‘It’s a good thing Ruby’s not here,’ he muttered quietly to himself. ‘But then again …’
The Hermit’s ears twitched.
‘Who’s Ruby?’ he asked inquisitively.
‘Ruby is our boatswain,’ the Captain said. ‘She’s also my dear niece and your granddaughter.’
‘Hermit has a granddaughter?’ the Hermit exclaimed.
The Captain nodded. ‘She’s a fine girl, our Ruby. Isn’t she, Whisker?’
Whisker felt his cheeks flushing.
‘Y-yes,’ he stammered.
‘Ruby lost her mother, your daughter, in the plague, along with the rest of her family,’ the Captain explained to the Hermit. ‘Ruby’s been in my crew ever since she was old enough to swing a sword.’
The Hermit’s face darkened. ‘Little Lilith is gone?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ the Captain said. ‘Many things have changed over the years.’
‘Hermit’s wife?’ the Hermit asked.
The Captain grinned. ‘Granny Rat is as angry as ever and very much alive. She’ll be furious to see you, that’s for sure. But I’ve no doubt she’ll welcome you back with open arms.’ His face grew stern. ‘Granny never trusted Rat Bait and often questioned his story. Heaven help the lying scoundrel if she ever tracks him down – if I ever track him down.’
‘Hermit is afraid we’ll never see any of them again,’ the Hermit said gravely. ‘Ships never return to windy, windy island. Hermit and rats stranded forever.’
Whisker’s tail coiled itself around an onion. The Captain gave the Hermit a defiant look, as if accepting a challenge.
‘You don’t know the crew of the Apple Pie,’ he murmured. ‘They’re loyal to the end. If they’re alive, they’ll return. I know it.’
‘Hermit hopes so,’ the Hermit sighed. ‘Hermit once believed Princess Pie would return. Every day he watched. Every day the same: empty horizon.’
‘Except today,’ the Captain said.
‘’Cept today,’ the Hermit repeated. ‘Today more rats marooned …’
The Captain didn’t respond. The Hermit sighed and threw another branch on the fire, its withered leaves bursting into flames. Whisker looked from the Hermit to the Captain, sensing it was going to be a stalemate.
‘So what can we do?’ he asked in a small voice. ‘Surely we can build a raft to get off the island?’
The Hermit brushed the ash off his paws. ‘Hermit built raft, yes, yes. Many years ago. Mighty raft it was – wrecked on Cyclone Sea. Hermit swam back to island.’
‘What about the treasure?’ Whisker asked hopefully. ‘We know it has great power.’
The Hermit shook his head.
‘Treasure still a mystery,’ he replied sadly. ‘Hermit searched for many years on western mountain. Hermit found no clue of secret location.’
Whisker glanced guiltily at the Captain and then turned back to the Hermit.
‘The King’s Key revealed where the treasure was hidden,’ he explained, ‘but I’m afraid it’s lying at bottom of the Treacherous Sea.’
The Hermit’s eyes lit up. ‘Whisker remembers location of treasure?’
‘Yes,’ Whisker replied. ‘The lower slopes of Mt Mobziw. But a location’s not much good without the key. I’m sure we’ll need it to open a door or …’
‘Whisker shows Hermit the map,’ the Hermit cut in. ‘Hermit shows Whisker something – useful.’
‘Oh-ok,’ Whisker said, intrigued.
He reached across for the map canister, drying near the fire and carefully removed its delicate contents. The Hermit shuffled to the back of the cave and pulled out a brown drawstring bag from a crack in the wall. He brought the bag closer to the fire.
‘Hermit’s treasures,’ he said, reaching his paw inside.
He pulled out an ancient compass, a few scraps of faded paper and a rusty metal key. Like a mother handling a new born baby, he gently placed them on a rock.
Whisker cautiously picked up the key and examined it closely. It had three teeth and an oval shaped handle. Its rough, iron surface lacked any painted detail, but its outline was unmistakable. With growing excitement, he placed it over the hole in the map. It was an exact fit.
‘Well I’ll be …’ he marvelled.
‘So you had a key after all, you crafty sea dog,’ the Captain chuckled.
The Hermit winked. ‘Hermit made key from outline on map many years ago. Hermit no fool, no, no. Hermit just bad at solving riddles to locate real key.’
The Captain laughed. ‘That’s why it pays to have a bright young apprentice in your crew.’ He slapped Whisker on the back. ‘This one’s quite the problem solver when he’s not wrestling chameleons or infuriating giant spider crabs.’
The Hermit grinned at Whisker. ‘Many problems for apprentice to solve on windy, windy island, yes, yes. Hermit takes rats to Mt Mobziw – first light. Now rats sleep.’
Almost on cue, Whisker let out a deep yawn. His mind was still racing, but his body longed for rest. It had been a big day – most days were big days with the Pie Rats. Whisker had lost count of how many days he had nearly died, had nearly been eaten or had nearly died while nearly being eaten. Reassuring himself he was at least safe for the night, he curled up next to the fire and, with one last oniony burp, fell fast asleep.
X Marks the Spot
Dawn was just as windy as the night before. Whisker awoke to the sound of the wind whistling through the narrow entrance to the cave. Through the thin wisps of smoke circling around the smouldering fire, he saw the Hermit shuffling along the wall, munching on a raw onion like it was a juicy apple.
Whisker sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. His troubled dreams had been filled with scenes of sinking ships and drowning rats, but the nightmares faded from his mind when he saw the first rays of the rising sun.
Today we search for the treasure, he told himself. Today I find my answer.
He scoffed down a rushed breakfast of cold nuts, politely refusing the raw onion on offer, and set off with the others towards Mt Mobziw. The Hermit had a spring in his step. The Captain had a spring and a slight hobble. Whisker scurried.
They traversed the rough ground, heading west. The land dropped away to the south, exposing the rocky faces of huge boulders. The Rock of Hope, clearly visible on the sandy lip of the lagoon, glowed a rich gold in the morning sun.
Whisker searched the sea for ships. Crashing waves and jagged rocks filled his vision. He could see the Hermit up ahead, staring at the same distant scene, and wondered how many days the marooned rat had spent watching and waiting for a ship to sail into view.
Thousands, he guessed. Are we destined to wait for thousands more?
The rats continued marching until they were directly above a stream of water gushing from a hole in the mountainside. The water splashed over the rocks to form a shallow river, twisting its way down the slope towards the ocean.
‘Mountain spring,’ the Hermit whispered. ‘Centre of windy, windy island. River runs south to white rock.’ He pointed ahead. ‘Mt Mobziw west, Mt Moochup east. Scorpions north, yes, yes. Rats hurry past.’
They continued at a faster pace, Whisker keeping a watchful eye to the north. Scorpions, together with giant spider crabs, were at the top of his list of creepy critters to avoid at all costs.
Whisker was by nature a climber. The Hermit, it seemed, was a rock-hopper. He leapt between boulders like they were nothing more than cobblestones on a flat road, perfectly timing his jumps over crevices and small ravines so his pace never altered. He moved so swiftly and silently along the rocks that Whisker and the Captain almost lost sight of him.
After hours of frantic scrambling, the rats began moving higher up the side of the mountain. The terrain transformed from smooth-topped boulders to crumbling black rocks and loose soil. The occasional wind-ravaged pine tree punctuated the bleak landscape.
The Hermit stopped and waited for the others to catch up.
‘Owl territory,’ he said in a matter-of-fa
ct voice. ‘Whisker checks map, yes, yes?’
Whisker added owls to his mental list and slid the map from the canister. He held it steady in the wind as the Hermit took the rusty key from his bag.
The Captain used his fingernail to scratch a small X on the lower tooth, replicating the treasure symbol from the original King’s Key. The Hermit’s eyes grew wide with delight as the Captain moved the key into position over the map.
‘According to these coordinates,’ the Captain explained, ‘the treasure should be located halfway along the mountain, just above the line of boulders.’ He glanced around at the mountainside. ‘We must be close.’
The Hermit twitched his ears. ‘Not here, no, no. Further west. Hermit knows the way.’
He grabbed the key from the Captain’s paw and excitedly raced off up the mountain. Whisker and the Captain were left staring after him.
‘He hasn’t changed a bit,’ the Captain chuckled to Whisker. ‘Not even the island has slowed him down. He’s the same fearless and energetic rat I remember when I was a boy – a little rash and impulsive, mind you, but that comes with the territory.’
Whisker could see the sheer joy on the Captain’s face as he revisited his childhood memories – memories he’d suppressed for many years. It seemed a wall of hatred had finally been dissolved.
The Hermit glanced over his shoulder and hooted down to them like an owl. ‘Hurry, hurry. Slow rats are owl’s breakfast. Lazy rats are scorpion’s tea.’
Whisker stashed the map in his belt and jogged after the Hermit with the Captain laughing by his side.
‘Remind you of anyone?’ the Captain asked playfully.
‘I can think of one fearless, energetic and impulsive rat,’ Whisker replied. ‘Though she comes with a temper.’
‘An unfortunate family trait,’ the Captain sighed. ‘You can thank Granny Rat for that. She’s got more angst than Ruby, yours truly and a giant moray eel put together.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘On saying that, Granny does make a terrific mashed potato pie when she’s in a rage. It’s to die for.’
‘Potato pie,’ the Hermit moaned from up ahead. ‘What Hermit would give for mashed potato pie.’
Reaching the supposed treasure site, Whisker half expected to find a giant X painted on the side of the mountain. It turned out there was no X, no hidden door and nothing whatsoever to indicate they were remotely close to the treasure.
The Hermit was convinced their location matched the bearing on the map, but after many hours of scraping through dirt and tapping on rocks, he too began to have his doubts.
‘We’re missing something,’ Whisker remarked for the seventeenth time that afternoon.
‘Clearly,’ the Captain said in frustration.
The Hermit put down his sharpened stick and clambered out of the hole he’d been digging. He wandered over to where the map lay spread on the ground, its edges weighed down by four small stones.
Staring at the map for some time, he read the last two lines of the riddle aloud.
Expectantly, the Hermit looked across at Whisker for an interpretation.
Whisker brushed the wind-swept fur out of his eyes and searched his memory.
‘We already know what the last line means,’ he said. ‘It led us to the missing key. Well, one of them, anyway.’
The Hermit looked confused.
Whisker tried to explain. ‘We found two keys in the jungle citadel. The first key, the false key, was made of gold and symbolised wealth. The second key, the King’s Key, was cast from brass and represented wisdom. We uncovered the King’s Key while we were searching in the shadows behind the citadel. It was hanging around the neck of an overly annoyed three-horned chameleon …’
‘No, no,’ the Hermit said in alarm.
‘We made it out alive,’ the Captain reassured him. ‘But it was an explosive experience to say the least – our master gunner, Horace, blew up half the cliff top trying to escape.’
The Hermit nodded in amusement and Whisker looked back at the riddle, pondering.
‘We never did work out what enlighten your mind meant …’ His voice drifted off and there was a long pause.
‘Perhaps we need the King’s Key after all,’ the Captain said, with a tinge of regret. ‘I dare say there’s a detail on its painted surface we somehow overlooked.’
Whisker knew the Captain wasn’t laying blame, but it didn’t stop a feeling of guilt overwhelming him. He thought it best he kept his mouth shut and wandered off to find another hole to dig.
He’d only scooped out a few pawfuls of dirt when he heard the Hermit approaching.
‘Hermit wonders where key was lost in lagoon?’ the Hermit asked eagerly.
Whisker had no desire to relive the experience, but decided an honest reply would be the quickest way to end the discussion once and for all.
‘I lost the key to the north-west of the last rock,’ he admitted. ‘It happened when the eel dragged our bow under the water. I should have been more careful, I know.’
The Hermit patted Whisker on the shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile.
‘Giant eel no friendly goldfish,’ he laughed. ‘Not to worry. Lagoon has rocky bottom. Key waits for rats. Rats dive for key, yes, yes?’
‘Err, sure,’ Whisker said, not wanting to dampen the Hermit’s enthusiasm. ‘But what about the eel?’
‘Eel not coming back, no, no,’ the Hermit chuckled. ‘Pie Rats took care of eel.’
Whisker was somewhat reassured by the Hermit’s response, but his tail still shivered at the thought of swimming across the lagoon. Experience had taught him that even the vilest of creatures could have a mate – or a family.
The Hermit continued excitedly, ‘Hermit has small rowboat, yes, yes. Driftwood hull. Seaweed camouflage. Not ocean-ready like raft but sturdy enough for lagoon. Hermit takes rats to beach.’
‘Tomorrow, perhaps,’ the Captain said, joining the conversation. ‘It seems we’ve been on this mountain longer than any of us have realised.’
Whisker looked west to where the sun hung low in the sky. Clouds gathered overhead, swirling in the gusty winds.
The Hermit took one look at the brewing storm and nodded in agreement. ‘Key fishing tomorrow. Boiled onions tonight.’
Treasureless, the three rats packed up their belongings and hurriedly set off towards the Hermit’s lair.
Constellations
Whisker made a concerted effort to look out for wild fruits and berry bushes on his trek down the mountainside. The unpleasant aftertaste of onions still lingered from the night before and boiled anything was hardly a meal to look forward to.
Before long, the thick clouds had blanketed the entire sky and darkness crept in. Whisker reached a large boulder near the mountain spring and spotted a scraggly bush growing from a crevice. In the fading light, he could just see what looked like clumps of red berries dangling from its branches.
‘This looks promising,’ he muttered to himself.
He skipped over to investigate. The dark, spiky-tipped leaves were an instant giveaway. It was a holly bush. His heart sank in disappointment. He didn’t need to be the son of a fruit and vegetable seller to know that a bellyful of holly berries would give him much more than just bad breath.
Discouraged, he stepped away from the bush and turned to go; suddenly realising he was all alone. He looked ahead but saw no one. Beginning to panic, he looked right, glanced left and peered up and down the mountain – still no one.
With a mixture of fear and annoyance, he wondered how long he’d been walking on his own, distracted by his hungry thoughts.
He shouted the names of the Hermit and the Captain, but the roar of the wind and the gushing of the stream drowned his voice. Above him, the sky looked ominous, the dark clouds a clear warning that rain could fall at any moment. Whisker had no choice but to sprint blindly along the boulders, hoping he was headed in the right direction.
Without the sun or the stars to guide him, he was forced to rely on famili
ar landmarks to get his bearings. It didn’t help that all the boulders looked identically unfamiliar to him.
After running aimlessly for what seemed like hours, Whisker accepted the fact he was hopelessly lost. He sniffed the air, hoping to catch a whiff of the Hermit’s onion odour, but the wind carried nothing but the salty scent of the sea.
‘If only I had the Hermit’s compass,’ he mumbled.
There was a faint tapping sound from behind a rock. Whisker spun around, half expecting to see the Hermit sneaking up on him. What he saw was far less comforting.
The shiny black shape of a scorpion crept from the shadows. Its long, segmented tail curved high above its body, ready to strike. Its two claws stretched forward, pincers open. Eight red-tinged legs moved stealthily over the ground. Its beady eyes showed no sign of expression as it moved into striking range.
Whisker had no doubts about its intentions. It had come to fight, not to offer directions. Realising this wasn’t a moment for heroics, he turned on his heel and ran.
The scuttling of legs echoed around him. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed two scorpions advancing on his left. Two more appeared to his right. In front of him, flanked by two boulders, were a dozen waiting scorpions. Whisker’s escape route was blocked.
Common sense told him to stop and assess his options, but fear kept his legs moving. He drew his scissor sword and tried to recall the defensive guards Ruby had taught him.
Roof Guard, he told himself, raising his sword above his head.
The first attack came from his left. With a downwards thrust of its tail, a scorpion stabbed at Whisker’s chest. Whisker swung his sword through the air in a powerful arc. His blade collided with the thick exoskeleton of the scorpion, battering the sting away.
He recovered from the impact just in time to see a second sting flashing towards him. He jerked his sword upwards and in the same motion threw his body forward. His sword deflected the blow and his body rolled clear under the scorpion’s tail.
The scorpion swivelled itself around and made a lunge for Whisker with its claw. Whisker grabbed the scorpion’s nearest leg and pulled himself to his feet as the claw snapped shut. With a violent tug on his shorts, Whisker knew the scorpion had him.
The Island of Destiny Page 4
