The Captain hesitated and Horace spoke for him.
‘Before your father disappeared into the storm he yelled: Promise you’ll take care of him, ‘til we cross paths again …’ Horace paused. ‘Your father believed he would see you again. Isn’t that a reason for some hope?’
‘Cyclones don’t care about promises or hope,’ Pete hissed. ‘It’s cruel to lead him on.’
‘But those were his father’s words,’ Horace argued.
Wentworth looked at Horace with a puzzled expression. ‘They’re not my father’s words …’
‘But,’ Horace cut in, ‘I heard it with my own ears, I swear I did – we all did. I’m not a liar.’
‘Let him finish,’ the Captain growled. ‘No one’s calling you a liar.’
Wentworth took a deep breath. ‘My father may have spoken those words, but they belong to my great-grandfather.’
‘Your great-grandfather?’ Horace repeated in confusion.
Wentworth tried to explain. ‘My great-grandfather Anso was an explorer who owned an entire fleet of ships. Whenever he left a ship in the care of an officer he would use the words: Promise you’ll take care of her, ‘til we cross paths again. The officer had a duty to protect the ship like it was his own child and Anso had a duty to return from his adventures and collect her.’
‘I see,’ Horace said, ‘This isn’t just a promise, it’s a pledge.’
‘But what does this mean for him?’ Fred asked, pointing a huge furry finger at Wentworth.
As Wentworth searched his mind for an answer, a whirlwind of hopeless thoughts rushed through his head: give up … they’re gone … the pledge is for nothing. He felt the knot in his tail tighten.
The crew looked down at him expectantly but Wentworth lacked the courage to meet their gaze. He lowered his eyes until they came to rest on the ripped shirt. At first all he saw was a cruel reminder of that terrible night. But as he stared at the torn sleeve, the dark thoughts in his head began to fade. Instead of seeing a tattered item of clothing, he saw a story of survival.
A distant memory floated into his mind and he absentmindedly slid his paw to the top of his chest. His trembling fingers felt the shape of a gold pendant. His parents had given it to him when he was a young boy. He thought he’d lost it in the cyclone; but the pendant, like its wearer, had survived, and it was hanging where it belonged – close to his heart.
He ran his finger over its smooth surface and reflected on its design. It was an anchor: the steadfast symbol of hope.
If I can survive a cyclone and nearly die, he told himself, then surely my family can survive …
The knot in his tail began to loosen. He looked up at Fred.
‘What this means,’ Wentworth said slowly, ‘is that I need to have hope that my family are still alive, and that my father, like my grandfather, will one day fulfil his side of the promise and find his way back to me.’
Horace smiled, Fred patted Wentworth on the shoulder and Smudge clapped his little hands.
‘This promise means something else, you know,’ Pete muttered to the Captain. ‘It means that until we find this circus boy’s family we’re stuck with him.’
The Captain sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, Pete. I made a promise and I have a duty to keep it.’
He turned to Wentworth with a look of resolve. ‘I suggest you try and get some more rest. There is much we need to discuss, but now is not the time.’
Without saying another word, the Pie Rats tiptoed out of the room, leaving Wentworth alone with his thoughts. Finally, his anxious body began to relax and he drifted off to sleep.
A Mysterious Letter
It was late afternoon when Wentworth stirred from his slumber. He hadn’t eaten in two days, and was overjoyed when Fred arrived at his bedside with a freshly cooked plum pie. Wentworth devoured every plum and every last crumb.
He’d barely finished eating when the rest of the crew marched into the cabin.
‘I trust you’re feeling better this afternoon, Wentworth?’ the Captain asked cheerfully.
After eating an entire pie, Wentworth wasn’t sure how he felt, but nodded all the same.
‘From now on,’ the Captain said, ‘you will no longer be known as Wentworth Winterbottom.’
‘But that’s my name,’ Wentworth gasped.
‘Was your name,’ Pete corrected. ‘It would never do for a Pie Rat name.’
‘W-what are you talking about?’ Wentworth stammered. ‘Why do I need a Pie Rat name?’
‘Because,’ the Captain replied, ‘we don’t carry passengers and we don’t take prisoners, and because I have sworn to protect you, I can’t throw you overboard. Therefore, from this day forward, there is only one other option – you are now one of us.’
Wentworth was speechless. He tried to appear grateful, but this wasn’t a career choice he would have willingly made.
Ruby crossed her arms and looked down at him with a frown. It was obvious she had similar reservations about him joining the crew.
‘As a new recruit,’ the Captain explained, ‘you will undertake a Pie Rat apprenticeship. Once you have passed the seven Pie Rat tests you will become a full member of the crew.’
‘But what if I fail?’ Wentworth blurted out.
‘Don’t worry, you won’t fail,’ Horace encouraged. ‘You’ve already passed the first test.’
‘Which is?’ Wentworth asked.
‘Surviving when you should have died,’ Horace replied. ‘It’s a great skill to have. If you’ve done it once, you can do it again.’
Wentworth had no desire to test this theory.
‘On the subject of survival,’ the Captain said, ‘I thought your new name should reflect the dramatic nature of your rescue.’
Wentworth crossed his fingers and hoped it wasn’t something ridiculous like Washed-up Waterbottom.
The Captain extended his paw to Wentworth. ‘From this day forth, you will be known as Whisker, the brave Pie Rat who narrowly escaped death. Welcome to the Pie Rats.’
With a hesitant shake of the Captain’s paw, Wentworth’s story ended and Whisker’s began.
It wasn’t long before Whisker was back to full health. Pete made it perfectly clear he wanted his cabin back, so Whisker moved into the cramped sleeping quarters of Horace and Fred. His hammock wasn’t as comfortable as Pete’s soft bed but it certainly beat sleeping on the floor of a circus tent.
‘If you’re going to make it in this industry, you’ll need a new look to match your new name,’ Horace said, fossicking through a pile of old clothes. He pulled out a familiar navy blue shirt with his hook and held it up for Whisker to see. ‘Perfect!’ he exclaimed. ‘This one’s your size.’
‘I can’t wear that,’ Whisker protested. ‘It’s missing an entire sleeve.’
‘All the better,’ Horace argued. ‘You’ll have easier movement for swashbuckling sword fighting. Besides, it gives you a roguish charm – and the ladies will love it!’
Whisker awkwardly put on the shirt, fastened a large pie-buckled belt around his waist and unsuccessfully tried to straighten the messy fur on the top of his head.
‘Don’t do that,’ Horace scolded. ‘You look too respectable as it is. No one will ever take you seriously as a Pie Rat.’
Whisker knew Horace was right. Unlike Horace’s scarred cheeks and squat body, Whisker had smooth coffee fur, sparkling blue eyes and well-positioned teeth. The unruly fur on his head was the only exception.
‘Try this,’ Horace said, throwing Whisker a black bandanna. ‘It’s nit free and will keep the fur out of your eyes.’
Whisker tied the bandanna around his head and turned to face a cracked mirror on the wall. His fur stuck out the top like the leaves of a pineapple and several strands hung over the sides.
‘Shiver me britches!’ Horace cried. ‘You look like you’ve just been dragged from a sinking ship!’
Whisker’s tail drooped.
‘I’m sorry,’ Horace groaned, ‘I didn’t mean to remi
nd you …’
‘That’s okay,’ Whisker said. He hated the thought of his family’s boat sinking, so he decided to change the subject. ‘So what was the Apple Pie doing in the middle of a cyclone?’
‘You can thank the Captain for that,’ Horace replied. ‘We were casually sailing along the equator when the Captain collected a mysterious letter from a remote island post office. The next minute he had the ridiculous idea to change course and sail straight through the Cyclone Sea.’
‘What do you think the letter said?’ Whisker asked.
Horace lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I didn’t read the contents but I overheard the Captain talking to Pete. I think they’re both in on it.’
‘In on what?’
‘I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s on the move.’
‘So where is it now?’ Whisker asked, with growing interest.
‘Who knows?’ Horace said with a shrug. ‘We lost a few days with the search and rescue so it could be anywhere.’
‘Can’t we just ask the Captain?’ Whisker ventured.
‘That’s not how it works,’ Horace explained. ‘The Captain will tell us everything when there’s something to tell. Until then, we carry on as usual: plundering, pillaging, pilfering … Oh, and playing dress-ups …’
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Ruby.
‘Check out the new and improved Whisker,’ Horace exclaimed as Ruby stepped inside. ‘Doesn’t he look sensational?’
Whisker felt his tail wrap itself around his leg. His over-emotional tail, as his parents called it, had a nasty habit of acting on its own whenever he was anxious or stressed. He hoped Ruby hadn’t noticed.
Ruby seemed more interested in his choice of clothing. She looked him up and down and then straightened her cherry red vest.
‘Well it’s not my style,’ she said emphatically, ‘but I hear the tropical fruit look is in this summer.’
Whisker gave her a half-smile. She kept a straight face.
‘By the way, boy,’ she continued, ‘the Captain wants to see you immediately. He’s in his cabin.’
Without waiting for a reply, Ruby spun around and walked out of the room.
‘Is she always like that?’ Whisker asked. ‘Or is it something I said?’
‘Pete’s usually the grumpy one,’ Horace replied. ‘Ruby can be a little protective though.’
‘Protective of what?’ Whisker enquired.
‘The Captain, of course,’ Horace whispered. ‘He’s the closest thing she’s got to a father … But don’t worry. Just give her some time and she’ll get used to you. She didn’t like me when she first joined the crew.’
‘Why?’
‘She said I talked too much.’
‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Yeah, right, Go on, you’ve got someone to see.’
With one last look at his new outfit, Whisker scampered off towards the Captain’s cabin.
Nervously waiting outside the thick oak door, Whisker raised his paw.
‘Enter,’ came a deep voice, before he could knock.
Timidly, Whisker opened the door and walked into the room. It was the grandest cabin of the ship. A wide window with sweeping ocean views spanned the entire back wall. Beneath it, engrossed in a pile of old maps, sat the Captain at an ornate desk. Without looking up, he motioned to a swivelling chair in front of him.
‘Welcome, Whisker,’ he said. ‘Come and take a seat.’
Whisker sat down on top of his tail. This was the first time he’d been in a Captain’s cabin and he wasn’t sure how he should act. The ticking clock in the corner added to his nervousness.
His eyes dropped to an open letter on the desk and he absentmindedly read the first few words:
The Captain swept the letter into a drawer before Whisker could read any further and got straight to the point of the meeting.
‘I’ll make this brief, Whisker. Before you become an official Pie Rat apprentice you will need to undertake several orientation activities. These activities will introduce you to the workings of this ship and the Pie Rat way of life. First, you will learn about the Pie Rat Code with Pete – he’ll be joining us shortly. The next activity will be a practical sailing lesson with Ruby, followed by a sword fight.’
Whisker liked the sound of the first two activities, but the mention of a sword fight set his tail fidgeting in his chair.
‘Who do I fight?’ he asked, trying to keep still.
‘It’s a lucky dip,’ the Captain replied. ‘Pete has all the names in a hat. It could be any crew member except Smudge, who can’t lift a sword. The final activity is an introduction to cannon warfare with Horace – it’s always a blast!’ The Captain laughed merrily at his own joke. Whisker managed a nervous grin.
The door creaked open and Pete walked in, carrying a thick red book and a small scroll. Smudge flew beside him, holding a miniature newspaper hat in his arms.
‘Excellent,’ the Captain exclaimed. ‘Here comes the hat. Don’t keep us waiting, Smudge.’
Smudge reached an arm into the hat and plucked out a crumpled piece of paper, handing it to Whisker.
Whisker unfolded it and gulped. The name was Ruby.
‘The fight will be held tomorrow afternoon,’ Pete announced. ‘Smudge, please inform Ruby immediately.’
Smudge lifted four arms in the air as if to say, how can I do that? I’ve got no vocal cords.
The Captain stood up from his chair and sighed. ‘Come along, Smudge. We’ll do it together.’
Smudge and the Captain disappeared through the doorway and Whisker had little time to consider the outcome.
‘Listen up, Whisker,’ Pete said impatiently. ‘The Captain thinks you have potential. But potential means nothing if you don’t know how to apply it. The Pie Rat code will keep you alive. There’s no guarantee, mind you. But at least you’ll die following the rules.’
A dead law-abiding rat is still a dead rat, Whisker thought.
Pete threw the red book onto the table. Its cover was scuffed and its pages were yellowing. Its title read The Pie Rat Code: Extended Edition.
‘This is the full code,’ Pete said proudly. ‘I know its entire contents from cover to cover.’
‘What about the other rats?’ Whisker asked. ‘Have they all read it?’
‘Hardly!’ Pete scoffed. ‘Half of them can’t read and the others are too lazy. But you can be the exception. Feel free to borrow this book anytime and you will soon be as wise as me.’
‘Thanks,’ Whisker said, trying to sound enthused. ‘I’m sure it’s a great read.’
Pete screwed up his bony nose and snorted. ‘In the meantime you’ll need to memorise this.’ He handed Whisker the scroll. ‘It’s the simplified version of the code. It was designed for members of the crew with pie filling for brains. It’s all you need to know for your orientation.’
Pete leant over Whisker’s shoulder as Whisker read the strange list of rules.
‘Is anything unclear?’ he asked.
Whisker thought for a moment. ‘There is one rule I’m not certain of – the one about the scissor swords. I know what a sword is and I know what scissors are, but I’ve never heard of a scissor sword before.’
Pete clomped over to a chest in the corner, opened the lid and pulled out a long metal object with a black circular handle. Whisker instantly knew what it was: half a pair of enormous scissors. He’d heard of giants from faraway lands called humans and guessed this had once belonged to them.
‘Wow,’ he exclaimed. ‘Where did the Captain get that?’
‘A certain antiques dealer,’ Pete replied in a hushed voice. ‘The steel is stronger than regular swords. We’ve all got one, well, two in fact. They come in pairs and it’s good to have a spare.’ He pulled out the second half from the chest and, holding a sword in each paw, pretended he was fighting. ‘Did you know that Ruby fights with two swords at once?’
Whisker felt his tail twist in terror. That wasn’t the kind of n
ews he wanted to hear.
‘Th-they must be expensive,’ he stammered, trying to remain positive.
‘Too much for a new recruit,’ Pete said, stashing the swords away.
‘So you make a lot of money robbing ships and, err … killing passengers?’ Whisker asked.
Pete groaned, ‘It’s not about killing.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Whisker said.
Pete shook his head. ‘I’ll explain it simply for you. We are Pie Rats. We attack ships. Passengers hand over their gold, jewels and gourmet pies. Why? Because we convince them they’ll die horrible deaths if they don’t. They give us their riches, and we let them go. When they get home, they tell everyone we’re bloodthirsty buccaneers, but rats of our word. If the word got out that we simply killed whomever we met and sunk their ships, no one would ever hand over their treasure. They’d fight to the death instead. And believe me; fighting to the death isn’t good for a Pie Rat’s health.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ Whisker thought aloud. ‘Piracy is a bit like a circus performance. It comes down to fabulous costumes, good acting and well-rehearsed stunts.’
Pete looked highly offended by the comparison, so Whisker decided to drop the subject and moved on.
‘Are cats a little unpopular with Pie Rats?’ he asked.
‘Oh my precious paws,’ Pete groaned, turning a whiter shade of white. ‘Cats are the most vile creatures on the planet. I feel ill just thinking about them … As I always say: If you ever see a cat, don’t stop to have a chat. Just turn around and RUN or you’ll end up on his tongue!’
Whisker filed this piece of information in his head under the category of animals I will never go near, look at or think about again.
‘Listen, Whisker,’ Pete mumbled. ‘If you’ve finished with the traumatic questions, I want to get back to my research.’
Pete glanced in the direction of the Captain’s desk and Whisker had a fair idea of what he was referring to. As curious as he was to discover more, Whisker knew he had more important things to worry about. With an awkward salute to Pete, he left the cabin and clambered up the stairs in search of Ruby.
The Forgotten Map Page 2