‘I be seein’ the hole,’ Rat Bait said softly, patting his round belly. ‘Ye will fit. Let’s be hopin’ the wood’s soft enough for me to barge through.’
‘What are you two ratbags mumbling about?’ Cleopatra hissed.
‘Us? Um … nothing,’ Whisker lied.
‘Rubbish!’ Cleopatra snapped. ‘You’re plotting something. I can see it in your eyes.’
Whisker longed to look away from the accusing green eyes but knew he must reveal nothing and stared back in stone-faced silence.
‘There’s nowhere you can go,’ Sally purred, stretching her claws. ‘But don’t worry. Our party will be starting shortly, and we love to have guests.’
There were more meows from beyond the alley, but this time they were much closer.
‘That be a kind invite, Sally,’ Rat Bait replied. ‘I‘m partial to a party as ye know, but it’s about time for us to escape.’
Whisker was aghast. What was the old fool thinking?
He was about to elbow him in the ribs, when Rat Bait whispered, ‘As soon as they be lookin’ away, dive for the hole.’
Whisker bit his lip and tried to relax his tail. He had no idea what Rat Bait was playing at but he had no other choice. He reached his paw into his pocket and gripped the jar. He knew he might need it if something went wrong.
‘And how exactly do you plan on escaping?’ Sally sniggered.
‘That be simple,’ Rat Bait answered. ‘Through a hole o’ course.’
Whisker felt betrayed.
‘And where would this hole be?’ Cleopatra purred.
‘There be two,’ Rat Bait grinned. ‘One behind Cleopatra an’ one behind Sally. We’ll take the hole nearest the slowest cat.’
Immediately the two cats fell for Rat Bait’s brilliant bait. They whirled around to protect the imaginary holes, and at the same moment, Whisker leapt for the real hole in the door. With the jar securely in his paw, he slid through the gap on his stomach. Rat Bait was directly behind him.
Before Whisker’s tail was even through the gap, Rat Bait crashed his upper body into the tight space, sending damp wood splinters flying into the darkness.
There were furious hisses outside as the cats realised they’d been tricked. Whisker grabbed Rat Bait’s arm with his free paw and pulled with all his might until the round belly of the captain popped through the hole.
Rat Bait howled in pain as Cleopatra slashed at his tail with her claws and Sally made a desperate lunge for the hole. Whisker rolled aside as her bony head appeared through the narrow gap. She snarled in rage and snapped her teeth in an attempt to squeeze herself through. With a hard THUD, her shoulders hit the door and she moved no further.
Neither Whisker nor Rat Bait waited to see what the cats would do next. They scrambled to their feet and raced into the dimness of a huge deserted warehouse. Moonlight streamed through the high entrance windows on the far side, illuminating the shapes of shipping crates, wooden barrels and a multitude of tripping hazards. Pulleys, ropes and large hooks hung from the high ceiling.
Whisker glanced over his shoulder. Sally’s head had disappeared from the hole but loud clangs came from the door. The enraged shrieks of the two female cats were now mixed with deep male voices. One of them was Sabre’s.
The rest o’ the crew have arrived,’ Rat Bait exclaimed. ‘Hurry! The lock’s no match for six sharp swords.’
Whisker gulped in horror. ‘S-s-six of them.’ He looked around in desperation. ‘We need a safe place to hide.’
Rat Bait pointed to his bleeding tail and snorted, ‘There’s no hidin’ with a trail o’ blood leadin’ them to us. We need to escape the island before they trap us again.’
‘What about the map?’ Whisker gasped. ‘We can’t leave it here.’
‘It be not on this island,’ Rat Bait said, pulling Whisker past a pile of empty crates. ‘I ain’t that daft in the head to bring anythin’ o’ value to this place.’
Whisker knew their only hope of escape was to reach the distant front entrance before Sabre and his carnivorous crew got to them first. He expected the front door would be chained and padlocked like the rear entrance.
He leapt over a broken lantern and felt a spark of hope tingle in his tail. Where there were lanterns, there were sure to be matches.
As he darted past a hauling cart, Whisker saw what he was looking for. Covered in a thick layer of dust lay an open box of matches. It was almost full. Whisker stuffed the jar of gunpowder into his pocket and picked up the matches.
‘Don’t ye be stoppin’,’ Rat Bait hissed. ‘The cats be in the buildin’.’
He was right. Whisker heard the sounds of chains falling to the ground and cats scampering through the open doors. He turned on his heel and sprinted after Rat Bait.
‘I’ve got matches,’ he panted, waving the box in the air. ‘We can blast our way out!’
‘Can’t ye climb?’ Rat Bait puffed, pointing to the front wall.
Whisker glanced up to see the ropes of a pulley dangling against the broken windows and felt annoyed he hadn’t thought of that himself.
As Whisker and Rat Bait zigzagged towards the entrance, the sounds of the cats grew louder. Whisker made out the hissing voices of Sally to his left and Cleopatra to his right. Behind him came the angry snarls of Sabre, barking orders. ‘Prowler, search behind those barrels; Master Meow, follow Sally and cut them off if they double back; Furious Fur, stop your wheezing and secure the rear entrance.’
Whisker kept running. At any moment he expected a cat to leap out of the shadows and put an end to his frenzied hopes of escape.
He was about to discard the box of matches to free up his paw for fighting, when a desperate idea entered his mind. All around him lay wooden crates overflowing with packing straw and clay pots. Without giving it a second thought, he pulled out a match and struck it against the side of the box. It sparked for an instant and then went out.
‘Come on,’ he mumbled, nearly colliding with a crate.
He tried a second match. This one blazed to life. Hastily, he thrust the lit match into the box and, with a hiss, the other matches began to light. He grabbed the jar of gunpowder from his pocket and threw both items into the nearest straw-filled crate.
Whisker didn’t look back to see if the straw was alight. The flickering orange glow that bounced off the front wall gave him the answer – it was ablaze. Behind him, Whisker heard the angry hisses of the Cat Fish circling around the fire, and sprinted even faster.
Rat Bait was already clambering up the wall when Whisker reached the front entrance.
‘Climb!’ Rat Bait barked.
As Whisker grabbed the nearest rope and prepared to climb he saw a flash of brown fur out of the corner of his eye. Before he had time to react, a powerful paw swept his feet from under him and he tumbled backwards.
He struggled to get up but sharp claws pinned him to the ground. Above him, fire reflected in two familiar green eyes.
‘You can’t fool me twice in one night with your petty diversion tactics,’ Cleopatra hissed in triumph. She looked up at Rat Bait, dangling in front of a window. ‘Move an inch and your little friend will have more holes in his shirt than a barrow load of Swiss cheese.’
Rat Bait froze on the rope.
‘I’ve got them!’ Cleopatra cried. ‘Now who’s hungry?’
There was a collective cheer as the Cat Fish scampered towards them.
Despite his predicament, Whisker still clung to one faint hope – the hope that a fragile glass jar filled with gunpowder could only withstand a raging fire for so long. Whisker took a deep breath and willed the jar to work its magic.
His wish came true.
With a mighty KABOOM, the jar exploded. Scorching purple flames threw Cleopatra off her feet and catapulted Rat Bait through the open window. His sword clanged to the stone floor, only inches from Whisker’s head. Clay vases and pots flew through the air like meteors, smashing into the wall. Whisker lay rigid on the ground and waited for the tor
rent of flying projectiles to pass.
Eventually, the flames died down, the sound of breaking pots subsided and a heavy scent of lavender filled the air.
Whisker sat upright. All he could see was thick, purple smoke. It filled his mouth and nose with a pungent lavender fragrance and began to sting his eyes. He shut them tight, closed his mouth and began fumbling his way towards the rope.
He kicked something cold and sharp and winced as the blade of Rat Bait’s scissor sword sliced into his toe. Trying not to cry out in pain, he picked up the sword and slid it into his belt. No one could stop him carrying a weapon this time.
Whisker found the rope and blindly climbed. The purple smoke concealed his escape, but as soon as it cleared he would be caught hanging helplessly in the air.
The muffled coughs and groans of the Cat Fish grew louder as they advanced towards him. Whisker took a desperate breath. He had to. Smoke filled his lungs and his head began to spin. In panic, he opened his eyes to stop himself from falling. He could just make out a square of moonlight shining through the haze and knew the window was close.
He struggled on – his eyes watering, his vision blurring, his head growing dizzier. Suddenly, he felt tugging from below and the rope began to swing from side to side.
Cleopatra, he thought in terror.
The swinging grew more violent and Whisker’s left paw slipped from the rope. His right paw and faithful tail held tight. Frantically, he threw his left paw back onto the rope and pulled himself higher. He waited for the rope to swing in the direction of the window, and with a desperate lunge, hurled himself onto the ledge.
It wasn’t a great leap and his body began to slide. He clawed at the shattered window pane and scratched frantically for footholds against the wall. As he struggled to hold on, a gust of ocean breeze blew through the open window. With a mighty breath of fresh air, Whisker dragged his body onto the ledge.
As much as he longed to climb through the window and escape, he knew there was one thing he had to do first. Ignoring the hissing from below, he drew Rat Bait’s sword from his belt and, with the only sword move he knew, swung it towards the thick rope of the pulley.
Rat Bait’s sword was sharp and it sliced through the rope like it was melted chocolate. Whisker had expected at least some resistance and he felt his upper body continuing to spin as the pulley crashed to the floor. He tried to steady himself but it was too late. One moment he was balanced precariously on the ledge, and the next he was plunging out the window towards the darkness below.
Whisker looked down in horror. At first he thought he was headed for a lawn covered with broken shards of glass. But before he crashed to an unfortunate death, he understood what he was looking at: It wasn’t glass; it was the gleaming surface of the ocean.
With an awkward splash, Whisker’s body plunged into the moonlit sea. The cuts on his paws and feet stung in the salty water, but the sharp pain reminded him he was alive. As his head bobbed out of the water he felt the ocean wash away the poisonous purple smoke from his mouth and eyes.
Treading water, Whisker looked back at the monstrous warehouse. Above its four padlocked doors he could make out a huge sign, flickering in the purple glow of the fading flames within: Pearl’s Imports. To the left of the warehouse, he saw the silhouette of a three-masted ship in a dry-dock. To his right stretched a long jetty.
Whisker swam towards a nearby ladder. To his relief he saw Rat Bait clambering up the last of its rungs. Whisker gave a low whistle and Rat Bait waved in acknowledgement.
‘What in Jolly Roger’s name is happenin’ in there?’ Rat Bait mumbled as Whisker hauled himself onto the jetty.
‘Gourmet Gunpowder,’ Whisker panted.
‘Aye,’ Rat Bait said with a nod. ‘I thought I smelled lavender. Gourmet Gunpowder be made for rich landlubbin’ ladies, ye know.’
Whisker didn’t care who it was made for. It had done its job and he was alive.
‘You left this behind,’ he said, handing Rat Bait his scissor sword. ‘It’s really sharp.’
‘That it be,’ Rat Bait said looking down at the pool of blood around Whisker’s foot. ‘An’ we’ll be needin’ it again before the night’s out. Unless the cats all be dead?’
‘No,’ Whisker replied, shaking his head. ‘They’re only stunned. But maybe the purple smoke will poison them?’
Rat Bait picked up several old rags from the jetty and handed one to Whisker.
‘It’d take more than a bit o’ smoke to kill a Cat Fish,’ he said, wrapping a rag around his injured tail. ‘We’d best make for the harbour before they bash the doors down.’
‘Maybe they’ll double back through the alleyway?’ Whisker said, bandaging his toe.
‘Let’s not find out,’ Rat Bait cried, galloping down the jetty.
The rats heard no sounds as they passed the warehouse and the silence made Whisker nervous. The Cat Fish had either passed out in a cloud of purple haze or they were already on their trail.
The lane turned into a street and Whisker began to see lit-up shop windows once more. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he reached the harbour where Fred’s rowboat was waiting for him. Whisker had almost forgotten the rest of his crew in the chaos and confusion of the Cat Fish attack. He hoped the Blue Claw hadn’t captured Horace and dragged him off to a windowless prison where talking and laughing were banned.
Taking a sharp right, Whisker and Rat Bait entered a dimly lit street with a signpost that read Street O’ Supplies. They hurried down the centre of the road, trying not to look like two drowned rats escaping from a crew of vengeful cats.
Whisker heard the bell of the distant clock tower ringing on the hour and counted the chimes. They reached eleven and then stopped.
As if signalled by the bell, furry arms reached out of nowhere and grabbed Rat Bait’s legs. Before Whisker had time to cry out in warning, he felt rough paws grab his own legs and drag him backwards into a drain under the footpath.
He tried to scream but two paws held his mouth shut and his arms and tail were pinned behind his back. He heard Rat Bait thrashing around beside him, and with a dull thud of metal, Rat Bait went silent.
The Waiting Game
Whisker dared not move. He dared not blink. He knew he should be dead. The only explanation he could think of was that the Cat Fish were planning a slow and torturous death as revenge for the Gourmet Gunpowder stunt.
Petrified, he peered up through the gap under the footpath and awaited their next move. He heard a ‘Shhh,’ from somewhere in the drain, followed by the sound of footsteps on the street above. His kidnappers pulled him further into the shadows, but he could see enough to know who was approaching: Six furry sets of legs. Some of the legs were limping, some were burnt or singed and one had small chunks of broken clay nestled in its tangled fur.
Whisker’s head spun in confusion. If I’m staring at the Cat Fish, then who on earth dragged me into the drain? Soldier crabs don’t have paws.
Outside, Sabre began barking orders. ‘Spread out and search the shops, all of you. They must be here somewhere. Are you sure you saw them coming down this street, Prowler?’
‘Positive,’ Prowler replied.
‘My tail hurts,’ moaned the deep voice of Furious Fur. ‘The rotten rodent burnt every inch of hair off it!’ He removed his dirty hat from his fluffy white head and used it to scratch his backside. ‘Oooh. I’m in agony.’
‘Stop your whining, you big Persian kitten,’ Cleopatra spat. ‘We’ve all got something to complain about.’
‘Poor Miss Pretty has a teeny-weeny little scratch,’ Sally said sarcastically. ‘Look at me. I’ve lost half an ear!’
‘The makeover suits you,’ Cleopatra replied. ‘It enhances your lifeless look.’
Sally hissed angrily and took a step towards Cleopatra.
‘Ladies, please,’ Sabre growled. ‘Save your anger for the rat. That wretched Whisker is mincemeat when we drag him out of hiding.’
Whisker gulped as Furious Fur pu
nched his paws together and the whole crew sniggered in evil anticipation.
‘Check the chemist shop on the corner, Master Meow,’ Sabre ordered. ‘And take Fur with you. We’re in need of a large box of bandages and I’m in no mood to be paying for them.’
‘Aye aye, Captain,’ Master Meow replied, with a roll of his glass eye. ‘I might pick up a few scalpels while I’m there. They’re much better for dissecting small pests than a cheese knife.’
Whisker gulped again and hoped that whoever had just kidnapped him had no plans of ransoming him to the Cat Fish.
The cats disappeared into the shops and Whisker felt the paws around his mouth release their grip. He took a deep breath and caught the smells of musty books, strawberries and seven-month-old pies – the unmistakable aromas of Pie Rats. Whisker never imagined being kidnapped could feel so good. All of a sudden he was safe, and he was saved.
‘Sorry about that,’ whispered the familiar voice of Horace. ‘There wasn’t time to explain.’
‘Indeed not,’ came the rich tones of Captain Black Rat. ‘It’s a pity your new friend wouldn’t stop struggling. He’ll have quite a headache when he wakes up.’
‘Serves him right,’ Ruby grunted, still pinning Whisker’s arms behind his back.
‘Hi there, Ruby,’ Whisker said timidly. ‘Would you, err, mind?’ Although there was something comforting about her standing so close to him, his arms were beginning to ache.
Ruby roughly released him and snapped, ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, apprentice! You can start by telling us why you’re the most wanted creature on the …’
‘Quiet,’ Pete hissed. ‘The cats are on the street again.’
The rats shrank back into the shadows as the Cat Fish congregated in the middle of the street with annoyed grunts of ‘They’re not in there … nothing to report,’ and ‘who used all the bandages?’ After brief murmurings, the cats dispersed into shops further down the street and the night grew quiet again.
‘What’s the plan, Captain?’ Pete whispered when it was safe to speak again.
The Forgotten Map Page 10
