The Island of Destiny

by Cameron Stelzer

  ‘Thin like layers of onion?’ the Hermit muttered.

  Sabre glared at the Hermit and drew his sword. ‘And who might you be?’

  The Hermit held his ground but declined to answer.

  Sabre snarled in irritation. ‘Regardless of who this insolent onion thrower is, he’ll be joining his aromatic companions in the cooking pot if I don’t see my map and key quick smart.’

  ‘Err, there’s one small problem,’ Whisker squeaked, hoping the truth would set him free. ‘We don’t actually have the key.’

  Sabre flashed him a look of contempt. ‘Do you really think I’m that stupid? I’ve heard that excuse ten thousand tiresome times before. We both know perfectly well the key is hidden down your trousers or stuffed in One Eye’s hat.’

  The Captain removed his hat and gave it a good shake. Nothing came out. The Hermit held out his empty paws. His cloak had no pockets and his small bag was still in the cave.

  Whisker considered dropping his trousers, but decided against it when the Cat Fish crew drew their cheese knives and took a collective step closer.

  The Captain raised his sword in readiness and the Hermit moved his body into a convoluted fighting pose. Whisker wished he was as confident as the Captain and as courageous as the Hermit, but all he could manage was a backwards shuffle to the edge of the cliff.

  Fast running out of options, he wrenched the map canister from his belt and held it over the ocean.

  ‘I’m warning you, Sabre,’ he said, in his most convincing voice. ‘Come any closer and I’ll drop it.’

  Sabre rolled his eyes.

  ‘You insult me yet again with another of your predictably tiresome moves, young apprentice,’ he scoffed. ‘And to think, I was beginning to think so highly of you. Oh, well. There’s no shame in dying as a talentless hack when you were born a pathetic rat.’

  Jeering and hissing, the Cat Fish crept even closer.

  ‘I’m not bluffing,’ Whisker cried. ‘I swear I’ll drop it.’

  Sabre shrugged. ‘Do it. See if I care. After I finish you off, I’ll have my crew row around and pluck your precious map from the sea.’

  In terror, Whisker shifted his eyes from the map to the ocean far below. He had one last option. Sea spray and frothing waves blurred the jagged rocks at the foot of the cliff. Breakers rolled in from all directions. It was no good – without a parachute, any thought of jumping seemed ludicrous. The map canister would survive the fall, but not a live rat.

  Whisker felt the weight of defeat dragging him down. His friends were gone. His family was gone. The treasure was lost.

  … What am I fighting for? The question drifted into his mind. Struggling for an answer, he let his eyes hover aimlessly over the ocean. Amid the swirling blues and greens of the turbulent sea, he caught a glimpse of something golden.

  He blinked.

  It can’t be, he thought.

  He looked again, in disbelief. There, on the crest of a white-capped wave, was his answer.

  Controlling his excitement, he raised his eyes from the ocean and prepared for the performance of his life.

  The Royal Gala

  Sabre pointed his sword at Whisker, clearly unsettled by the young rat’s change of disposition. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve come up with yet another desperate reason to let you go?’

  ‘Desperate?’ Whisker exclaimed, waving his sword wildly over his head. ‘I’m not desperate. I’m excited!’

  ‘You’re excited to be skewered and grilled?’ Siamese Sally asked mockingly.

  ‘NO!’ Whisker shouted, his voice echoing off the rocks. ‘I’m excited about the ROYAL GALA!’

  The Captain’s jerked his head in Whisker’s direction, awaiting an explanation.

  Cleopatra narrowed her emerald eyes. ‘You’re on a deserted island. I hardly think there’s a function hall waiting for your conniving corpses.’

  Whisker shook his head and continued to shout, ‘The ROYAL GALA’S not here. It’s at my GRANNY SMITH’S house. She’ll be cooking lots of RED, DELICIOUS dishes. And after you six cats release us from this ledge, we’re sailing straight there in the Hermit’s TOFFEE raft.’

  The Hermit looked at Whisker, totally confused. The Captain, starting to understand, shuffled backwards, tugging the Hermit’s tattered cloak as he went.

  ‘He’s gone mad,’ Meow laughed, rolling his glass eye in circles. ‘The onions have pickled his brain.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Sally hissed, moving closer to Whisker. She studied him suspiciously with lifeless eyes. ‘This isn’t a court, little rat. Pleading insanity won’t save your wretched, rodent neck.’

  Whisker shot a glance over his shoulder and tried to remain confident.

  ‘We stand as one, united on this precipice,’ he roared. ‘You think you have us cornered, but it’s not over ‘til the PINK LADY sings!’

  ‘It’s fat lady, I think you’ll find,’ Sabre corrected. ‘And I can assure you there are none of those here.’

  Cleopatra battered her eyelashes. Sally continued to look skeletally dead. The Hermit, finally getting Whisker’s cryptic message, broke from his pose and joined the others at the very edge of the cliff.

  ‘How long do we need?’ the Captain whispered, not taking his eye off Sabre.

  ‘Twenty seconds,’ Whisker guessed. ‘Give or take …’

  ‘I’ll handle it from here,’ the Captain muttered.

  ‘Sabre,’ he bellowed. ‘I’ll give you to the count of three to lower your cheese knife and retreat, or you’ll taste bitter defeat at the hands of my fearless crew.’

  The Cat Fish laughed.

  ‘I’d hardly call those sorry sods standing next to you a crew,’ Sabre scoffed. ‘Go on. Count away.’

  ‘ONE!’ the Captain counted. ‘For the pies that came before us.’

  The Cat Fish stepped into striking range.

  ‘TWO! For the pies we have tasted in glory.’

  The Cat Fish raised their cheese knives.

  ‘THREE! For the pies you are about to taste.’

  The three rats dropped to the ground in unison. There was an awkward pause. Whisker peered up, hoping the grand finale was still on its way.

  ‘I take it we don’t get any pie?’ Sabre sniggered.

  The rats’ response came as a chorus of mighty BOOMS from the ocean far below. Four flying projectiles hurtled from the sea, blasting the Cat Fish backwards and smothering them in sticky red jelly and short-crust pastry.

  The three rats kept their noses nestled into the ground as the bombardment of sugary delicacies continued. Sabre and his bewildered crew staggered to their feet but were knocked down by a second and third sea assault.

  When the cloud of icing sugar finally settled, the entire Cat Fish crew were left lying on their backs in gelatinous pools of berry-red jelly.

  While the Cat Fish experienced the sweet taste of defeat, Whisker and his companions scampered across the ledge on all fours, disappearing down a narrow path. The Hermit couldn’t resist scraping a large blob of jelly from Furious Fur’s hat on his way past.

  ‘Jelly tarts,’ the Captain mused, as they raced along the cliff top. ‘A little unorthodox for Pie Rats, don’t you think?’

  ‘Mmm, Hermit loves tarts, yes, yes,’ the Hermit mumbled with his mouth full.

  ‘I’m more of an apple pie rat, myself,’ the Captain joked. ‘Granny Smith, Red Delicious, Pink Lady … I’ll take any variety.’ He winked at Whisker.

  A broad smile spread across Whisker’s face. His favourite pie was right in front of him.

  The good ship Apple Pie was sailing along the rocky coast of the island. Her sails were patched. Her deck was repaired. The Jolly Rat hung triumphantly from her foremast. To Whisker, the ramshackle vessel was nothing short of magnificent.

  Whisker’s greatest joy, however, came from the sight of the figure in red prancing across the deck, her unmistakable confidence revealed in every stride.

  As Whisker stared, starry-eyed, a pint-sized rat darted from the stairwell,
bowling her over in a comical collision.

  Ruby and Horace, Whisker sighed. How I’ve missed you both …

  The Apple Pie turned port side, following the contours of the island and Whisker caught sight of a bright yellow boat bobbing behind her. The Pie Rats had company.

  ‘Is there a way down these cliffs, Father?’ the Captain asked.

  ‘Further along,’ the Hermit whispered, swallowing the last of his jelly. ‘Hermit shows you secret cove, hidden from sight.’

  ‘What about the Cat Fish?’ Whisker asked apprehensively. ‘Will they come looking for us?’

  ‘It’s not likely,’ the Captain replied. ‘Their ship is unguarded. I doubt they’d gamble their ticket off this island for a wild rat-chase. Still, we’d better keep moving.’

  He signalled to the Apple Pie with his sword and the much-loved vessel disappeared from sight behind a rocky outcrop of the island. The rats continued south along the edge of the cliffs, slowly making their way to lower ground.

  Whisker and his two companions reached the cliffs surrounding the cove at dusk and found Smudge waiting for them. The excited blowfly clutched the branches of a small bush, joyfully buzzing his wings in the wind.

  ‘Friend or foe?’ the Hermit asked, eyeing the tiny creature suspiciously.

  ‘Loveable mascot,’ the Captain replied.

  ‘He’s stronger than he looks,’ Whisker said proudly. ‘Smudge once kicked the winning goal in a game of Death Ball.’

  Smudge raised a small foot in the air as if to say it’s all in the technique.

  The Hermit gave Smudge a nod of approval and began dragging a crudely woven rope from behind a bush.

  ‘One way down,’ he chuckled.

  Whisker peered over the edge. Steep cliffs curved to either side of him, forming a sheltered cove. There was no sign of the Apple Pie. The Hermit tied one end of the rope around the woody stem of a large bush and lowered the other end over the edge.

  ‘Apple Pie is anchored beneath rocky overhang,’ he said, pointing below. ‘Whisker goes first, yes, yes?’

  The rope appeared strong enough to support Whisker’s weight, and he knew that even if it snapped, he wouldn’t have far to fall. He was eager to see his friends and scrambled down the rope with little hesitation.

  The Apple Pie came into view almost immediately. Whisker saw Emmie and Fred waving to him from the centre of the deck. Pete stood behind the wheel, steering the ship into position. Ruby and Horace crouched on the bulwark, ready to drag him aboard with candy canes, and Eaton and Mr Tribble waited in the shadows of the mainmast.

  As Whisker climbed further down the rope he saw two silhouettes in the navigation room – one was tall and slender, the other broad-shouldered and portly.

  The Apple Pie glided under Whisker and he leapt the last metre onto the ship. He heard the sound of candy canes dropping to the deck, and the next moment, he was in the middle of a five-way hug with Horace, Ruby, Fred and Emmie.

  Horace’s hook dug into Whisker’s ribs, Fred’s giant chest almost suffocated him to death and in all the excitement he was certain someone kissed him on the cheek. No one seemed to care that he smelt of onion and the group hug continued for some time.

  From the middle of the pack, all Whisker managed to say was a muffled, ‘You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.’

  ‘Of course we’re alive, onion boy,’ Ruby said with an endearing grin. ‘We couldn’t let you find the treasure without us.’

  Whisker looked into her sparkling green eye and tried to find something charming to say. His brain somehow confused charming with stupid.

  ‘Err, nice flowery eye patch thingy,’ he blurted out, regretting the words before they’d left his mouth.

  Ruby moved her paw to her hibiscus-patterned eye patch.

  ‘A tacky souvenir from Drumstick Island Retirement Resort,’ she confessed. ‘It was the only design that came in red.’

  ‘I preferred the skull-and-cross-bones print,’ Horace said.

  Ruby rolled her eye. ‘You’re so mainstream, Horace.’

  Whisker moved his paw to his pocket, but before he could grab Ruby’s crimson eye patch he heard a loud shout from behind him.

  He turned to see the Captain drop from the bottom of the rope, fuming with rage. The Captain raised his finger and pointed across the deck.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ he roared.

  Whisker followed the Captain’s finger to the navigation room where two figures stood side by side in the twilight. One was Madam Pearl, the wealthy white weasel and fugitive friend of the Pie Rats; the other was Rat Bait, scoundrel, rogue and double-crosser.

  Reunions

  The Captain stormed across the deck, barging past his stunned crew like a rampaging bull.

  ‘You’ve got a nerve showing up here, Rat Bait,’ he shouted. ‘After all your lies and deceit, you decide to weasel your way onto my ship.’ His eyes flashed at Madam Pearl and then back to Rat Bait. ‘I know a few cats that would kill to have a rat like you aboard their vessel.’

  Rat Bait took a step backwards, extending the open palms of his paws in front of him.

  ‘I been meanin’ ye no disrespect, Capt’n Black Rat,’ he gabbled. ‘I can explain everythin’…’

  The Captain grabbed Rat Bait by his tattered blue collar and threw him to the deck.

  ‘EXPLAIN?’ the Captain roared. ‘Explain what? How you deserted your captain, dishonoured his name and then lied to his family?’

  Pure terror flashed through Rat Bait’s eyes. ‘How did ye …?’

  ‘FIND OUT?’ the Captain shouted. ‘I’ll tell you how I found out. I asked a dead rat!’

  Rat Bait froze.

  A gentle thud rippled through the deck. All eyes fixed on the stranger at the end of the rope.

  ‘It can’t be,’ Rat Bait choked, turning pale. ‘We thought he was gone …’

  ‘You thought WRONG!’ the Captain bellowed. ‘And now you’ll pay for your mistake.’ The Captain raised his paw, ready to strike.

  ‘Let him go,’ the Hermit said in a soft voice.

  ‘Let him go?’ the Captain gasped. ‘There’s no way I’m letting him go until he gets what he deserves.’

  The Hermit moved closer. ‘What he deserves and what he will get are two different things.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ the Captain fumed. ‘Look what he did to you. He stole your life. He took your freedom. Surely you hate him as much as I do?’

  The Hermit looked down at the trembling body of Rat Bait.

  ‘Hate didn’t keep Hermit alive on windy, windy island,’ he said pensively. ‘No, no. Hate blew away in the wind.’ He paused. ‘Onions kept Hermit alive – Captain gives Rat Bait onions.’

  ‘WHAT!’ the Captain cried in astonishment. ‘Onions? You can’t be serious. Can’t you see what he is? What he will do?’

  ‘He came to help you, Captain,’ Madam Pearl said boldly. ‘I know it’s not my place but …’

  ‘You’re right, it’s not your place!’ the Captain snapped, turning to Pete for support.

  ‘We had no choice,’ Pete said deadpan. ‘Rat Bait repaired the Apple Pie free of charge. We used the silver plates to purchase the materials, but there was nothing left for the labour.’

  ‘A likely story,’ the Captain muttered. ‘I suppose he decided to stay onboard when he heard we’d located the key.’

  Rat Bait shook his head but kept his mouth shut.

  ‘We volunteered for the voyage when we heard you went overboard,’ Madam Pearl explained. ‘I for one had a debt to repay after you rescued me from Prison Island.’ She shot Whisker a grateful look.

  ‘And you, Rat Bait?’ the Captain growled. ‘What’s your excuse? Treasure? A reward?’

  ‘G-guilt …’ Rat Bait quavered, staring at the Hermit. ‘Guilt for past indiscretions.’

  There was silence and the Captain slowly lowered his fist. ‘I know your type, Rat Bait. I know what you’re playing at. When this is all over, we’ll see who you re
ally are.’ Without a word to his crew, the Captain strode past Rat Bait and stormed down the stairs.

  Shell-shocked, the crew stared after him.

  ‘Well, that went well,’ Horace muttered.

  Whisker didn’t know what to say – or what to think. It certainly wasn’t the joyous reunion he’d been expecting. Rat Bait was a greedy coward and a first-class liar, granted, but part of Whisker wanted to believe the scoundrel had truly changed his ways. In the end, Whisker decided it was best to act as the gracious rat his mother had taught him to be and helped Rat Bait to his feet.

  ‘‘Tis a pleasure to see ye again, li’l Whisker,’ Rat Bait said, in a shaky voice. ‘Lady Luck is still on yer side I see.’

  Whisker nodded expressionlessly. Rat Bait took a deep breath and extended his paw to the Hermit. ‘For what it’s worth, I offer ye me loyalty, Capt’n Ratsputin. I don’t expect yer forgiveness. But I’ll take yer onions an’ do me best to make things right.’

  The Hermit stared long and hard at Rat Bait, his ears twitching from left to right as he considered the scoundrel’s apology. Finally he spoke in a resolute voice. ‘Hermit doubted any of his crew would return. Hermit is glad he was wrong.’ He clutched Rat Bait’s paw and laughed, ‘Onions can wait. Hermit wants potato pies!’

  Fred acknowledged the Hermit’s request with an affirmative grunt and wandered below to the galley, quickly followed by Mr Tribble. The others crowded around the Hermit. Ruby looked unusually flustered.

  Horace nudged Whisker and whispered, ‘So that’s Ruby’s grandfather, right?’

  ‘Uh huh,’ Whisker replied.

  The Hermit gave Ruby a warm smile and Ruby’s face contorted into a pained frown. She buried her head in her paws and sprinted down the stairs. The Hermit stared after her in disappointment.

  ‘Don’t take it personally,’ Horace said, trying to cheer him up. ‘You were the most hated rat on the seven seas until five minutes ago. But don’t worry, she’ll get over it – she’s got Rat Bait to hate now.’

  The Hermit looked far from comforted. Rat Bait gave a resigned shrug. Whisker dragged Horace over to the navigation room before he could make things worse. They passed Madam Pearl on their way.