The afternoon brought strong winds and a fierce storm. The rats saw nothing through the pelting rain and quickly abandoned their lookout post, agreeing that the Cat Fish were unlikely to start their treasure hunt in such soggy conditions. Sitting in the corner of the warm cave, Whisker was glad he had solid rock over his head and not the flimsy roof of a canvas tent.
Throughout the wet afternoon, the Captain and the Hermit discussed life back home while Whisker re-examined the Forgotten Map. After hours of analysing, pondering and speculating, all he discovered was one trivial fact: the pine forests had expanded since the map was made.
By boiled onion time, Whisker was thoroughly convinced he could discover no more without the key. As frustrated as he felt, munching on his soggy onion, Whisker knew that Sabre’s chances of finding the treasure were even slimmer than his.
The rain continued throughout the night. When the storm finally lifted, before dawn, a thick fog had rolled in.
The rats ventured from the cave to find the entire island shrouded in white. The morning sun, hidden behind layers of dense cloud, failed to warm the cold, damp air. Hazy shapes of boulders rose from the eerie mist like cardboard cut-outs, flat and lifeless.
‘Not exactly spying weather,’ Whisker said, climbing to the top of a boulder.
‘Mist will lift by afternoon,’ the Hermit reassured him. ‘Eastern trade wind always blows mist away, whoosh, whoosh.’
Whisker extended his paw in front of him. It disappeared into a fluffy white cloud.
‘You’d need more than a bit of wind to shift this stuff,’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s thicker than cotton wool.’
‘Shh,’ the Hermit hissed. ‘Voices carry through mist. Whisper only.’
‘Sorry,’ Whisker whispered.
The three rats spent the misty morning whispering. As the Hermit predicted, a stiff eastern breeze hit the island mid-afternoon, sweeping the blanket of fog out to sea. Whisker and the Captain returned to the boulder to check on the Cat Fish, while the Hermit set off to collect brown onions.
Whisker slid his body to the edge of the rock and peered down. There was no movement from the tent, no activity on the beach, and no sign of the spades the Cat Fish had brought with them.
‘They must be out treasure hunting,’ Whisker said in a hushed voice.
‘It’s a possibility …’ the Captain said, his voice trailing off. ‘But something doesn’t feel right.’
Whisker looked again. The Silver Sardine lay anchored offshore, the campsite appeared utterly deserted and the rowboat sat halfway up the beach – on the opposite side of the Rock of Hope.
‘That’s strange,’ Whisker pondered. ‘The boat was closer to their camp yesterday.’
‘Maybe they went back to the Sardine for something,’ the Captain whispered.
‘Mayb …’ Whisker began. He saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and cut himself short.
He tilted his head to get a better look and felt a jolt of terror convulse through his tail. The cats weren’t down at the beach or climbing the opposite mountain; they were directly below him.
The Captain’s eye grew wide. Whisker’s eyes grew wider.
The rats remained motionless, not daring to move as one by one, Cleopatra, Siamese Sally and Master Meow emerged from a line of bushes and made their way along the rocks.
The three cats moved swiftly and silently, sniffing the air as they went. They weren’t hunting for treasure; they were hunting for prey. Whisker cursed the onion he ate for lunch and hoped the cats had colds.
Sally stopped at the foot of the boulder and peered around suspiciously. Whisker held his breath and waited for her to look up. The howling wind was his saving grace. A mighty gust roared over the rocks, carrying the oniony scent of the rats higher up the mountain. Whisker’s nostrils were filled with the fishy aroma of the cats below.
Satisfied there was no one about, Sally followed her companions past the boulder. Whisker continued to stare down at her, afraid to even blink. The handle of Sally’s cheese knife clinked on her right earring as she walked. The red bandage on her left arm glided back and forth with every step.
From close range, Whisker could see it was more than just a scrap of material. It had a distinctive shape – a shape Whisker had seen many times before.
With a terrifying realisation, Whisker felt a stab of pain pierce his heart. He stared in disbelief, unable to look away.
Sally’s arm band was Ruby’s crimson eye patch.
Despair
Siamese Sally disappeared behind a rock. Whisker’s hope disappeared with her. He knew the sight of the crimson patch could mean only one thing: Ruby wasn’t coming back.
Stunned, shocked and speechless, he struggled to breathe as a dark cloud of despair engulfed every part of him. He remembered Ruby’s terrible secret. Her eye patch was her mask. She never took it off. It covered her past – a past that robbed her of her family and left her blind. It was a cruel reminder of how life could be stolen away. Now Ruby was gone too …
Whisker barely registered the Captain whispering his name or gently shaking his arm. All he could focus on was Ruby: fearless, brave, determined Ruby – the girl who had taught him how to fight, the girl who’d let down her guard and let him into her world.
Ruby was unlike anyone he’d ever met – complex and mysterious. There was so much he never got to say to her. So much he would like to have said. So much he would never find out.
He wished he was still on the ship, fighting beside her.
Could I have saved her? he thought. Could I have saved any of them?
Despairing images filled his head. If Ruby was gone then Horace, Fred and the others were gone, too. Pie Rats always stick together …
‘Whisker,’ the Captain hissed. ‘Whisker!’
Whisker’s mind jolted back to the island. The Captain crouched next to him, his finger running over his own eye patch. The pained expression in his eye told Whisker the words he couldn’t say.
‘T-they’re not coming back for us,’ Whisker stammered. ‘Are they?’
The Captain was silent for a moment.
‘Perhaps Ruby’s patch was washed overboard when the eel attacked,’ he began, ‘The Cat Fish went fishing yesterday and –’ he stopped himself.
Whisker knew why: Sally was already wearing the armband when the Cat Fish arrived.
The Captain gave up trying to convince Whisker of anything – the Cat Fish took no prisoners and they showed no mercy.
Regardless of how miserable he felt, it was obvious to Whisker that the Captain was hurting as much as he was. Ruby was like a daughter to him. He may have found his father on the island, but his beloved Ruby had been taken away.
The cruel injustice of it all sent Whisker’s emotions into overdrive. His eyes burned with tears but his rage burned stronger. Filled with an unholy determination, he set his jaw and drew his sword. His own survival meant nothing to him. All he cared about was revenge.
He crawled to his knees, his anger building, but before he could get to his feet, the Captain grabbed his arm.
‘Don’t do this,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m begging you.’
Whisker pulled away.
‘I’m not afraid of them,’ he said defiantly. ‘I’ve fought them before.’
‘It won’t bring her back,’ the Captain quavered.
‘I don’t care,’ Whisker shouted. ‘I don’t care! I DON’T CARE!’
The Captain leapt to his feet and seized Whisker by the collar.
‘You do care,’ he hissed. ‘And so do I.’ He tightened his grip on Whisker’s shirt. His eye locked on the young apprentice’s startled face. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Do you hear? That’s an order. I’m not about to lose a daughter and a son.’
‘S-son …’ Whisker stammered.
The Captain stared at Whisker, his lips trembling as he spoke. ‘I made a pledge to protect you, Whisker. I promised to look after you like you were my own flesh and blood. So far I’ve failed in
my duty and I’ve put you in harm’s way more times than I can count. But this is an island for second chances, not for throwing life away. You’re the only crewman I’ve got now, Whisker, and I need you to be strong – strong like Ruby.’
The Captain released his grip on Whisker. Whisker slowly let go of his anger and returned his sword to his belt.
Powerful feelings of despair, loss and hatred ached inside of him, but they were nothing compared with the agonising feeling of emptiness that swamped his heart. He was accustomed to living with pain, but pain was much harder to bear when he was struggling to find a reason for living. Inside he was dead, but outside he had to go on.
He wiped his eyes and tried to put on a brave face.
‘What now?’ he asked feebly.
‘First we find the Hermit,’ the Captain whispered, ‘then we steal the Silver Sardine and sail out of here. The Cat Fish can have their cursed treasure.’
Whisker nodded. The map and the key had brought him nothing but misery. It was time he accepted the fact that the treasure would undoubtedly bring him more of the same.
‘We must hurry,’ the Captain said, ‘It’s only a matter of time before the Cat Fish return to their camp …’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,’ sneered an evil voice behind them.
Whisker spun around. Towering over him was the menacing figure of Captain Sabre. His hazel eyes glared disdainfully at the two rats. Furious Fur stood to his left, Prowler to his right.
Sabre casually continued, ‘The Cat Fish have far more important things to do than take an afternoon siesta on the beach, don’t we boys?’
Prowler and Fur both laughed.
Whisker felt his blood boiling. His fingers twitched on the handle of his sword.
‘Steady on,’ the Captain whispered. ‘There’s a reason we’re still alive.’
‘Right you are,’ Sabre purred maliciously. ‘You see, we find ourselves in a little bit of a pickle. It’s rather embarrassing, really, but we’ve come to ask for your help.’
‘You’ll get no help from us, you heartless hyenas,’ Whisker spat. ‘You’re speaking to the wrong rats.’
Furious Fur hissed in disgust at Whisker’s insulting remark.
‘Cut out his tongue,’ Prowler growled.
‘Gentlemen, please,’ Sabre sighed, trying to silence the cats. ‘Let’s not stoop to their undignified level. Captain One Eye and his pesky apprentice clearly got up on the wrong side of their hovel this morning. I’m sure if we explain our unfortunate plight to them; they’ll be more than willing to assist.’
‘What do you want, Sabre?’ the Captain asked gruffly.
Sabre greedily eyed the map canister on Whisker’s belt. ‘I think that’s obvious, don’t you? Several nights ago a couple of particularly important items were stolen from me and I would like them returned.’
‘You stole them first,’ Whisker muttered.
‘Yes, well, that’s neither here nor there,’ Sabre retorted, locking eyes with Whisker. ‘The fact of the matter is, you’re going to hand over the key and the map or we’re going to pluck you like chickens and barbeque your bones on the beach.’
Furious Fur added his support with a hearty snarl. Whisker paid him no attention. He was distracted by a strange tingle in his nose.
He subtly sniffed the air. A strong sent of onion filled his nostrils.
‘Why don’t you just feed us to the owls,’ Whisker ventured boldly. ‘It would be far less trouble. Besides, you don’t want to stink out your camp with our smelly bones – we both reek of onions.’
‘Owls?’ Fur grunted. ‘Onions? What?’
‘Take a look around,’ Whisker said, throwing his paws in the air. ‘There are owls and onions everywhere.’
There was a muffled hoot from a nearby bush. Startled, the Cat Fish spun around to see a large onion hurtling towards them.
Before Sabre could react, the flying projectile hit him squarely in the nose. He clutched at his face and hissed furiously.
Prowler and Furious Fur tried to draw their cheese knives, but a barrage of brown onions knocked their weapons flying.
In the confusion, Whisker and the Captain seized their opportunity. Whisker threw himself over the side of the boulder and the Captain followed, sliding backwards down the rough face of the rock. They hit the ground running and darted along the rocky path in a frantic bid to escape.
Whisker saw a flash of grey above him and, the next moment, the agile body of the Hermit touched down with silent precision in the centre of the path.
‘Hermit wastes good onions on cats,’ he puffed, taking the lead. ‘Grass soup for supper.’
He gouged his teeth into the skin of his last onion, covering its surface in small holes. Whisker didn’t have the breath to ask what he was doing.
The three rats rounded a corner with the hisses of the cats in their ears and felt the full might of the eastern wind blast them head-on.
The Hermit hurled the onion straight ahead and pulled Whisker and the Captain off the path into a thicket of bushes.
The rats lay deathly still as Sabre and his furious companions raced past them, continuing along the path.
‘This way,’ Prowler hissed, ‘I can smell their filthy stench …’
The sound of the cats faded away and the Captain whispered urgently to the Hermit, ‘We’ve got to get to the beach and steal the Silver Sardine – now. It’s our last chance of escape.’ His voice trembled. ‘My crew aren’t coming back –’
The Hermit replied with sadness to his voice. ‘Hermit knows short cut. Hermit saves rats.’
Pinning his ears back, the Hermit dashed through the bushes, nimbly weaving his way past thorny branches and rotting logs. Whisker and the Captain followed in close pursuit, reaching a steep, pebbly slope.
The Hermit wasted no time in hurling himself onto the fine gravel as if it were nothing more than a child’s slippery slide. The others braced themselves for the descent and slid after him.
Rough chunks of rock grazed Whisker’s feet, lodging themselves uncomfortably up his trouser legs. The wind blew hard over his left shoulder and he knew he was close to the eastern edge of Mt Moochup.
The slope continued to fall, twisting its way down the mountain. Stinging and sore, Whisker skidded to a halt at a line of jagged rocks. The terrain looked unfamiliar to him, but the scuttling sounds reverberating around the rocks were instantly recognisable.
He froze on the crest of a rock. Below him, an army of scorpions had gathered in the shadows. The shiny black creatures swivelled their bodies in the rats’ direction and scurried up the rocks, pincers snapping, tails stabbing.
The rats turned on their heels and ran.
‘Hurry!’ the Hermit shouted. ‘Back up the mountain.’
Whisker’s tail thrashed against passing rocks as he scrambled up the ever-shifting slope. It wasn’t just the scorpions that sent his tail into a frenzy, it was the thought of the Cat Fish, waiting somewhere up ahead.
The Hermit made a detour halfway up the slope.
‘Eastern path,’ he panted. ‘Rats escape behind mountain.’
Whisker could only imagine what dangers lay behind the mountain – the map had been drawn from the front and gave him no clues. All he knew was that they wouldn’t find the Silver Sardine – their last chance of escape.
The path wound its way around the mountain, zigzagging around a multitude of fallen obstacles. Whisker caught glimpses of the ocean through gaps in the wind-swept trees clinging to the mountainside. Each trunk grew almost horizontal in the relentless wind.
As the rats gained altitude, the scorpions dropped by the wayside, but the Hermit continued his frantic pace. The path levelled off and opened out onto an exposed ledge, overlooking the eastern sea. Whisker hadn’t realised just how high up he was. The wind raced up the side of steep cliffs, almost lifting him off his feet. Mighty waves savaged the rocks far below.
There was no time for sightseeing. In an instant, Whisker had plung
ed back into the cover of trees and was darting around a sharp bend.
The mountain path straightened. Up ahead, two cats casually strolled into view. Cleopatra spied the rats before any of them could react. She fixed her green eyes on Whisker and sprang towards him with Master Meow bounding after her.
With panicked squeaks, the rats twisted their tails around and fled the way they had come. Three rats on two cats was a survivable fight, but Siamese Sally was certainly lurking nearby.
The ledge loomed directly in front of them, but from an overhanging branch of a beech oak, a scrawny paw swept through the air.
Anticipating the attack, Whisker ducked beneath Sally’s blow. She shrieked in rage and dropped onto the track.
Before Whisker could straighten himself, the Hermit’s knobbly toes dug into his back and the grey warrior launched himself high into the air. With a perfectly executed roundhouse kick, he struck Sally in the side of the head.
Sally staggered sideways in a daze and the Captain and the Hermit charged past. Whisker resisted the temptation to punch Sally in the nose and instead wrenched the crimson eye patch from her arm. He stuffed the patch into his pocket and darted onto the ledge as the shadow of Cleopatra appeared beside him.
Head down, Whisker sprinted forward, almost colliding with the two rats, standing frozen in the centre of the ledge.
‘Hurry!’ he shouted.
His companions didn’t flinch.
Whisker looked up to see Sabre and his snarling henchmen skulking towards them. For the second time in as many days, he was trapped on a ledge.
The cats slowly advanced, three from either side, with Sally swaying dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Whisker hoped the howling wind would blow her gaunt body over the edge, taking Cleopatra with her. With a couple of the Cat Fish gone, his chance of escape would rise from zero to slightly better than zero in an instant.
Master Meow pulled Sally away from the cliff and Whisker’s chance of escape dropped to less than zero.
‘Why must you insist on these games?’ Sabre hissed, inching closer to the rats. ‘My patience is wearing thin.’
The Island of Destiny Page 7