‘We might have to reclassify it as an active volcano,’ Mr Tribble said in alarm. ‘It’s too far away to see any magma blasts, but that column of smoke – albeit thin at present – is a clear sign of an eruption.’
‘It could be the precursor for what’s to come,’ Pete said gravely.
‘Then we need to warn my family,’ Horace gasped.
‘I’m sure they have already been alerted to the threat,’ Mr Tribble said calmly. ‘Volcanic eruptions are often preceded by seismic activity such as earthquakes and small tremors.’
‘So why isn’t anyone trying to escape?’ Horace asked in confusion. ‘There’s not a single ship leaving the island.’
‘The sea does appear to be empty,’ Mr Tribble agreed, sweeping his small telescope in a wide arc.
‘Maybe they’ve already left,’ Ruby guessed.
‘Or maybe the pirates have taken them prisoners!’ Horace exclaimed, his imagination running wild. ‘Brawl and his buddies could have sailed up the river mouth and ransacked the village from the dock.’
‘That’s highly unlikely,’ Pete said. ‘Not even Bartholomew Brawl would be stupid enough to attempt a village raid with a volcano erupting over his head.’
‘So what’s our plan of action?’ Ruby asked, her paws firmly gripping the wheel. ‘We can maintain our course and head for the village or wait off the coast until the eruption is over.’
‘It could be a long wait,’ Mr Tribble said warily, ‘and with the wind blowing in our direction, we’d cop the full brunt of anything that comes out of that volcano – toxic gasses, acid rain, volcanic ash, falling debris ...’
He lowered his telescope and looked at Ruby. ‘As for your first option, well, I hate to say it, but the closer we get to that volcano, the deadlier the conditions will become.’
‘Are you suggesting we turn around and sail away?’ Horace said in horror. ‘What about Freeforians? What if they need our help?’
‘It’s not my family on that island,’ Mr Tribble said levelly, ‘so it’s not my decision to make.’
‘Hang on,’ Whisker said. ‘There’s another thing we haven’t thought of. And it doesn’t involve sailing to the island.’
‘You’re right,’ Horace said, realisation dawning. ‘I’d totally forgotten about him.’
‘Forgotten about who?’ Pete asked.
‘Chatterbeak!’ Horace and Whisker exclaimed together. ‘Chatterbeak can fly us to Freeforia!’
‘Would he be willing to take the risk?’ Mr Tribble asked.
‘Why don’t you ask him?’ Ruby said, pointing to the stairwell. ‘He’s on his way up.’
Whisker watched as Chatterbeak and the rest of the crew flooded onto the deck.
‘Eaton tells me we have a small problem of the volcanic variety,’ the Captain called up to them.
‘Small is putting it mildly,’ Pete muttered.
‘Come on, misery bones,’ Horace said, pulling Pete down the helm stairs with his hook. ‘You can fly with me on Chatterbeak. I’m sure Athena is dying to see you.’
Pete looked hesitant.
‘What? Don’t you want to see her?’ Horace said, taken aback.
‘Of course I want to see her,’ Pete spluttered, skidding to a halt in front of the giant parrot. ‘But I can’t go on that – that thing. What if he drops me?’
‘Relax, there’s nothing to worry about,’ Horace reassured him. ‘Just hold on tight. You’ll be fine.’
‘The Tasmanian devil, I will!’ Pete exclaimed, backing up the stairs. ‘I’m afraid of heights. Take someone expendable with you – like Whisker. He loves certain-death adventures.’
‘You heard the rat, Whisker,’ the Captain said, snatching Ruby’s spyglass from Pete and throwing it to Whisker. ‘I want a full report of what’s happening on Freeforia. And make sure Horace doesn’t fall into a lava pool.’
‘Aye, Captain.’ Whisker said, catching the spyglass with his tail.
‘Brittle birdseed!’ Chatterbeak squawked, as Whisker scrambled onto his back. ‘Don’t I have a say in any of this?’
‘Only if your answer is yes,’ Horace said, taking his seat behind Whisker. ‘Just think of the bragging rights. What other parrot can say he flew into an erupting volcano and then escaped a killer ash cloud?’
‘Caw, caw, it would make a stellar story,’ Chatterbeak considered, a little more upbeat.
‘We’ll rendezvous with you further down the coast,’ the Captain said, pointing to the south. ‘The Apple Pie will maintain a wide berth of the island so we can make a hasty retreat into the Crumbling Rock Islands should the need arise.’
‘Just watch out for pirates,’ Whisker said, as Chatterbeak flapped his powerful wings and rose into the air. ‘We still don’t know where they are.’
‘You look after each other,’ Ruby said, looking more than a little disappointed to be left behind.
Whisker waved down to her.
‘We’ll be back before you know it, Ruby,’ he said, trying to sound positive, despite his rising fears.
‘And save some breakfast for us,’ Horace added. ‘Nothing burnt, mind you. There’s enough ash where we’re going.’
With a final squawk of farewell, Chatterbeak spiralled once around the mainmast and then soared into the cerulean-blue sky.
It was a glorious morning and, despite the prospect of a volcanic disaster, Whisker couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the landscape beneath him. The higher Chatterbeak flew, the clearer the land of Freeforia became.
To his left, he could see the undulating hills of North Freeforia, dotted with wild berry bushes. As the land narrowed, the hills transformed into sand dunes, flattening out to become a long, white beach. A promenade of coconut palms ran the entire length of the beach, ending abruptly at the mouth of a wide river.
Beyond the river lay the province of West Freeforia, a lush jungle region scattered with sprawling fig trees and tropical fruit plantations. From the air, the dense canopy of leaves and branches looked like a massive green carpet, wrapping itself around the base of the volcano. A thin, grassy strip along the coastline led to the striking black cliffs of West Freeforia.
Formed by ancient volcanic activity, these uniquely-shaped cliffs consisted of thousands of interlocking basalt columns with hexagonal sides. The tops of the columns formed stepping stones, descending into the ocean before rising out of the water to become small rocky islands, appearing and disappearing with the tide. A lighthouse sat on the headland, warning ships of the hazardous rocks.
Although the remaining provinces were beyond Whisker’s sight, he could still picture their varied landscapes from his visits with the circus.
The rich volcanic soil of South Freeforia made it a farming paradise. Its gentle valleys and sweeping plains were covered with corn fields and pumpkin patches, tomato trellises and potato plots.
The distant province of East Freeforia, formerly the diamond district, was now dotted with sugar cane fields and pineapple plantations, and its citizens cultivated a variety of herbs and spices. Beyond its large eastern trading village lay the Wild Peninsula, a rugged and deserted stretch of land, that no province cared to own.
As the flight continued, Whisker’s attention shifted from the separate provinces of Freeforia to the communal land at its centre. At close range, the mountainous shape of the volcano looked even more imposing than it had from the sea. It was the very heart of the island – a sleeping giant with the power to give life or take it away. Now, it seemed, the giant had awoken.
The floor of the volcano’s massive crater lay far deeper than Whisker could see, but the expanding column of smoke and ash that rose from the crater’s rim was a clear sign that something destructive was brewing inside.
Whisker’s apocalyptic thoughts were interrupted by a soft prod in the ribs from Horace.
‘Are you going to hog that spyglass the whole trip?’ he asked.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Whisker said, passing the spyglass to him. ‘There’s a lot to take in d
own there.’
‘Any pirates?’ Horace asked.
‘None taking a lava bath in the volcano,’ Whisker answered. ‘But I didn’t have a clear view of the estuary or the dock.’
‘Hmm,’ Horace pondered, peering ahead. ‘There are a few masts poking up above the palm trees, but they could belong to any ship.’
‘What about the ocean?’ Whisker said.
Horace swivelled the spyglass a little to the west. ‘No. I can’t spot any ships off the coast. Hold on a minute. There’s a large bird flying over the estuary – an albatross I think.’
‘Where is it heading?’ Whisker asked.
‘West, in the direction of the Crumbling Rock Islands,’ Horace said. ‘It’s not carrying any passengers, but it could be a courier bird. Albatrosses are often used to send messages to neighbouring nations.’
‘So who do you think sent this one?’ Whisker questioned. ‘The Freeforians or the pirates?’
‘I don’t know,’ Horace said, continuing to search the coastline. ‘Hey, that’s strange. The lighthouse appears to be operating.’
‘In daylight?’ Whisker said with a frown. ‘But wouldn’t the lamp be too faint to be visible after dawn?’
‘You would think,’ Horace said, as a distant flash of light radiated from the headland.
‘Maybe it’s reflecting the sunlight,’ Whisker said. ‘At this time of day there would be plenty of light passing through the windows of the lighthouse. If the mirrors were angled correctly, the sun’s rays could be reflected out to sea in a similar way to the lamp.’
‘You could be onto something there, boy genius,’ Horace said in agreement. ‘Only the beam isn’t shining out to sea; it’s shining straight at us.’
‘Caw, caw, it must be a warning,’ Chatterbeak squawked, his strokes faltering.
‘Hold steady,’ Whisker said, catching glimpses of the light with his naked eyes. ‘The light isn’t continuous. It’s coming in flashes.’
‘You’re right,’ Horace exclaimed, almost dropping the spyglass. ‘I recognise some of the longer flashes. ‘It looks like the Freeforian emergency code.’
‘Can you interpret it?’ Whisker asked eagerly.
‘Err, that might be a stretch,’ Horace said ashamedly. ‘I didn’t pay much attention in signal class.’
‘I’m sure it will come back to you,’ Whisker encouraged. ‘If you can interpret the letters. I’ll take care of the words.’
‘Alright,’ Horace said, staring through the spyglass. ‘The message always commences with two long flashes – or maybe it’s three, I can never remember. I think they’re appearing now. I’ll count you in. One … two … oh, there’s another flash. Three. And the first letters are D. O. N. err … T.’
‘Don’t,’ Whisker said. ‘The letters spell don’t.’
‘Next word,’ Horace said, his gaze fixed on the lighthouse. ‘L. A. N. D.’
‘Land,’ Whisker repeated. ‘You’re doing great, Horace.’
‘Um, this next letter is a tricky one,’ Horace said. ‘It’s either an M or a W. Hmm?’
‘Leave it,’ Whisker said. ‘Give me the rest of the word.’
‘Okay,’ Horace said. ‘It’s A. I. T.’
‘Mait,’ Whisker said. ‘No. That’s not right. It must be a W for wait.’
‘And moving on,’ Horace said quickly, ‘I have a letter A, and then a letter T.’
‘At,’ Whisker said.
Horace continued, ‘The next letters are S. E. A.’
‘Sea,’ Whisker acknowledged. ‘At sea.’
There was a pause. ‘And that’s it,’ Horace said. ‘The entire message is repeating itself. Did you catch everything?’
‘Only just,’ Whisker said, a little flustered. ‘The full message reads Don’t land. Wait at sea.’
‘Don’t land?’ Horace echoed. ‘Why ever not?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Whisker said. ‘Maybe the air is contaminated with volcanic gasses –’
‘Or perhaps the pirates are behind the message,’ Horace ventured quickly.
Whisker leaned forward in his seat. ‘Chatterbeak, can you fly us in a little closer so we can see who’s signalling?’
‘Caw, caw, I’m on it,’ Chatterbeak squawked, altering his course and steering his body in the direction of the lighthouse.
As the parrot glided along the edge of the sandy coastline, heading for the estuary and the cliffs beyond, Horace moved his hook to his eyes and let out a groan of frustration. ‘Putrid pastries! I wish they’d stop signalling. I can’t see a thing with all those blinding flashes.’ He thrust the spyglass into Whisker’s paws. ‘Here, you take over.’
‘Sure,’ Whisker said, wrapping his fingers around the spyglass. He focused it on the distant headland, struggling to keep his paws steady in the buffeting wind.
The signal began again. Flash – flash – flash.
Whisker shut his eyes and waited for a gap between the words. Sensing the timing, he opened his eyelids and stared out at the scene. In the brief second he had to take it all in, he glimpsed a white lighthouse surrounded by pandanus trees, a second albatross perched on a rock and a short figure in a red-and-black dress bursting through the lighthouse doorway.
The flashes returned before Whisker could make out her features but her clothing had told him enough.
‘It’s Mama Kolina!’ he exclaimed.
‘Are you sure?’ Horace cried excitedly.
Whisker looked again. ‘It’s either her or someone of her exact height and build, wearing her Pirate Cup supporter’s dress from the Centenary Games.’
‘That sounds like Mama,’ Horace said in relief. ‘She was our biggest fan. Is anyone with her?’
‘Only another albatross,’ Whisker replied, ‘but there must be someone in the lighthouse operating the mirrors.’
‘It could be Athena,’ Horace said. ‘She’s an expert when it comes to signals and codes.’
‘I don’t think we should venture any closer to check,’ Whisker said. ‘Your Mama is clearly waving us away.’
‘Aye, Horace agreed, spinning in his seat. ‘Mama knows best. Take us back to the ship, Chatterbea –’ He cut himself short and rubbed his eyes. ‘Shiver me fire blankets! Is it my dodgy vision or has that volcano just stopped erupting?’
Whisker swung the spyglass in the direction of the volcano to see the last wisps of smoke drifting away from the crater.
‘You’re right,’ he said in bewilderment. ‘That column of smoke was going crazy a minute ago and now it’s, well, it’s stopped.’
‘That doesn’t mean it won’t start up again,’ Horace said, staring cross-eyed at the crater. ‘And the next time something comes out of that volcano, it might be a lot more explosive.’
Wait at Sea
It was already mid-afternoon when the Apple Pie and its explorers finally drew level with the river estuary. With no further signs of volcanic eruptions, the ship anchored a short distance from the shore and her crew spread out along the port side bulwark, eager to catch a glimpse of activity from the village beyond.
A bend in the river hid the bulk of the village from sight, and what buildings were visible merely blocked a clear view of the dock.
‘Are you sure you interpreted your Mama’s message correctly, Horace?’ Pete asked for the umpteenth time. ‘If the volcano poses no immediate danger, there’s nothing to stop us sailing up the estuary and investigating the village for ourselves.’
Horace looked to Whisker for a response.
‘The message was clear, Pete,’ Whisker said. ‘Don’t land. Wait at sea. We didn’t land, and now we have to wait at sea.’
‘I hate waiting,’ Pete muttered, impatiently. ‘Couldn’t they send us another message or something?’
‘What about that boat?’ Fred said, staring at the river estuary with his enormous eye. ‘Maybe it’s carrying a message.’
‘What boat?’ Pete snapped.
‘The boat shaped like a banana, rowing downstream,’ Fred replied.
‘Are you delusional?’ Pete hissed. ‘This isn’t some wacky carnival island with a papier-mâché volcano and fruit-themed circus rides.’
‘Oh, the volcano is real enough,’ the Captain said, staring through the ship’s large tripod-mounted telescope, ‘and so is the banana boat.’
‘Shiver me tropical timbers!’ Horace exclaimed, focusing his own spyglass on the approaching vessel. ‘I recognise that boat. It belongs to Benny Banana Peel. We went to school together.’
‘And I suppose it’s carrying a tribe of miniature pineapples with hoola skirts?’ Pete added snidely.
‘Come to think of it, its passengers are wearing rather exotic attire,’ the Captain said, ‘especially Mama Kolina’s three daughters. Tropical floral dresses and parasols must be quite the rage this season.’
‘Three daughters!’ Pete exclaimed, pushing his way through the crowd gathered around the telescope. ‘Then my beloved Athena is aboard.’
‘Quite so,’ the Captain said, stepping aside to give the anxious quartermaster free access to the telescope. ‘And she appears to be alive and well.’
Thanks to the outgoing tide, it wasn’t long before the strange-looking watercraft had left the estuary and was splashing through the breakers towards the Apple Pie.
Benny’s boat was a long canoe consisting of four rows of benches, and raised sections at the bow and stern. Painted bright yellow with black flecks, it accurately resembled a giant floating banana.
‘Benny’s father operates the village dock,’ Horace said excitedly to Ruby and Whisker as the canoe drew closer. ‘He has heaps of cool boats for hire. The tourists always choose the banana boats for their river cruises. Between you and me, I think it scares the crocodiles away. Look! There’s Benny standing up at the back.’
Whisker caught sight of a small chimpanzee dressed in a bright yellow bandanna, an open vest and a black eye patch. The broad smile plastered across his face revealed a mouth of pearly white teeth and one glimmering gold tooth. With earrings in one ear, rings on several fingers and a large collection of gold chains draped around his neck, he appeared to be wearing more jewellery than Horace’s three sisters put together.
The Golden Anchor Page 11