The Trophy of Champions

by Cameron Stelzer

  The flags drew closer. Chatterbeak flapped his wings excitedly from the top of a rock.

  ‘Caw, caw!’ he squawked to the crowd. ‘Here they come. The Pie Rats are leading the charge but the other teams are right behind them. It’s going to be close. Ruby breaks away and the Pie Rats have finished in – in – second place.’

  ‘Second place?’ Ruby gasped, falling to her knees across the line. ‘But we won.’

  ‘Second place, second place,’ Chatterbeak prattled. ‘It was definitely second place.’

  Rising to her feet, Ruby shook a sandy paw at Chatterbeak and hollered, ‘Look here, bird brain, we were the first team to land on the beach and the first team to reach Gustave. Whichever way you look at it, we were here first.’

  An awkward murmur swept through the crowd.

  ‘How embarrassing,’ giggled a familiar voice from the front row. ‘She clearly has no idea …’

  ‘No idea about what?’ Ruby snapped.

  ‘I’ll take it from here,’ Gustave said, approaching Ruby. ‘You are right to assume your boat arrived first, my dear, but I am afraid you vere not ze first team to reach me.’

  ‘Are you blind?’ Ruby huffed. ‘Our closest competitors are still halfway up the beach.’

  Sensing there was more to the situation than first met the eye, Whisker turned his attention to six navy and white animals shuffling to the front of the crowd. Water dripped from their feathers as they gave each other triumphant flipper-slaps.

  ‘Ah, Ruby?’ Whisker said, suddenly understanding. ‘I think you should take a look at this.’

  Ruby spun around and stared wide-eyed at the six celebrating fairy penguins.

  ‘The Penguin Pirates!’ she gasped. ‘How did they get here?’

  ‘I thought that was obvious,’ Pete sniffled, ‘they swam.’

  Ruby kicked the sand in frustration. ‘You could have told me that before I made a fool out of myself.’

  ‘No one thinks you’re a fool, Ruby,’ Whisker said, trying to calm her down.

  ‘Unless you’re the fashion police,’ giggled another voice from the crowd. ‘Since when were midriffs back in vogue?’

  ‘They’re not,’ laughed a third voice, ‘at least not on civilised islands …’

  Ruby crossed her arms over her stomach and glared angrily at the culprits: three pretty young rats. They were hiding behind a large cardboard sign displaying the familiar message: Whisker Rules the Waves.

  Oh no, Whisker thought in dismay, can this get any worse?

  Taking one furious look at the sign, Ruby spun on her heel and stormed off down the beach.

  ‘Ruby, wait,’ Whisker called out. ‘Don’t go. Just listen to me.’

  Ruby took several stomping steps and, without turning around, hissed, ‘Save it for your precious girlfriends, apprentice!’

  Speechless, Whisker was left staring after her in shock and confusion.

  ‘Way to go, prince charming,’ Horace muttered. ‘And here I was thinking I had the rotten love life.’

  ‘Love life?’ Whisker gasped. ‘I don’t have a love life.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Horace said. ‘And you won’t get one the way you’re going.’

  Before Whisker could respond, he felt the strap of his anchor pendant tightening around his neck.

  ‘Ah ha! Caught you at last, you disgraceful little diving disaster,’ came the croaky voice of Granny Rat. ‘Don’t tell me you’re responsible for today’s defeat too?’

  ‘N-n-no,’ Whisker stammered, ‘it was all the penguins, honestly.’

  ‘Humph,’ Granny snorted, tightening her grip. ‘A likely excuse. Now stop squirming and listen up, Wafer. You’ve got one final chance to redeem yourself, is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Coach,’ Whisker gulped.

  Granny Rat released Whisker’s pendant and lowered her voice. ‘I’ve been monitoring the tournament schedule over the past few days. Baron Predictable has adhered to the simple pattern of two Death Ball games followed by two events. If he continues in this fashion, your do-or-die showdown with the toads will be held tomorrow.’ She gave Whisker a smug smile. ‘It has also come to my attention that one of you half-brained baboons has discovered a way to defeat the Cane Toads.’

  ‘It’s more of a defence strategy,’ Whisker said, trying to downplay the idea.

  ‘Well whatever you call it, you’ve got until sunrise to have it perfected,’ Granny ordered. ‘If we lose this match our tournament is as good as over.’

  Fashion on the Field

  When the icy dawn wind howled through the campsite the following morning, Whisker was already dressed and fed and waiting in the supply tent with a barrel of salt, a bundle of reeds and a selection of Athena’s personal belongings. On the first chime of the bell, he woke Horace and Fred and set off in the direction of the tower. Unlike the previous evening, there was a distinctive lack of purple in the hazy sky.

  ‘The trophy’s gone,’ Whisker exclaimed as the dark structure came into view. ‘Gustave must have moved it during the night.’

  ‘Another lost opportunity,’ Horace shivered. ‘A pre-dawn ambush would have been our best hope yet.’

  A long-eared silhouette appeared at the top of the tower and the small crowd assembled at its base looked up expectantly.

  ‘Ze remaining pool games of Death Ball vill be held today,’ Baron Gustave boomed into his bullhorn. ‘Ze action vill commence in thirty minutes vith ze Cane Toads versus ze Pie Rats.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise,’ Horace said, hurrying down the track. ‘We’ve got just enough time for a refreshing salt shower.’

  ‘Ruby’s not going to like it one bit,’ Whisker panted. ‘You know how much of a clean freak she is.’

  ‘That’s the least of her worries,’ Horace scoffed. ‘She’ll forget all about the salt when she sees the stylish head-gear we’ve designed for her.’

  Ruby did not appreciate the salt. Nor did she enjoy Athena’s bright pink glasses being strapped to her head. And she definitely did not approve of the tacky souvenir placemat covering her mouth and nose.

  ‘I carn breaf in dis ’orrible ting!’ she gasped though the thick, red fabric.

  ‘That’s why you have a snorkel,’ Horace said, wedging a piece of hollow reed into the corner of Ruby’s mouth.

  ‘Mm mm brr brr,’ Ruby protested.

  ‘Don’t worry, Ruby,’ Horace said, turning cross-eyed through a pair of sparkly silver spectacles. ‘We’ll be nerdy scuba-diving-bushrangers together.’ With a flick of his wrist, he pretended to shoot her with his racket attachment. ‘KAPOW!’

  Unimpressed, Ruby stormed off to a dark corner of the dressing room and began hurling a practice ball against the dirt wall. The door creaked open and Rat Bait walked in.

  ‘Avast!’ he exclaimed, catching sight of the bespectacled crew. ‘Who let the underwater optometrists on the loose?’

  ‘Whisker’s the mastermind behind our poison protection strategy,’ Horace gurgled through his snorkel.

  ‘Aye,’ Rat Bait said, turning his attention to the white flecks on Horace’s shoulders. ‘But what’s with all the dandruff?’

  ‘It’s not dandruff,’ Horace protested. ‘It’s salt. Pure, unadulterated salt. Those warty wenches will think twice about getting up close and personal with Mr Salt Shaker.’ He wiggled his hips like a cabaret performer and began a ridiculous little dance. Fine grains of salt sprayed everywhere.

  ‘You’d best be perfectin’ that salt-sa routine quick smart, me boy,’ Rat Bait chuckled. ‘The match commences in two minutes’ time.’

  About two minutes later, the Pie Rats entered the stadium to a chorus of heckles and taunts.

  ‘You’ve outdone yourselves this time,’ hollered an old lizard in the third row. ‘It’s an F for fail in the fashion stakes –’

  ‘– and a C for cuckoo in the crazy department!’ croaked a fat tree frog.

  ‘Argh, give ‘em a break,’ shouted an otter in a baggy bandanna. ‘With wayward cannon shots, bumbli
ng belly flops an’ tantrums galore, they’re the most entertainin’ team I’ve seen in years.’

  If only entertainment equalled success, Whisker sighed as he took his place on the wing.

  If the crowd had come for entertainment, they got what they paid for. From the very first bounce, the battle of the masked salt bandits versus the poison-spitting pond dwellers was as captivating as it was ridiculous. While the Pie Rats were happy to tackle and tussle with the toads, the salt-loathing amphibians refused to get within arms’ distance of their opponents. What resulted was a comedic game of Catch and Kiss (minus the kissing).

  The toads relied on wide passes and long-range shots at goal to stay in the game, but the Pie Rats defended valiantly and maintained a one goal lead for the entire first half. The toads’ best chance to level the score came late in the second half, when Wart Face sprayed an unprotected section of Fred’s enormous eye with poison. Fred was taken from the field for precautionary treatment and Pete hobbled on as his replacement in the goal box.

  With only minutes remaining, Granny Rat ordered the entire team to fall back in defence. The toads shifted the ball from wing to wing and then attacked with a sweeping lob over the defenders’ heads. Just when the ball appeared to be headed for an open corner of the goal, Pete arrived out of nowhere, spinning on his pencil leg and, with a spectacular roundhouse kick, sent the ball hurtling out of the stadium.

  By the time Gustave’s sons had retrieved the ball from the top of a gum tree, the hourglass had run down and the match was officially over. Whisker threw off his mask and glasses and celebrated with a huge breath of fresh air. Ruby was more interested in washing off the salt and poison than savouring the sticky victory and hurried off to the waterhole without her teammates.

  ‘We did it!’ Horace exclaimed, high-fiving Whisker with his racket attachment. ‘We made the Death Ball final.’

  ‘Thanks to Pete and Athena,’ Whisker said, plonking his weary body onto the bench. ‘Don’t look now, but I think our new hero has just found himself an admirer.’

  The two rats stared across at Pete, still wearing his protective glasses. Athena had her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and was hugging him affectionately. Pete looked utterly bewildered.

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ Horace sighed. ‘Those lovey dovey bookworms can bore each other to death and leave the rest of us exciting folk alone. It’s the perfect ending to a glorious morning. I couldn’t ask for anything more.’

  ‘How ‘bout a relaxin’ day off?’ Rat Bait said, creeping up beside them.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Horace gasped. ‘That would be the icing on the chocolate mud cake.’

  ‘Shh,’ Rat Bait whispered. ‘I be overhearin’ Gustave talking to Chatterbeak just now. They’re plannin’ a rest day startin’ at sunset t’day an’ finishin’ at sunrise the day after termorra. Ol’ Gustave said somethin’ ‘bout keepin’ the athletes fresh for the final three events.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ Horace squeaked, clapping his paw with his racket. ‘That’s a day-and-a-half of rest.’

  ‘But what about the trophy?’ Whisker asked. ‘We’d lose two nights of potential raids.’

  ‘That can’t be helped,’ Rat Bait said softly. ‘Listen, if yer keen to have a crack, ye could always squeeze in an afternoon raid, t’day. They won’t be expectin’ ye, an’ half o’ Gustave’s sons’ll be stuck here refereein’ the next match.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Whisker considered, ‘but it’s awfully risky during daylight, and we’re yet to come up with a suitable plan.’

  ‘Suit yerself,’ Rat Bait said with a shrug. ‘Now, speakin’ of a plan, what say we take a li’l field trip down to Two Shillin’s Cove termorra for some rest an’ refreshments?’

  ‘I’m up for that,’ Horace agreed heartily. ‘And while we’re there, we can visit Frankie Belorio for an autograph. Papa says he’s staying at the Fish ‘n Ships Inn – it’s where all the celebrities go. What do you say, Whisker?’

  ‘Sure,’ Whisker sighed, flicking a sticky, white glob off his poison-stained shirt. ‘But first we might need to invest in some new outfits …’

  The bustling town of Two Shillings Cove was situated at the mouth of the Hawk River in southern Aladrya. Functioning as a major trading centre as well as a popular tourist destination, its elegant, stone buildings and round-towered hotels ran up the side of a steep hill overlooking the sheltered cove.

  The Pie Rats sailed into the sunny cove mid-morning and berthed their small vessel on an outer dock. The respectable town was no place for a pirate ship, especially one as peculiar as the Apple Pie, and Rat Bait had arranged for a less conspicuous craft to ferry the crew to their destination.

  In an attempt to blend in with the crowd, the Pie Rats were dressed in a mish-mash of tacky tourist outfits, while their soiled uniforms soaked in a tub of Salamander’s Stain-Busting Soap Suds. Joining the day-trippers were Granny Rat and Horace’s family. The Hermit, unaccustomed to crowded streets and cramped shops, volunteered to stay back and guard the supply tent with Smudge.

  Whisker had spent the entire voyage trapped in a conversation with Papa Niko about his favourite subject, Death Ball. When Papa Niko ran out of Freeforian Firetails stories, he turned to his second favourite topic, Greek mythology.

  ‘Did you know that my three lovely daughters were named after Greek goddesses?’ he said to Whisker as they stepped onto the wooden dock.

  ‘I think Horace mentioned that once,’ Whisker replied, struggling to attach a slippery mooring rope to a bollard.

  ‘Hera, my eldest daughter, was named after the queen of the gods,’ Papa Niko said dreamily. ‘In Greek mythology, Athena was the goddess of wisdom and the arts and Aphrodite was the goddess of love and beauty.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I think Mama Kolina was accurate with her name choices, don’t you think?’

  ‘Extremely,’ Whisker replied, glancing up at the three sisters parading down the dock. Aphrodite was staring at herself in a pocket mirror, Athena had her head buried in a guide book and Hera was scolding them both for not watching where they were going.

  ‘Have I told you about my favourite Greek myth yet?’ Papa Niko asked, helping Whisker secure the rope. ‘It’s called the Trojan Horse. Between you and me, I think it’s the answer to your trophy dilemma.’

  ‘Really?’ Whisker said with sudden interest.

  Papa Niko waited for the rest of the crew to disembark and then whispered, ‘Listen, the story goes like this. According to legend, the mighty Greek army once besieged a heavily fortified city named Troy. After countless failed attempts to penetrate the high walls, the Greeks built a huge, wooden horse and left it at the gates of the city. The Greek army then pretended to sail away and the victorious Trojans pulled the horse into the city. Unbeknownst to the Trojans, a small band of Greek warriors were hidden inside the horse. That evening, the warriors crept out and opened the city gates. The rest of the Greek army sailed back under the cover of darkness and stormed into the city.’

  He slashed his paw dramatically through the air. ‘In one fell swoop, the Greeks defeated their enemy and won the war! How ‘bout that for a stealth operation?’

  ‘It’s an impressive story, I agree,’ Whisker said, not wanting to dampen Papa Niko’s enthusiasm. ‘But I doubt Gustave is going to fall for a giant horse.’

  Papa Niko sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. A six-metre horse on a pier does seem a little out of place …’ His voice trailed off.

  In a rare passage of silence, the two rats followed their companions along the narrow dock until they reached a life-sized cut-out of Frankie Belorio. The painted figure of the famous bilby held a shiny, blue fishing rod in one paw and a small sign in the other. The sign’s bright yellow writing read, If it’s not a Rodney’s Rod, it’s a stick! A few feet away, a second cut-out was wrapped in thick lengths of rope. Only the bilby’s long ears were visible above the coils. A wooden plaque on the dock read, Champions trust Rodney’s Rope to keep their precious assets secure! A third cut
-out of Frankie Belorio was visible, halfway up the steep steps to the town. From a distance, its outline resembled a rabbit or a hare.

  ‘Ah ha!’ Papa Niko exclaimed, spotting the wooden figure. ‘What about a Trojan Rabbit?’

  ‘It makes more sense than a horse, but it’s still too suspicious,’ Whisker said, racking his brain for a better solution. He thought back to the two rabbits loading cargo onto the Velvet Wave. ‘What we really need is something large and edible.’

  ‘A Trojan Pie!’ Papa Niko gasped. ‘Why didn’t we think of it sooner?’

  ‘Better still,’ Whisker said, growing in excitement, ‘what about a Trojan Pasty? It would be far less obvious and we can fill it with turnips and parsnips and all the other vegetables that rabbits love.’

  ‘By Zeus, I think you’ve got it!’ Papa Niko cried.

  ‘And if we made several medium-sized pasties rather than one colossal one,’ Whisker continued, ‘Horace and I could be smuggled on board in one of Gustave’s food crates.’

  ‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ Pete said, eavesdropping from a few paces ahead of them. ‘Once you’ve penetrated the Velvet Wave, how are you going to reach the trophy room undetected? Gustave’s goons will paint your pasties purple before you’re out the pantry door.’

  ‘Point taken,’ Papa Niko sighed. ‘We’d be hard pressed to get past a dozen armed guards.’

  ‘It could still work,’ Whisker said, refusing to shelve the plan, ‘if we had an irresistible distraction.’

  ‘A distraction to get the rest of us covered in purple paint,’ Pete sniggered. ‘You heard Baron Gustave. One speck and we’re history.’

  ‘Okay, then what about this,’ Whisker said. ‘Suppose none of our crew were actually involved?’

  ‘It won’t work,’ Pete said stubbornly. ‘I’ve read the fine print. It’s against the rules to let civilians do our dirty work –’