By the end of the third day of scrubbing, the whole boat sparkled, with no hint of the foul pie smell and not a barnacle in sight. That evening a splendid full moon feast was held in the mess room to celebrate the start of Whisker’s Pie Rat apprenticeship.
When the crew had all finished eating, the Captain stood up and brushed a crumb off his freshly cleaned jacket.
‘Ahem. If I can have your attention please? As you are well aware, Whisker has now completed his orientation and despite a few hiccups …’
‘More like large burps,’ Pete mumbled.
‘Despite the cannon incident,’ the Captain clarified, ‘Whisker has proven he can handle life aboard this ship and is now an official Pie Rat apprentice.’
‘Bravo!’ cheered Fred and Horace, banging various utensils on the table. Pete clapped politely. Ruby folded her arms and said nothing.
‘According to Pie Rat tradition,’ the Captain explained, ‘there is no set time for this apprenticeship. Whisker will become a full member of the crew with voting rights when he has proven he is ready and has passed the seven Pie Rat tests – one for each of the seven seas. He has already passed the Survival test, which leaves him with: Strength, Strategy, Self-reliance, Sailing, Swords-rat-ship and Sacrifice. It may take a month. It may take a year …’
‘Or longer,’ Pete muttered.
‘Just because it took you a year-and-a-half,’ Horace snapped, ‘doesn’t mean Whisker can’t do it in a month. Ruby only took three weeks.’
‘But she knew how to sword fight,’ Pete shot back.
‘On the subject of sword fighting,’ the Captain continued, ‘Ruby will start tutoring Whisker from tomorrow.’
Ruby glared angrily at the Captain. ‘But I’ve got no time left with my own training schedule.’
‘Consider him your training partner,’ the Captain said firmly. ‘The quicker you can teach him, the sooner you’ll be finished.’
Ruby began to argue, but the Captain cut her off. ‘Tomorrow we sail for the Crescent Sea. While we are in these parts, we will make enquiries into several important matters; including the whereabouts of Whisker’s family, if in fact they are still …’ He paused and restarted his sentence, ‘If in fact they have travelled this way. These waters are patrolled by naval warships from the Isle of Aladrya, so I want scissor swords sharpened and cannons in top working order.’
‘Aye aye, Captain,’ Horace saluted.
‘Splendid,’ the Captain said. ‘I will bid you all good evening then.’ He bowed to the crew, paying particular attention to Ruby, who was frowning at the floor, and strode out of the room.
As soon as the Captain had left, Ruby barked, ‘Listen here, apprentice.’
‘Uh … yes?’ Whisker replied.
‘First lesson,’ she snapped. ‘Sword sharpening. On the deck. Dawn. You’ll do exactly what I say. No questions. Understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Whisker gulped.
‘Good,’ she huffed, and promptly walked out of the room.
Although Ruby had dropped his nickname of boy, Whisker wasn’t looking forward to his new role as the slave of the ship. He rose from his chair and trudged into the galley with a plate of pie crumbs. Being a Pie Rat apprentice also meant he was the trainee dish washer, potato peeler and pot scrubber.
As he walked towards the washing-up barrel, Whisker noticed Horace rummaging through the galley, salvaging leftover pies for the cannons.
‘Aladryan warships, watch out,’ Horace grinned.
‘What’s so special about these warships?’ Whisker asked.
‘Well,’ Horace said with a gleam in his eye, ‘Aladryan warships are a sight to behold … Imagine a long vessel twice the length of our ship. Instead of two masts like our humble Brig, she has four, with three sails on each. When the wind is behind her, she’s impossible to catch. But when the wind dies down, she lowers her oars and begins to row. She has a dozen enormous oars and the rowers will row all day if they have to.
‘Above the oars are the cannons. Each cannon shoots spiral shells filled with grit to blind enemies. For long range attacks, lumps of volcanic rock are fired. These rocks shatter on impact like glass. She is a Claw-of-War, a powerful warship no pirate ever wants to encounter. And here is the really good bit –’
Whisker stopped scrubbing and listened closely.
‘When she is too close to fire, she will ram you. Her battering ram is a giant claw …’
BANG! Horace slammed his hook onto the table for impact. Whisker and Fred both jumped.
Horace lowered his voice. ‘Her crew are the legendary soldier crabs of Aladrya, the Blue Claw. They are the most organised, disciplined and determined navy I have ever encountered. Their shells are dense and their claws are powerful.’
Whisker was in awe of the dreaded sea vessel. But at the mention of soldier crabs, his fear subsided. He’d seen soldier crabs at the seaside, they were tiny. He struggled to imagine how even the biggest ones posed a threat.
Horace offered up another piece of information. ‘It’s not their individual size that makes their army strong, it’s the size of their army. Imagine over two hundred of the little nippers scurrying from a single warship onto our boat. You’d have to run the numbers past Pete, but we’d have to fight at least thirty crabs each.’
That night Whisker dreamt his cabin was overrun with soldier crabs, savagely snapping and pinching his tail from under his hammock while he defended himself with a scrubbing brush.
He wearily awoke with the first rays of dawn and staggered onto the deck. Before long, he wished he was back in his hammock, soldier crabs and all.
A Strange Encounter
'You’re late,’ Ruby snapped.
‘Hardly,’ Whisker yawned. ‘The sun is still rising over the horizon.’
Ruby rolled her eye and pointed to a stone wheel in the corner of the deck. Whisker had used a similar grinding stone once before to sharpen blades for knife-throwing numbats at the circus.
‘Pay attention,’ Ruby commanded. ‘You are to turn the handle carefully, while I sharpen the swords. Is that understood?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ Whisker replied. How hard can a few turns of a handle be?
As rays of the morning sun struck the side of the deck, Whisker realised just how hard it was going to be. Ruby had lined up every scissor sword, every spare scissor sword, all of Fred’s cooking knives plus the rusty green sword from the fight.
‘I see you found the rest of it,’ Whisker said, pointing to the second half of the scissors at the end of the line.
‘Your swords are a disgrace,’ Ruby remarked. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t train with sharpened weapons, but in their current state, they are a recipe for rust poisoning.’
With a mighty heave, Whisker turned the handle and the wheel began to spin. It was stiffer than the circus grinding stone and before Ruby had finished the first sword, his arms began to ache. By the time she had sharpened the Captain’s two black swords, Pete’s two yellow swords, Horace’s two blue swords and her own two scarlet swords, Whisker felt like his arms were going to fall off.
‘I’m glad Fred fights with a fork and not a sword,’ he panted, stopping to catch his breath.
He heard a low whistle behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Horace shuffling onto the deck.
‘Guess what I’ve brought up?’ Horace whispered.
‘A new pair of arms?’ Whisker said hopefully.
‘Not arms,’ Horace replied. ‘Fins! Look, I found a tray of Fred’s pastry fins in the galley last night and glued them to our long range pies.’ He pointed to a three-finned pie on the ground beside him. ‘It’s lucky we left the cannon up here. The deck is the best place to watch these babies fly.’
‘What are you two mumbling about?’ Ruby asked suspiciously.
‘Our new and improved defence system,’ Horace boasted. ‘We’re about to launch the first test flight.’
‘Who’s we?’ Ruby frowned. ‘Whisker has his paws full.’
�
�I am going to assist,’ cried a nasally voice from the stairs.
Whisker heard a familiar CLOMP, patter, CLOMP as Pete trudged into view.
‘I’m here to ensure there are no more safety incidents,’ Pete announced. ‘We all know what happens when these two start messing around with pies.’
‘Argh, go and break a lead or something,’ Horace grumbled. ‘I don’t need your help. I’ve got Fred.’
‘I’m still going to supervise,’ Pete insisted as Fred appeared at the top of the stairs with the rest of the pies.
‘Suit yourself,’ Horace sulked. ‘Just stay out of the way. I won’t hesitate to add a flying pencil to the experiment.’
While Whisker and Ruby sharpened, Horace and Fred loaded the first pie into the cannon. Pete watched from a safe distance, tapping his pencil incessantly. Smudge arrived on cue to light the first fuse.
‘All clear, Smudge,’ Horace commanded. ‘Ready. FIRE!’
KABOOM! The cannon exploded, sending the pie racing through the air. It soared in a graceful arc, landing far out to sea without the usual wobbles. Its path was dead straight.
‘Did you see that, Whisker?’ Horace exclaimed. ‘Your invention works!’
Whisker looked up from the wheel. He felt more relief than anything else. He dreaded to imagine what Pete would say if the pie did a full loop and crashed onto the deck. He also knew the pie needed some improvements before it reached its maximum distance.
‘What about adding a coned top?’ he suggested. ‘It would reduce wind resistance and add a couple of metres for sure.’
Fred gave him a blank look.
Horace nodded and translated for Fred. ‘Whisker needs some dough. Enough to make a few pointy pie hats.’
With a grunt, Fred wandered off to the galley with Smudge. Pete continued to watch suspiciously from a distance.
‘So what do you think?’ Horace called out to him.
‘Lucky shot,’ Pete yawned. ‘Besides, you weren’t aiming at anything. Hitting a random wave is hardly a conclusive result.’
Horace pointed his hook at Pete and fumed, ‘Alright then. You swim out there and I’ll blast off your big bony nose!’
Pete stiffened at the thought. ‘Not on your life, Horace. But I do have a better idea … Can you see that rock?’
Whisker squinted into the distance and saw a small blurry shape between the waves. Like most rats, he had poor long distance vision and wasn’t sure if it was a rock or just a large piece of driftwood.
‘Here’s your challenge, Horace,’ Pete said. ‘If you can hit that rock with a pie on your first attempt, I’ll wear a newspaper hat for an entire week.’
‘You’re on!’ Horace shouted with a fierce grin. He loaded a pie into the cannon, adjusted the angle and struck a match. ‘… Okay. Wish me luck.’
Ruby lowered her sword, Whisker stopped turning and Pete held his breath as Horace lit the fuse.
‘Three … two … one …’ KABOOM!
The pie shot through the air. It went up, and then it came down. There was no splash. Just a faint thud as the pie hit its target.
Horace hook-pumped the air and cheered. Pete groaned in dismay and scribbled something rude on the deck. Ruby, clearly unimpressed with the whole performance, gave Whisker a hard prod in the back.
‘The halftime entertainment is over,’ she hissed. ‘It’s back to the grindstone.’
As the stone wheel finally ground to a halt and the sharpened blades glistened in the midday sun, the Captain emerged from the stairs.
‘ALL PAWS ON DECK!’ he bellowed.
Like ants alerted to danger, the crew assembled in a line before their waiting Captain. Fred fiddled awkwardly with an enormous lump of dough in his paws.
‘Did I interrupt something?’ the Captain asked. ‘A new pie perhaps?’
‘No. It’s a hat for a pie,’ Fred replied slowly. ‘It was Whisker’s idea.’
‘Of course it was,’ the Captain said with a smirk. He turned to Pete and enquired, ‘Is Whisker responsible for your hat too?’
Pete tried to hide the ridiculous newspaper hat covering his head, but his paws were much too small.
‘No, Captain,’ he mumbled. ‘I was, err … trying to be sun smart … Being an Albino rat and all.’
‘Rubbish,’ Horace coughed from further down the line.
The other rats tried to stop themselves from laughing.
‘If you are done playing dress ups,’ the Captain said in a serious voice, ‘I suggest we get a move on. With a strong tail wind we should reach Sea Shanty Island in the heart of the Crescent Sea by tomorrow evening.’
Whisker had heard of Sea Shanty Island, but had never been there. It was a known haven for pirates, smugglers and other lawless thugs – not the usual circus audience. Although it was located close to the Isle of Aladrya, it was not under its control. To reach Sea Shanty Island meant sailing through the heavily patrolled Northern Passage.
‘On our way to the island,’ the Captain continued, ‘we may be fortunate to cross paths with a trading ship or two.’ He paused and mused to himself, ‘although the oceans have been extremely quiet of late …’
‘Dead quiet,’ Horace whispered. ‘The only other ship out here is the Silver Sardine, and we don’t want to see her again.’
Whisker hoped they didn’t cross paths with any vessels. He was far from prepared to begin a life of robbing, stealing or worse.
‘These are your orders,’ the Captain said. ‘Pete, I want you to plot a safe course around Pointer Island, heading into the Northern Passage. I’m not in the mood for a shipwreck. Smudge, you’re on lookout duty. If you see anything at all, get Fred up there at once. The rest of you are to raise the anchor and hoist the sails.’
‘Aye aye, Captain!’ cheered the crew.
Whisker felt as dead as a dried-up daffodil following the sword sharpening, but at least sailing involved tugging and tightening and not more turning, turning, turning.
The crew worked swiftly to harness the power of the strong wind and they were soon racing through the surf. They hadn’t gone far, however, when Smudge buzzed anxiously down to Fred.
‘BOAT AHOY!’ Fred cried, scrambling up the rigging. ‘Small boat, single sail. On the side … um, opposite the star.’
Whisker felt his tail straighten with a sudden rush of hope. Could this really be? It had to be. Who else would be this far from land in a small boat?
He rushed over to the port side and stared out. Fred was right. Less than a hundred metres away, a small boat bobbed up and down in the waves: A boat with a single sail, a ripped sail.
‘Three passengers,’ Fred cried, ‘blue boat.’
Whisker was overcome with joy. His family had survived. They were alive and they were only metres away in their bright blue boat. Then it dawned on him. As much as he desperately wanted this to be his family’s boat, he knew it couldn’t be. Their boat was red, not blue.
As Whisker’s heart sank, the black flag of the Pie Rats began to rise. It was the first time Whisker had seen the Jolly Rat and for a moment he imagined the cheeky rat’s skull was laughing at his misfortune.
‘Swords at the ready,’ the Captain cried. ‘We will commence the attack with a rendition of our battle chant.’
Before Whisker had time to ask what a battle chant was, the Pie Rats began to sing:
We are the dreaded Pie Rats, and we sail the seven seas.
We’re nasty and we’re filthy and we smell like mouldy cheese!
We’d love a pie with lots of sauce but any pie will do.
So give us all you’ve got before we make one out of you!
At the end of the song the Pie Rat crew pulled scary faces and yelled insults. Despite their polished performance, Whisker’s attention was fixed on the three passengers in the blue boat. Something was dreadfully wrong.
A middle aged grey mouse stood at the stern of the boat, fumbling with a pair of thick glasses. Hiding behind him were two small mice: a boy and a girl, standing knee deep i
n water with buckets in their paws.
‘Do not fear, children,’ the grey mouse said calmly, ‘a ship of opera singers has come to save us. Did you not hear their rousing tune?’
‘M-m-mister Tribble,’ the girl stammered, ‘p-p-put on your g-g-glasses.’
The grey mouse awkwardly positioned the spectacles on his nose and blinked at the Apple Pie. His calm expression quickly changed.
‘OOO-AHH! WE’RE DONE FOR!’ he yelled, throwing his paws in the air. ‘It’s a pirate ship. Swim for your lives!’
In his panic, he lost his footing and tumbled backwards into the bottom of the boat, taking the children with him. The three mice splashed around in the water, before steadying themselves on the side of the boat.
‘What kind of trick are you trying to pull?’ the Captain boomed. ‘Hand over your gold, silver and particularly nice pastries and we’ll let you go.’
‘Oh. I’m afraid they’re gone,’ the grey mouse quivered.
‘Gone?’ Pete hissed. ‘Gone where?’
‘Down there,’ the grey mouse said, pointing to the bottom of the boat.
‘Well, start fishing,’ Pete snapped. ‘We want all the gold. You can keep your soggy supplies.’
‘You don’t understand,’ the grey mouse trembled. ‘The gold’s not in the boat. It fell through the hole.’
‘What hole?’ Fred asked.
‘The hole made by the flying thing that crashed through our sail,’ the grey mouse replied.
Whisker looked at the sail. The grey mouse was right. There was a circular hole in the centre.
‘This had better not be another trick,’ the Captain said angrily.
The grey mouse and the children didn’t respond. They simply huddled in fear as the water continued to rise.
‘He’s telling the truth,’ Whisker said quietly.
‘What did you say?’ the Captain hissed.
Whisker knew his news wasn’t going to make the Captain any happier, but he said it anyway.
‘I know what made the hole in the boat,’ he said slowly. ‘It was one of our pies – one of our new and improved pies.’
The Forgotten Map Page 6