The Forgotten Map

by Cameron Stelzer

  Whisker turned over the first card.

  ‘Ace of Spades,’ he read.

  He looked up at Sabre for a response.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Sabre hissed. ‘Turn them all over.’

  Obediently, Whisker turned over the second card.

  ‘Ace of Diamonds.’

  He turned over the third card.

  ‘Ace of Clubs.’

  He knew what the fourth card was going to be before he turned it over.

  ‘Ace of Hearts,’ he murmured, ‘… lucky hand.’

  ‘THERE IS NO LUCK!’ Sabre roared. ‘Look at the deck and see for yourself.’

  Whisker slowly reached out his paw and flipped over the top card of the deck. He thought he was seeing double.

  ‘It’s another Ace of Hearts,’ he said awkwardly.

  ‘And how many aces should there be?’ Sabre asked, with an evil whisper.

  ‘Four?’ Whisker replied shakily.

  ‘EXACTLY!’ Sabre howled, scattering the cards across the room. ‘Which means someone has cheated. And it’s certainly not an honest little pussy cat like me. I LOST ALL MY MONEY!’

  Rat Bait shrank in his chair.

  ‘W-were t-there others playing?’ Whisker stammered, clinging to the hope that Sabre had the wrong rat.

  Sabre glared at Whisker with malicious eyes.

  ‘There was one other creature at our table. An otter. But he lost all his money, too, and I’ve already interrogated him.’

  Sabre opened his mouth and pretended to pluck something from between his teeth.

  ‘Ye didn’t,’ Rat Bait moaned. ‘Poor Otis was a good friend o’ mine.’

  ‘A good friend you decided to swindle!,’ Sabre hissed.

  ‘Ye can’t prove nothin,’ Rat Bait said defiantly. ‘Ye be the one that ate the only witness.’

  ‘How dare you accuse me of eating a fellow card player,’ Sabre protested. ‘I merely gave his tail a much needed trim.’

  ‘Rat Bait’s a fellow card player,’ Whisker piped in a small voice. ‘Does that mean you won’t be eating him?’

  Sabre wasn’t tricked. ‘Rat Bait’s fate depends on what he’s prepared to hand over to me.’

  ‘I haven’t got yer gold,’ Rat Bait mumbled. ‘I spent it.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ Sabre scoffed. ‘And I expected nothing less from such a wasteful wretch. But don’t worry, I’m not asking you for a few gold coins, I’m asking you for something far more useful …’

  Sabre lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Your slimy otter friend told me you have something rather important, something old, something forgotten, something I want.’

  Whisker saw a look of betrayal run across Rat Bait’s face.

  ‘I trusted Otis,’ he mumbled angrily. ‘He said he’d keep the map a secret.’

  ‘Don’t blame poor Otis,’ Sabre chuckled. ‘It’s terribly hard to keep a secret when your tail is in a cat’s mouth.’

  ‘Ye filthy ball o’ fur!’ Rat Bait snapped.

  ‘How dare you!’ Sabre snarled, grabbing Rat Bait by the collar. He hoisted him into the air until their eyes were level. ‘I’ll make this simple. Either give me the Forgotten Map or start saying your final goodbyes.’

  ‘I haven’t got it with me,’ Rat Bait pleaded.

  ‘THAT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!’ Sabre exploded, thrusting a claw towards Rat Bait’s eye.

  Rat Bait didn’t flinch.

  Whisker did. He knew what happened to Captain Black Rat and he wasn’t about to let it happen again. Instinctively his tail darted onto the table and coiled around his full mug of Apple Fizz. With one sharp flick, it launched the mug into the air, splashing the contents into Sabre’s face.

  Sabre screeched in rage as the stinging liquid filled his eyes. He released his grip on Rat Bait and the old captain tumbled to the floor. The entire tavern stopped and stared as Sabre staggered across the room with his paws over his eyes, hissing and howling.

  ‘Come on,’ Whisker said frantically, reaching a paw down to Rat Bait, ‘let’s get out of here.’

  Whisker had done what he thought any decent rat would do to save a fellow rat, but the look Rat Bait gave him wasn’t a look of gratitude, it was a look of grave fear.

  ‘What were ye thinkin’?’ Rat Bait spluttered as he climbed to his feet.

  ‘I just saved you from becoming one of the three blind mice!’ Whisker cried in bewilderment.

  ‘Yer just makin’ him madder,’ Rat Bait groaned.

  As confused thoughts rushed through Whisker’s mind, he noticed the tavern was completely silent again. Sabre had stopped his melodramatic performance and was nowhere in sight – nowhere Whisker could see …

  The look in Rat Bait’s eye told him exactly where Sabre was.

  Before he had time to turn around, Whisker felt strong claws digging into the back of his neck, and his feet were lifted off the ground. Sabre held him in the air like he was a soggy stuffed toy, drying on a washing line.

  Whisker waved his arms and tail around in desperation, but the claws dug further into his fur. Sabre let out an evil snigger and twisted Whisker around to face him. With his nose only millimetres away from Whisker, Sabre was even more terrifying than before.

  ‘WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?’ he roared with fishy breath.

  ‘Err … I’m n-n-no one r-r-really,’ Whisker stammered.

  ‘No one?’ Sabre hissed. ‘You can’t be no one. You’re in the Captain’s Inn.’

  ‘Let the li’l capt’n be,’ Rat Bait pleaded. ‘He’s young an’ rash an’ simply standin’ up for his elders as he’s been taught.’

  Ignoring Rat Bait’s plea, Sabre prodded Whisker in the stomach. ‘Tell me the name of your ship, little captain?’

  ‘My ship?’ Whisker said, trying to come up with a creative answer. ‘It’s called the … um …’ Nothing popped into his head so he ran with the truth. ‘It’s called the Apple Pie.’

  Sabre gave Whisker an inquisitive look, Rat Bait gasped and Whisker knew he’d made a grave mistake.

  ‘Interesting,’ Sabre said quietly. ‘I was under the impression that the one-eyed rascal Black Rat was the captain of the Rotten Apple Pie.’

  Whisker was about to nod in agreement when he noticed Rat Bait frantically gesturing behind Sabre’s back and pointing towards the front entrance. The light of a lamp post shone through a stained glass window and illuminated a large sign hanging from the wall. Even from a distance, Whisker could easily read its huge painted letters and suddenly everything became clear.

  Whisker had presumed Rat Bait was being polite when he called him captain, but now he understood. Everyone in the inn was a captain. They had all been admitted through the front door and they all knew the rules – all of them except Whisker, whose very next word could earn him a one way ticket to tomorrow’s public hanging.

  There was only one thing he could do – he would have to break the second rule to cover up the first.

  More lying, he said to himself, it worked before.

  When Whisker finally answered Sabre he was a much calmer rat. As long as he gave the right answers, everything would be okay.

  ‘Black Rat has retired,’ he said confidently. ‘I am now the captain of the Pie Rats.’

  Sabre looked doubtful and continued to dangle Whisker in mid-air.

  ‘Really?’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘Why, yes,’ Whisker replied. ‘And you would have seen me commanding the Apple Pie only a couple of nights ago if your lookout was awake.’

  ‘And where was that?’ Sabre enquired with interest.

  ‘East of the Cyclone Sea.’ Whisker answered. ‘It was extremely foggy, so don’t blame Prowler for falling asleep. There wasn’t much to see.’

  Sabre gave Whisker an angry look, but said nothing. The lie was working.

  ‘Master Meow looked a little tired too,’ Whisker said, enjoying his little game.

  Sabre snorted and turned to Rat Bait.

  ‘It is rather tiring searching the oce
ans for something that doesn’t want to be found. But now it seems the elusive item has fallen straight into my lap … How fortunate.’

  All of a sudden the scattered pieces of a huge puzzle began to join together in Whisker’s mind. He recalled the Captain’s words from the night of the Silver Sardine: I certainly hope we get to it first … for all our sakes …

  He remembered the mysterious letter on the Captain’s desk: Our contact to the south informs us that it has finally resurfaced and is believed to be heading east …

  And he considered what he had learnt that very evening – that Rat Bait had travelled east with an item of extreme importance. Could Rat Bait’s Forgotten Map be the same item for which the Captain was searching?

  Whisker’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud meow from outside. Sabre’s ears pricked up and Whisker immediately felt his sharp claws retracting. Sabre released his grip and Whisker dropped to the ground, landing unsteadily on his feet.

  ‘It seems it is time for me to leave,’ Sabre murmured, wiping the last of the Apple Fizz from his fur. He pointed a claw at Whisker. ‘Next time you see my ship on a dark and misty evening, do remember your manners and say hello, little captain.’

  Whisker nodded insincerely. Saying hello was the last thing he would do.

  ‘As for you, Rat Bait,’ Sabre hissed. ‘I’d suggest you dig up that map quick smart. You may have protection in here, but the inn closes at dawn and the streets have their own rules …’

  Sabre turned his back and skulked towards the entrance on all fours. Whisker and Rat Bait stared after him as he disappeared through the doorway.

  ‘Now what?’ Whisker asked.

  ‘Now we be gettin’ out o’ here an never comin’ back,’ Rat Bait said with urgency. ‘But not through the front door.’ He pointed to the small rear door. ‘A spot o’ luck my boy. This door is locked every other evenin’.’

  As the bandicoots played a jolly rendition of The Three Little Kittens Who Lost Their Mittens, Whisker and Rat Bait crept towards a long row of coat hooks on the back wall. Rat Bait reached past an expensive looking purple cloak with a cockleshell clasp and unhooked a long metal item. Whisker recognised it immediately as a blue-handled scissor sword.

  ‘You were a Pie Rat?’ he gasped.

  ‘Aye,’ Rat Bait whispered, shoving the sword in his belt. ‘Twas many years ago. I was the capt’n o’ the finest Pie Rat ship that ever sailed: the Princess Pie.’

  As Whisker tried to picture the old rogue as a noble and heroic captain, Rat Bait gently opened the door and poked his nose through. He looked both ways and sniffed the air.

  ‘All clear,’ he signalled.

  Whisker stepped through the doorway and together the two rats crept into the night. Apart from a few tattered hats that littered the cobblestones, the lane was deserted.

  ‘This be the way,’ Rat Bait said, turning to his left.

  As they scampered down the lane, Rat Bait whispered over his shoulder, ‘I have a business proposition for ye to consider. There be a certain item I want to be gettin’ off me paws quick smart an’ I know it be o’ great interest to yer Capt’n Black Rat.’

  ‘Captain Black Rat?’ Whisker repeated.

  ‘Aye,’ Rat Bait laughed. ‘We both know y’ain’t no capt’n, Whisker. But don’t ye worry. I won’t breathe a word to Sabre.’

  Although Whisker felt embarrassed at how clumsy his lie had been, he knew there were more important things at stake than his pride.

  The rats rounded a corner into a narrow alley filled with moonlight and overflowing garbage bins.

  ‘Mind yer step,’ Rat Bait hissed, hurdling a banana peel.

  Whisker dodged an army of slippery obstacles, determined not to lose his footing twice in one evening.

  They reached two wooden doors in the centre of the lane and Rat Bait suddenly halted. With a quick sniff of the air, he held his finger to his lips and Whisker froze.

  As quiet as a mouse in a mausoleum, Rat Bait drew his sword and beckoned for Whisker to do the same. Thanks to Ruby, Whisker had no sword.

  Rat Bait gave him a disapproving look.

  ‘Watch me back,’ he whispered, ‘and tell me if ye see anythin’.’

  ‘What am I looking for?’ Whisker asked apprehensively. ‘Is it Sabre?’

  ‘It won’t be Sabre,’ Rat Bait replied. ‘Not yet, anyway. There’s a maze o’ alleys from the front door to here. But I still smell a cat.’

  No sooner had Rat Bait mentioned the word cat than a shadowy form slunk into the lane behind Whisker.

  Whisker was not looking forward to meeting two cats in one evening and moved closer to the protection of Rat Bait. His tail began coiling around his leg.

  ‘H-h-here it comes,’ he stammered.

  ‘There be one at my end too,’ Rat Bait whispered.

  Whisker shot a terrified glance over his shoulder and saw another shadow creeping towards Rat Bait. They were trapped.

  ‘Are they going to kill us?’ Whisker asked in horror.

  ‘If they wanted to kill us, we’d already be dead,’ Rat Bait said dryly. ‘These two be quick – very quick.’

  Whisker tried to swallow, but the rising lump in his throat made it impossible. He wished he had a mouthful of Apple Fizz, at least to give him some courage.

  ‘Who are they?’ he croaked, as the shadows drew closer.

  ‘GOOD EVENIN’ TO YE, LADIES,’ Rat Bait boomed in a voice that made Whisker jump.

  ‘It would be a good evening if my stomach was full,’ purred the shadow closest to Whisker.

  ‘Cleopatra,’ Rat Bait cried. ‘Ye wouldn’t want to eat a fat rat like me for supper. Think o’ yer figure.’

  ‘I was thinking of something a little more tender,’ she replied, stepping into the pale moonlight a few feet from Whisker.

  Whisker felt a mix of dread and awe as he gazed at the graceful brown figure of an Abyssinian cat, the royal breed of the Egyptians. Like Sabre, she carried a cheese knife in her belt. She wore a silver choker with an Egyptian eye in its centre, but her exotic head was bare. Cleopatra stared at him with hypnotic green eyes and Whisker couldn’t look away.

  ‘Don’t ye fall for her charm,’ Rat Bait whispered. ‘She’s as cold an’ dead inside as Sabre.’

  Whisker forced himself to break her gaze and chanced a glance at the cat creeping towards Rat Bait. She was the scrawniest creature he had ever seen.

  Her pale blue eyes peered out from sunken cheeks. A red bandanna covered her skull-like head, large gold earrings dangled from her ears and a belt hung loosely from her bony frame. She reminded Whisker of a gypsy fortune teller who shared only bad news. The look of contempt she flashed at Whisker made him turn back to Cleopatra with a jolt.

  ‘Siamese Sally will give ye no harm, Capt’n Whisker,’ Rat Bait said loudly. ‘I doubt she eats anythin’ at all.’

  ‘I think I can manage to swallow one yabbering rat’s tongue,’ Sally hissed indignantly.

  Rat Bait didn’t answer. He stared up at the high alley wall beside him. It had no windows and its smooth plastered surface made it impossible to climb. Tipping his head back, Whisker realised what Rat Bait was staring at. It wasn’t the wall, it was another cat.

  Peering down from the gutter, like a gothic stone gargoyle, was the unmistakeable blue-grey face of Prowler. His head was covered in a black Russian cap and his unblinking eyes gleamed in the moonlight. Cleopatra gave him a little nod and he silently disappeared across the roof.

  ‘Now ye be in trouble,’ Rat Bait sighed.

  ‘Me?’ Whisker said in confusion. ‘You’re the one with the map.’

  ‘Aye,’ Rat Bait replied, ‘and it be keepin’ me alive. Ye on the other hand, haven’t got nothin’ Sabre wants. As soon as Prowler brings him here, yer a dead rat.’

  Whisker knew Rat Bait was right. He was no use to Sabre. Even if he was, he had humiliated him in front of countless captains, earning him a certain death sentence.

  Whisker had to escape. But the way forward
was blocked, the way back was blocked, the walls were unscaleable and below him was solid stone.

  As Whisker’s eyes darted around in panic, he noticed the two wooden doors beside him. His heart leapt – he’d been saved by an unlocked door once that evening. Could it happen again?

  His heart sank. The doors were chained together and fastened with a huge brass padlock. They were old, but they were much too thick to break down. He would never get through without a sharp axe, a charging rhino or Horace’s skeleton key.

  He absentmindedly slipped his paw into his pocket and felt the smooth shape of the Gourmet Gunpowder jar. For a moment the vision of a grand explosion flashed before his eyes.

  Hastily, he pulled his paw out again. He had no matches, and Cleopatra was hardly going to offer him a light.

  Whisker dropped his gaze to the doorstep in defeat. He felt like curling up on the smooth block of stone and pretending he was invisible. But as he stared into the dark shadows, he noticed something just as good as a mythical cloak of invisibility – he saw a real way to disappear. It didn’t involve digging through stone and it didn’t involve blowing a hole in the doors.

  The hole was already there.

  Purple Smoke

  Trying not to reveal his discovery to the watching cats, Whisker pretended to wipe his forehead, covering his eyes from sight. As he peered back at the weathered door on the left, he noticed its base had rotted away, leaving a small hole above the doorstep. The space was too narrow for a cat to squeeze through, but large enough for a rat.

  Whisker lowered his paw and glanced back at Cleopatra. She was still looking in his general direction, but the bored look on her face told him she had no concerns about him escaping.

  Whisker slowly edged towards Rat Bait until their backs were almost touching.

  ‘I’ve got a plan,’ Whisker whispered.

  ‘Hey?’ Rat Bait grunted as a distant meow filled the air.

  ‘There’s a hole in the corner of the left door,’ Whisker murmured. ‘I think we can squeeze through … and I think we’d better hurry.’

  Warily, Whisker glanced over his shoulder to see if Sally was watching them. She wasn’t. She appeared to be staring up at the moon with the same bored look as Cleopatra.