‘Keep low,’ the Captain ordered. ‘The raft is our protection.’
The splashes grew louder as more piranhas joined the school of attacking fish. Amid the chaos, a strange, scratching noise echoed through the logs. Whisker felt his left leg creeping away from his body.
‘THE LOG!’ Horace shouted. ‘It’s moving.’
Startled, Whisker looked down to see water between his legs. The piranhas had chewed through the string and one of the logs was drifting away from the raft – the log Whisker and Horace were kneeling on.
Ruby grabbed a candy cane from her backpack and hooked it around the wood, attempting to drag the log closer. Whisker glimpsed the snapping teeth of piranhas beneath him and tried desperately to keep his balance. Horace howled in terror as his legs ran out of stretch.
Steadying himself, Whisker grabbed Horace by the scruff of his neck and leapt from the log onto the centre of the raft. The candy cane slipped and Ruby toppled backwards into Eaton, still clutching the stump of the cane in her paws – its end gnawed clean off.
The raft began to wobble.
‘They’re eating through the rest of the string,’ Mr Tribble gasped.
‘Hold on!’ the Captain roared. ‘I’ll try to steer us to shore.’
He stood up and thrust his stick into the water. It shuddered violently. Gasping, he pulled it out again, half the length it had been.
‘Ratbeard be kind!’ he exclaimed. ‘They’ll eat anything.’
The Pie Rats struggled to hold the raft together as, one by one, the logs began separating. Smudge tried to grab the crew’s attention, but the Captain brushed him aside with his paw.
The raft reached another bend in the river and white water rapids approached.
‘We’re done for,’ Mr Tribble shouted.
Whisker looked ahead. The rapids extended a short way and then suddenly disappeared – the whole river seemed to disappear into the distant horizon.
It’s not possible, Whisker thought.
Smudge dive-bombed the raft and suddenly it clicked.
Of course, Whisker thought. The river isn’t disappearing. It’s a …
‘WATERFALL!’ Ruby shouted.
The Pie Rats braced themselves for the impact as the pile of logs that had once resembled a raft plummeted over the edge of the falls.
Whisker let go of the string and leapt for his life. Beneath him, the waterfall cascaded into a wide, sandy pool. He dived towards the sparkling water with outstretched arms, hoping the pool was as deep as it was wide.
Slicing through the water like a pin, he descended to the icy depths with no sunken logs or submerged rocks in his path. Aware of the danger he still faced, he spun his body around and kicked his way to the surface.
Gasping for air, he burst from the pool and waited for the piranhas to attack. Nothing happened. No vicious bites. No painful nibbles. He tasted the water. It wasn’t sweet like the mountain river – it was salty, like the sea.
The river estuary, he thought.
He looked around. In the centre of the pool, Eaton hung off a log, while Ruby straightened her crimson eye patch. The Captain swam after his hat and Horace splashed in the shallows, laughing at his good fortune. Whisker couldn’t relax – there were still two Cat Fish to catch.
He paddled over to the shore and staggered onto the sand. Bathed in the afternoon sunlight, the fine grains felt warm beneath his toes. Barely a breeze blew from the ocean.
Nearby, Mr Tribble stood like a statue, staring out to sea. Whisker followed his gaze, over the pool, beyond the estuary and past the breaking waves of the shoreline to a single silver ship.
His heart sank. The Silver Sardine was right in front of him, but it was already sailing away. Helplessly, Whisker watched as the ship rounded an island to the north and disappeared from sight. He was too late. The key and the map were gone.
The rest of the crew dragged themselves from the pool, silently gathering around Whisker. Talk seemed pointless – even for Horace.
‘Smudge is sending word to the Apple Pie,’ the Captain said, finally breaking the silence. ‘It’s too dangerous for us to cross the mudflat again. We’ll meet the ship on the southern shore of the estuary. I suggest we get moving.’
‘How do we know the Apple Pie is still hidden?’ Mr Tribble asked with concern.
‘We don’t,’ the Captain replied. ‘But no smoke is always a good sign.’
Whisker sat hunched over in the back of the rowboat. It was night and his sombre mood hadn’t changed. He was tired, sore, and utterly miserable.
Fish Eye Fred rowed the companions through the surf to where the Apple Pie waited beyond the breakers. Emmie, in her usual cheery state, was overjoyed to see the companions alive. She threw her arms around her brother and hugged him tightly. Whisker had never seen so much relief on Eaton’s face.
Pete was predictably annoyed to hear of their misadventure and even more annoyed to discover that no one had thought to make a copy of the map. A stern look from the Captain ensured he kept his sarcastic remarks to himself.
Fred wasted no time in offering a welcome supper to the hungry crew.
‘Berry pies, apple pies or potato pies?’ he asked.
‘All of the above,’ Horace drooled.
Fred laid a selection of fresh pies in the centre of the navigation room. In minutes, the pies were no more than a pile of crumbs. Fred trudged off to get dessert – a second round of pies, while Pete sat muttering to himself in the corner.
‘If it’s any consolation, Quartermaster Pete,’ Mr Tribble said politely, ‘I have the two herbs you requested – though, they may be a little soggy.’
Pete screwed up his nose. ‘Equal quantities of each?’
‘Of course,’ Mr Tribble replied. ‘Incidentally, which herb is for sleeping?’
‘The roots are for sleeping,’ Pete stated. ‘The eyeballs give you energy.’ He frowned at Horace. ‘I thought I made that clear.’
‘Err … look what else we’ve got,’ Horace said, changing the subject. ‘A silver dinner set.’ He began pulling knives, forks and plates from his backpack. ‘They’ll need some polishing but …’
‘I’ll take care of that, Uncle Horace,’ Emmie said, snatching a plate from him. ‘I’m the new Hygiene Officer, you know.’
‘Really?’ Horace said, glancing at Pete.
‘She wanted a title,’ Pete sniffled, ‘and she likes cleaning. You should see the galley. It’s spotless.’
‘Come on, Eaton,’ Emmie said, grabbing her brother by the sleeve. ‘You’re going to help me polish these plates while you tell me all about the island.’
‘Yes, sis,’ Eaton reluctantly agreed.
The Pie Rats removed the remaining silverware from their backpacks and laid them on the floor. Whisker had no backpack – the Cat Fish had torn it to shreds. He slipped unnoticed through the doorway and wandered across the deck.
It was late in the evening, but the moon had not yet risen. The ocean was dead calm, not a breath of wind stirred. Whisker felt like he was drifting on a dark sea of despair. He peered up at the stars and searched for some comfort.
My family are watching these same stars, he told himself – if they’re awake … if they’re even alive.
He heard the sound of the Pie Rats muttering inside and felt a surge of anger rise in his chest.
They’ve forgotten about the key already, he thought spitefully. They have their treasure. It’s all they care about.
Smudge landed gently on the bulwark next to him. At the sight of the small, inquisitive creature, Whisker’s anger quickly drained away.
‘Hello, Smudge,’ he said wearily. ‘Don’t like silver either?’
Smudge shook his head and pointed to Whisker’s anchor pendant.
‘You like gold,’ Whisker said.
Smudge shook his head again.
‘Anchors?’ Whisker said confused.
Smudge shook his head a third time.
‘Hope?’ Whisker guessed. ‘An anchor is th
e symbol of hope.’
Smudge nodded.
Whisker ran his finger over his pendant and sighed. ‘I once had hope. Now I have nothing … not even a stupid plan.’
Smudge pointed to the mainsail and flapped two arms like a bird.
Whisker looked up. The sail hung limply from the mast.
‘A sail’s no good without wind, Smudge, even if it is our precious Eagle. Besides, the Cat Fish could be halfway to the Island of Destiny by now.’
Smudge didn’t respond. The rat and the fly stared into the darkness. There was silence.
Whisker felt the light touch of a paw on his shoulder but heard no one. He didn’t looking around – only one rat was that quiet.
‘How long have you been here, Ruby?’ he asked.
Ruby lowered her paw and placed it on the carved edge of the ship.
‘Long enough to know you don’t want silver for your birthday,’ she replied. ‘I can’t blame you. That stuff reeks of monkeys.’
Whisker tried to smile but inwardly he felt even worse. He’d just written-off Ruby as a treasure-hungry silver-lover, and judging by the shuffling footsteps behind her, he’d made the same mistake with Horace.
‘What have I missed?’ Horace asked. ‘Have you come up with a cunning plan to get the key back?’
‘I’ve got nothing,’ Whisker mumbled.
‘Oh well,’ Horace shrugged. ‘You’ll think of something … you always do.’
Not this time, Whisker thought miserably.
Three rats and a blowfly stared into the darkness, lost in their own thoughts. The stillness of the ocean was much too quiet for Horace.
‘The moon’s coming up,’ he said, pointing to the east with his hook. ‘I can see the glow … Yes, there it is. Look how fast it’s moving.’
Whisker watched the crescent moon rise majestically over the horizon. It cleared the edge of the ocean and then suddenly disappeared.
‘Hey,’ Horace exclaimed. ‘Where did it go?’
Whisker studied the sky. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight, but the moon was definitely blocked by something.
It only took him a moment to figure it out. He’d seen the shape once before on a moonlit night and its shimmering outline gave it away. The Silver Sardine wasn’t half an ocean away. It was drifting right in front of him.
Rat Burglars
The Captain held a telescope to his eye and peered into the blackness. The crew stood beside him, swords drawn, ready for action.
‘No sign of movement on the Sardine,’ he whispered, ‘I think we’ve caught them napping – though it’s too dark to be certain.’ He lowered the telescope. ‘An aerial sweep of the ship will give us a clearer picture – Smudge?’
Smudge nodded his head and, with a faint buzz of wings, flew across the glassy ocean to explore. The Pie Rats awaited his return.
‘It was a stroke of good luck you spotted them,’ the Captain said quietly to Horace. ‘It’s even more fortunate the wind, or lack of it, prevented their escape.’
‘Right place, right time …’ Horace muttered, giving Whisker a wink.
Whisker smiled. Hope was back.
‘What’s the battle plan, Uncle,’ Ruby asked. ‘Stealth-attack or single-rat-infiltration?’
‘I’m not sending you in alone, if that’s what you’re asking,’ the Captain replied firmly. ‘You may be quiet, but it if comes to a fight with six cats, you’ll need backup.’
‘I’ll take Whisker,’ Ruby replied without hesitation. ‘He needs to pass his Swords-rat-ship test sooner or later.’
Whisker wasn’t sure if he should feel proud or downright terrified.
‘Are you sure he’s ready?’ the Captain asked warily. ‘I have no doubts about his commitment, but one lesson …?’
‘He’s ready,’ Ruby said firmly. ‘His reaction speed on the cliff top was quicker than any apprentice I’ve seen.’
She gave Whisker a look of admiration. Whisker straightened his back and tried not to blush.
‘And he’s got a secret weapon,’ Horace added, ‘his tail.’
‘Very well,’ the Captain agreed. ‘Whisker can join Ruby, Smudge and myself …’
‘And me,’ Horace cut in.
‘And Horace …’ the Captain added.
‘Don’t forget me,’ Fred said.
The Captain sighed. ‘Whisker can join Ruby, Smudge, Horace, Fred, yours truly, and anyone else who’s crazy enough to sign up for a suicidal stealth mission to retrieve the map and key –’ He took a deep breath.
‘I’ll guard the rowboat,’ Pete said dryly. ‘My pencil leg is hardly an item of stealth.’
The mice were in no hurry to volunteer for anything cat-related and the Captain assigned them duties on the Apple Pie. Smudge soon returned with the news they all wanted to hear: the Cat Fish were fast asleep.
‘Prowler is dozing in the crow’s-nest,’ the Captain relayed, ‘and Master Meow is draped over the wheel. The others must be asleep in their cabins –’ He hesitated and looked directly at Pete. ‘Incidentally, there was no sign of Rat Bait onboard.’
‘That proves nothing!’ Pete snapped. ‘Nothing at all.’
Avoiding a bitter argument, the Captain moved on. ‘Gather your swords and meet me in the rowboat. We leave in two minutes.’
One and a half minutes later, Whisker climbed down the rope ladder to the small rowboat. Ruby, Pete and the Captain were already seated, anxiously waiting to depart. Fred was only a few rungs behind Whisker. The boat rocked from side to side as the giant clambered aboard and took his place at the oars.
‘Where’s that good-for-nothing Horace?’ Pete sniffled. ‘It will be daylight before the lazy lout turns up.’
‘Here I am,’ Horace exclaimed from the top of the ladder. ‘I had a few survival items to gather.’
As Horace scurried down the rope, Whisker noticed he was wearing a backpack – an extremely full backpack. Whisker shot him a look of concern.
‘Every mission needs a Plan B,’ Horace whispered, taking the seat next to Whisker.
‘Shh,’ Pete hissed.
Horace shut his mouth and the small vessel began slicing through the still water.
The crescent moon hung directly above the Silver Sardine, guiding the thieves to their prize. A faint breeze blew gently from the east, but only the soft splashes of Fred’s oars penetrated the night air. Smudge flew ahead as a precaution, on the off chance that the Cat Fish had woken for a midnight snack.
Silently, the rowboat pulled alongside the armour-plated hull and Fred stowed the oars. Hundreds of crumpled sardine tins lined the sides of the ship, providing protection – as well as convenient paw holds.
Smudge peered down from the deck and gestured with four arms.
‘All clear,’ the Captain whispered. ‘Let’s go.’
One by one, the Pie Rats scaled the metallic hull, grabbing hold of rivets and the edges of tins. Pete remained in the rowboat with his sword drawn.
The deck of the Silver Sardine was a pigsty of fish bones, half-eaten biscuits and empty milk bottles. The Cat Fish had clearly been celebrating their successful acquisition. Master Meow, the silver tabby, slept standing up with his arms draped over the ship’s wheel and his head dangling forward. His glass eye gleamed in the moonlight. The tip of Prowler’s blue-grey tail could be seen hanging over the side of the crow’s-nest.
On the Captain’s command, the Pie Rats tiptoed towards the staircase in the centre of the deck. Clumsily, Horace kicked a milk bottle with his foot. With a loud TING, RATTLE, RATTLE it rolled across the deck.
The Pie Rats froze.
The bottle bumped over a biscuit and came to a stop in a pile of fish heads. All eyes fixed on the sleeping cats. Master Meow didn’t stir. Prowler’s tail remained motionless.
Ruby glared at Horace, silently fuming. Horace mouthed whoops and the Pie Rats continued their cautious advance.
Closer to the stairs, the Captain gestured to Fred and pointed to the navigation room. Fred nodded in und
erstanding and headed for the doorway. Smudge flew to the top of a mast to keep an eye on the deck, and the four remaining rats descended the narrow staircase to the cabins below.
A lantern hung from a wall at the bottom of the first flight of stairs, spreading a faint glow through the main corridor. The whole place smelt like rotten fish. Whisker resisted the urge to hold his nose.
You’re a warrior now, he tried to convince himself. Warriors don’t hold their noses. They hold their swords.
He touched the handle of his scissor sword, hanging by his side, and pictured himself wielding it in battle. He didn’t want to disappoint Ruby but he still had his doubts about his ability. Cat Fish fought with cheese knives – not sticks.
Trying to remain positive, Whisker refocused on his surrounds. Four doorways lined the tight corridor. A loud wheezing sound drifted through the first doorway to the right – the door was ajar.
The Captain looked straight at Horace and motioned to the door. Horace slipped through the gap and disappeared into the darkness.
The second door was painted bright red and stood closed. Two words were scratched into its shiny surface: Girls Only.
Cleopatra and Siamese Sally, Whisker thought. He’d run into them once before in a dark corridor, and on that occasion he’d only just survived. He felt his tail begin to shake.
Ruby pointed to the writing on the door and flashed Whisker a mischievous grin. She slowly turned the handle and stepped inside.
There were two doorways left. A heavy oak door stood at the end of the corridor, decorated with an intricately carved fish skeleton. It was undoubtedly the Captain’s cabin. Opposite the ladies’ cabin was a partially open doorway. A terrible fishy smell wafted through the gap.
As the Captain crept towards Sabre’s cabin, Whisker knew his fate. Grabbing his nose, he entered the pungent smelling mess room of the Cat Fish.
The mess room was a mess. A huge table stood in the centre of the cramped space, covered with the remains of a seafood feast. Fish heads, octopus tentacles, mussel shells and sardine tails sprawled onto the floor. Unwashed milk bottles were stacked against the wall to form crude towers, waiting to topple over at the slightest touch.
Whisker climbed onto a stool and peered down at the clutter on the table. He caught a glimpse of a silver plate buried deep beneath the scraps and wondered what other precious items lay concealed in the heap.
The King's Key Page 16
