The Trophy of Champions

by Cameron Stelzer

  ‘So what really happened to you in there?’ Horace whispered. ‘You can trust me to keep a secret.’

  ‘L-like I said,’ Whisker replied, his ears turning red, ‘I went to the bathroom with a stomach ache and got lost, that’s all.’

  ‘And it took you ten songs and an encore to get back?’ Horace asked suspiciously.

  ‘I-I don’t know,’ Whisker said, defensively. ‘I found a courtyard and got a drink, didn’t I? – Look, I’ve already told you all of this. What more do you want to know?’

  ‘Forget it,’ Horace muttered. ‘Keep your lousy toilet adventures to yourself.’ He waved his hook dismissively through the air and wandered off to talk to Fred.

  Whisker didn’t know where to turn. His entire world was crumbling down around him and all he could do was make things worse. The futility of the situation reminded him of Eaton, the little mouse who spied for the Cat Fish after Sabre threatened to harm his sister, Emmie. Eaton had grown more and more anxious during his time on the Apple Pie as he wrestled with his dark secret. Trapped by his own desperate lie, Whisker was beginning to understand how the poor boy felt.

  Longing to escape from the crew – and from himself, Whisker slumped over the starboard bulwark of the ship and stared out at the darkening sea. His despondent thoughts slowly turned to the Pirate Cup.

  There were four events left to win: the Treasure Hunt, the Sea Race, the Death Ball final and the bonus Stealth Raid. The Pie Rats had to beat the Cat Fish in the Death Ball final and at least two other events to be certain of the championship. Whisker was quietly confident their Trojan Pasty Stealth Raid would snare them the bonus point and he clung to the hope he could still win his pet event, the Treasure Hunt. He knew the forest better than anyone and, as long as he survived the ambushes, his superior climbing ability would give him the upper edge. The Sea Race would be hard to win against the cats’ three-masted ship, the Silver Sardine, but the Pie Rats’ secret kite sail, the Eagle, at least gave them some chance.

  He pushed any thoughts of failure to the back of his mind.

  You can’t win unless you believe you can win, he told himself. Now is the time for belief.

  Quietly pondering his course of action, Whisker stared across the empty ocean. It was a cloudy evening with a large waxing moon and a line of rain clouds building on the horizon. Whisker noticed a flaming orange glow coming from the north in the direction of Dagger Island.

  The lookout tower, he thought, puzzled. But the flames aren’t purple, they’re …

  Fearing the worst, he extended his spyglass for a closer look – and froze in horror.

  ‘What is it?’ Horace demanded, rushing over.

  Whisker was speechless.

  Horace snatched the spyglass from Whisker’s paws and held it to his eye.

  ‘Shiver me cinders!’ he cried.

  Dead ahead, the top of the tower was ablaze with scorching orange flames. Nearby, a blazing inferno of fifty-foot flames rose in a circle from the forest floor.

  Whisker watched in horror, unable to move, as the entire Death Ball arena went up in flames.

  Riding a strengthening eastern breeze, the Pie Rats sailed into the marina on Dagger Island to find the northern and southern piers in total chaos. Scared, singed and panicked spectators crammed into boats and ferries, fleeing for their lives. Rowboats, rafts and canoes, overflowing with passengers, splashed past the Pie Rats in a frantic bid to escape.

  ‘Sail for yer lives!’ shouted an old badger in a dingy. ‘The Blue Claw are upon us!’

  ‘Oh my precious paws,’ Pete gasped, steering the hired vessel alongside the southern pier. ‘This gets worse by the minute.’

  The Captain drew his sword and leapt onto the pier. ‘Crew at arms,’ he bellowed. ‘The Hermit needs our help.’

  While Mama Kolina gathered her terrified daughters around her, the rest of the companions drew their weapons and sprinted down the gangplank. Whisker glanced over his shoulder as he scampered over the decking and saw the Apple Pie and the Golden Anchor moored on the northern pier. Anchored a short distance from shore was the Velvet Wave. A flickering purple glow radiated from the trophy room, illuminating an empty crow’s-nest and three deserted decks. Unguarded on its lavish purple plinth stood the Trophy of Champions.

  Whisker’s heart pounded in his chest. In the midst of the chaos, he suddenly had the answer to all his problems – he didn’t have to win the trophy, he simply had to steal it.

  As he neared the end of the pier, a plan of attack materialised in his head: swim to the Velvet Wave; steal the trophy; sail the Golden Anchor back to Two Shillings Cove… leaving the Hermit and the Pie Rats to fight the Blue Claw alone –

  Whisker cut himself short.

  What kind of lying, stealing, deserting scoundrel are you? he asked himself, horrified that he had even considered the idea.

  As the flaming belltower toppled out of sight behind a line of trees, Whisker turned his back on the trophy and scrambled up the path to the athlete’s village, determined to do one thing right.

  Reaching the campsite, he was met by a scene of total devastation. The ticket booth had been smashed to smithereens. Sticky liquid oozed from shattered barrels onto the floor of the Champions Tavern. Stalls had been ransacked, tents lay flattened and claw marks covered every tree trunk in sight. The village had escaped a torching, but no one was sticking around for the clean-up.

  Frenzied spectators darted past Whisker as he made his way through the disaster zone.

  ‘Have you seen the Hermit?’ he shouted, grabbing the sleeve of a passing wombat.

  ‘Who?’ puffed the plump marsupial. ‘I ain’t heard of no Hermit.’ He pulled away and continued his escape.

  ‘If it’s a pirate yer looking for then ‘e’s as good as sausage meat,’ said a second wombat, lumbering past. ‘Them crustaceans took care of every pirate they could get their filthy claws on.’ She snorted loudly in disgust. ‘They’re long gone now, but I wouldn’t hang around if I was you. The Blue Claw’ll be back with reinforcements, mark my words …’

  Ignoring the wombat’s warning, Whisker took off in the direction of the supply tent. He reached the demolished structure to see Ruby and the Captain staring at a torn piece of canvas with the words Pirates never prosper written in blood-red letters. There was no sign of the Hermit.

  ‘Tell me it’s not …’ Whisker gasped.

  The Captain reached down and touched the sticky, red substance with his fingers then raised his paw to his lips.

  ‘Tomato sauce,’ he said, sticking out his tongue, ‘The crabs must have found Horace’s sauce shooters.’

  Whisker felt a wave of relief pass through him.

  ‘But where’s Grandfather?’ Ruby asked, looking around anxiously. ‘And Smudge? You don’t think they’ve been captured, do you?’

  Before the Captain could reply, there was a tiny buzz of wings and Smudge crawled out from under the canvas, dragging a small metal object behind him.

  ‘Smudge!’ Ruby cried, her voice filled with panic. ‘Have you seen the Hermit?’

  Smudge gestured over his shoulder to the collapsed tent.

  ‘He’s in there?’ Ruby exclaimed.

  Wasting no time, the Captain began scrambling through the debris shouting, ‘Father, can you hear me?’

  THWUMP, THWUMP, THWUMP.

  A loud tapping sound echoed from a lump in the centre of the tent. The Captain drew his sword and sliced a hole in the crumpled canvas roof, uncovering Pete’s impenetrable iron chest and a pile of shredded books.

  THWUMP, THWUMP, THWUMP.

  The tapping sound came directly from the chest. Ruby threw the books aside, then grabbed the lid with both paws and tried to prise it open.

  ‘It – won’t – budge,’ she groaned.

  ‘You’ll never get it open that way,’ Whisker said, pointing to the key hole. ‘It’s got a self-locking mechanism. As soon as it closes, the lock activates. You’ll need the key.’

  ‘Well, we don’
t have the key,’ Ruby snapped.

  ‘But fortunately Smudge does,’ the Captain said, picking up the tiny brass object from the ground.

  He handed the key to Ruby. She hastily inserted it into the lock and gave it a twist. With a loud KERTHUNK, the lid sprang open and the Hermit leapt out like a jack-in-a-box, clutching the Book of Knowledge in his arms.

  ‘Hermit – is – safe, yes, yes,’ he said, gasping for air.

  ‘Thank Ratbeard for that,’ the Captain rejoiced.

  ‘Hermit hid in chest when crabs arrived,’ the Hermit panted. ‘Claws no match for sturdy lock, no, no!’

  The rest of the crew bounded up behind them, overjoyed to see Smudge and the Hermit alive. Granny Rat leapt off Fred’s shoulders and threw her wrinkly arms around her husband. Caught up in the moment, Whisker wished he had someone to hug.

  ‘Here comes Gustave,’ Horace coughed through a thick cloud of smoke. ‘Maybe he can tell us what’s going on.’

  Gustave hopped towards them, looking more like a dishevelled vagabond than a rich Baron. The ends of his ears were singed black, his purple coat was covered in burnt patches and his white fur was now a dirty grey colour. Out of breath, it took him some time before he finally spoke.

  ‘Blue – Claw – attack,’ he puffed. ‘Four Claws-Of-War on ze eastern side of ze island.’

  ‘A tip off?’ Pete said.

  Gustave shook his ash-covered head. ‘Ze Sea Dogs vere practicing on ze firing range at sunset and must have caught ze attention of a passing patrol ship. Several platoons of crabs came ashore and captured Brawl’s crew before ambushing Penelope and her girls in ze waterhole.’

  ‘What about the others?’ Horace asked.

  ‘Ze penguins vere out fishing and ze marmosets and Cat Fish escaped up trees,’ Gustave explained. ‘Unfortunately, half ze spectators vere also arrested.’ He pointed to a column of smoke where the bell tower once stood. ‘Ze Blue Claw torched ze tower and Death Ball arena before ransacking ze athlete’s village. Luckily zey did not make it as far as ze marina.’

  ‘Can we do anything to help?’ the Captain asked, surveying the flattened remains of the camp.

  ‘My sons have ze fire under control,’ Gustave replied. ‘I suggest you salvage your belongings and make your vay to ze marina.’

  ‘But what about the trophy?’ Whisker exclaimed. ‘You can’t just cancel the competition.’

  ‘Cancelling ze cup would be a symbol of defeat,’ Gustave replied bluntly, ‘and defeat is not a vord I use. Ve vill simply have to go to Plan B.’

  ‘Plan B?’ Horace repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ Gustave said. ‘Every Pirate Cup has a Plan B. It is not ze first time an incident like zis has occurred.’ He pulled out several sealed envelopes from a coat pocket and handed one to the Captain.

  ‘Zis envelope contains a secret map of ze backup Pirate Cup location,’ Gustave explained. ‘It is not as lavish as ze current site but it vill be sufficient for ze remaining events – vhich, I might add, vill be condensed into two final days of competition.’

  Whisker glanced at the writing on the front of the envelope:

  ‘Now if you vill excuse me,’ Gustave said, stuffing the remainder of the envelopes into his pocket, ‘I have much to do.’ With a polite bow, he turned to leave, colliding with Rat Bait in a puff of ash. Rat Bait tipped his hat in apology and Gustave hopped off into the smoke.

  ‘Something tells me the Blue Claw didn’t stumble upon this island by accident,’ the Captain said quietly, as he opened Gustave’s envelope.

  The crew huddled around him as he slowly unfolded the secret map.

  ‘Ratbeard save us,’ Pete gasped, pointing to the location. ‘Surely this is a joke.’

  ‘What?’ Fred grunted. ‘It looks like a lovely place to me.’

  ‘That’s because you can’t read!’ Pete snapped. ‘Baron Reckless has chosen the least secretive location on the entire Isle of Aladrya: the hill at the top of Two Shillings Cove.’

  Plan B

  It was raining steadily when the Pie Rats finished loading their sauce-splattered belongings onto the Apple Pie. Their entire arsenal of finned pies and bulrush-arrows had been destroyed and only a few tents and a handful of spare uniforms were salvageable from the wreckage.

  Ruby was relieved to find her silver bow half-submerged in a patch of mud near the tavern. She wiped it clean on a patch of grass and examined it closely. Apart from a few claw marks on its upper edge, the weapon appeared undamaged.

  ‘I’ve got real arrows on the Apple Pie,’ she declared loudly, throwing the bow over her shoulder. ‘The next nasty pest that comes into range is history!’

  The filthy look she shot Whisker told him that she had not forgotten his dance floor disappearance.

  To avoid yet another uncomfortable journey, Whisker chose to sail with Rat Bait and Smudge aboard the Golden Anchor.

  The one-masted vessel scouted ahead, scanning the ocean for Claws-Of-War and other unwelcome ships.Whisker was glad to be aboard his family’s boat again, and he was equally happy to have a scoundrel and a mute fly as his travelling companions.

  Smudge was perfectly content keeping lookout, and Rat Bait was more interested in discussing Plan B than prying into Whisker’s affairs.

  ‘Did ye get a look at Gustave’s map, young Whisker?’ Rat Bait asked, raising one of Athena’s bright pink umbrellas above his head.

  ‘Only briefly,’ Whisker replied, brushing his soggy fringe out of his eyes.

  ‘Well yer’d best take another look,’ Rat Bait said, removing a familiar envelope from his pocket.

  ‘Hey!’ Whisker cried. ‘I thought the Captain had the map.’

  ‘He does,’ Rat Bait shrugged, removing the contents. ‘I be procurin’ a second map from Gustave when he bumped into me.’

  ‘You pickpocketed Baron Gustave?’ Whisker gasped.

  Rat Bait shrugged again. ‘That be one way o’ lookin’ at it. I figured that with Capt’n Brawl and Lady Pond Scum in the clink, there be plenty o’ spare maps to go ‘round.’

  He handed his umbrella to Whisker and began unfolding the map. Whisker immediately recognised the Fish ‘n Ships Inn in the lower left corner of the map. A large farm was visible above it, accessed from the Hawk River via a steep flight of stairs.

  ‘The remainin’ pirate crews have been instructed to dock their ships on the small wharf just below the farm,’ Rat Bait explained. ‘The bulrushes will provide plenty o’ cover to the south an’ there’s li’l danger o’ boats passin’ by, with the rocks upstream t’wards Oakbridge. Sailin’ through the cove is the tricky bit, but we should escape attention at this hour o’ the night.’ He ran his finger to the lower right corner of the map. ‘Gustave intends to moor the Velvet Wave on a fishin’ jetty further down the river. He’s a regular guest at the Fish ‘n Ships Inn, an’ I doubt his ship’ll raise any suspicions.’

  ‘How do you know all of this?’ Whisker asked suspiciously.

  ‘I be listenin’ in to a conversation or two through a patch o’ smoke,’ Rat Bait said with a grin. ‘It’s all in me job description. Anyway, with twelve hungry sons to feed, not to mention the Blue Claw ambush, Gustave’s supplies are runnin’ low an’ he’s plannin’ a dock delivery for tomorrow evenin’.’

  ‘You don’t suppose he’d like a couple of Trojan Pasties added to his order?’ Whisker murmured.

  ‘Aye,’ Rat Bait replied. ‘If ye can get the pasties baked in time.’

  ‘Oh,’ Whisker said, sensing a snag in his already flawed plan. ‘That could be a problem. Mama Kolina’s stove was destroyed in the raid, and I doubt the galley oven is big enough for a Trojan-sized anything.’

  ‘Ye could always try the forge,’ Rat Bait said, running his finger across the map to a building in the middle of the apple grove. ‘If me memory serves me correctly, there’s a large pottery kiln in the back corner.’

  ‘You sound like you’ve been there before,’ Whisker said.

  ‘Aye, that I have,’ Rat Bait chu
ckled. ‘Many years ago, mind ye. A secluded farm be the perfect hideout for a mischievous rat. There be plen’y o’ food plus a well for fresh water – not to mention how close it be to the Fish ‘n Ships Inn.’

  So close, Whisker thought, staring at the map. And the fox is right there waiting for me.

  As he studied the detailed layout of the farm, he felt the rising realisation that his chances of winning the trophy were further away than ever. His beloved and familiar eucalypt forest was gone, and in its place stood a pumpkin patch, an apple grove and a rose maze – hardly the wild terrain on which he’d practiced.

  Whisker continued to study the map as the Golden Anchor sailed into the dark cove and then made its way towards the wide river mouth. The driving rain provided the perfect cover for the fleet of pirate ships, and Whisker could barely see the lights of the town scattered up the hillside.

  ‘What can you tell me about the maze?’ he whispered to Rat Bait as they passed the deserted fishing jetty. ‘It seems like an odd thing to have on a farm.’

  ‘The Maze o’ Roses,’ Rat Bait said dreamily. ‘The bushes once produced the finest white roses in the whole of Aladrya. For many years it was known as the Lover’s Labyrinth.’

  ‘I thought red roses were the symbol of love, not white roses,’ Whisker said, searching his memory. ‘My mother used to sell them on her fruit and vegetable stall.’

  ‘Aye,’ Rat Bait replied. ‘There be a single scarlet-red rose bush in the centre o’ the maze. Lovers would come from miles around every summer to take part in a special race. The first couple out o’ the maze with a red rose in their grasp would be crowned the Soul Mates of Summer …’ He sighed longingly.

  Whisker studied the old rogue’s face. ‘You won the race?’

  Rat Bait nodded listlessly.

  ‘But what happened to your –?’ Whisker began.

  ‘Summer ended,’ Rat Bait replied gruffly. ‘That’s all ye need to know.’ He hurriedly stuffed the map into his pocket and pointed to the approaching cargo wharf. ‘Steer her in, Son.’

  Pushing Rat Bait’s story from his mind, Whisker coiled his tail around the rudder and the small boat turned to its port side. Beyond the wharf, Whisker could just make out a rough set of stairs, carved into the cliff face. Water trickled down the steps to a thick patch of bulrushes. The tall reeds partly obscured several other pirate vessels already docked. Even through the pouring rain, Whisker could easily recognise the metallic hull of the Cat Fish’s armoured ship, the Silver Sardine.