The Trophy of Champions

by Cameron Stelzer

  Over the soft gurgling sounds of the fountain, Whisker heard muffled voices coming from a window to his left. Hoping the voices would lead him to the fox, he pricked up his ears and listened carefully.

  ‘… Business as usual then?’ asked a thin, raspy voice.

  ‘Aye,’ replied a younger, quivering voice, ‘but we’re running short on workers and production’s ramping up. You wouldn’t happen to –?’

  ‘No,’ snapped the first voice. ‘That was never part of the deal. If you can’t meet the deadline then –’

  ‘We’ll meet the deadline,’ interrupted a third voice, deep and confident. ‘I can assure you that more workers are being recruited as we speak.’

  ‘Good,’ hissed the first voice. ‘At least you have things under control.’

  ‘Always,’ said the deep voice. ‘Now, if we’re done talking, I’d like to get this game underway.’

  Whisker heard the shuffle of chairs, the creak of a door and the tinkle of coins. Seizing his opportunity, he lowered himself onto his stomach and slithered closer. He reached a black marble statue of a mink, perched to the right of the window and, using the shiny statue as his cover, raised his head and peered inside.

  Illuminated by a small candle chandelier, Whisker made out the dimly-lit interior of an elegant wall-papered room. A round table stood in its centre, covered by a layer of green felt. High stacks of Aladryan gold coins were piled across its surface, sparkling in the candle light. Seated comfortably at the table were two smartly dressed meerkats, a cloaked figure with his back to the window and the fox. The trader’s penetrating amber eyes stared, unblinking, at the piles of coins around him.

  Whisker felt a wave of dread run through his tail. In those eyes he glimpsed something cold, calculating and strangely familiar.

  Have I seen him before? Whisker thought uneasily.

  Trembling, he looked away, catching sight of a fifth animal lingering in the darkness at the back of the room. She was a young mink, similar in height and appearance to the waitresses in the restaurant. In her paws she held a small deck of playing cards.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, stepping into the light, ‘the rules of Four-Suited Showdown are as follows: each player must first nominate a different suit – hearts, diamonds, clubs or spades.’

  ‘Four cards are then dealt to each player, one at a time. After each card is received, players have the option to bet or withdraw from the round. At the end of the round, the player with the greatest number of cards of their nominated suit is the winner. If two players have the same number of suited cards, the highest card wins –’ She paused. ‘And now, gentlemen, please make your selections.’

  ‘Diamonds,’ the fox said without hesitation, his deep voice stern and determined. ‘My lucky suit.’

  ‘I’ll take spades,’ a meerkat chimed in, his eyes fixed on the glittering piles of gold. ‘The quickest way to riches is with a good ol’ spade – and I don’t mean by digging.’

  ‘Clubs,’ said the second meerkat, raising his paw.

  The cloaked figure, left with no choice but to accept hearts, simply tapped a long, ape-like finger on the table, signalling for the game to begin.

  As the young dealer stepped closer to the table, her foot caught on something resting against the fox’s chair. Trying to regain her balance, she stumbled forward and a thin, black walking cane toppled towards the ground. With lightning quick reflexes, the fox threw out an orange paw and grabbed the cane in mid-air.

  ‘Do watch yourself, my dear,’ he said in a restrained voice. ‘A new cane of this quality would be hard to replace on waitress’s wages.’ With a contemptuous smirk, he hoisted the cane into the candlelight and Whisker glimpsed an enormous pink stone set in its hilt.

  A rare pink diamond, Whisker thought in amazement, and it’s huge …

  As Whisker continued to stare at the glittering jewel, he noticed a small gap between the wooden handle of the cane and its lower shaft. The knock had clearly separated the two sections, revealing a thin shaft of steel at its core.

  A sword blade, Whisker guessed in horror. That’s no cane, it’s a sheathed sword.

  As the mink stammered her humble apologies to the fox, the fox slid the cane out of sight under his long coat, and the game was underway.

  Whisker wasn’t the gambling type and he’d certainly never sat at a high rollers’ table before, but he knew enough about card games from Rat Bait and Ruby to understand the contest unfolding in front of him. From his unique vantage point, he could clearly see the cards in the hand of the mysterious cloaked figure and followed his every move with interest.

  The stranger commenced the game with a pile of gold four times the size of the other players’ piles and was not afraid to open each round with a sizeable bet. By the end of each round, however, when all four cards had been dealt, he would frequently concede defeat to another player without revealing his hand. Whisker knew this was a common strategy used by card players to keep their opponents guessing, but the disturbing thing about the stranger’s actions was that every hand he discarded contained three or four hearts.

  He’s deliberately losing, Whisker said to himself as the cloaked figure threw an ace, king, jack and nine of hearts face-down on the table with a muttered excuse of, ‘Yet another dismal hand.’

  In no time, the enormous pile of gold was half its original size. The first meerkat, having meticulously arranged his winnings into ten-coin stacks, suddenly stood up from his chair and declared he’d had enough. As he fossicked through his oversized pockets, searching for his money bag, Whisker counted the number of stacks in front of him. There were ten. Locating his bag, the meerkat scooped up his winnings and hastily disappeared through the door.

  It wasn’t long before the second meerkat stood up and politely excused himself as well. Whisker had just enough time to count ten piles of ten coins before the meerkat swept the coins into a small suitcase.

  One hundred gold coins, Whisker thought, puzzled. The exact same number as the first meerkat. Surely that can’t be a coincidence?

  While Whisker tried to fathom the strange series of events unfolding in front of him, the fox and the cloaked figure continued their game of hearts versus diamonds. Whisker was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost missed the fox pushing his entire pile of coins into the centre of the table in one enormous bet.

  The fox stared at the cloaked figure with a perfect poker face. The stranger responded by moving his remaining coins into the betting pool. Whisker looked at his hand: three spades and a club. Without a single heart card he was destined to lose.

  Growing even more perplexed, Whisker thought back to the conversation he’d overheard when he first arrived.

  What if the coins weren’t a bet at all, he asked himself. What if they were a secret payoff? The card game would provide the perfect cover …

  As thoughts of mysterious dealings flittered through Whisker’s mind, the fox slowly placed his cards face up on the table.

  ‘Four diamonds,’ he said in an expressionless tone. ‘Ace high. A rather pertinent way to end the game, don’t you think? Some would even call it symbolic.’

  Without a word, the cloaked stranger dropped his cards face down on the table and strode from the room. The mink took one anxious look at the fox and hurried out the door.

  Alone at the table with one hundred gold coins, the fox lazily reached down and removed the cane from his trench coat. Whisker watched with curiosity as he placed his paw on the handle of the cane and began to draw the hidden blade. There was a soft grating sound as the shaft slid from its sheath, its polished surface gleaming in the candlelight. The fox raised the sword above the coins and studied it closely.

  ‘They’re finally gone,’ he murmured, as if talking to the blade. ‘It’s just you and me now. There’s no point hiding in the shadows … is there?’

  Without warning, he threw his wooden sheath aside and leapt towards the windowsill. Taken by surprise, Whisker felt the fox’s strong paw grip t
he collar of his shirt as he was hoisted through the open window. The next moment he was lying on his back in a pile of gold coins with the fox glaring down at him and a sword pointed at his throat.

  ‘Isn’t this a fine catch,’ the fox sneered, locking eyes with Whisker.

  ‘I-I-I can explain everything,’ Whisker stammered in pure terror.

  ‘I suggest you do,’ the fox hissed. ‘And make it fast.’

  ‘A question,’ Whisker gulped. ‘I-I only wanted to ask you a question.’

  The fox continued to study him coldly. ‘Ask away,’ he said mockingly. ‘You have nothing to be afraid of.’

  With a sword pointed at his throat, Whisker knew he had everything to be afraid of.

  ‘M-my parents,’ he whispered. ‘I want to know what happened to my parents – a-and my little sister, Anna. Where is she?’

  ‘Sister, ‘ey?’ the fox said impartially. ‘What makes you think I know anything about her?’

  ‘Y-you sold the boat she was sailing in,’ Whisker spluttered, ‘– to Rat Bait – on Drumstick Island.’

  ‘Hmm,’ the fox considered, without lowering his sword, ‘Rat Bait, did you say? Oh yes, I remember him now. Wasn’t he that has-been pirate you befriended in the Captain’s Inn?’

  ‘The Captain’s Inn?’ Whisker gasped. ‘How did you –?’

  ‘I make it my business to know,’ the fox snapped. ‘It’s not every day an apprentice traipses through the back door of the famous Captain’s Inn pretending to be a captain.’

  Whisker froze.

  ‘That’s right,’ the fox leered. ‘I know all about your little charade.’

  ‘Ch-charade,’ Whisker gabbled. ‘I-I …’

  ‘Come now,’ the fox bristled, staring menacingly into Whisker’s eyes. ‘There’s no point denying it. I can spot a lie a mile away.’

  As the memory of that distant night flooded back into Whisker’s mind, he suddenly realised where he’d seen the fox before.

  ‘Y-you were there,’ he gasped, ‘– in the Inn. I saw you leave when Captain Sabre arrived.’

  The fox pressed his razor-sharp blade against Whisker’s cheek and hissed, ‘Captain or not, I make a concerted effort not to associate with pirates.’

  Whisker flattened himself against the coins and tried to squirm backwards.

  ‘C-can’t we talk about this?’ he pleaded. ‘All I want is an answer. I’m begging you.’

  ‘Answers are expensive commodities,’ the fox said, twisting the blade like a corkscrew.

  Whisker felt a sharp pain in his cheek as the tip of the sword pierced his skin.

  ‘I can pay you,’ Whisker cried fumbling for the bag on his belt. ‘I’ve got gold.’

  ‘Gold I have,’ the fox said, without blinking. ‘Take a look around.’

  Whisker knew it was pointless. He felt a hundred golden coins digging into his back and wished his two measly coins were diamonds.

  ‘S-s-surely there’s something you want,’ he pleaded in desperation.

  For the first time during their turbulent encounter, the fox’s expression lightened.

  ‘Perhaps there is one thing I could use,’ he said wistfully, drawing back his sword. ‘… Something a little harder to obtain.’

  ‘Name it,’ Whisker said, with a sudden rush of hope. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll find it for you. I promise.’

  The fox studied him closely. A sly grin crept across his face. ‘It’s a little trinket of sorts,’ he said, his tongue lingering over every word. ‘I doubt a pirate of your calibre will have any trouble locating it.’

  With a horrible realisation, Whisker felt his tail drop limply over the side of the table.

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ he gasped.

  ‘Oh I’m deadly serious,’ the fox said, narrowing his gaze. ‘You’re going to bring me the Trophy of Champions.’

  The Weight of the World

  Anxious and alone, Whisker crept down the dark passageway towards the restaurant. A fateful silence hung in the cool air. His back ached. His cheek stung. His tail dragged lifelessly behind him.

  The fox’s last words still rang in his ears:

  … Bring me the Trophy of Champions, nothing less, and you shall have your answer. Tell a soul and the deal is off. You know where to find me.

  The fox had revealed nothing during their conversation – not a single clue that Whisker’s family were even still alive. Yet Whisker knew he had no other choice. Winning the cup was no longer just a dream, it was now a necessity.

  With every step he took, he felt the enormity of the burden weighing him down. Part of him longed to ignore the fox’s warning and share his secret with his friends, but deep down inside he knew he could never take that risk. The fox had an uncanny knack of finding things out and Pie Rats loved to talk.

  They’ll understand in time, Whisker said to himself. Besides, it’s safer if they don’t know. He knew that even if his loose-lipped companions managed to keep their mouths shut, he still had to face the fox alone. Whisker doubted he could stare into those piercing orange eyes and lie convincingly when asked, ‘Who else knows?’

  A horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that if his parents and sister were alive, they were at the mercy of the fox. One false move and his actions could seal their fate. This is the way it has to be, he said to himself. No one else can know.

  He saw a thin sliver of light on the passage floor and realised he’d reached the restaurant door. Taking a deep breath, he paused to compose himself. It wasn’t just his run-in with the fox that plagued his mind. It was the entire series of events he had witnessed in the high rollers’ room. Unanswered questions filled his head. Suited cards flashed before his eyes – diamonds, hearts, clubs and spades …

  Curiosity drowned the rat, he told himself. You have enough to worry about. Let it go.

  Putting on his best poker face, he opened the door and stepped inside. The restaurant was deserted. Not a single musician, dancer or hungry diner was in sight. The tables had been cleared. The dance floor had been swept.

  Unnerved by the emptiness, Whisker tiptoed across the soft carpet, barely daring to breathe. He’d almost reached the front door when a soft voice broke the silence.

  ‘Missed the last dance, did you?’

  He turned to see Ruby stepping out from behind a pillar, her arms crossed and her chin raised high. He half expected her to start yelling at him but all she did was stare at him with a sad green eye.

  ‘Oh, h-hi, Ruby,’ he stammered.

  ‘Been anywhere special?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘Th-the bathroom,’ he lied. ‘Something in the food didn’t agree with me – a wild mushroom, perhaps? B-but I’m fine now, thanks for asking.’

  ‘You were gone for over an hour,’ she said, unmoved.

  ‘Yes, well, I, err … got lost on the way back,’ he gabbled, ‘and I … ended up in a courtyard – and there were these big, fancy trees pruned into the shape of fish and a colossal stone fountain. And I was so thirsty, I –’

  ‘Is this how it’s going to be, Whisker?’ she cut in.

  ‘How’s what going to be?’ he spluttered.

  ‘This!’ Ruby hissed, stamping her foot. ‘You lying to my face because you’re too gutless to tell me you’ve got the hots for some air-headed goddesses. There, I said it!’

  ‘N-n-no,’ Whisker protested, waving his paws in front of him. ‘It’s not like that, honestly.’

  ‘Well what’s it like?’ she shot back. ‘One minute you’re dancing with Hera like she’s the only girl in the world and the next minute you’re both sneaking off to some secret courtyard together.’

  ‘Hera?’ he gasped. ‘Me? That’s ridiculous. We were just dancing, I swear. She doesn’t even know there’s a courtyard.’

  ‘So how do you explain the red lipstick?’ Ruby probed.

  ‘Lipstick?’ Whisker cried in bewilderment. ‘W-what lipstick?’

  Ruby pointed to Whisker’s right cheek. He touched the tender spot with his f
inger and suddenly realised what she was looking at.

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Ruby,’ he said, holding up his finger. ‘Look, it’s not lipstick, it’s blood. I cut myself in the … in the courtyard.’

  ‘On a fish-shaped tree no doubt?’ Ruby scoffed. ‘Don’t even try it. You’re a worse liar than Horace.’ She screwed up her face into a disgusted frown. ‘I thought you were special, Whisker. I thought we were special … but I guess I was wrong. You’re nothing more than a dirty – lying – scumbag.’ She prodded him in the chest. ‘And as far as scumbags go, the liars are the worst!’

  With one last filthy glare, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the restaurant.

  The voyage back to Dagger Island was the most unpleasant journey of Whisker’s life. Hera refused to talk to him for deserting her on the dance floor (he soon discovered she’d spent the final ten songs hauled up in the powder room to avoid the embarrassment of dancing alone); Aphrodite refused to look at him for dancing with Hera in the first place; and Ruby refused to look at him, talk to him or go within spitting distance of him for more reasons than he cared to count.

  Horace (who was still talking to him) lightened the mood somewhat when he pulled out a familiar white napkin and handed it to Whisker.

  ‘Frankie’s autograph, as promised,’ Horace said, pointing to a scribbled message on the back. ‘Sorry about the tomato sauce stains. It was all I could rustle up at short notice.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Whisker said politely, folding the napkin into his brown bag. ‘I’ll treasure it always.’