‘No we don’t,’ Gertrude said abruptly. ‘We keep to ourselves up here. The business of the birds ain’t no business of ours.’ The angry glare she shot Whisker clearly told him the subject was closed.
‘Of course, my mistake,’ Whisker said apologetically, returning to his pie.
‘We’re new to the mountain, as far as residents go,’ Viola added in explanation. ‘And we haven’t ventured far from our lodge. Half-a-dozen winters might seem like an eternity to you young folk, but the fisher-badger still refers to us as sisters from the city.’
‘Ruby was born in the city,’ Horace said, attempting to lighten the mood. ‘Perhaps you’ve got some stories to share?’
‘Yes indeed,’ Viola laughed, clapping her paws in delight. ‘I’m always up for a story.’ She turned to Ruby. ‘So tell me, my dear, what part of Elderhorne are you from? The Hills District? Or perhaps the Riverview Green?’
Ruby moved her paw to her eye patch.
‘The plague side,’ she said coldly.
‘Oh … y-yes,’ Viola said, stumbling over her words. ‘Who could forget the plague?’
‘Not a nurse,’ Gertrude rasped, holding up her knife like it was a surgeon’s scalpel. ‘A nurse remembers every dying detail.’
Horace almost choked on his pie.
‘Got something to say?’ she said, glaring at him.
‘Err, not really,’ Horace spluttered. ‘I just didn’t take you for a nurse, that’s all.’
‘What did you take me for?’ Gertrude snapped. ‘An undertaker?’
‘Well, now that you mention it …’ Horace began.
Whisker elbowed him in the ribs.
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am,’ Horace winced. ‘Do continue.’
‘Both of us were nurses,’ Gertrude said, pointing to her sister with the knife. ‘We worked in the same hospital ward in Elderhorne before the dreaded plague reared its ugly head. It swept through the capital like the hand of death and there was nothing we could do to stop it. We loved the city dearly, but who wants to live in a place with only death and taxes to wake up to?’
‘The mountain has been a welcome change,’ Viola said, a little more upbeat. ‘We have our own private stream and, apart from the occasional blizzard, the weather is pleasantly invigorating.’
‘Freezing would be a more accurate description,’ Gertrude muttered, still clutching the knife menacingly. She glanced at the Pie Rats’ rucksacks lying near the door. ‘And we could do with a bag or two of gold in case of an emergency –’
‘No, no,’ Viola laughed, dismissing the comment lightly. ‘Gold only means more taxes and we’ve given enough of our hard-earned savings to that greedy governor.’ She stood up and began to clear the dishes. ‘I wouldn’t mind it if Governor Cazban spent a penny or two on our hospitals and schools, but it seems that every tax dollar he receives is used to fund his over-sized navy.’
‘Navy?’ Whisker said, his ears pricking up. ‘What have you heard?’
‘Only a rumour or two from our friendly fisher-badger,’ Viola said, stacking the plates. ‘The Blue Claw have been recruiting extra crabs all summer. I’ve even heard that some of the coastal forests have been cut down to provide wood for new Claw-of-War ships.’
‘Interesting,’ Whisker said, rising from his seat to assist her with the dishes.
Ruby flashed him a look that said let it go.
Whisker’s curiosity got the better of him.
‘You wouldn’t happen to know why the governor needed more ships?’ he asked casually.
‘I haven’t the foggiest,’ Viola replied, handing Whisker the plates. ‘But then again, I never was very interested in boats. It seems unnatural to be on the water when you could be swimming through it.’
‘My sentiments exactly,’ Gertrude sneered. ‘Boats are flimsy little things, constantly tipping over.’ She looked straight at Whisker. ‘And of course there’s always the danger of pirates.’
Whisker felt his face turning red. With nowhere to hide, he turned and followed Viola into the kitchen.
Just relax, he told himself, as soon as he was out of Gertrude’s watchful eye. She doesn’t know a thing.
Feeling more comfortable with the friendlier of the two sisters, Whisker took his own advice and began to relax. He soon found himself talking freely as they washed the dishes together. Running with his circus story meant he could talk truthfully about his sister, and indeed his entire circus past.
As saucepans and serving spoons were scrubbed, he recalled the time Anna had dressed up as a miniature version of the ringmaster and crawled into the big top to the delight of the crowd. As crockery and cutlery were cleaned he talked fondly about his sister’s cheeky habit of sticking popcorn into performers’ shoes and yelling ‘POP’ when they put their feet inside. And as the dishes were dried, Whisker described how little Anna would sit for hours and listen to his stories about dragons and knights, mountains and rescues – stories she was now very much a part of.
Talking about his sister, although calming at first, only made Whisker more anxious to depart. When the final plate lay sparkling on the shelf, he informed Viola that he really must be leaving.
‘I won’t allow it,’ she said firmly, her front teeth vibrating nervously, ‘not with a blizzard still raging outside.’
‘I think it’s calmed down,’ Whisker said, placing his ear against the wall. ‘Yes, the wind definitely sounds quieter.’
‘Is that so?’ Viola huffed, throwing open a small kitchen window.
Whisker felt an icy blast of wind and snow batter his warm cheeks.
‘If I let you go out in that, you’ll be a rat popsicle long before you reach the glacier,’ she said, hurriedly closing the window. ‘I insist. You must stay. There are plenty of spare blankets to keep you warm and you can sleep by the fire until the storm passes.’ She lowered her voice. ‘If it’s my sister you’re worried about, then don’t. She may act like the wicked witch of the woods but when it comes to the crunch, she’ll never leave a stranger out in the cold.’
‘But –’ Whisker protested.
‘There’s no use arguing,’ Viola said, bustling him out of the kitchen. ‘A nurse’s word is final.’ She shuffled into the lounge and then raised her finger to her lips.
‘Shhh,’ she whispered. ‘It looks like your friends have already accepted my offer.’
Whisker looked across to the blazing fire. Horace was slumped in Gertrude’s rocking chair, snoring quietly. Ruby was curled up on the couch like a kitten, fast asleep. Above her, Chatterbeak perched on a beam, dozing peacefully. Gertrude was nowhere in sight, but Whisker noticed the door leading to the front bedroom was shut.
‘Alright,’ he conceded, moved by the sight of his companions’ serene faces. ‘They deserve a decent night’s sleep. We’ll stay until the blizzard has gone – but not a moment longer.’
‘Very good,’ Viola said with a broad smile. ‘I’ll fetch your blankets.’
‘And Viola,’ Whisker said as she turned to go, ‘is there anything you can do about Ruby’s ankle? She’s too proud to ask for your help, but I think she might have sprained it.’
Viola nodded. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her. Now get some rest.’
Whisker lay down on the second sofa. He was dry, warm and comfortable, yet as he closed his eyes, all he could picture was his little sister Anna, clinging to the bars of a cage in the middle of that terrible blizzard.
It made him sad, it made him angry, but more than anything it made him determined – there was only one way he was leaving the mountain and that was with Anna in his arms. Sleep now, he told himself. For tomorrow the real battle begins.
Searching for a Sign
It was morning when Whisker awoke in the sun-filled lodge of the beavers. The blizzard had passed and outside the sun was already beginning to thaw the thick blanket of snow that covered the riverbank. Inside his friends were busy preparing for the next stage of their journey. Coats were being buttoned, rucksacks
were being slung over shoulders and Ruby was hobbling around in a pair of new crutches. CLOMP patter CLOMP.
The crutches were the perfect size for Ruby and light enough to be carried by Chatterbeak along with the rest of the rats’ supplies. They were made from the hollow stems of dried water reeds, fastened together using string and nails.
‘You’ve got the hang of it already,’ Whisker yawned from the sofa as Ruby raced past him.
‘Viola says I’ll only need them for a few days,’ Ruby said, grinning. ‘Then I can use the reeds as arrow shafts!’
‘It seems you’ve got everything figured out,’ Whisker said, glancing around the busy room. ‘Why didn’t anyone wake me up earlier?’
‘We thought you could use some thinking sleep,’ Horace said, helping himself to a freshly baked croissant from the coffee table.
‘Alright,’ Whisker said, rising to his feet, ‘but my thoughts are that we should leave straight away. We’ve already lost precious hours of daylight.’
‘Take a croissant for the road,’ Horace said, stuffing a warm pastry into Whisker’s paws. ‘If you need the bathroom, it’s out the door and under the first tree.’
‘Thank you, Maid Horace,’ Whisker said, picking up his coat.
‘Good morning, Whisker,’ Viola said, stepping into the room. ‘It’s a perfect day for a mountain expedition. Not a cloud in sight and only a light breeze to tickle your whiskers.’
Whisker caught sight of Gertrude skulking behind Viola. She was frowning deeply and eying his hooded coat suspiciously.
Whisker felt his tail sliding to the floor.
‘W-we’re eternally grateful for everything you’ve done,’ he said, trying to cover his anxiety with friendly conversation.
‘Don’t mention it,’ Viola laughed. ‘And if you’re passing by on your return journey, please call in for tea. We’d both dearly love to meet your sister.’
‘Family’s important,’ Gertrude added gruffly. ‘No matter who you are.’
Whisker wasn’t quite sure what she meant by this final comment, but he took it as his cue to depart.
Outside the lodge, the rats climbed onto Chatterbeak and with three rapid beats of his wings, the parrot launched himself into the air. Leaving the waving beavers behind, he soared over the snow-laden riverbank and steadied his course above the centre of the stream.
The water was grey and churning, carrying sediment from the glacier plus melting ice and snow from the storm. Although Whisker had been hesitant to fly during daylight, he knew the stream was the safest route to follow. The movement of the water would camouflage Chatterbeak from above, and flying was far easier than trudging over rocks and snow. They had lost enough time as it was, and Whisker was anxious to reach the Erratic Blocks before noon.
As Chatterbeak made his way up the mountainside, the small cliffs surrounding the stream were quickly replaced by towering conifer trees. Pines, spruces, firs and hemlocks tussled for space in the dense forest, their interlocking branches covered in snow from the evening’s blizzard. To the east of the stream was Blackbird Wood, dark and foreboding. To the west lay the lower reaches of Red Tail Rocks.
Whisker occupied his usual position on the back of Chatterbeak with Ruby’s arms wrapped tightly around him. Although she was in no immediate danger of falling off, she maintained a bear-like grip, snuggling closer as the air grew colder. For his part, Whisker was in no hurry to break from her cosy embrace.
He wasn’t sure if the thinning air was affecting Ruby’s head or if Viola’s masterful work on her ankle had given her a new lease on life, but she began a chirpy little tune as the forests rushed past them.
‘Hawks to the left of me, ravens to the right, here I am stuck on a parrot with you.’
‘That’s beautiful,’ Horace said from the clutches of Chatterbeak’s claws. ‘And here I was thinking you were tone deaf.’
‘Humph,’ Ruby snorted, clearly unimpressed with the backhanded compliment.
‘I tell you what,’ Horace said, a mischievous tone to his voice, ‘if you can come up with a catchy second verse, I’ll ask the band to play it at your wedding.’
‘Who said you’ll even get an invite?’ she burst out.
‘Ah ha! So there is going to be a wedding!’ Horace declared in triumph.
Whisker felt Ruby’s arms recoil in an instant.
‘I-I never said that,’ she stammered.
‘No, but you thought it,’ Horace chuckled. ‘And now that it’s out in the open, there’s no use denying it.’
‘Why you little –’ Ruby hissed.
‘– pageboy?’ Horace jumped in. ‘Thanks for asking. I’d be delighted. Unless of course Whisker wants me to be his best man. Either way, I’ve got an entire hook to hold your wedding rings …’
‘I’ll clobber you, I swear!’ Ruby huffed, raising a crutch above her head.
The unexpected motion threw Chatterbeak off course.
‘Skraww, skraww,’ he screeched, trying to steady himself. ‘Save the fowl behaviour for the hen’s night.’
‘Ooogh!’ Ruby fumed. ‘Not you, too.’
Horace sighed dramatically. ‘It seems we’re both off the guest list, Chatterbeak … but then again, the groom’s kept awfully quiet and I’m sure he’s got something to say.’
Whisker had plenty to say, but he wasn’t going to fall into Horace’s trap as easily as his supposed bride-to-be. Horace was an unabashed romantic and a serial stirrer. Anything Whisker said would only make the situation more embarrassing. Instead, he unfolded his map, raised his spyglass to one eye and said in his most unromantic voice, ‘Quiet in the cabin. Glacier dead ahead.’
The massive ice structure was still a long way off, but even from a distance, it commanded the complete attention of the rats. It rose up the mountainside like a giant white carpet, filling the steep gully between Red Tail Rocks and the mighty buttress. The most breathtaking part of the view was the near-vertical cliff of ice, forming the face (or snout) of the glacier. It was a pale aquamarine colour and stretched across the entire width of the gully. Tens of metres high, it looked like a frozen tidal wave, suspended in mid-air, shackled by its own ice core.
Small rivulets of icy meltwater flowed from the glacier’s base across the rocky gully floor, twisting past piles of gravelly sediment and merging into shallow brooks. As the gully narrowed further downhill, the trees closed in and the brooks were forced together to form one fast-flowing stream. The glacier was in constant motion – melting in the summer sun, while expanding as it took in winter snow.
As Chatterbeak began flying over the small waterways leading to the glacier snout, Whisker realised just how exposed they were. The granite cliffs of Red Tail Rocks extended high above the lower limestone band of the mountain, providing endless look-out posts for sentinel hawks. It seemed fortuitous that the birds were currently guarding the prison and not the cliffs – or so Whisker hoped.
The wind grew stronger as they neared the glacier. Mighty gusts of frigid mountain air raced down the slopes, blasting them head-on. Chatterbeak flew lower and lower to avoid the brunt of the blasts until he was literally skimming over the surface of the water.
‘Don’t forget about me down here!’ Horace cried out. ‘It’s much too cold for a morning ice bath.’
Chatterbeak tucked his legs a little closer to his body and kept on flying.
Leaving the last of the trees behind them, the airborne companions made their way past the protruding peak of rock known as a horn, and then veered towards the eastern side of the gully. Managing to regain some height, they followed the sloping gully walls upwards, flying as far as the howling winds would allow them. They landed in a small hollow overlooking the snout of the glacier and the rats dismounted.
A short distance above them, a rocky ridge spanned the gap between the buttress and the horn, forming a barrier between the ice of the glacier and the rubble of the Erratic Blocks. From Whisker’s understanding of mountain geography, he knew that the glacier had once been
much larger, spilling over the ridge as well as down into the gully. The large boulders that lay strewn across the mountainside had been carried there by the glacier. When the ice melted, the Erratic Blocks remained.
After a brief rest, the companions began hiking towards the top of the ridge. The gradient of the slope was manageable, even for Ruby’s crutches, and it wasn’t long before they were looking down upon a jumble of upturned rocks and haphazardly positioned boulders.
With their upper surfaces covered in patchy snow, the Erratic Blocks resembled a field of giant lamingtons. They were bordered to the north by the buttress, a triangular pinnacle of rock rising from the side of the mountain. To the south lay the conifer trees of Blackbird Wood. A scattering of trees and hardy alpine shrubs grew between the boulders, but the ground was mostly rocky and barren.
Scanning the terrain from a concealed overhang at the top of the ridge, Whisker saw no signs of birds, prisoners or a potential feasting table, although, as Horace pointed out, several of the lamington rocks would have sufficed if they weren’t standing on their ends.
Whisker’s initial disappointment was quickly replaced by a realisation that there were crevices, cracks and hiding spots everywhere.
Anna is on this mountain somewhere, he told himself. We just need to know where to look.
The Erratic Blocks
Calling his small expedition party into line, Whisker began making his way down the rocky ridge. Above him, thin clouds had begun to form around the peak of the buttress, obscuring his view of the summit.
The wind was still blowing further down the ridge, but with much less intensity. He reached the bottom of the slope, stopping momentarily to catch his breath. At close range, the Erratic Blocks gave him the eerie sensation of standing in the centre of a ruined city. Small rectangular blocks became the crumbled remains of buildings. Pillar-like sections of rock assumed the appearance of fallen columns. Upturned boulders transformed into towers, waiting to topple over at the slightest touch.
Child of the Cloud Page 8
