Anna Winterbottom peered up at Whisker with her large brown eyes. She plucked a rose thorn from her oversized cloak and gave him a cautious nod.
‘We’ll be off this river soon,’ Whisker reassured her. ‘And then we’ll find Mum and Dad, I promise.’
Anna raised a tiny, quivering finger and pointed into the fog.
‘Fox,’ she squeaked.
‘That’s right,’ Whisker said. ‘The fox knows where to find them.’
‘Chains,’ Anna said with a shudder.
Whisker looked down at her, puzzled. It was the first time she had mentioned the word to him.
‘Anna,’ he said softly, trying not to scare her. ‘Have you remembered something? Are Mum and Dad being held prisoner? Is that what you mean by chains?’
There was a pained look on Anna’s face as she searched her memories for an answer. Whisker guessed they were memories she’d rather forget.
After a long pause, Anna nodded.
‘Do you know where they are?’ Whisker asked cautiously.
Anna’s face went blank.
‘Chains,’ was all she could say.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her. ‘We’ll rescue them – wherever they are.’He tried to sound confident, but deep down inside he felt as anxious as his sister. Staring into the fog, he imagined what lay ahead – beyond the river, through the dark pine wood. Hawk’s View Prison and its newest inmate …
His thoughts were interrupted by Horace’s loud attempt at a whisper. ‘Err, Whisker, I’m not sure if you’ve considered this, but what if your parents are chained up in the prison with the fox?’
Anna’s expression darkened.
‘Don’t spook the poor girl, you insensitive worm,’ Ruby hissed, reaching down to clobber Horace with her scissor sword and sending a plume of snow powder bursting into the air. ‘Hawk’s View Prison is filled with pirates and pickpockets, not cyclone-surviving circus rats.’
‘Ouch!’ Horace squeaked. ‘That was hardly called for. I was just trying to be prepared. After all, have you seen the security in that place? Fifty-foot walls, snow monkeys with crossbows … not to mention the elkhounds and hawks. I doubt a simple escape-through-the-cell-window-with-a-bedsheet kind of plan will cut it.’
Ruby straightened her crimson eyepatch and continued in a softer tone. ‘I’m sure Whisker will find a way to free the fox. He’s the master of jailbreaks.’
‘And the king of cunning plans,’ Chatterbeak chimed in.
Anna looked up at her brother with expectant eyes.
‘I’ll … I’ll think of something,’ he sighed. ‘Just give me some time.’
A hush fell over the companions and Whisker felt the enormity of the task at hand. It seemed almost impossible that four rats and a parrot could penetrate a mighty fortress and defeat an army of prison guards. And yet, somehow, Whisker knew he must find a way. The fox was his greatest hope – his only hope. Without him, Whisker doubted he would ever see his parents again.
His thoughts were still focused on that grim realisation when a faint sound alerted him to a new danger. The sharp cries of the eagles still echoed in the distance, but there was something closer – something much closer.
Vroomp, vroomp, vroomp.
It was the steady beat of wings approaching from the river mouth.
‘Listen,’ he whispered. ‘Can you hear that?’
‘Aye,’ Ruby said, throwing back her hood to hear more clearly. ‘Something is following us.’
‘What kind of something?’ Horace asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Ruby said. ‘But whatever it is, it sounds big.’
‘Like a dragon,’ Horace gulped.
Ruby rolled her eye. ‘This isn’t one of your fairy tales, Horace.’
‘Well, dragon or not, I don’t want to be stuck out here when that thing arrives,’ Horace argued.
‘Alright,’ Ruby said, peering around the fog. ‘We need a place to hide.’
‘There’s a pine forest between the town and the prison,’ Whisker suggested.
‘A cosy tree sounds good to me,’ Chatterbeak squawked, veering sharply towards the western riverbank.
‘Wait!’ Whisker hissed tugging the parrot’s feathers. ‘We can’t just go bumbling into the forest. Our pursuer will hear us change course and follow us in an instant.’
Chatterbeak straightened abruptly and the rats lurched in their seats.
‘Make up your mind,’ Ruby hissed, trying to regain her balance.
‘Sorry,’ Whisker said, ‘but we need to be smart about this.’ He pointed a finger into the fog ahead. ‘White-water rapids run all the way down this river. If we enter the trees at the first group of rapids, the roar of the water should mask our escape. With any luck, our pursuer will continue following the river while we find a safe place to hide.’
‘Just like our clock tower stunt,’ Chatterbeak cooed. ‘We fly one way and hope our pursuer goes the other.’
Whisker nodded. ‘Something like that.’
‘Okay, it’s worth a shot,’ Ruby said, glancing warily around her. ‘But you’d better hope we reach the rapids soon. The fog won’t last forever and I can hear that creature gaining on us.’
The companions fell silent, waiting for the first sign of the rapids and hoping the fog would hold out. The occasional muttered word about dragons escaped Horace’s lips but no one else dared to speak.
The thrumming wingbeat of their pursuer grew louder. VROOMP, VROOMP, VROOMP.
Growing weary, Chatterbeak’s strokes began to falter.
Keep going, Whisker silently encouraged.
And then he heard it – softly at first but then growing louder, the unmistakeable gurgle of rushing water.
Chatterbeak found a new strength and the race to reach the rapids was on. He moved low through the fog, oblivious to the loud flapping of his own wings.
Smooth-topped rocks appeared beneath him, protruding from the surface of the river. Foaming bursts of water sprayed into the air.
The gurgle transformed into a roar as fast-flowing streams cascaded over rocks, splashing into pools at their bases. Whisker waited until the roar of the rapids had drowned out every other sound and then reached out and touched Chatterbeak on the neck.
Instantly, the parrot swerved to his right, cutting across the rapids. Rushing water and swirling fog concealed his escape. He swept up the grassy slope of the riverbank and disappeared into the murky shadows of the pine forest.
The trees were black and silent, rising high into the air like enormous mountains of coal, their dense branches blocking out the sky. Low patches of mist drifted across the forest floor, wrapping their wispy tendrils around the mighty trunks.
Whisker looked back as they passed through the outer line of trees, but there was no sign of their pursuer.
The air grew colder as the companions continued deeper into the heart of the black forest. Soon the roar of the rapids was nothing more than a faint echo in the distance. Thin rays of sunlight shone through gaps in the foliage, slicing through the mist like long golden knives.
Chatterbeak rounded a trunk and Whisker glimpsed an enormous threadlike structure glistening in front of him. He opened his mouth to cry out in warning, but it was already too late.
With a sudden, jarring impact, Chatterbeak’s body lurched to a halt in mid-air, catapulting Whisker forward. He had barely left the parrot’s back when he felt himself colliding with something sticky and springy. It flexed under the impact and then bounced back, taking Whisker’s body with it.
Thin, silky strands gripped his arms and legs like glue as he vibrated back and forth. Limbs splayed wide and with his face pressed flat against the web of silk, he was powerless to escape.
A Sticky Situation
Looking around the quivering web, Whisker saw that his companions had all suffered the same fate. Anna’s small body hung beside his, her eyes wide with shock. The folds of her baggy cloak, flattened against the web, gave her the appearance of a gian
t squashed cockroach. Further to Whisker’s right, Ruby was suspended sideways with her arms angled awkwardly like the hands of a clock. She was trying in vain to reach for her scissor swords, but her arms stuck fast.
Below Ruby, Chatterbeak was stretched across the entire diameter of the web, his feathers caught in countless silky strands. His beak was wide open and overflowing with sticky, broken threads. One of his claws was wrapped around Horace, who dangled upside down with his head hanging low to the ground.
‘Rotten pies to spider’s webs,’ Horace murmured in a daze. ‘And putrid pastries to crash landings …’
Whisker remained silent. His mind was working overtime, assessing their predicament. He didn’t need to be an arachnophobe to know that being stuck in a spider’s web was a bad thing – a very bad thing. Common sense told him that where there were large webs, there were sure to be unpleasantly large spiders.
His eyes darted from left to right, scanning the edges of the web for any signs of eight-legged activity. The web was enormous and he feared that whatever species of spider had woven it would be of giant proportions.
Seeing nothing in his peripheral vision, Whisker shifted his attention to the web’s construction, hoping the combined weight of its captives would send it crashing down. From what he could see, the web was suspended between two pine trees by a sturdy bridging thread and anchored to the ground to form a triangular-shaped frame. Radial threads ran from the edges of the frame to the centre of the web, where a sticky spiral of capture thread rotated outwards. The pristine condition of the web told Whisker that it had been built recently and that it had been built strong.
‘I thought spider’s webs were supposed to be silver,’ Horace said, raising his head to study the structure. ‘From down here, this one looks gold.’
Whisker glanced across at a sunlit strand of silk. It shimmered gold in the morning light.
‘You’re right, Horace,’ he whispered, recalling a spider his mother had once told him about. ‘I think this web was built by a golden orb-weaver.’
‘And what does this golden orb thingy eat?’ Horace asked warily.
‘Whatever is stuck in its web,’ Ruby hissed, struggling in vain to wrench her arms free. ‘Rat, bird, you name it.’
Horace gulped and looked uneasily into the trees. ‘So where is it now?’
‘Don’t know. Don’t want to know,’ Ruby said, continuing her struggle.
‘Perhaps it’s building another web in a far corner of the forest?’ Whisker offered.
‘Or maybe it’s watching us right now through its eight spidery eyes, deciding who to eat first,’ Horace shuddered.
Anna let out a squeal and shut her eyes.
Ruby stopped squirming and glared at Horace. ‘I thought I told you not to spook the poor girl? Now quit making up horror stories and do something useful to get us out of this mess!’
‘Like what?’ Horace asked.
Ruby bobbed her head towards the forest floor. ‘You’re close to the ground. Surely you can unbutton your trousers and wiggle free.’
‘Unbutton my trousers!’ Horace exclaimed, feigning shock. ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’
Ruby rolled her eye. ‘As much as we would all rather be spared the sight of your bare behind, Horace, it just might save us all from certain death by a giant spider. Now get wiggling!’
‘Alright, alright,’ Horace muttered. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
He squirmed around for some time, puffing and panting like he had ants in his pants. Failing to free himself from the sticky thread, he slumped his head down and let out a defeated sigh. ‘It’s hopeless. My pants are too tight, I can’t undo my belt and Chatterbeak’s oversized claw is pinning me to the web.’
‘Cwaw, cwaw,’ Chatterbeak spluttered, his tongue tangled in golden silk. ‘Leab me ouw o’ dis.’
‘No one’s blaming you, Chatterbeak,’ Whisker said, attempting to keep the peace. ‘Now, can anyone twist their –’ He cut himself short as a soft padding sound registered in his ears. He looked around, trying to locate the source of the sound, but all he could hear was the wind whistling faintly through the needles of the trees.
‘What is it?’ Ruby whispered.
‘I-I thought I heard something,’ Whisker said, ‘but –’
Pad, pad, pad. There it was again. The sound of feet creeping over pine needles.
‘Something’s coming,’ Whisker hissed. ‘Don’t move a muscle. Any vibrations in the web will give us away.’
In statue-like silence, the companions stared out from the web, all eyes watching the ground in front of them. There was no sign of movement.
Where is it? Whisker thought, beginning to panic.
The sound grew clearer and Whisker suddenly realised why he couldn’t see anything. The creature wasn’t approaching from the front of the web. It was approaching from behind. In desperation, Whisker tried swivelling his head to see what was behind him, but the sticky threads tightened around his neck and chin, restricting his movement. From his captive position, all he managed to glimpse was a dark shadow out of the corner of his eye.
‘Here it comes,’ he whispered.
Horace gulped loudly. The shadow crept closer, disappearing from Whisker’s field of vision as it reached the base of the web.
There was a pause as a cloud passed over the sun, plunging the forest floor into inky blackness. And then the web began to vibrate.
It’s climbing, Whisker thought in horror.
He heard a soft click and then a high-pitched scream.
‘Eeek! Eeek! It’s on my back! It’s taken my hook! Get it off me! Get it off m –’ Horace’s cries were abruptly cut short.
Whisker felt his heart skip a beat.
There was a moment of terrifying silence, and then the muffled howls of Horace started up again, ‘Arrhh! Arrhh!’
Whisker’s heart began to race. What on earth is happening to him? He looked down but saw nothing but blurry shapes in the darkness. The web vibrated again and Ruby let out a startled hiss. A small scuffling sound ensued, and then Ruby’s muffled voice joined Horace’s stifled cries of protest, ‘Arrhh! Errhh! Arrhh! Errhh!’
Whisker began to understand. His eyes flashed to Anna, barely visible next to him. The whites of her eyes seemed to be floating inside her large, baggy cloak, and a desperate idea came to him.
‘Anna,’ he whispered. ‘Can you reach my scissor sword?’
‘Huh?’ she said.
‘My scissor sword,’ he repeated with urgency. ‘It’s dangling off my belt. Twist your shoulder to your left and slide your arm free. There’s plenty of room in your coat. You can do it. I know you can.’
Anna nodded apprehensively.
‘And hurry,’ Whisker added. ‘We’re about to be cocooned.’
Anna frantically began wiggling her arm inside her sleeve.
Whisker watched her earnestly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as her arm inched further through the loose fabric.
‘That’s it,’ he encouraged. ‘A little to your left. You’re nearly there …’
The fabric stretched and contorted as Anna bent her elbow, trying to squeeze her forearm through the final section. With a sharp tug, Anna’s paw jerked free and her entire arm slipped out of its sleeve. In the same movement, she reached down through the folds of her cloak, lunging for Whisker’s green-handled scissor sword.
Her paw stopped in mid-air. ‘Uh-oh.’
‘What?’ Whisker said, meeting her startled eyes.
Anna pointed to her brother’s waist and Whisker looked down in puzzlement. It took him a moment to comprehend what he was looking at. His bag, his belt and his scissor sword were gone.
‘But-but how?’ he stammered.
The answer revealed itself as a warm breath on the back of his neck. Anna shrieked in warning but Whisker was powerless to react.
There was a tugging, snapping sensation across his throat. He thrashed his head forward and cried out in pain, but his voice was instantl
y silenced when something thick and suffocating wrapped itself around his mouth.
Struggling not to choke, he felt his head spinning and his eyes glazing over. Then the darkness of the forest engulfed him.
Whisker must have blacked out for several seconds because the next thing he remembered, was staring dazedly across at his sister. The sun had returned and rays of morning light danced playfully across the web. Anna’s mouth had been gagged and her free arm was stuck to the sticky thread. Whisker was relieved to see that she had not been harmed.
A pitiful clucking noise drew his attention from Anna to his companions below. Whisker noted, in surprise, that neither Chatterbeak nor the two rats were encased in cocoons of silk. Ruby and Horace were gagged in a similar fashion to Anna, but the off-white colour of their binds told Whisker that the thick material was not silk from a golden orb-weaver spider.
Strange … he thought, going cross-eyed to see the gag in his own mouth. He ran his tongue over the material, growing even more confused. It wasn’t sticky like silk. It was soft like cotton, its texture reminding him of an old pillowcase or a bedsheet.
What on earth would a spider be doing with bedding? he asked himself.
A faint vibration rippled through the web and Whisker’s ears pricked up. The soft padding sound had returned and he lowered his eyes to the forest floor, scanning the pine needles for clues.
Where are you? he thought, his curiosity growing stronger. What are you …?
A sudden flash of light caught Whisker’s attention and his eyes darted to his left. Beyond the edge of the web, a narrow beam of sunlight reflected off a long, metallic object. Whisker recognised it instantly as his green-handled scissor sword. As it vanished into the shadows, its new owner stepped into the light.
The creature was a small rodent wearing a grey-and-white striped shirt and matching baggy trousers. He carried a bunched-up sheet over one shoulder, secured at the top with a pillowcase to form a makeshift sack. His beady, black eyes darted suspiciously from side to side as he crept, almost silently, across the ground.
Reaching a safe distance from the web, he turned and grinned contemptuously up at his captives, revealing crooked yellow teeth. In the dappled light of the forest, Whisker glimpsed a single, enormous ear protruding from the right side of the rodent’s head. In the place of his left ear, a grey beret sagged limply over his fur.
The Golden Anchor Page 2