‘Nobody panic,’ he cried, jumping to his feet and flicking a smouldering strand of cat fur from his shirt. ‘I’m alright.’
‘If you’ve finished playing dodge ball,’ the Captain shouted, ‘I have a job for you. Is that training cannon still up here?’
Whisker glanced around and saw the cannon between the two masts. ‘Yes, Captain. It’s here.’
‘Good,’ the Captain boomed. ‘I want you to get rid of those fancy finned pies you’ve invented. Horace left them lying all over the deck.’
‘You do know they’re designed for long range warning shots?’ Whisker shouted over the rumble of thunder.
‘Who cares,’ Ruby snapped. ‘They can put a hole in a sail, can’t they? That’s all that counts.’
With Ruby’s assistance, Whisker heaved the cannon around to face the starboard side of the ship. The barrage of fur-balls ceased as the Apple Pie approached the bow of the Silver Sardine. With her size and speed, however, the armour-plated vessel was still on a path to ram them.
‘We’re on a collision course!’ Ruby yelled to the Captain. ‘Veer to the east or we’ll never get past them.’
‘I can’t risk turning,’ the Captain bellowed, ‘or we’ll lose the wind. We’ll have to slow them down instead. Is the cannon ready?’
‘Almost,’ Whisker cried, inserting a fuse. ‘What about the gun deck? They’ve had plenty of time to load.’
‘We’ve got all the long range pies up here,’ Ruby said. ‘Horace won’t fire until we’re close enough to hit a target.’
Lightning flashed across the sky and the Silver Sardine shone in its metallic glory. To Whisker, it was as close as he wanted it to be. He saw the ship’s fish-skeleton figurehead staring out with vacant eyes, he glimpsed the one-eyed sneer of the ginger cat on the flag, and he saw Sabre standing on the bow of the boat with his cheese knife drawn. Whisker was certain the furious captain was staring straight at him. Even with the energising effects of the medicine, the sight of Sabre sent a sick feeling of dread through his entire body.
Struggling to calm his nerves, Whisker filled the cannon with gunpowder and inserted a pie. He adjusted the angle and aimed the cannon at the front sail of the Silver Sardine. Without thinking, his tail struck a match behind his back and dangled it close to the fuse.
Ruby gasped in shock. Whisker pulled away.
‘One last safety check, I know…’ he said anxiously.
He raised his head and squinted into the night sky. Suddenly the frenzied world around him seemed to slow … right … down … Something was terribly wrong. The Silver Sardine no longer raced towards them. Her sails hung limply from her masts as she turned into the wind. The Cat Fish weren’t attempting to ram the Apple Pie, they were preparing to fire.
The Silver Sardine’s four portside cannons became visible. In moments they would be loaded and ready for action. The Apple Pie was well within range of a flaming fur-ball attack, but only a handful of long-range pies scattered around the deck had any chance of reaching the Cat Fish. It was one cannon against four, and as the silver sails began to slide from the Sardine’s masts, Whisker knew his enemy’s only weakness was literally slipping away before his eyes.
‘Ratbeard, save us!’ the Captain gasped.
‘We’re sitting ducks,’ Horace cried, bounding up the stairs. ‘Our cannons are filled with sloppy short-range pies – they’ll never make the distance.’
Whisker’s tail began to shake in panic.
‘Watch it, Whisker,’ Horace gasped, ‘Your tail is on fire and I’m covered in gunpowder.’
Whisker looked down to see the burning match darting from side to side at the end of his tail. He’d forgotten to put it out. As he frantically snuffed out the flame, a peculiar thought drifted into his mind.
‘Horace,’ he exclaimed. ‘You’ve just given me a brilliant idea.’
‘It had better be a quick idea,’ Ruby hissed. ‘There’s no time to bake another one of your fancy rocket pies.’
‘I don’t need another pie,’ Whisker cried. ‘What I need is a stick of dynamite … a jar of Gourmet Gunpowder … and the answer to one simple question.’
‘Which is?’ Horace asked.
‘How long does it take for a dynamite fuse to burn?’
‘I should know this,’ Horace said. ‘It’s, um … well …’
‘Eight-point-six seconds,’ replied a smug voice from the stairwell, ‘if it’s got a standard issue fuse like this one.’
Pete appeared at the top of the stairs carrying a red stick of dynamite and the second jar of Gourmet Gunpowder.
‘That was quick!’ Whisker exclaimed.
‘Not really,’ Pete boasted. ‘I’m a Quartermaster, not a…’
‘GET A MOVE ON!’ the Captain yelled. ‘They’re lighting the fur-balls.’
Whisker grabbed the explosives from Pete and wedged the dynamite into one side of the pie crust and the Gourmet Gunpowder into the other.
‘I don’t have time to explain,’ he said with urgency, ‘but it’s important the dynamite explodes the moment it reaches the ship. Can you do the maths for me, Pete?’
‘Certainly,’ Pete replied, scratching numbers on the deck.
‘Two fur-balls are now lit,’ the Captain bellowed.
Horace pointed at Pete’s equation with his hook. ‘Remember to factor in the wind direction and …’
‘Yes, yes, I know all that!’ Pete snapped.
Horace stepped back and Whisker grabbed his sleeve.
‘You’re the sharp shooter, Horace. I’ll let you adjust the angle. Aim for the central mast, just above the deck.’
Horace ran his eye along the cannon.
‘I can’t hit a mast in these conditions,’ he groaned. ‘A calm day is one thing but …’
‘You won’t have to hit anything,’ Whisker cried. ‘Trust me.’
Horace made a few quick adjustments with his hook and Whisker moved the cannon into position.
‘I’ve got it!’ Pete cried, jumping up from his equation. ‘Light the dynamite, wait two-and–a-half seconds, then light the cannon and begin the count down.’
‘Four fur-balls are ablaze,’ the Captain shouted. ‘They’re ready to fire!’
‘So are we,’ Whisker yelled back. ‘Cover your ears!’
He lit a match with his paw and stood on his tail with both feet. This was no time for accidents.
The crew crept backwards as Whisker lit the dynamite and began to count, ‘ONE … TWO … TH …’ Before he reached three, he lit the fuse of the cannon and counted backwards, ‘THREE … TWO … ONE …’ KABOOM!
There was a flash of flames as the pie launched into the sky. It sped towards the Silver Sardine in a perfect arc.
Three-point-one seconds after takeoff, the dynamite exploded with an almighty BANG, showering the Cat Fish with pie crust and Gourmet Gunpowder dust. The orange flames of the fur-balls turned a terrifying shade of purple and began twisting like tornadoes inside the cannons.
With four deafening roars, the cannons exploded backwards into the ship in a spectacular display of twisting metal and purple flames. In seconds, the Silver Sardine had vanished from sight into a cloud of purple smoke.
The entire Pie Rat crew stared wide-eyed in bewilderment at the spectacle before them. Whisker was the only exception. He already knew the purple power of Gourmet Gunpowder.
Among the rumbles of thunder echoing across the sky, Whisker made out the angry screeches of six furious felines in the dense smoke. More than once he heard his name being yelled and more than once it was followed by a string of rude obscenities he hoped the children couldn’t hear.
With a soft shuffle of footsteps, Madam Pearl stepped from the open doorway of the navigation room.
‘Err … excuse me. Is everything alright?’ she asked anxiously. ‘We heard a large explosion and the children were worried. I’m not particularly experienced at babysitting and I thought …’ She paused and stuck her nose in the air. ‘Gracious. Is that lavender I can
smell?’
‘Aye …’ Horace gasped in wonder. ‘I think Whisker just blew up the Cat Fish.’
‘Splendid,’ Madam Pearl said, ducking inside the room. ‘Did you hear that, Eaton and Emmie? We’re going to be perfectly alright. You can ignore the end of my bedtime story. The two mice don’t get eaten for supper, after all.’
Disguises
Soggy but safe, Whisker and Horace crouched on the deck in the pouring rain. They had escaped the Cat Fish, and Whisker was a hero. He wouldn’t admit it himself, but the Captain said his clever decision-making had earned him an A+ on his Pie Rat Strategy Test.
‘It was mainly the medicine,’ Whisker mumbled to Horace for the eleventh time, as he tightened a slippery knot on one of the lanyards. ‘Besides, we’re not out of danger yet. We still need to get through this storm and find somewhere safe to anchor.’
‘Ah, this isn’t a storm,’ Horace scoffed, shaking his hook at a nearby bolt of lightning. ‘It’s just a large cloud of drizzle …’ He paused and wiped his forehead with the back of his paw. ‘Err … having said that, we should probably get inside. I’ve got burn cream running into my eyes, you look like a drowned rat and I doubt your treacle medicine will stop either of us catching a cold.’
Inside the navigation room, Whisker and Horace found the rest of the crew gathered around a map of the Crescent Sea.
‘… I understand the plan, but I’m still not convinced it’s a safe place to anchor,’ Pete mumbled.
He prodded the map with a bony finger, and Whisker read the location, Shipwreck Sandbar. It was located close to the small fishing village of Whiteshore, to the south of Port Abalilly.
Whisker felt his excitement growing. Were they headed for the map after all?
Madam Pearl gave a frustrated sigh. ‘As I have already explained to you, Quartermaster Pete, smugglers hide their boats among the wrecks, and smuggle their cargo into Port Abalilly over the bridge from Whiteshore …’
‘The Apple Pie is a ship, not a smuggler’s boat,’ Pete cut in, ‘and I doubt the Captain wants her to become a permanent part of the landscape.’
The Captain looked at Madam Pearl for reassurance.
‘Your ship is small,’ Madam Pearl said bluntly, ‘and with the morning’s high tide and a light load, you’ll have nothing to worry about.’
‘A light load is definitely something to worry about,’ Pete muttered. ‘We dumped all the cannon pies overboard before we entered the storm. The Silver Sardine is bobbing around in a putrid purple pie soup, but that won’t help us if we run into a Claw-of-War fleet.’
Madam Pearl glared at Pete. ‘Do you want the map or not?’
‘YES!’ Whisker blurted out, spraying droplets of water all over the room.
All eyes turned to him.
‘Ah … sorry,’ he mumbled awkwardly. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
Emmie handed Whisker an old towel and the crew turned back to the map.
As Whisker dabbed his soggy fur, he felt a dull pain return to his shoulder and knew the effects of the medicine were wearing off. He tried to ignore the pain and watched with interest as Emmie unscrewed a jar of brown boot polish.
‘I’m not going to polish your shoes, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ she stated. ‘This is for Madam Pearl.’
‘I didn’t know she wore brown shoes,’ Whisker remarked.
‘It’s not for her shoes, silly,’ Emmie said. ‘It’s for her disguise.’
‘Disguise?’ Whisker repeated.
‘Yes,’ Emmie nodded. ‘So she can sneak into Port Abalilly and find the map. It’s all part of the plan. Uncle Black Rat says that brown weasels are far less obvious than white ones.’
‘Is that so?’ Whisker said.
‘Of course,’ Emmie replied. ‘But blue coloured weasels are extremely obvious. That was my first choice. Uncle Pete has lots of blue pencils.’
‘What other disguises have you organised?’ Whisker asked, intrigued.
‘Well,’ Emmie began, ‘Uncle Black Rat says that Eaton and I are too young to go. So we don’t need disguises. And none of the proper Pie Rats can go – their faces are on posters all around the port. How exciting! That means that only crew members that aren’t proper Pie Rats can go. Mr Tribble has already volunteered, but he doesn’t need a disguise because he’s not a celebrity. He’s going to make sure the map isn’t a fake. At school, he’s good at catching students who cheat in tests.’
‘Oh,’ Whisker said, taken aback. ‘So none of the Pie Rats are going?’
‘None of the proper Pie Rats,’ Emmie explained. ‘But you can go if you want. You’re still a practice Pie Rat.’
Whisker didn’t know what to say. He lowered the towel and looked across the table to where the Captain was watching him closely.
‘Whisker,’ the Captain said grimly, ‘it’s too risky for any of us to show our faces right now. We’re a wanted bunch. You, however, are unknown to the Blue Claw. It’s a dangerous mission, I know, and you’d be unarmed. But you’ve earned the trust and respect of the entire crew and we believe you can do it.’
Whisker peered around the room. Every face he met gave him a look of confidence and support; every face that is, except Ruby’s. Instead of returning his gaze, she stared at the wall with an obvious look of disapproval.
Whisker struggled to block out the feeling of rejection. It doesn’t matter what she thinks, he tried to convince himself. You’re not doing it for her, you’re doing it for your family …
He felt his tail straighten behind his back as he made his decision.
‘I’ll do it,’ he agreed.
‘Did you hear that, Ruby?’ Emmie said in excitement. ‘Now we have two disguises to make.’
Ruby pulled a sour face at Emmie and stormed out of the room.
‘Oh my,’ Emmie whined. ‘Doesn’t she like dress-ups?’
‘Apparently not,’ Horace said. ‘But Fred will lend you a paw. He knows where all the spare clothes are hidden and I’m sure the two of you can turn Whisker into a dashing undercover agent in no time.’
Fred’s huge eye turned in Whisker’s direction and the giant gave him a big grin.
Whisker gulped as the vision of a bright blue goldfish disguise flashed before his eyes.
As it turned out, Whisker wasn’t cursed with a costume of another species. He was disguised as a bag-carrying bellboy.
Madam Pearl and Mr Tribble assumed the identities of two posh out-of-towners. As the story went, they were early risers and wanted to get to the shops before they opened at dawn. Whisker was responsible for carrying their bags – of which there were many.
‘Out-of-towners always bring loads of bags with them,’ Fred said, thrusting yet another suitcase into Whisker’s arms. ‘Our gang once stole six bags from an old turtle.’
Emmie shook a brush of boot polish at him. ‘That’s terrible, Uncle Fred. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Fred dropped his chin. ‘Yeah, I was. I returned five of the bags when the gang was asleep. In the morning I blamed it on cockroaches. No one likes cockroaches …’
Whisker turned to face a long mirror on the wall. The disguise party was taking place in Ruby’s cabin and Ruby was predictably absent.
Two lines of gold buttons gleamed from Whisker’s red coat. His red bellboy’s cap sat neatly on the top of his parted fringe and his black trousers fit snugly, thanks to some adjustments from Pete and his surgical needle.
Fred left the cabin to collect more bags and the reflection of an elegant brown weasel came into view beside Whisker. Madam Pearl wore her white evening dress, one of Ruby’s scarlet shawls and a golden locket where her famous white pearls had hung.
‘I feel naked without my pearls,’ she sighed to Whisker. ‘They’re far too conspicuous, so I gave them to little Emmie.’
Whisker looked across at the oversized string of pearls sagging down to Emmie’s knees.
‘Here,’ Whisker said, reaching for the pearls. ‘Double them over and you’
ll look like a real lady.’ He looped the pearls over her small head and stepped back.
‘Perfect!’ Emmie squealed, rushing over to Ruby’s clothes trunk.
Whisker returned his gaze to the mirror and saw a sad look on Madam Pearl’s face.
‘I could have done that,’ she said in a dejected voice. ‘I know everything about pearls, but I don’t know the first thing about children. It’s never really bothered me before, but, after seeing how happy Emmie is, I thought it would be nice to have … well … you know …’
‘A family?’ Whisker said.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘And friends … anyone really.’
‘But don’t you have …’
Madam Pearl took a deep breath. ‘Whisker, I once had rooms filled with antique furniture, ticking clocks, and rarities from the human world. I had treasure chests overflowing with jewels, gem stones, sapphires and diamonds. And I lost count of how many pearl necklaces dangled off my ancient marble statues. I thought I had everything. Now I’ve got nothing but empty rooms and hollow memories.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Whisker said. ‘Did the Blue Claw steal everything?’
‘No, Whisker,’ she said softly. ‘Everything is still there …’ She laughed quietly to herself. ‘You’d think that sitting in a cell would change someone. The funny thing is, it wasn’t prison that made me think differently, it was the rescue. Do you know what my first thought was when your crew turned up to Prison Island?’
Whisker shook his head.
‘It was: why?’ Madam Pearl revealed. ‘Why would you risk your necks to rescue me? Why would anyone want to rescue me in the first place?’
Whisker felt guilty. He hadn’t risked anything for her, none of them had. They had done it solely for what she had, the map. He watched as the reflection of his tail drooped to the floor.
‘Don’t feel bad, Whisker,’ she said. ‘You got me out and that’s what matters. Now I have a second chance. If they lock me up again, at least I can count on one rescue party turning up, right?’
‘Right,’ Whisker replied. ‘I’ll try not to throw you down the stairs next time.’
The Forgotten Map Page 18
