The Trophy of Champions

by Cameron Stelzer

  Whisker shook his head, refusing to be swayed. He knew how much was at stake, and there was no way he was letting anyone derail his plan.

  ‘Calm or cyclonic,’ he said, ‘we have no other choice.’

  ‘Says who?’ Ruby huffed. ‘As far as I can see, there’s a whole ocean of choices out there. And most of them don’t lead to shipwrecks –’

  ‘That’s enough, both of you,’ Pete snapped, cutting Ruby short. ‘I love a good argument as much as the next quartermaster, but this isn’t getting us anywhere. Fishtail Passage will appear on our starboard side at any moment, so you’d better get those sails into position.’

  Ruby folded her arms defiantly. ‘So that’s it? You’re simply going to steer us into the islands without a proper plan of action, and we’re expected to obey.’

  ‘No,’ Pete replied, stepping away from the wheel. ‘I’m not going to steer you anywhere. Whisker is.’

  ‘What?’ Ruby gasped.

  ‘You heard me,’ Pete snorted, hobbling towards the stairs. ‘I’m handing full navigational control to our headstrong apprentice. He needs to pass his sailing test sooner or later, and I for one don’t want to be held responsible for crashing into a cliff when the Captain wakes up.’

  Oh great, Whisker thought, grabbing the freely-spinning wheel. I’m the saviour and the scapegoat at the same time.

  Ruby stood her ground, ready to mount a challenge, but Pete simply took her by the arm and sniffled, ‘Give me a paw down the stairs, will you?’

  Reluctantly, Ruby descended to the deck with Pete, leaving Horace clutching the Book of Knowledge and Whisker attempting to sail into the narrow mouth of the passage.

  ‘I’d offer to navigate,’ Horace said, placing the book gently on the ground, ‘but I get my lefts and rights mixed up when I’m stressed.’

  ‘You’re stressed?’ Whisker exclaimed, his tail coiling around the base of the wheel. ‘What about me? I’m the one about to collide with a cliff …’

  Before long, the open ocean had disappeared and the Pie Rats were surrounded by high walls of rock. Not a shred of vegetation grew on their jagged faces and, with nothing to distinguish one cliff from the next, Whisker realised how easy it would be to get lost in the maze of passages without a map. The occasional rock plummeted from the weather-beaten heights, splashing into the swirling water below. Reminded of the rock-throwing Tasmanian devils on the Island of Kings, Whisker steered the Apple Pie into the very centre of the passage.

  The wind dropped considerably as the ship rounded a blind bend and the passage divided into two. The light breeze was ideal for smooth sailing, but not for catch-up racing.

  Taking the northern branch of the passage, Whisker headed in the direction of the Rock Arch. The gaping archway was still out of sight behind a rocky outcrop, but he had a fair idea of what to expect.

  The arch had been formed by the ocean. Over time the crashing waves and swirling seas had carved out a hollow at the base of the cliff, large enough to sail through. Whisker’s only hope was that the arch could accommodate the mainmast, the tallest part of the ship.

  As the Apple Pie sailed around the outcrop and the approaching waters began to appear, Whisker heard a deep groan from the front of the ship. He looked down to see Fred dangling over the bowsprit, surveying the path ahead.

  A stream of equally alarming responses spread down the deck as the other crew members witnessed what Fred had seen.

  Finally, as the rear of the ship cleared the outcrop, Whisker saw the horror that awaited him. Directly ahead, where the Rock Arch once stood, lay a collapsed pile of rubble. Huge shards of stone rose from the indigo water, like monstrous knife blades, blocking the entire passage.

  Anso’s shortcut had just become a dead-end.

  Wrong Turns

  Mortified at what he was witnessing, Whisker stared at the collapsed arch and let out a pathetic whimper. He waited for the inevitable taunt of ‘I told you so’ from one of his crewmates, but all he got was a sympathetic ‘There’s always next time,’ from Horace.

  Whisker knew there wasn’t going to be a next time – not for the Pie Rats – not for his family. Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to turn the ship around just yet. Paws firmly planted on the ship’s wheel, he remained locked on a collision course with the ruined arch. As long as he kept moving forward, he wasn’t truly giving up.

  He looked down at Ruby, peering over the starboard side bulwark and he wondered why she wasn’t hurling insults at him. He knew he deserved it, whatever she had to say. He’d been a liar, a choker and a sore loser – and that was before the Sea Race. Since then, his actions had only served to push her away further. Two weeks ago they were hanging off a precipice together. Now, there was a precipice between them.

  As if sensing she was being watched, Ruby turned from the ocean and looked at him with one of her impossible-to-read expressions.

  ‘If we’ve all finished moping,’ she said flatly, ‘I think I’ve found us a way out of here.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Horace murmured. ‘It’s called the way in.’

  Ruby rolled her eye and pointed to a line of sea foam on the surface of the water.

  ‘That foam was on our port side a moment ago,’ she stated, ‘and now it’s on our starboard side. We haven’t changed course, which means something is carrying it along.’

  ‘Not the wind,’ Horace pronounced. ‘It’s blowing in the wrong direction.’

  Beginning to understand, Whisker released his tight grip on the wheel and felt the polished surface of the wood slide freely through his fingers. A tiny spark of hope flickered inside him.

  ‘There’s a current,’ he said. ‘Directly beneath us. I can feel it pulling on the rudder.’

  ‘And it’s moving across the passage,’ Pete observed, his pink eyes fixed on the foam. ‘The water must have found another way through the rocks after the arch collapsed.’

  ‘So where’s it headed now?’ Horace asked.

  ‘Wrong Turn Passage, I’m guessing,’ Ruby replied dryly. ‘The only other route through these islands.’

  ‘Sounds delightful,’ Horace gulped.

  Whisker glanced down at the map, hoping Ruby’s prediction was right.

  ‘The tail of Mermaid Island barely touches the cliff near the Rock Arch,’ he pointed out. ‘That could be the weak spot.’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Ruby said, scrambling up the rigging. ‘All eyes on that cliff!’

  Heeding Ruby’s command, Fred swept his powerful eye in a wide arc across the cliff face then locked on a shadowy section of rock covered with dried seaweed.

  ‘There,’ he grunted, pointing to the spot with his oversized paw.

  It took Whisker a moment to realise what Fred had discovered, but as the Apple Pie moved closer towards the collapsed arch he saw a narrow crevice between the two islands. Barely the width of the Apple Pie, the gap extended upwards to the very top of the cliffs and downwards into the ocean. Water gushed through the centre of the crevice like rainwater in a drainpipe, splashing into the afternoon sunlight on the opposite side.

  Whisker swung the Apple Pie a full ninety degrees, facing it directly into the short passage. He knew that a thorough safety assessment was in order, but the time for caution was gone.

  ‘Hold on!’ he shouted as the current took hold. ‘We’re going in.’

  The sickening screech of wood grating against stone reverberated around the surrounding cliffs as the hull scraped through the tight gap.

  Whisker held his breath, hoping the Apple Pie wasn’t about to get stuck in the crevice like a cork in an Apple Fizz bottle. In seconds, the ship was sliding out the other side.

  Assessing the damage to be no more than ‘superficial paint scrapes,’ Whisker wasted no time in orchestrating his next audacious move. ‘Ready the Eagle,’ he commanded.

  ‘Don’t be a dodo,’ Pete shot back. ‘You can’t use a kite sail in here.’

  ‘It won’t be in here,’ Whisker retorted. ‘The sa
il will be flying up there.’ He pointed high into the vivid blue sky. ‘We all know these passages are too sheltered to generate any decent wind gusts, but if we can harness the power of an overhead wind, we might still have a chance.’

  Pete screwed up his nose. ‘Alright, bring out the bird. But if we all suffer horrible deaths on the rocks, I’m holding you personally responsible.’

  With the added pressure of the crew’s lives in his hands, Whisker watched as the huge kite was retrieved from the navigation room and unfolded on the deck. Four long ropes were attached to the corners of the sail and fastened to fixing points along the bulwark.

  ‘Prepare to launch around the next bend,’ Whisker ordered.

  Fred scaled the rigging, clutching the top edge of the kite sail in one paw. The others took their positions at the foot of the masts, waiting for Whisker’s signal.

  The surface of the water was alive with choppy waves as the wind found its way into the passage. Fred had only just reached the top of the rigging when the sail in his paws began to flap wildly.

  ‘Hold steady!’ Whisker shouted.

  Fred waited, hanging on for dear life in the howling wind, as Whisker spun the wheel around and around.

  The moment the Apple Pie cleared the bend, the Eagle expanded with air and Fred released his grip. The golden bird rose steadily above the cliffs and soared majestically into the cloud-scattered sky.

  The pull on the ship was instantaneous. The bow of the Apple Pie lurched through the water like a shark on the hunt. The Pie Rats were no longer cruising. They were now racing.

  The explosive speed of the Apple Pie brought a whole new set of challenges for Whisker. Dead-end passages became potential crash sites. Submerged rocks were shipwrecks waiting to happen.

  Following a direct, downwind course through the islands, Whisker held steady, steering with confidence and resolve.

  Will we emerge in the lead? he wondered, or will it be a mad dash to the finish line?

  He wanted to believe they could still win.

  He had to believe they could still win.

  From time to time, the shadows of the cliffs would creep across the deck of the ship, inching their way towards the open book. Whisker would hurriedly memorise the map before it vanished into shadowy blankness, only to reappear again with the next ray of sunlight.

  The shadows grew longer. The sun dropped lower.

  And then, just when the sun appeared to have set behind the high cliffs of rock, it appeared directly in front of them, shining like a golden orb through the open end of the passage. Whisker felt the blood pumping through his tail. His heart began to race.

  ‘Fred!’ he shouted, his voice edged with nervous excitement. ‘What can you see?’

  It took a moment for the Apple Pie to reach open water, and by that time, Whisker was too busy staring through his spyglass to even hear Fred’s response.

  To the south, trawling through the Central Channel and well out of contention, was HMS Majesty. To the west, radiant and terrifying, sailed the Silver Sardine. Amber sunlight sparkled off its glistening hull as it rounded the marker ship. A stone’s throw to the north lay the sandy shores of the desert island.

  Whisker’s heart sank. He didn’t need a navigation degree to know that, even with a high-flying Eagle sail, the Apple Pie would never catch up. The Cat Fish were on the home strait and the rats would be lucky to reach the purple-sailed marker ship before the cats skulked onto the beach to claim their prize.

  Whisker knew that only a miracle could win them the race, and true miracles were the stuff of bedtime stories.

  Think, he told himself, fighting back a wave of despair. There’s got to be a solution. There always is.

  Focusing his mind, he tried to come up with something – anything to stop the Cat Fish from winning.

  A blue whale swallowing the Silver Sardine whole?

  No. That’s never going to happen.

  A freak tidal wave throwing the cats off course?

  Even more remote …

  Hidden sandbars? No.

  Whirlpools? No.

  Lightning storms? No, no, no!

  Nothing he could think of was ever going to happen.

  With one last desperate hope, he closed his eyes and let his memories take over.

  At first he saw nothing. Then, as the darkness of his mind began to close in, he pictured a ship with sails as black as the night, appearing in deathly silence …

  The Black Shadow.

  The haunting ship had appeared to him twice – always at sunset – somewhere close to his current location.

  Could it appear to him again?

  He felt an icy chill run through his tail. His fingers turned white on the wheel.

  Be careful what you wish for …

  Fighting back his terror, he turned his spyglass to the horizon and willed the ship to appear.

  One Winner

  After what seemed like an eternity of staring into nothingness, dreading what he might actually find, Whisker was pulled from his trance by the sound of someone calling his name.

  ‘…Whisker. Whisker.’

  Immediately, all hopes of the Black Shadow were swept from his mind. He felt his tail collapse on the deck.

  It isn’t coming, he told himself, embracing reality. It never was.

  He lowered the spyglass to see Ruby standing next to him on the helm. The sun was setting behind her, bathing the edges of her face and ears in a soft, golden light. She was neither angry nor upset, but the look of resignation she gave Whisker told him that the Cat Fish were destined for victory.

  ‘We’re not going to win this race, are we?’ he said quietly.

  ‘No,’ she said, unable to hide the relief on her face. ‘The games are over.’

  Whisker nodded. He knew exactly what games she was referring to: not the games between competitors where winners were showered with gold but the games between friends where there were no winners.

  Despite the bitter disappointment Whisker felt at losing the answer he so desperately sought, a small part of him felt relieved, too. He was no longer bound to the fox. With the trophy out of the equation, he could finally stop lying and he could finally be himself again – not a scoundrel with something to hide but a friend with everything to share.

  The Pie Rats are all I’ve got now, he told himself. And Ruby is one of them.

  Hoping he could salvage something from the wreckage of their relationship, Whisker decided to come clean.

  ‘Ruby,’ he said, mustering the courage, ‘I’ve got something I want to tell you.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, smiling. ‘But can it wait until we reach the island? The trophy might be out of our grasp, but there’s a pawful of loyal spectators who deserve a spectacular fin–’

  She faulted midsentence, losing her train of thought. Across from her, Whisker’s eyes had grown to the size of pie platters.

  ‘Whisker, what is it?’ she gasped.

  ‘Y-your words,’ Whisker stammered, his jaw gaping open. ‘Out of our grasp … It’s not over. Don’t you see?’

  ‘See what?’ Ruby frowned.

  Whisker pointed to the blank book, lying face up in the shadows. ‘Remember what Anso said? Only in defeat do we really see clearly. We were so obsessed with winning the Sea Race that we failed to see the real goal: winning the championship.’

  Taking a deep breath, he raised the spyglass to his eye and swivelled it towards the desert island. The Silver Sardine was approaching the sandy coastline but it was yet to pass through the line of breakers.

  ‘Good,’ he said to himself, ‘We’ve still got time.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Ruby gasped. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

  Without a response, Whisker turned the spyglass to the vessel closest to him: the purple-sailed marker ship.

  Against the darkening ocean he saw the unmistakable flicker of violet flames illuminating the ship’s three masts.

  Whisker smiled to himself. The marker ship was no or
dinary ship.

  Out of our grasp? Whisker asked himself, fixing his sights on the trophy room of the Velvet Wave. Or close enough to touch?

  He lowered the spyglass and looked up at the Eagle sail. The huge, rectangular kite hovered above the starboard side of the Apple Pie. Its four ropes creaked and strained as the strong wind threatened to tear the fabric away.

  ‘Ruby,’ Whisker said, finally addressing his confused companion. ‘Is your bow still on board?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ruby said. ‘And I’ve got a quiver of silver arrows in the navigation room – but, Whisker, what do you want them for?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Whisker said with urgency. ‘But first, I need you to do exactly what I say.’

  Several minutes later, seven lavishly dressed bunnies paraded up the stairs of the Apple Pie and onto the twilit deck. With Fred’s gentle assistance, they shuffled to the bow of the ship, oohing and aahing and making wooden waving gestures with their paws. Some wore scarves, some wore luxurious coats. All of them were smiling.

  One by one, they formed a tight row along the bulwark, staring blankly at the approaching ship.

  The sight of the beautiful damsels sent the crew of the Velvet Wave into a frenzy. Dropping their paint-pellet rifles, they rushed to the port side of the ship and began wolf-whistling and twitching their ears uncontrollably.

  ‘Well hello, ladies!’ hollered the tallest rabbit. ‘Welcome to checkpoint number two.’

  ‘All my Easters have come at once,’ cried a plump rabbit with pronounced front teeth. ‘Seven beautiful bunnies and they’re staring straight at me.’

  ‘What heavenly burrow did you hop out of?’ asked the smallest rabbit dreamily.

  ‘Oh, it was no burrow,’ came a high pitched response. ‘We were shipwrecked on a barren island without so much as a carrot to nibble on. If it wasn’t for these lovely rats, well, I’m sure you can imagine what would have happened …’

  ‘Oooh no!’ cried the entire crew of the Velvet Wave. ‘It’s a miracle you survived.’

  Whisker chuckled to himself and pretended to adjust the foresail. From his elevated position halfway up the rigging he could see what Gustave’s love-struck sons couldn’t: Horace and Ruby crouching behind seven painted Frankie cut-outs, while Smudge moved their paws with pieces of string.