The Golden Anchor

by Cameron Stelzer

  ‘Hello, Uncle,’ she said, warmly. ‘It’s good to be back.’

  ‘And it’s good to have you back, my dear,’ he said, smiling broadly. He broke from her embrace and leaned back to take a good look at her. ‘Why, you’re looking more like your mother every day, Ruby, and she was the most beautiful rat in the whole of Aladrya.’

  Ruby blushed the colour of her red winter coat. ‘You’re just saying that, Uncle.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he laughed. ‘I may be a one-eyed fool, but I know true beauty when I see it.’ He straightened his black eyepatch and added with a grin, ‘And I’m sure there are others on this ship who agree with me.’

  Ruby shot an awkward glance at Whisker and the apprentice felt his own cheeks blushing.

  ‘Now where’s that young sister of yours, Whisker?’ the Captain asked, scanning the assembled group. ‘Judging by the happy squeals of Emmie, she must be alive and well. And what about Rat Bait? Did he end up finding you in the mountains?’

  The colour quickly faded from Whisker’s cheeks. The pleasantries were over. There was work to be done.

  ‘They’re both safe,’ he said simply. ‘I’ll explain everything on our way –’

  ‘On our way where?’ interrupted a nasal voice.

  Whisker turned to see the ship’s quartermaster, Pencil Leg Pete, clomping onto the deck. He gave Ruby and Horace a curt nod of greeting, then screwed up his crooked, white nose and glared at Whisker.

  ‘This had better not be another one of your secret adventures, apprentice,’ he said. ‘The last one caused us a considerable amount of trouble. Well, not this time. This time I’m putting my pencil down!’ He stamped his pencil leg against the deck to emphasise his point. ‘This ship isn’t going anywhere until I have a full explanation of everything that has –’

  Ruby clamped her paw over his mouth.

  ‘Listen carefully, Pete,’ she said firmly. ‘At this very moment, Bartholomew Brawl, Seven-legged Sven and an armada of gold-hungry pirates are sailing towards West Freeforia, intent on plundering the new gold mine and ransacking a certain village in their way.’

  Pete’s eyes went wide with shock.

  ‘Oh my precious paws,’ he gasped, throwing Ruby’s paw aside. ‘My beloved Athena lives in that village. She doesn’t stand a chance. She’ll be skewered like a shish kebab, chopped into casserole chunks, sliced into schnitzel!’

  ‘Along with the rest of Horace’s family,’ Ruby said coolly. ‘But I’m sure we can discuss their nutritional value over dinner when we give you a full explanation.’

  ‘Dinner!’ Pete spluttered. ‘There’s no time for dinner. We have to leave at once, do you hear?’ He began clomping towards the helm, the assembled animals staring after him. He stopped and swivelled around on his pencil leg, almost tumbling over. ‘Well?’ he screeched, glaring back at them. ‘Don’t just stand there. A rat’s life is at stake. Do something, you insensitive gnats. Raise the anchor! Unfurl the sails! Anything! Hurry! Hurry!’

  And that was that.

  With a nod from the Captain, and not a further word of explanation, the anchor was raised and the crew took their positions on the sails, preparing to sail east towards the fair land of Freeforia.

  Dusk till Dawn

  Darkness descended over the ocean as the Apple Pie began its frantic journey to the south-east. The open seas were rough and the waves were enormous, pounding the wooden hull of the ship and drenching the crew with icy showers of water.

  As the Isle of Aladrya slipped away to the west, the waning moon rose like a beacon to the east. An almost perfect sphere, it made its slow ascent into the sky, disappearing behind wind-driven clouds and then reappearing minutes later in all its silver glory.

  A billowing headwind forced the Apple Pie to follow a slow, zigzagging course past the northern cliffs of the Crumbing Rock Islands. Situated between the Isle of Aladrya and the land of Freeforia, these uninhabited islands were a rabbit warren of dead-end passages and collapsing cliff faces. After their encounter during the Pirate Cup, the Pie Rats were happy to keep a safe distance.

  Throughout the night, the crew worked in shifts to manoeuvre the sails. Pete maintained his position behind the ship’s wheel while Fred’s cooking provided a constant source of sustenance for the soaked sailors. Over piping hot slices of pie, Chatterbeak attempted to humour the anxious crew with dramatic accounts of their mountain rescue.

  Long after midnight, when the colourful parrot had finally run out of tales to share, the Captain entered the mess room and plonked his wet body next to Whisker.

  The young apprentice sat, anxiously gnawing on his pie crust, while the Captain removed his soggy hat and helped himself to a slice of choc-cherry pie. It was the first time Whisker had talked privately with the Captain since coming aboard, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say to him.

  ‘Would you like me to deliver a slice of pie to the helm, sir?’ Whisker asked politely as the Captain began to eat. ‘Pete hasn’t left the wheel all night.’

  The Captain shook his head. ‘No need. Fred sent Eaton up with a plate before he went to bed. He’s the only rodent Pete can tolerate when he’s in one of his moods.’

  ‘Is he still cross with me?’ Whisker asked.

  ‘He’s cross with everyone,’ the Captain said. ‘But I’m sure he’ll snap out of it at dawn.’

  ‘Why? What happens at dawn?’ Whisker asked.

  ‘The sun rises, of course,’ the Captain said with a chuckle. ‘But more importantly, it’s when Pete can start reading his book again.’

  ‘Oh,’ Whisker said, making the connection. ‘The Book of Knowledge.’

  ‘Aye,’ the Captain said. ‘Pete has become rather obsessed with that book of Anso’s. He’s been poring over it from sunup ‘til sundown, with little Eaton by his side. It’s a pity the sun-reactive ink isn’t visible at night or they’d be searching for a way to stop the pirates as we speak.’

  ‘So you haven’t come up with one of your grand plans,’ Whisker said, unable to hide his disappointment.

  The Captain sighed. ‘Nothing beyond evacuating the village – if we manage to reach Freeforia in time. Who knows how long this journey will take with this cursed headwind?’ He sighed again. ‘To be honest, Whisker, my grand plans tend to run smoothly until something unexpected happens. And then it’s your quick thinking that gets us out of trouble.’

  ‘But this is bigger than anything I’ve faced,’ Whisker said.

  ‘Bigger than Cloud Mountain?’ the Captain asked, leaning closer. ‘Oh yes, I’ve heard all about your mountain rescue. And not just Chatterbeak’s high-flying version – Ruby’s down-to-earth account. It’s no mean feat to survive an avalanche and four flocks of birds in one night. It’s no wonder Ruby passed you on your apprenticeship test of Strength. Do you realise you’re only one test away from becoming a full member of the crew?’ He lowered his pie crust and began counting on his fingers. ‘Let’s see, so far you have passed the six apprenticeship tests of Survival, Strategy, Swords-rat-ship, Self-reliance, Sailing and Strength, leaving you with one final test of Sacrifice.’

  ‘And what does that test involve?’ Whisker inquired.

  ‘It’s not something you can really prepare for,’ the Captain said, picking at crumbs on his plate. ‘And in a way, it’s not a test at all. It’s more of a demonstration of character. Put simply, it’s doing something that matters, when it matters most – even if it hurts. But I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Whisker. You have enough on your plate right now.’ He looked down at his own empty plate and added, ‘And I have nothing on my plate at all.’

  ‘Another slice, sir?’ Whisker asked, reaching for the pie dish in the centre of the table.

  ‘Why not?’ the Captain said, passing him his plate. ‘And cut yourself a slice, too, Whisker. We’re going to need all the energy we can get when we reach Freeforia.’

  The sun had barely poked its golden head above the horizon when Whisker was woken in his hammock by the sound of Pete clomp
ing across the deck above him. CLOMP, patter, CLOMP! He rolled over to see Fred sleeping peacefully in the next hammock, a piece of pie crust wedged in each ear.

  ‘Rotten pies to wakeup calls,’ Horace groaned from the third hammock in the small cabin. ‘Do you think we’ve reached West Freeforia?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Whisker said, lowering his feet to the floor. ‘Let’s go and see.’

  Bleary-eyed and still half asleep, the two rats staggered onto the deck to find the Apple Pie trawling through the ocean. The distant cliffs of the Crumbling Rock Islands were visible to the west, bathed in amber sunlight. To the east, the hilly province of North Freeforia marked the start of the tropical island. Further to the south, the hazy shape of Freeforia’s central volcano towered above the horizon.

  Although the seas were calmer than the previous evening, the wind still blew from the south-east and the Apple Pie maintained its upwind tack. Whisker could only describe their progress as slow.

  ‘What I’d give for an ounce of the Princess Pie’s speed, right now,’ Horace muttered morosely. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love the Apple Pie, but there are times when an extra sail and a sleeker hull would make a world of difference.’

  ‘We’d still have to contend with this headwind,’ Whisker reasoned, turning his attention to the wind-swept occupants of the deck.

  The anxious quartermaster leaned against the port side bulwark, clutching Anso’s open book in the morning light, while the wind threatened to blow it shut again. Eaton, still dressed in his pyjamas, was dangling off the rigging, adjusting a knot on the mainsail. Ruby was visible behind the wheel, humming an upbeat sea shanty while performing a bizarre hornpipe dance with her legs.

  ‘Now that’s not something you see every morning,’ Whisker said, rubbing his eyes.

  He caught a glimmer of sunlight reflecting off a brown bottle at the bottom of the helm stairs and guessed it had something to do with Ruby’s effervescent state.

  ‘Look, boys,’ she cried, slapping her left ankle with her right paw and then with her left paw in time with her humming. ‘It doesn’t hurt! I’m cured. No more limping!’

  Horace gave her a half-hearted hooks-up but kept his attention focused on the approaching landmass.

  Whisker reached down and picked up the bottle, reading the handwritten label stuck to the side.

  ‘Anso’s new and improved formula,’ Pete murmured, without looking up from his book. ‘I’ve been brewing a new batch from the herbs you retrieved from the Island of Kings. It has triple the healing properties of my old recipe, without the manic energy boost.’

  ‘Are you sure about that last point?’ Whisker said, sniffing the bottle. ‘Ruby’s acting pretty manic.’

  ‘Give that to me!’ Pete snapped, snatching the bottle from Whisker’s paws. He turned it upside down and gave it a good shake. Not a single drop came out.

  ‘Well of course she’s acting manic!’ he exclaimed. ‘She drank the whole bottle. How is it that you reckless rodents always manage to drink the entire bottle?’

  Whisker shrugged. ‘You could always brew it in smaller bottles.’

  ‘Smaller bottles?’ Pete fumed, sweeping his arm theatrically through the air. ‘Does it look like there’s an apothecary’s supply shop nearby?’

  ‘Err, well, no,’ Whisker answered, with a vague recollection that an apothecary was a mixer of medicine.

  ‘It’s irrelevant now, anyway,’ Pete said, returning to his thousand-page book. ‘I’ve finished bottling the brew. Eaton stuck the labels on yesterday. He’s a good little apprentice, you know – always following instructions.’

  Eaton grinned down from the rigging.

  Whisker decided it best not to comment. Following Pete’s instructions had never been one of his strong points.

  ‘Have you found anything in Anso’s book yet?’ Horace asked, sticking his nose over Pete’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps an invention to sink a hundred pirate ships?’

  Pete looked up in exasperation. ‘The sun has been up for a grand total of three minutes and for that entire time you two pie brains have been standing here distracting me. Of course, I haven’t found anything.’

  ‘But what about that illustration you’re looking at?’ Horace persisted, waving his hook at a chart in the centre of a page.

  Pete raised the heavy book and banged it against his pale forehead. ‘You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?’

  Horace shook his head, then nodded, then changed his mind and shook his head again. ‘Whichever one means I’m staying put.’

  Pete let out a groan. ‘Alright, alright. If I can’t stop you annoying me, at least I can teach you something.’ He tapped the page with a bony finger. ‘This list of materials might help to explain why our ship is moving so slowly.’

  ‘I thought the headwind was to blame,’ Horace said in confusion.

  ‘That’s partly true,’ Pete agreed. ‘But don’t forget that we’re fully loaded with Pirate Cup gold. According to this chart, gold has a higher density than our usual supplies of sugar, salt and drinking water.’

  ‘What do you mean by density?’ Horace asked, scratching his head with his hook. ‘You’ve called me dense on a few occasions. What does that have to do with gold?’

  ‘Not a whole lot,’ Pete snorted, signalling for his young protégé to join them. ‘Eaton, would you please inform our scientifically-challenged colleague of the significance of substance densities.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Eaton squeaked, scampering down from the rigging and rushing over to join them. ‘The density of a material is the relationship between the mass of the material and its volume.’

  ‘Mass, volume, what?’ Horace said, screwing up his face. ‘Are you a mouse or a text book?’

  ‘Oh fiddlesticks!’ Pete gasped in exasperation. ‘Give him the kindergarten version, Eaton.’

  Eaton nodded and went on to explain. ‘Different materials of the same size weigh different amounts.’ He pointed to two metals on the chart: Gold and Tin. ‘A chest filled with gold weighs a lot more than a chest filled with tin.’

  ‘Two-and-a-half times more, to be precise,’ Pete said, leaning over the side of the ship. ‘Which is clearly evidenced by how low we are sitting in the water.’

  ‘Okay,’ Horace said, starting to understand. ‘But what about pies? They’re not on the li–’

  He was abruptly cut off by a loud shout from Ruby. ‘Whisker! Horace! Get your tails up here now!’

  Leaving Pete and Eaton with their book, the two rats dashed up the stairs to the helm.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Horace panted in a panic.

  ‘We have a problem,’ Ruby said from behind the wheel.

  ‘Are we sinking?’ Horace gasped, running over to the rail. ‘Shiver me scientists! All this gold must be dragging us under.’

  ‘We’re not sinking, Horace,’ Ruby said firmly. ‘Here!’ She threw him her small spyglass. ‘The problem is out there – on Freeforia.’

  ‘Oh,’ Horace gulped, catching the spyglass with his paw. He shakily extended it and raised it to his eye.

  ‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’ he asked.

  ‘Port side, ten degrees off the bowsprit,’ Ruby instructed. ‘What do you see?’

  Horace swivelled the spyglass into position.

  ‘Smoking jalapenos!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘What is it?’ Whisker asked, the distant island little more than a blur to his naked eyes.

  ‘I see smoke,’ Horace said. ‘A line of smoke rising into the air.’

  ‘Is it the village?’ Whisker gasped. ‘Have the pirates arrived?’

  ‘It’s too far away to tell,’ Horace said, shifting position. ‘Wait a minute. I can make out the coastline of West Freeforia. I think I see the estuary. Yes, it’s definitely the estuary. The village lies just beyond it on the other side of the river, but I can’t see any … hold on.’ He swivelled the spyglass further to the east. ‘Oh my purple pantaloons! This can’t be happening.’

  �
��What’s happening?’ Whisker gasped.

  Horace lowered the spyglass, his face white with fear. ‘This is bad. This is catastrophically bad. The smoke isn’t coming from the village. It’s coming from the volcano.’

  Smoke and Mirrors

  Unable to believe what he was hearing, Whisker took the spyglass from Horace and raised it to his eye.

  His tail trembled at what he saw.

  The massive conical shape of the volcano rose from the green jungle like an enormous barnacle. Its barren, upper slopes towered high above the island, ending abruptly in a gaping mouth of black rock. From the centre of the volcano’s expansive crater, a grey-and-white column of smoke spewed forth. It rose diagonally upwards, billowing and twisting into the air before dispersing in the wind.

  ‘Well?’ Ruby said, demanding a response. ‘Exactly how bad is it?’

  From his ocean vantage point, Whisker couldn’t tell if the column consisted of volcanic ash, escaping gasses, or something much worse.

  ‘I-I honestly don’t know,’ he gabbled. ‘My mother grew up in South Freeforia and she taught me a little about the island’s geology, but this is way out of my league.’

  ‘Alright,’ Ruby said, maintaining her composure. ‘It’s time to call in the experts.’ She leaned over the wheel and shouted down to Eaton. ‘Hey, pipsqueak! Find Mr Tribble. We need every know-it-all to the helm at once.’

  ‘Know-it-all?’ Pete hissed, as Eaton disappeared below deck. ‘What in Ratbeard’s name is going on?’

  ‘Science just turned nasty,’ Whisker replied, handing the spyglass back to Horace. ‘And we have the godfather of all natural disasters on our hands.’

  Pete slammed the book shut and clomped up the stairs, snatching the spyglass from Horace.

  ‘Hey!’ Horace exclaimed.

  Pete ignored him and moved the spyglass to his eye. There was a brief silence and then he gasped, ‘Oh my brittle bones! I thought that blasted volcano was extinct.’

  ‘Technically it’s dormant,’ Mr Tribble said, hurrying up the stairs with his own miniature telescope. ‘It hasn’t erupted in recent history, but it could still blow at any time.’ He reached the helm and found a spot near the rail next to Pete. Side by side the two scholars surveyed the smoking volcano.