‘Alright. Alright,’ Horace said, backing towards the wall. ‘I was just saying …’
Ruby turned her attention back to Whisker, tightening the grip on her swords.
‘You’ll still need protection,’ she argued.
Whisker shook his head, refusing to be swayed. ‘Swords will be useless out there. The eagles are too big and too strong. If they spot me before I reach the cage, I’m dead anyway.’ He shot a quick glance down at her injured foot and said tactfully, ‘You’ve made enough sacrifices as it is. If you want to help, be ready to pull those prisoners through the doorway the moment they’re within reach.’
Ruby opened her mouth to protest, but Whisker cut her off before she could speak. ‘You elected me as your leader. Now let me do my job.’
Ruby’s face flashed red with anger and, for a moment, Whisker thought she was about to hurl him down the passage and hobble out in his place. But she managed to control her temper and calmly gestured to the door.
‘Go on,’ she said, accepting defeat. ‘Your sister is waiting.’
Horace gave Whisker a departing salute. ‘We’ll see you in sixty seconds, Capt’n.’
Whisker nodded slowly. A part of him wanted to wish his friends goodbye, just in case he didn’t make it back. But he knew that wasn’t what a leader would do.
A leader doesn’t focus on failure, he told himself. He focuses on success.
Convincing himself he was a leader and not a desperate rat with a terrified tail, Whisker turned his back on his friends, took up the strain on the door and gave it an almighty heave.
The Way Forward
The iron-plated door moved a fraction of an inch, then stopped abruptly. Whisker moved his free paw to the bracket and pulled again. There was a stiff creaking sound, followed by a small shudder, but the door stuck fast.
Resisting the urge to kick the door in frustration, Whisker signalled for Ruby and Horace to join him. The three rats positioned themselves around the iron brackets and heaved with all their might. Their combined efforts yielded no result.
‘Are you sure we’re supposed to be pulling and not pushing?’ Horace whispered.
Whisker glanced across at the two large hinges on the right side of the door.
‘The hinges are designed to swing inwards,’ he said, pushing the door for good measure. He felt the door lurch back to its original position, but it moved no further.
‘Then what’s stopping it?’ Ruby asked impatiently. ‘I can’t see any latches or locks.’
Whisker ran his paw over the thick iron cladding, frantically searching for a concealed key hole or a secret lever. He knew it was only a matter of time before the skirmish outside would be over and the eagles would take to the sky, their sharp eyes once again fixed on the cage.
Every second that passes is another second wasted, he thought.
He had inspected several sections of panelling with no success when he felt Horace’s hook wrap around his coat sleeve.
‘You’d better take a look at this, boss,’ Horace said, dragging him towards the left side of the door. ‘There. What do you see?’
Whisker found himself staring at the narrow gap separating the door from the wall. A paper-thin band of light shone from the world outside, running in a line from the top of the door to the floor. It was a continuous line with one noticeable exception. Halfway up the door, in line with the iron brackets, a dark shadow blocked the fading afternoon light.
‘I wasn’t sure if it was important,’ Horace said tentatively as Whisker peered at the black shape. ‘But I thought I should tell you all the same.’
Whisker screwed up his nose. ‘It’s important, alright.’
He darted to the right side of the door to confirm his suspicions. His eyes moved to the corresponding gap where a second shadow obscured a section of light. The shadow was the thickness of a wooden plank.
‘Two shadows?’ Horace said quizzically.
‘One shadow,’ Whisker said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘It’s no wonder we couldn’t open the door. It was barred from both sides. We removed the first plank, but a second plank is still held in place on the reverse side of the door.’
‘Rotten pies to sturdy planks,’ Horace muttered, attempting to wedge the tip of his hook through the narrow gap.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ Whisker said, sweeping his paw across the iron-clad door. ‘There’s no way you’ll squeeze anything wider than a piece of paper through that gap.’
‘We could always burn the door down,’ Horace said, glancing behind him to the flickering lantern.
Whisker sighed in frustration. ‘And alert the entire eagle population. No thanks. Whoever installed this door went to great lengths to ensure the birds couldn’t get in and we couldn’t get out.’
‘That sounds like Anso’s handiwork,’ Ruby said in annoyance.
Whisker didn’t respond. He simply stared at the shadow of the plank, wishing it would disappear.
Ruby’s right, he thought. If anyone was to blame, it was Anso.
For the first time in his life, Whisker felt a deep resentment towards his great-grandfather. His sister was a thirty-second dash away, and Anso’s doubly secured door was the reason he couldn’t reach her. He felt miserable and betrayed.
So close and yet so far away.
‘Why didn’t Anso just block up the entire passage and be done with it?’ Horace said, as if reading Whisker’s thoughts. ‘I mean, it would stop unsuspecting travellers walking into the eagles’ trap, while eliminating any false hopes of opening the door.’
‘You would think …’ Whisker muttered, sinking to his knees.
He noticed Ruby staring down at him, propped up on one crutch.
‘I know it’s not ideal,’ she said, pointing to the door, ‘but at least we’ll have a clear escape route once we reach the cage. If we leave this side unbarred, we can easily remove the second plank from the ledge.’
‘If we somehow manage to get to the ledge …’ Whisker added cynically.
‘That shouldn’t be hard for you to arrange,’ Ruby said, repositioning herself at the base of the door. ‘You’re the master of desperate plans.’
‘And right now things look pretty desperate,’ Horace added.
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ Whisker muttered.
Ruby turned her head and glanced down the passage. ‘You’d better extinguish that lantern, Horace. It’s almost dark outside and we can’t afford to give our position away.’
Obediently, Horace dimmed the lantern until it was no more than a tiny tongue of flame, concealing it behind a rock a few metres down the low passage.
‘There’s no point in putting it out completely,’ he whispered in response to Ruby’s reproachful glare. ‘We still have to navigate our way out of here.’
Ruby rolled her eye and returned to her under-door surveillance. Whisker lay down beside her and took out his spyglass. It was one thing to be bitter about the door. It was another thing to simply give up. Resigning himself to what he had to do, he stared out into the fleeting twilight, trying to commit the scene to memory before the entire mountain was shrouded in the black cloak of night.
While the two rats lay flat at the base of the door, Horace stood fidgeting in the darkness behind them.
After several quiet minutes he ventured to ask, ‘So, what’s happening out there?’
Whisker said nothing and continued to stare transfixed at the granite cliffs, his spyglass to his eye.
The irritating shuffle of Horace’s feet finally prompted Ruby to answer, ‘The flock of eagles is beginning to disband. It appears the argument between the raven and the hawk is over.’
‘Who won?’ Horace asked quickly.
‘It’s hard to tell,’ Ruby said. ‘The body language of both birds is decidedly sombre. It’s likely the Emperor Eagle intervened before things turned ugly. He’s the only bird still squawking, and the rest of his flock are circling overhead like they’ve just won the lottery.’
‘No prizes for guessing what that means,’ Horace snorted. ‘I’d wager the eagles, not the hawks, will be delivering the captives to the altar.’
‘Not if I can help it!’ Whisker said abruptly.
‘Oh,’ Horace said, taken by surprise. ‘Look who’s finally decided to speak. You haven’t perchance discovered a way to reach the cage, have you?’
Whisker nodded silently.
‘Well?’ Horace asked expectantly. ‘What is it?’
Whisker looked up at him with a new-found sense of purpose. He had spent the past few minutes pondering a course of action, allowing his memories to take over, hoping his past experiences would provide him with an answer, as they had done so many times in the past. Something he had just seen had awakened a memory – three memories, in fact. Together they gave him the means and the way of rescuing his sister.
‘I’ll tell you on the way back, Horace,’ Whisker said, pulling away from the door. ‘Come on. We’ve got work to do.’
Without waiting for his companions to respond, he threw his rucksack over his shoulder and began crawling through the low passage.
‘The lantern stays here,’ he said, blowing out the small flame as he passed. ‘We can use our whiskers to guide us back to Chatterbeak.’
He dropped a box of matches beside the lantern and disappeared into the blackness, with Ruby and Horace scrambling blindly after him.
They found Chatterbeak where they had left him, scratching hieroglyphs into the icy wall with the tips of his talons.
‘I didn’t take you for a graffiti artist,’ Horace said, staring at the detailed designs of palm trees and pirate ships.
‘Caw, caw, I’m not,’ Chatterbeak chirped indignantly. ‘But you try waiting in a confined passage with nothing but a lantern for company.’
‘Point taken,’ Horace said. ‘Fortunately for you, I think our caving days are over.’
Chatterbeak shrugged his blue-feathered shoulders and glanced behind Horace. ‘How so? I can’t see any prisoners.’
‘Yes, well, that’s a long story,’ Horace said, looking in Whisker’s direction. ‘And our illustrious leader has agreed to explain everything on our long walk back to the dome.’
‘Alright,’ Whisker muttered, picking up the lantern and scrambling forward. ‘My plan revolves around a little invention called the Ghost Wings.’
‘Ghost Wings,’ Horace repeated, struggling to keep up with him. ‘What are they supposed to do?’
Ruby let out a condescending snort. ‘Wings are generally for flying, Horace.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ Horace said defensively. ‘But what purpose do they serve? We already have an aerial taxi.’
‘An extremely colourful aerial taxi,’ Whisker elaborated, before adding, ‘No offence, Chatterbeak.’
‘Caw, caw, none taken,’ Chatterbeak squawked, shaking his blue and yellow feathers proudly.
‘The Ghost Wings are not for regular open-air flying,’ Whisker clarified. ‘They are for stealth gliding.’
Horace scratched his head with his hook. ‘Stealth gliding? Is that another natural phenomena your mother taught you about?’
‘Not this time,’ Whisker replied. ‘The Ghost Wings are entirely my father’s handiwork – well, almost entirely. I’ve left out the extravagant circus tassels of his original design.’
‘Huh?’ Horace shrugged, growing even more confused.
Whisker slowed his pace and glanced over his shoulder. In the lantern light he could see the puzzled expressions on his three friends’ faces and decided a detailed explanation was in order.
‘My father, Robert, loves inventing, as you know,’ he said, resuming his steady march. ‘He grew up in the circus with my grandmother, Molly. She was a famous dancer and cabaret performer. Robert’s father, Ernest Winterbottom ran away to seek his fortune before Robert was even born, leaving Molly to care for him on her own. Robert spent much of his young life in Molly’s dressing room, rummaging through her exotic bird costumes and pretending to fly above the cheering crowd of the big top.’
‘Surprise, surprise,’ Horace quipped. ‘Another Winterbottom in fancy dress!’
Whisker ignored the remark and continued, ‘Naturally, Molly put her son’s enthusiasm to good use and taught him how to sew and mend costumes for the circus troupe. When Robert was of age, Anso offered his grandson an apprenticeship in one of his sail-making factories, encouraging him to turn his knowledge of fabrics into a respectable trade. Robert was a diligent worker, but missed his mother dearly. As soon as his apprenticeship was over, he returned to the circus to take up a position as the chief costume maker and tent repairer. He put his new-found sail-making skills to use, creating more elaborate costumes for Molly, often featuring elements of sailing and the wind. It was no surprise that Molly’s spectacular moving outfits helped her to become the star performer of the circus troupe.’
‘Did your dad create these Ghost Wings for Molly?’ Horace interjected.
‘Not exactly,’ Whisker responded, ‘but during his years in the sail-making factory, he maintained a burning desire to invent a winged costume so revolutionary it would actually fly. Back at the circus, he began to put his ideas into action. After many failed attempts using bird feathers in his experiments, he turned to studying the wing structure of flying foxes. They were a logical choice, being fellow mammals and similar in size, and he finally sketched a design he thought could work. But before he could make a prototype, Molly was struck down by the plague during a circus tour to Aladrya and tragically never recovered –’
Whisker paused and glanced back to meet Ruby’s gaze. There was a distant sadness in her eye, and with it came an unspoken question.
‘Yes,’ he said, reading her thoughts. ‘It was the same plague that stole your family.’
Ruby nodded listlessly.
Horace gave her a moment and then cast a warm light on the subject. ‘But your father survived the plague, Whisker.’
‘In a way,’ Whisker sighed. ‘Robert and his young wife, Faye, weren’t part of the fated circus tour to Aladrya. They were hauled up on a small island to the north of the Crescent Sea with their new baby.’
Horace’s eyes grew wide. ‘You!’ he exclaimed, almost slipping on a rock.
Whisker nodded to himself and added quietly, ‘It’s strange how life turns out. My father never had the heart to complete the flying costume after Molly died, but he showed me the plans on countless occasions. Although he never mentioned it, I believe he hoped that one day I would finish what he started.’
‘And can you?’ Ruby asked.
‘I think so,’ Whisker said, chewing his lip. ‘But I still need to iron out a few small details.’
Ghost Wings
The companions arrived back at the dome, wet, cold and ravenously hungry. Outside, the mountain wind was blowing a gale and snow was falling heavily. A thick snowdrift already covered the upper steps leading to the Erratic Blocks, and there was no thought of venturing out in such inhospitable conditions. Instead, the Pie Rats remained in the shelter of the cavern, huddled around a small fire and munching on a meagre supper of dried fruit and nuts.
While Horace complained about the lack of hot pies in his diet, Whisker added the finishing touches to a sketch of his Ghost Wings on the rear of Mr Tribble’s map. The fingers on his right paw were black with charcoal and he wiped them clean on his coat before picking up a dried apricot.
With the intricacies of his plan finally figured out, he thought he should stop for a bite to eat before the tirade of questions started.
Whisker hadn’t even taken his first bite when Horace poked his head over his shoulder and asked nosily, ‘So, how do you plan on constructing these ghostly wings of yours? We’re not exactly flush with circus props.’
Whisker lowered the apricot, resigning himself to the fact that supper would have to wait. When the others had gathered around his drawing, he began to explain.
‘My intention is to fabricate the Ghost Wings using material f
rom the rucksacks, short strands of cord from the climbing rope and –’ he hesitated and looked nervously at Ruby, ‘and a few of Ruby’s personal belongings.’
With a small nod of understanding, Ruby dropped both crutches at his feet. The light-weight water reeds made a hollow thrumping sound as they hit the stone floor.
‘I take it this is what you had in mind,’ she said, pointing to the crutches.
‘Thanks,’ Whisker said guiltily. ‘I didn’t want to ask, but there was nothing else light enough for the frame.’
‘It’s no hassle, really,’ Ruby said, hopping past the fire towards the pile of supplies. ‘I’ve still got my walking stick.’ She picked up the yew-wood bow. ‘Without a quiver of arrows, this old branch is serving no other purpose.’
‘Speaking of arrows,’ Whisker added quickly. ‘There’s sure to be some reeds left over if you want to use them for arrow shafts.’
Ruby looked across at Chatterbeak, a mischievous gleam in her eye.
‘I’ll need a few tail feathers for the fletchings,’ she said, thinking aloud. ‘And the small lead sinkers from Horace’s cast nets would make suitable arrowheads – albeit a little blunt.’
‘Skraaw, skraaw,’ Chatterbeak screeched, unwilling to hand over his tail feathers without a fight. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re yet to hear of Whisker’s intentions for this fandangled flying contraption.’
‘I’m coming to that,’ Whisker said, flipping over the paper to reveal Mr Tribble’s map of Cloud Mountain. He pointed to Eagle’s Cliffs where he had scribbled the location of the cage and the altar.
‘In an attempt to find a way to reach the cage undetected, I was inspired by Horace’s Ghost of Ingratitude story.’
‘Ghost of Incompetence, you mean,’ Ruby snorted.
Horace shook his hook at her. ‘Despite the disaster with the pie – which I might add was entirely Fred’s fault – my stealth operation was a total success.’
Ruby opened her mouth to protest but Whisker spoke before she could get a word in. ‘Bearing Horace’s stealth operation in mind, I asked myself, why couldn’t I do a similar thing to reach the cage?’
Child of the Cloud Page 12
