Silver versus gold, Whisker shivered, running his paw over the slippery rail of the Golden Anchor. This time there’s much more at stake than treasure …
It was nearly dawn when the soggy Pie Rats assembled on a steep bank of earth overlooking the new sporting arena. Horace’s family had taken refuge in the old forge with Fred and the Hermit, and were busy baking Trojan Pasties and beautifying Frankie cut-outs, while the rest of the rats surveyed the Death Ball grand final site. In its current state, the ‘dry’ dam looked more like a swamp than a professional playing field. Crater-like puddles of rainwater dotted the grassy ground, shimmering in the pale moonlight.
‘At least it’s stopped raining,’ Horace said, swishing the end of his hook through a muddy puddle. ‘Head-high grass and a killer opposition is enough to contend with.’
‘Phooey to that,’ Pete grumbled, glancing up at the clearing sky. ‘A flooded oval would have been perfect. Cats hate water nearly as much as we hate cats.’
‘What about the crowd support?’ the Captain asked, studying the sloping bank of the dam. ‘Can we count on any out-of-bounds balls heading our way?’
Rat Bait shook his head. ‘The numbers be stacked against us. The cats be the competition favourites and the safe bet for any gamblin’ types.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully, ‘What we need is a good ol’ fashioned rent-a-crowd to boost our numbers.’
‘At this late notice?’ Pete huffed. ‘Forget it.’
Whisker, who until this point had remained a silent bystander on the outskirts of the gathering, decided to voice his opinion.
‘How far is it to the town of Oakbridge?’ he called out.
‘A few hours’ walk by road,’ Rat Bait said. ‘Give or take an hour or two – it’s all uphill.’
‘And what about by air?’ Whisker continued.
Smudge raised one arm upwards while extending a second arm to his side like the hands of a clock.
‘You can be there by seven o’clock,’ Whisker interpreted.
Smudge nodded.
‘What’s in Oakbridge?’ Granny Rat asked suspiciously.
‘Let me guess,’ Pete muttered. ‘Trembling Tribble, our timid teacher friend.’
‘Not just Mr Tribble,’ Whisker said, ‘but Eaton and Emmie and an entire primary school of enthusiastic children. The perfect rent-a-crowd.’
There was a soft muttering of voices from the crew.
‘It does have potential,’ the Captain said, considering the idea. ‘The school term has just resumed and we could pass it off as a farm excursion …’
‘Make it happen,’ Granny Rat snapped. ‘There’s plenty of time to mobilise the little nippers. The game won’t commence until after lunch.’
‘Says who?’ Horace exclaimed. ‘Gustave hasn’t announced today’s schedule yet.’
‘Says me, you insolent iguana!’ Granny Rat snapped. ‘I’ve been right with my predictions thus far, haven’t I? The Sea Race is always held on the last day of competition, which means the other two events will be jammed into today’s program – starting with the least gruesome event, the Treasure Hunt.’
‘Alright, Coach,’ Horace grizzled. ‘But we still don’t have an on-field strategy to defeat the cats. They’re stronger, nastier and will tear us to shreds the moment we touch the ball.’
‘They’ll have to catch you first,’ Granny Rat retorted, waving a wrinkly finger over the field. ‘Look at those clumps of grass – you’ve got more cover than a chameleon in a bramble bush.’
‘Yeah, but chameleons can change colour,’ Horace pointed out, ‘and our bright red uniforms are hardly standard issue camouflage apparel.’
‘Then find an alternate uniform,’ Granny Rat snapped, quickly losing patience. ‘I’m sure there’s a loophole in the rules that you can exploit.’ She turned to Pete. ‘Well? You’re the know-it-all.’
Pete screwed up his nose.
‘There is one clothing-related rule I recall reading,’ he said dryly. ‘Rule 37a: Teams are entitled to wear a contrasting uniform in the instance their opponents are dressed in similar colours.’
‘I think that qualifies us,’ the Captain said, pointing to his soggy red shirt. ‘The orange jerseys of the Cat Fish are arguably similar to our red and gold uniforms.’
‘So where do you propose we get these alternate uniforms?’ Ruby asked, frowning.
‘No idea,’ Pete sniffled. ‘Why don’t you ask Whisker? He runs the costume department.’
Whisker thought for a moment and then gestured towards the small campsite on the top of the ridge.
‘Perhaps Mama Kolina could rustle up a few outfits from our tattered tents,’ he suggested. ‘They’re the perfect colours – khaki green with a few dirty-brown sauce stains.’
‘Tent tracksuits it is,’ Granny Rat said, without waiting for a debate. ‘Rat Bait, get every scrap of canvas you can find and report to Mama Kolina pronto. Smudge, I want you back here with our rent-a-school-crowd by midday sharp, understood?’
Smudge and Rat Bait both saluted and hurried off into the misty darkness.
‘First I lose my sleeping bag and now I’ve lost my tent,’ Horace mumbled, giving Whisker an accusing look. ‘How am I supposed to get any sleep?’
‘Sleep is the last of your priorities,’ Granny Rat said gruffly. ‘You’ve got a treasure hunt ambush to organise. I want you and Pete to find an appropriate spot on the farm and set up your cannons. When the hunters run past, blast them off their feet with whatever half-baked projectiles you can get your paws on.’ She gave Horace a hard stare. ‘And this time, you’d better hit your targets.’
‘Aye, Coach,’ Horace and Pete droned in unison.
‘But what about me, Gran?’ Ruby burst out. ‘I’ve been practicing my archery for weeks. Surely I should be a part of the ambush team.’
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ Granny said firmly, ‘but I can’t waste your speed behind a bow. You’ll be running with Wafer as our second hunter.’
‘With him!’ Ruby exploded, yanking a pawful of grass from the dam and throwing it in Whisker’s direction. ‘No way! I need a teammate I can trust.’
Whisker felt like he’d just been hit by a wave of arrowheads.
‘This is not negotiable,’ Granny Rat said, turning her back on Ruby. ‘As for you, Wafer, I expect you to start acting like a member of this team and not a two-faced toad – no hiding under jetties and no skulking off without telling anyone. Got it? You have until Gustave’s announcement to be ready.’
She took the Captain by the arm and hobbled off towards the camp, leaving Ruby fuming with rage and Whisker trying to control the violent spasms in his tail.
Riddles and Roses
TONK, TONK, CLANG.
The small cowbell broke the stillness of the sleepy farm. Rain-covered clover glistened in the dawn light. Misty patches of cloud rolled down the side of the steep hill like cottonwool tumbleweeds, thinning as the autumn sun warmed the crisp air. It was a splendid day for a treasure hunt.
Two members of each of the remaining four pirate teams gathered in the greenhouse at the top of the farm in anticipation of the event. Word had spread that Whisker was the player to beat, and the other teams made it perfectly clear that ‘the dirty rat was going down.’
Cleopatra and Prowler stood snarling and hissing from the shadows of a leafy banana tree. Prince Marcabio and Princess Mayenya plotted his demise from behind a tomato trellis, and the two penguins gave him dirty looks and directed a barrage of rude flipper gestures in his direction. Even Ruby acted like he was a hated opponent.
‘Got someone special to impress?’ she asked snidely as he waited in earnest for Gustave to arrive. ‘You weren’t taking the competition this seriously two days ago.’
‘I-I-I …’ Whisker spluttered. ‘It’s …’
‘Forget it,’ Ruby snapped, ‘I don’t want to hear another one of your lame excuses.’ She lowered her voice as Gustave entered through a concealed doorway. ‘But know this, apprentice: I’m running for t
he team, not for you.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Whisker sighed. ‘I know exactly where you stand …’
Baron Gustave’s announcement turned out to be more of an on-your-marks-get-set-go than a rundown of the morning’s events. From the outset, it was immediately clear that the Treasure Hunt was going to be much more than a simple duck-and-dodge obstacle course.
‘Zere are clues hidden all over zis farm,’ Gustave explained. ‘Each clue vill lead you to your next location. Your first clue is concealed in an object zat represents your team. You vill find it somewhere in zis greenhouse. Votch out for ambushes – and happy hunting.’
The competitors took one look at each other and leapt into action. The low sun filtered through the hazy glass panes of the greenhouse, illuminating an overgrown jungle of tropical plants and flowering shrubs. Creepers criss-crossed the metal framework high overhead to form a huge, green arbour. Tall weeds and patches of moss covered the slippery paths. The air was heavy and damp.
Whisker felt like he was back in the rainforest on the Island of Kings. But this time he wasn’t hunting for a key, he was hunting for a clue.
‘We need to find a pie,’ he whispered to Ruby as they barged through the thick vegetation. ‘It represents our team perfectly. You search the northern wall and I’ll take the south. Hoot like an owl if you see anything.’
‘Who elected you captain?’ Ruby snapped, stepping in Whisker’s way. ‘I’ll go south and you can head north.’ She turned her back on him and disappeared into the dense foliage.
Left with no other option, Whisker took off through the tropical plants along the northern wall. He spotted a porcelain banana hanging from a paw paw tree and glimpsed a sardine tin in a bed of orchids before he reached the end of the wall. With no pies in sight, he began working his way along the eastern side of the greenhouse.
High above him, a glimmer of sunlight caught his eye.
He tipped his head back for a closer look. A long, rectangular shape was suspended from the very top of the glass roof. It wasn’t a pie, but it was undoubtedly the object he was searching for: a spring-loaded rat trap. The trap was baited with a folded piece of paper, ready to spring shut the moment he touched it. It sent a shiver down his tail.
Just my luck, Whisker thought as he grabbed hold of the closest vine. Even Gustave wants me dead.
With a HOOT, HOOT, he began scaling the side of the greenhouse, using creepers and branches to aid his ascent. Hanging on for dear life, he reached the top of the wall and began climbing upside-down across the snaking vines of the roof. As he approached the rat trap, he realised the vines in front of him stopped short several metres from the suspended object. With nothing but glass to hold, he knew he would have to climb back down and approach from a different wall.
In frustration, he looked below to see two penguins waddling out a small rear door carrying an ice-cream cone and a scrunched up ball of paper.
No time for climbing, Whisker told himself, grabbing hold of a loose vine. I’ll have to do this jungle style.
As Ruby appeared beneath him, Whisker drew his sword and slashed at a section of the vine, separating it from its lower stem. Holding onto the vine with his free paw, he launched himself off the roof with a hard kick. His body swung downwards in an arc, gathering speed, and then rose upwards towards the rat trap. Angling his scissor sword forward like a lance, he skewered the note, flicking it free before the trap slammed shut with a mighty SNAP!
The impact threw Whisker backwards. Losing his grip, he plummeted down, crashing through leaves and branches and landing with a cushioned thud in a moist garden bed. The note fluttered down after him.
Ruby plucked it gracefully out of the air.
‘What does it say?’ Whisker groaned, pulling himself out of the soil.
Ruby unfolded the note and read in a whisper:
Her brow contorted into a frown. ‘What in Ratbeard’s name is that mumbo jumbo supposed to mean?’
Whisker’s mind flashed back to his conversation with Rat Bait on the Golden Anchor. The Lover’s Labyrinth, he recalled. Where scarlet roses grow …
He turned to Ruby, trying to contain his excitement.
‘The Rose Maze,’ he whispered. ‘It has to be our next destination. Come on. There’s a back entrance this way.’
Whisker and Ruby burst into the sunlight at the rear of the greenhouse to the sound of breaking ceramics.
The porcelain banana, Whisker thought.
As they rounded the deserted campsite and made their way down the rocky slope, the two rats heard a mighty SMASH tinkle, tinkle and turned to see Prowler leaping though a large hole in a shattered pane of glass clutching a sardine tin in his paws. Cleopatra and the marmosets bounded after him.
‘Here they come!’ Whisker exclaimed.
‘Are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?’ Ruby panted, pointing ahead to the maze. ‘The roses are white, not scarlet.’
‘I’m positive, Whisker puffed. ‘There’s a bush of scarlet-red roses in the centre of the maze.’
‘Do you know how to reach it?’ Ruby asked.
‘Err … not exactly,’ Whisker replied, pulling Gustave’s map out of his drawstring bag.
He quickly scanned the drawing of the maze as he ran, hoping to locate a hidden word or symbol. He saw nothing.
‘What about the note?’ he said, turning to Ruby. Take another look.’
Ruby held the note up in front of her. Her emerald-green eye lit up with realisation.
‘Look!’ she cried, almost tripping over a tuft of grass. ‘The first letter of each word is written in italics: L R L S R. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘No,’ Whisker said, staring up at the thorny wall of roses ahead of him, ‘but we need to pick a direction – and fast. It’s either right or it’s …’
‘LEFT!’ Ruby shouted. ‘It has to be left. The letters must stand for directions: left, right, left, straight, right.’ She grabbed Whisker’s paw and pulled him into the dense maze. ‘Hurry!’
As Whisker darted through the maze, clutching Ruby’s paw tightly, his mind flashed to a different race – a race once won by a scandalous rogue and his young sweetheart.
‘Right,’ Ruby snapped, roughly dragging Whisker around the next corner. ‘Keep up or I’ll leave you behind.’
‘So much for a lover’s labyrinth,’ Whisker muttered, copping a thorny branch in his face.
The thick, tangled walls of rose-bushes grew taller and denser as the rats turned left and then followed the passage straight. The sunlight transformed the uppermost roses into majestic golden blooms. On ground level, deathly-pale rosebuds and icy-blue shadows filled the maze.
The rats reached the final turn right, almost colliding with two penguins hurrying in the opposite direction. One of the penguins held a single red rose in his flipper. Tiny white words were scrawled over its outer petals. He quickly stuffed the rose out of sight before Whisker could decipher its message.
The penguins disappeared around a bend and the rats sprinted down a long, straight passage. Reaching the far end, they saw a small alcove to one side containing a solitary bush with blood-red roses.
‘Find a rose with writing,’ Ruby instructed.
As Ruby scoured the top of the bush, Whisker dropped to his knees and began searching the lower flowers. He had barely examined a dozen roses when he heard a scuffing sound behind him and spun around expecting to see one of the other teams. All he saw was a flash of blue-grey fur through a small hole at the bottom of the rose wall. Looking closer, he realised the hole led to an outer passage and was only visible from ground level.
‘I think I’ve just found a shortcut out of here,’ Whisker whispered.
‘Good,’ Ruby hissed back, ‘because I’ve just found our clue.’ Using the end of her fingernail as a knife, she severed the rose from its stem and threw it to Whisker. ‘Decipher this, detective.’
Whisker took one look at the message and stuck the rose between his teeth like a tang
o dancer. Following Ruby’s lead, he threw himself headfirst into the hole, wiggling under branches and thorns. It wasn’t long before he emerged from the opposite side of the wall with a shirt-full of thorn holes for his troubles.
‘Well?’ Ruby asked as he scrambled to his feet, ‘Have you figured out the message yet?’
Whisker removed the rose from his mouth and grabbed Ruby’s arm.
‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ he cried, taking off down the passage. ‘Right now we have two penguins to beat.’
Paw-in-paw, Ruby and Whisker overtook the penguins a few metres from the entrance. There was no triumphant cheer or round of applause as they burst from the Lover’s Labyrinth, but Whisker was silently celebrating. They were winning the race and they were winning together.
The rats sprinted a short distance up the ridge, leaving the penguins waddling in their wake. Without warning, Whisker suddenly changed direction and pulled Ruby into the Apple Grove.
‘This way,’ he said, weaving past a thick trunk.
‘Hey!’ Ruby protested. ‘There’s no tower in here. The closest thing is the forge chimney, but that’s hardly falling down.’
‘You’re right,’ Whisker agreed, dodging a pile of Granny Smith apples. ‘We’re not headed for a tower. We’re headed for a well. It fits the description perfectly: A windowless tower, tall and round. Not rising up but falling down. A well isn’t literally falling down but it is falling into the earth.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Ruby said, glancing over her shoulder. ‘The marmosets have just left the maze and they’re not headed in our direction.’
The Trophy of Champions Page 14
