‘Scissor swords, dynamite, a cannon – take whatever you want,’ Horace said generously. ‘And if you accidently blow up the Silver Sardine, all the better.’
The Hermit left the room chuckling to himself.
Following dessert, the Captain sulked off to his cabin. One by one, Ruby, Horace and Whisker excused themselves from the table and headed for the Captain’s quarters. Whisker was the last to arrive.
He entered the luxurious carpeted room, surprised to find Pete sitting at the Captain’s ornate desk with the others. Smudge was perched on the clock, watching intently. The secret discussion was already in full swing.
‘… Mr Tribble doesn’t strike me as a spy,’ the Captain whispered, ‘even though the evidence goes against him.’ He breathed deeply. ‘My money’s still on Rat Bait. He’s the rottenest egg in the henhouse.’
‘There’s a chance all three of them are involved,’ Pete murmured. ‘Tribble could be the main spy and others his backup. Ruby’s eye patch only disappeared after we ran into Madam Pearl and Rat Bait.’
‘But how can we be certain?’ Horace asked in a hushed voice. ‘We can’t exactly torture the truth out of them – that’s more of a Cat Fish thing to do.’
‘There is one tried and true method that doesn’t involve torture,’ the Captain considered. ‘It’s what we in the industry like to call The Sting. Simply put, it’s an elaborate trap with an irresistible bait.’
‘What kind of bait?’ Horace whispered excitedly. ‘Gold-plated pies? Choc-coated cherries …?’
Pete screwed up his nose. ‘Not food, you dim-witted dugong. A map-coated key.’
The Forgotten Map lay open on the Captain’s desk. The King’s Key rested beside it. Pete and the Captain leant over the two items, their backs to the open door. Pete tapped his pencil impatiently while the Captain muttered quietly to himself. The happy chants of Fred and Emmie drifted from the galley:
Pecan pies for breakfast,
pumpkin pies for brunch.
If the crew are starving
serve them both for lunch!
There was a crescendo of pots and pans as the verse came to an end. The three rats hiding in Ruby’s cabin winced.
‘I wish they’d shut up,’ Ruby whispered. ‘I can’t hear anything with that awful screeching in my ears.’
‘At least you can see,’ Horace groaned. ‘You get the keyhole while I get the lousy gap under the door. Watching floorboards will hardly catch me a spy.’
‘Shh!’ Ruby hissed. ‘Your whining is worse than Fred’s singing.’
Horace flattened his face against the floor and breathed in a noseful of dust.
Whisker remained silent. He had the best view in the house. Through a large crack in the wall, he could see straight down the corridor and into the Captain’s cabin.
The sounds of Fred and Emmie grew softer as their dishwashing turned to dish-drying. The lamp in the corridor flickered out.
Now the real action begins, Whisker thought.
The Captain and Pete raised their voices, speculating on the meaning of the riddle. Whenever something important was discussed, they reverted to soft whispers. To anyone listening, their conversation was both highly intriguing and highly frustrating – exactly as planned.
After a lengthy critique of the map, Pete and the Captain turned their attention to the key.
‘Have we considered the shape of the teeth yet?’ the Captain asked.
Pete lifted the key off the table and held it in front of him. The Captain moved closer, blocking the key from watching eyes.
‘Very interesting,’ he said. ‘The teeth appear to be symbols. This first one could well be a …’
‘Aaachoo!’ Pete sneezed, cutting the Captain off.
‘Bless you,’ the Captain said. He pointed to the key and continued, ‘And this one is definitely a letter …’
‘Aaachoo! Aaachoo!’ Pete sneezed again.
The Captain handed him a handkerchief. ‘Do try and keep your nasty germs off our precious key, Pete.’
Pete blew his nose. ‘Sorry, Captain. It must be the onion odour in the air, playing havoc with my sinuses.’
The Captain grunted and returned to his investigations.
‘Ratbeard’s reward,’ he marvelled. ‘Take a look at this. The third tooth, turned ninety degrees forms a perfect …’
‘Aaachoo! Aaachoo! Aaachoo!’
‘Enough!’ the Captain snapped. ‘I’ll never decipher anything with your infuriating outbursts, Pete. It’s a healthy dose of Salamander’s Sniffle Solution for you.’
‘Aye, Captain,’ Pete muttered. ‘But you’d better take some, too. It could be contagious.’
The Captain groaned. ‘How inconvenient.’
‘Doctor’s orders,’ Pete sniffled. ‘Follow me.’
The Captain plonked the key on the table, blew out the candle and reluctantly followed Pete out of the room. Pete clomped a few steps down the corridor and took a detour into the mess room.
‘I think the Sniffle Solution is in the pantry,’ he murmured. ‘I recall seeing it behind the flour jars …’
The door to the mess room swung shut, plunging the corridor into silent darkness. Whisker’s tail twinged with anticipation.
Before his eyes had time to adjust, he saw a shadowy figure creep past him, quietly shuffling its feet along the gloomy passageway – it seemed the spy had taken the bait.
The ghostly silhouette stopped at the end of the corridor, glanced both ways and then stepped through the open doorway to the Captain’s cabin.
With a frantic BUZZ of wings, Smudge dropped from the ceiling and clamped himself onto the intruder’s head.
‘Now!’ Ruby cried, wrenching her door open.
The door collided with Horace’s nose and came to an abrupt halt. Horace bit down on his hook to stop himself yelping.
Ruby leapt through the narrow gap and charged into the darkness. Whisker was right behind her, and reached the Captain’s cabin in seconds.
A dark figure staggered from the doorway, frantically waving its arms above its head. Ruby hurled herself at the intruder and the two of them tumbled to the ground.
The corridor suddenly filled with light as Pete and the Captain burst from the mess room, quickly followed by Fred and Emmie. An even brighter light lit up the space when Eaton appeared with his precious lantern. Its narrow beam shone the entire length of the corridor, illuminating the trembling figure on the ground.
Emmie squealed, Eaton gasped and Pete stamped his pencil in triumph. Mr Tribble was sprung.
Ruby rose to her feet and drew both swords. Smudge gave Mr Tribble one last poke in the ear and buzzed up to the rafters. Mr Tribble, still sprawled on his back, continued to tremble.
There was a groan from Ruby’s cabin. Horace staggered out, clutching his nose.
‘So who done it?’ he cried. ‘I owe him, or her, a knee to the nose.’
‘Trembling Tribble’s your mouse,’ Pete sneered. ‘And a knee to the nose may improve his pathetic poker face.’ He prodded Mr Tribble with his pencil leg. ‘Should have paid more attention at spy school, hey Tribble?’
Emmie rushed forward, her eyes red, but the Captain pulled her back. Eaton watched, frozen to the spot, halfway down the corridor.
‘N-n-no,’ he stammered in disbelief. ‘M-M-Mr Tribble’s just a teacher.’
Behind Eaton, Rat Bait and Madam Pearl appeared from the cargo hold, their faces filled with surprise. Madam Pearl placed a paw on Eaton’s shoulder to calm him down. The entire crew awaited an explanation.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Mr Tribble gasped. ‘I’m not a spy.’
‘Really?’ Ruby said, unconvinced. ‘You look like you were spying to me.’
Mr Tribble gave Whisker a pleading look. It was the first time he’d made eye contact with Whisker since the rescue, and Whisker could see the desperation in his eyes; along with something else – confusion. Mr Tribble was either a brilliant liar or there was more to the situation than any of
them had first realised.
Whisker took a gamble.
‘Hear him out,’ he said. ‘If he doesn’t explain himself in three minutes, you can maroon him on the island with the Cat Fish.’
‘A generous offer, Whisker,’ Pete murmured. ‘I would have given him one. Alright, Tribble, start talking. Your time starts now.’
Mr Tribble peered up at his hostile captors.
‘You have to believe me,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m on your side.’
‘So why did you creep into my cabin?’ the Captain growled.
‘I just wanted to look at the map and the key,’ he replied.
‘Why?’ Pete snapped. ‘So you could steal them?’
‘No!’ Mr Tribble cried. ‘Because I’m responsible.’
‘Responsible for what?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘Why can’t you say?’
‘I can’t say because I swore an oath.’
‘An oath to the Cat Fish?’
‘No! An oath to the Cartographer’s Guild.’
‘The Cartographer’s Guild?’
A wave of confused murmurs swept through the crew.
‘I know we’ve been through this before,’ Horace whispered to Whisker, ‘but tell me again. Cartographers make carts, right?’
‘Maps,’ Whisker said. ‘Cartographers make maps.’
‘Right,’ Horace acknowledged. ‘It all makes perfect sense.’
‘Does it?’ Whisker said.
‘No. Not really,’ Horace admitted. ‘But there’s no denying Mr Tribble likes maps.’
‘Time’s running out, Tribble,’ Pete hissed. ‘If you don’t spill the beans soon, we’ll break more than just a silly oath!’
Mr Tribble gritted his teeth. Emmie began to cry.
‘What are you hiding?’ Pete yelled. ‘Tell me! Why is the map so important to you?’
Mr Tribble finally broke. ‘BECAUSE I MADE IT!’
Stunned silence filled the corridor.
‘Woah!’ Horace gasped. ‘I didn’t see that coming.’
The Captain stared at Mr Tribble in astonishment. ‘So you’re telling us that you made the Forgotten Map?’
Mr Tribble shook his head. ‘Not the original Forgotten Map. Only the copy in your possession.’
‘Copy?’ Horace echoed. ‘Why did you make a copy?’
Mr Tribble raised a trembling paw and pointed to the stairwell. ‘Because he asked me to.’
The Maker of Maps
The Hermit reached the bottom of the stairs. His fur was moist, his cloak was damp. In his paw, he clutched a brown drawstring bag.
‘Shiver me stitches!’ Horace exclaimed, rubbing his bruised nose with his hook. ‘This gets stranger by the minute.’
‘It’s making my head hurt,’ Fred groaned. ‘I need a pie and a lie down.’
The Hermit looked around the sea of surprised faces.
‘Did Hermit miss something?’ he asked.
‘You could say that,’ Horace replied candidly.
Pete continued to eye Mr Tribble suspiciously. ‘Let me get this straight, Tribble, you’re telling me that the map lying in the Captain’s cabin is a copy of the Forgotten Map and you made it for the Hermit?’
‘That’s right,’ Mr Tribble said. ‘It was many years ago.’
‘Yes, yes!’ the Hermit exclaimed, his ears twitching madly. ‘Hermit thought Tribble looked familiar. Tribble was apprentice mouse mapmaker.’
‘I thought he was a teacher?’ Horace said, perplexed.
Pete screwed up his nose. ‘Oh my precious paws! We’ll be here all night at this rate. Can someone just explain what’s going on from beginning to end so we can decide what to do with him?’
Ruby lowered her swords. ‘We can’t feed him to the Cat Fish for copying a map. That’s for sure.’
Mr Tribble gave her a look of relief and began to explain, ‘When I was a young mouse, my father owned a cartographer’s shop in Two Shillings Cove. I was his apprentice. One day, when my father was out of town on business, a sprightly Pie Rat captain came into the shop and asked me to copy a map in his possession. He needed the work done in a hurry so I worked through the night, replicating every last detail, including the keyhole in the centre.
‘When the captain returned the following morning to collect the two maps, I pointed out one slight difference so he knew which map was which. At the bottom right of the original map there were two sets of waves. On the copy there were three.
‘Such was the nature of my cartographer’s oath that I never asked questions, or spoke of the map with anyone again. My father’s business closed down when a big mapmaking chain moved into town and I took my love of maps and became a history teacher. I presumed I would never see the map again.’
‘Go on,’ Horace encouraged.
Mr Tribble continued, ‘Years later, aboard this very ship, I heard rumours that a mysterious map had resurfaced. The description of the map sounded vaguely familiar to me, but it was only after I had examined it in the Portside Boutique that I knew for certain it was the same map I had made. The three sets of waves in the corner were an instant giveaway.’
He looked around the corridor at the mesmerised crew. ‘Since that discovery, I have gone out of my way to keep you all safe – breaking laws and volunteering for ridiculous missions. As the creator of this map, I’m responsible for the trouble it brings. You can imagine my dismay when Whisker and the Captain were lost in the Treacherous Sea.’
He concluded, ‘After the Hermit came aboard I laid low to avoid being recognised – the past is best left in the past.’
Whisker continued to stare at Mr Tribble in bewilderment. He felt like a fool. He guessed the others felt the same way – Mr Tribble was on their side all along.
The Captain reached down and helped Mr Tribble to his feet.
‘I appreciate the sacrifices you have made to keep us safe,’ he said calmly. ‘Oaths and loyalties are not things to be broken lightly. I give you my word that my crew will not mention this incident to any cartographers, mapmakers or ship-to-ship sales-mice, should we cross paths with them.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Horace chanted. ‘No talking to the cart guys.’ He prodded Fred with his hook. ‘Got it, big fella?’
Fred looked like he’d just fallen asleep and woken up again.
‘Talk to who about what?’ he muttered. ‘All I know is there are two maps. We’ve got one and the other one is …’
‘Turning to dust,’ the Hermit said, pulling the paper scraps from his bag. ‘Windy, windy island not kind to maps. Hermit arranged copy for his son … just in case.’
The Captain glared at Rat Bait. ‘I wish I knew that before I handed over my gold.’
Rat Bait looked sideways in guilt and Pete stamped his pencil in annoyance.
‘Err, shouldn’t we be focusing on deciphering the riddle?’ Horace said, trying to ease the tension. ‘The sooner we can find the treasure, the sooner we can get out of here and live happily ever after.’
‘It’s not a fairytale, you delirious dwarf,’ Pete snapped. ‘There are still Cat Fish on the island, remember?’
‘So?’ Horace retorted. ‘They’re probably still recovering from jelly-tart-itis. Besides, they have no idea where the treasure is.’
Pete screwed up his nose. ‘Neither do we. All that gobbledygook you heard about the key was just a ruse to trap our timid teacher friend. The teeth on the key are no more than random shapes.’
Horace slumped his shoulders in disappointment. ‘Rotten pies to random shapes.’
‘So what’s our next move?’ Ruby asked impatiently. ‘Chit-chatting in a corridor won’t get us anywhere.’
‘Right ye be,’ Rat Bait concurred, before the Captain could answer. ‘Might I suggest a bit o’ friendly competition to get the mind workin’?’
‘What kind of competition?’ Horace enquired, suddenly perking up.
Rat Bait stuck his paw in his coat pocket and fumbled around for a moment.
‘Aye,�
� he muttered to himself. ‘There still be a few left.’ He removed his paw and held out three gold coins. ‘The first rat, weasel or mouse to discover the location o’ the treasure will receive me three remainin’ coins as a reward for their efforts.’
‘How very generous of you,’ the Captain said sarcastically.
‘I’m in!’ Horace exclaimed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a bit of healthy rivalry and certainly nothing wrong with the Captain’s gold.’
‘Very well,’ Pete said. ‘If we’re all agreed, I’ll bring the key and map into the mess room. If no one deciphers the riddle, Rat Bait’s gold goes into the kitty and we sail out of here at first light.’
The crew gathered around the dining table, eager to discover the treasure’s secret location. The Forgotten Map and the King’s Key lay in full view for all to see. Pete’s rough tracing of the map completed the mix.
While the rest of the crew concentrated on the map of the island, Whisker focused on the key. He’d spent enough time examining the Forgotten Map to know the position of every painted boulder and every pine tree. Even the words of the riddle were etched in his mind:
Uncover the key and enlighten your mind,
but wisdom is found in the shadows behind.
With the last two lines running through his head, he picked up the key and studied its painted surface closely.
Starting at the Rock of Hope, he ran his eyes up the river to the boulders and across to the letter X. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. The rest of the key appeared to be painted solely to complete the map – nothing more, nothing less.
There has to be more, he pondered, flipping the key over. The reverse side was painted black.
Wisdom is found in the shadows behind? he thought. There’s no wisdom here – only black paint and a couple of small scratches.
He peered at the position of the scratches, hoping their placement was significant. They weren’t. The scratches were no more than random wear-and-tear marks, a result of rubbing on the chameleon’s neck.
Whisker turned his attention to the teeth of the key and wondered if Pete and the Captain had missed something. He rotated the key so the shaft was horizontal. The tooth closest to the handle looked like a letter T or a backwards letter J. The second tooth resembled a lightning bolt or a sideways S. The third tooth appeared to be a letter Y or a backwards number 4.
The Island of Destiny Page 10
