I’m a sick volcano with a bellyful of lava.’ He let out a long burp. ‘Ooogh! I think I’m about to erupt.’

  Pencil Leg Pete stuck his bony white nose through the entrance to the tent and glared at Horace.

  ‘Get up, you lazy lizard!’ he hissed, prodding Horace with his pencil leg. ‘Baron Gustave wants us on the pier in five minutes.’

  ‘Why?’ Horace asked, making no attempt to move. ‘Is he re-running the Plank Diving event?’

  ‘Hardly,’ Pete replied, giving Whisker a less-than-impressed stare. ‘Gustave wants to get today’s event underway as soon as possible.’

  ‘What event?’ Fred yawned.

  ‘He refused to say,’ Pete said, ‘which leads me to believe it’s the Mystery Challenge.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But here’s some breaking Cat Fish news to get you out of bed: Gustave’s boys spotted Prowler on the mainmast of the Velvet Wave about to drop in on the trophy. How the Tasmanian devil he got up there is anyone’s guess, and how he managed to escape without being hit by a splotch of paint is even more mindboggling. It’s a relief to know the trophy remains untouched, even if the cats are still in the running for the bonus point.’

  Fred and Whisker hastily clambered to their feet. Horace still refused to budge.

  Pete shook his head and pointed to a thick waterproof backpack hanging uncomfortably over his shoulder. ‘I took the liberty of packing you-know-what for the Mystery Challenge. I might need a packhorse to carry it to the pier. It weighs a ton.’

  With a grunt, Fred took the heavy pack from Pete and hoisted it onto his back. Horace let out another nasty burp and pulled the covers over his head.

  ‘Bring the belching burrito, too,’ Pete murmured to Fred. ‘We need every member of the crew, regardless of what state they’re in.’

  Fred leant down and scooped up Horace under one muscular arm – sleeping bag and all – and carried the worm-like shape out of the tent. Horace seemed quite content with the whole arrangement, and the motion of Fred’s lumbering footsteps quickly lulled him back to sleep.

  The snoring, burping bundle drew many curious stares as the Pie Rats made their way down the coastal track. The athletes were too busy dishing up caterpillar and worm jokes to remember Whisker’s poor performance from the previous day, and he reached the marina without a single insult or scathing remark.

  At the end of the northern pier, several of Gustave’s sons were attaching mooring ropes to bollards and drawing the Velvet Wave closer to the dock. A gangplank was lowered from the port side of the ship and Baron Gustave made an announcement from the helm.

  ‘Please form one orderly line and proceed directly onto my vessel,’ he instructed.

  No one moved.

  ‘Tell us why?’ Prowler hissed. ‘I’ve seen enough of that purple menace to pass on a second round of target practice.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ added one of the penguins, pointing a flipper at his stained chest. ‘I’ll never be the same colour again.’

  ‘I can assure you zere is no ambush,’ Gustave chuckled. ‘But as for our destination, vell, let’s just say ve are going on a little cruise. You may stay here if you vish, but zat vill rule out your entire team from today’s event.’

  ‘We’re coming,’ Sabre snarled, pushing past Prowler to reach the gang plank. He looked back at the athletes and added with a hint of arrogance, ‘Another win and the trophy will be as good as ours.’

  Taking Sabre’s remark as a direct challenge, the other competitors hurried after him. Whisker interpreted Sabre’s comment in an entirely different way. For him, it wasn’t so much about winning the trophy as merely touching it.

  He felt a sudden rush of excitement as he scurried up the steep plank. The rabbits were so busy preparing the ship for the voyage that not one of them stood guarding the trophy room.

  … Seven, eight, nine, Whisker counted, his eyes searching frantically for Gustave’s sons.

  … Ten, eleven, twelve. The coast was finally clear.

  At the top of the gangplank, the other pirates turned right and headed towards the stern of the ship, Whisker slipped away to the left and made his way along the bulwark to the trophy room. With a final, cautious glance at the empty crow’s-nest, he leapt through the darkened doorway.

  For a moment he wondered what he was facing. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the bl
ackness, he realised what he was looking at: an empty room. The darkness itself was a dead giveaway. There were no bright purple flames and there was no trophy.

  Where has it gone? Whisker thought in dismay, running his eyes over the crimson curtains in the room. He turned and stared through the open doorway. A faint purple glow lit up the distant sky.

  Of course, he gasped, the bell tower.

  He had the fleeting idea of diving into the water and swimming back to the island but the two rabbits standing watch on the pier convinced him otherwise. In the light of several dock lanterns, he realised they were both holding loaded slingshots, aimed directly at him.

  Whisker gave them a friendly wave and exclaimed, ‘Whoops! That’s not the toilet,’ and quickly hurried off to join his teammates.

  Despite the disappointment of the trophy room, Whisker was glad to be back at sea. The salty air and icy wind gave him renewed vigour and he stood at the bow of the ship, soaking up the dawn atmosphere.

  The Velvet Wave sailed south, close to where Whisker had seen the Black Shadow. He was strangely comforted to know he was in such despicable company. With six crews of lawless pirates and a dozen trigger-happy rabbits, no ship would be foolish enough to consider an attack.

  As the rising sun crept over the horizon, the Velvet Wave navigated past a barren, rocky island. The vast majority of the pirates were too engrossed in an all-girls card game between Penelope Pond Scum, Ruby and Tuffy to even notice the scenery.

  Whisker’s comment of ‘Great hand, Ruby,’ earned him a filthy stare from the competitive rat, and Tuffy’s subsequent remark of ‘Go talk to your snoring caterpillar buddy, or else …’ had him quickly retreating to a quiet corner of the ship.

  As the card game entered a two-way showdown between Ruby and Tuffy (which Tuffy eventually won by a single card), Baron Gustave altered his course and continued westward across a turbulent stretch of sea. In the distance, Whisker spotted a tiny island with pure white sand and a small jungle of trees. Horace, who’d been asleep the entire journey, suddenly woke up in his sleeping bag, looking extremely ill.