‘I’ll take care of him,’ Horace volunteered. ‘I’m sure he’s seen the inside of a dreary old post office before. I’m off to somewhere far more exciting, the home of high-end pyrotechnics.’
Whisker’s eyes lit up. There was never a dull moment with Horace. Ruby abruptly turned on her heel and walked off towards the shops, mumbling, ‘I need to visit Sails n’ Things to buy a new roll of string.’
‘Will you be alright on your own, my dear?’ the Captain called after her.
‘I’m not on my own,’ she smirked, tapping the swords on her belt. ‘I’ve got my two best friends with me.’
‘Shucks,’ Horace sighed dramatically. ‘And I thought we were her two best friends. Come on, Whisker. I’ll give you the grand tour.’
The two rats stepped out of the shadows of the dock, into the bright lights of Sea Shanty Boulevard.
‘Oh, how I’ve missed this place,’ Horace reminisced. ‘Where else can you stumble into a back alley tavern overflowing with Hot-Chilli Cola that curls your whiskers and blows steam from your ears? Where else can you squawk like a parrot in a karaoke club and receive a standing ovation? Where else can you dine on dishes of delectable deep sea delights for less than a dime? And where else can you find twenty-four-hour souvenir shops that stock everything from black market belt buckles to pirate sheet music? Nowhere but Sea Shanty Island!’
Whisker felt his tail tingle with excitement.
‘We’d better take care of business first,’ Horace said, pointing to a sign on a nearby shop.
‘Gunpowder Galleria,’ Whisker read. ‘Don’t you have enough gunpowder already?’
‘I’m not here for gunpowder,’ Horace replied, ‘I’m here for dynamite. You never know when you’re going to need a big fat stick of dynamite.’
‘You also mentioned pyrotech … something,’ Whisker said. ‘What on earth is that?’
‘Ah, shucks,’ Horace said, shaking his head. ‘That was supposed to be a surprise. Pyrotechnics are fireworks. I was going to buy some for your apprenticeship graduation.’
‘That’s okay,’ Whisker replied, trying not to think of the damage Horace could cause with an entire box of fireworks stuffed into a cannon. ‘It’s the thought that counts.’
‘Rotten pies to sentimental thoughts,’ Horace scoffed. ‘Nothing beats a big bang! I may have spoilt the surprise for you, but we can still catch Pete unawares. Come on, you can help me pick some out.’
Whisker had been grocery shopping, present shopping and even circus costume shopping before, but this was his first explosives shopping experience. There were so many fireworks to choose from. The shelves were filled with rockets and whizzers and hissers and fizzers, all in an assortment of wondrous colours.
After an hour of deliberation, Horace paid for a crate of assorted fireworks and a crate of Deadly Dynamite. The rabbit behind the counter talked him into buying a jar of the Galleria’s Gourmet Gunpowder. Whisker enquired if it was simply normal gunpowder in fancy packaging. The rabbit rolled his eyes and threw in a second jar for free.
‘Put this in your pocket,’ Horace said, handing Whisker one of the jars. ‘The crates are full and my other pocket is bulging with loose change.’
Whisker looked hesitant.
‘It’s perfectly safe,’ Horace reassured him. ‘Just don’t go and sit on a barbeque.’
Whisker slid the jar into his pocket. ‘Where to now?’
‘It would be safest if we drop – I mean, gently lower these crates into the boat first,’ Horace suggested. ‘Unless you’d rather celebrate your graduation early?’
‘Pass,’ Whisker replied.
After carefully stowing the crates under the seats of the rowboat, Whisker and Horace went to explore the nightlife of the island.
‘There’s a fabulous dessert bar I want to take you to,’ Horace said, turning down a street towards the town square. ‘You’ve got to try their Caramelised Coconut Cream Pie. It’s the best pie in the world. But don’t tell Fred.’
As the two rats wandered blissfully along the street, two small possums bounded past, nearly bowling them over.
‘Hey, watch it!’ Horace yelled, trying to steady himself.
A moment later a whole barnyard of animals came rushing down a laneway towards them. Most of them were pirates, and all of them had terrified looks on their faces.
‘Run for it,’ cried a gerbil with a missing ear. ‘They’re coming for us!’
With the mass of bodies tearing towards them, Whisker couldn’t see who the pursuers were. He could, however, hear a loud scuttling sound coming from the end of the lane. Two words from Horace told him who they were and what he should do.
‘CRABS! RUN!’
Whisker ran.
The throng of escaping pirates twisted and turned down alleyways and lanes, picking up startled onlookers as they went. No one seemed to know why they were being chased, but all of them were guilty of something. Whisker soon lost sight of Horace in the mass of fur, feathers and cabaret costumes around him.
As the crowd rounded a corner, Whisker’s foot caught on a raised cobblestone. He stumbled for a few steps, trying to regain his balance, but the sea of frantic bodies drove him down. He desperately flung his paws forward to break his fall as his body crashed to the pavement.
Before he had time to pick himself up, he felt the sharp pain of paws and claws digging into his back as the runners trampled over him. Bruised and battered, Whisker dragged himself towards the closest doorstep as the pirates streamed past. He flattened his body against the wooden door and hoped the crabs would pass without noticing him.
As he pushed back further to avoid a knobbly knee to the nose, he heard a click above him as the latch of the door released. The door swung inwards with a stiff creeeeeeeak and he tumbled inside.
Without dwelling on his good fortune, he rolled his body to one side and kicked the door shut with his foot. He lay panting on the floor as the muffled sound of scuttling grew louder and then faded down the street. It was only when he was certain the army had passed that he raised his head from the floor and looked around him.
It appeared he had entered through the back door of a large tavern. The ornate gold sign that hung above the long serving bar read: The Captain’s Inn. Dozens of thirsty pirates and sailors sat on stools along the bar. Others wearing fancy uniforms huddled around small tables in the dark corners of the room, while two bandicoots entertained them with banjos. No one seemed to have noticed Whisker’s entrance.
With its velvet cushioned chairs and old-world charm, the Captain’s Inn was the grandest tavern Whisker had ever seen. It was a little too fancy for his liking, but he thought Horace might like it … if the army of soldier crabs hadn’t captured him yet. Whisker quietly stood up and straightened his twisted tail. He must find his friend.
As he took a step towards the door, he caught the strong scent of Apple Fizz tinged with the foul smell of greasy fur. It was definitely time to go.
His trembling fingers closed around the brass door knob, but before he could turn it, he felt a strong paw on his shoulder.
‘Leavin’ so soon, li’l capt’n?’ rasped a husky voice.
Whisker froze. He dared not look around, but he knew it would be pointless to try to run – the paw’s grip was like a vice.
‘Come an’ ‘ave a drink with a fellow rat,’ the voice croaked.
On hearing these words, Whisker remembered the Pie Rat code: Your brother is a rat … Slowly, he turned around to face the stranger.
The rat was slightly taller than Whisker and considerably older. His dull beige fur was mottled with silver hairs and his brown eyes looked bloodshot and weary. He carried some extra weight around his belly, but his arms and shoulders were still broad and strong. His square jaw gave him a distinguished look, even though his tattered captain’s hat hung crookedly to one side.
The old rat removed his paw from Whisker’s shoulder and wiped it on his faded blue coat before extending it to Whisker in greeting.
‘Capt’n Rat Bait at yer service,’ he said in a gravelly sailor’s drawl.
Whisker nervously shook his paw and replied, ‘Hi. I’m Whisker.’
‘It be a pleasure to meet ye,’ Rat Bait said, studying Whisker closely. His eyes grew wide at the sight of Whisker’s gold anchor pendant. ‘An’ what might ye be doin’ in the Capt’n’s Inn tonight?’
Although Whisker was glad he was facing an old rat and not an angry crab, there was something odd about this grubby character.
‘I’m on my way back from purchasing supplies,’ Whisker replied warily.
‘An’ what did ye buy?’ Rat Bait enquired.
Whisker wasn’t prepared for this question. He’d tumbled into the inn empty-handed. Just as he was about to admit his lie, Whisker remembered he did have something to back up his story; the jar of Gourmet Gunpowder. He’d forgotten to remove it from his pocket when he returned to the boat.
He slipped his paw into his pocket and gently pulled out the jar.
‘Wow!’ Rat Bait exclaimed. ‘That be some mighty good stuff. But ye must be cuckoo in the head to be wanderin’ ‘round with it. There’s soldiers out there, ye know.’
Whisker hurriedly stuffed the jar away.
‘Come on, Capt’n Whisker,’ Rat Bait said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll buy thee a drink. ‘Tis not often I get to drink with another rat.’
Rat Bait led him to the corner of the bar where the bilby barman was serving drinks. The barman handed a mug to a bulldog in a sky blue coat before turning to Rat Bait.
‘Same again?’ he enquired.
‘Aye,’ Rat Bait replied.
The barman eyed Whisker up and down.
‘And for your grandson?’
‘Err … I’ll just have some water,’ Whisker mumbled, before adding, ‘I’m on duty.’
Rat Bait and the barman both laughed.
‘Did you ever hear of such a thing?’ the barman roared. ‘A pirate on duty on Sea Shanty Island. And asking for water? That’s a good one!’
Whisker felt extremely awkward. He wished Horace was here to guide him through the dos and don’ts of tavern etiquette.
‘Yer a strange one, Capt’n Whisker,’ Rat Bait chuckled. ‘The lad’ll have the same as me.’
Although he’d never touched a drop of the sugary liquid in his life, Whisker thought it best not to protest. He watched as the barman filled two large mugs with Apple Fizz and handed them to the rats. Rat Bait flicked the barman a few small coins and beckoned for Whisker to follow him to a table against the side wall.
When they were seated, Rat Bait raised his mug and proposed a toast: ‘Here’s to the brotherhood o’ rats. May our whiskers grow long an’ our tails stay slender!’
‘Cheers,’ Whisker replied, holding up his mug.
Rat Bait sculled a large mouthful of Apple Fizz.
Whisker put his mug straight back down. His mother’s words ran through his head. Apple Fizz will do nothing but rot your teeth and give you the hiccups. It was invented for toothless toads with croaking problems and not for respectable rats. Whisker wasn’t sure how much of this was true, but now wasn’t the time to test her theory.
While Rat Bait was still drinking, Whisker seized on the opportunity to ask about the Blue Claw.
‘So how about those crabs?’ he said casually.
Rat Bait slammed his mug on the table.
‘Nasty creatures,’ he burped. ‘I’ll be glad to see them scuttlin’ off to another island. They’ve got no right to be here.’
‘What are they after?’ Whisker asked.
Rat Bait’s eyes narrowed. ‘Stolen goods, mostly. Anythin’ with the Gov’nors seal on it. They sail in an’ raid the joint every couple o’ weeks. They can’t be arrestin’ no one here o’ course, but they still drag them off to Aladrya an’ throw them in the clink. We can’t be doin’ a thing to stop ’em. There’s just too many o’ the blighters.’
‘Have they come after you?’ Whisker whispered.
‘I be out o’ the game,’ Rat Bait said, with a tinge of relief. ‘I haven’t got nothin’ they’d want since I turned me back on piracy an’ started me ship repair business. That be some years ago now. But once a capt’n, always a capt’n.’
Rat Bait took another gulp of his drink. Whisker clutched his mug but left it resting on the table.
‘Do you own one of the shops along the wharf?’ Whisker asked.
‘Not here,’ Rat Bait spluttered. ‘I be travelin’ east t’wards Freeforia an’ lookin’ for the right business opportunity, if ye know what I mean …’ He let his sentence trail off to a whisper and winked at Whisker.
Whisker had no idea what Rat Bait meant, but the sly look in the old captain’s eyes told him it was something extremely important and something very secretive. Rat Bait would not divulge any more information and went back to talking about his ship repairs.
‘I been workin’ south-west o’ here,’ he said, wiping Apple Fizz from the side of his mouth, ‘where it be cold enough to freeze yer tail off in winter. Them penguin pirates give me plenty o’ work. What with them crashin’ into all them icebergs an’ such. Ye should have seen some o’ their ships. The holes be so big, I wonder how they still be afloat.’
Rat Bait sighed. ‘But lately I been thinkin’ o’ retirin’ to somewhere warm where me bones won’t feel like icicles in the mornin’.’
Rat Bait took another large swig of his mug and drained its contents. He slammed it on the table and looked squarely at Whisker.
‘So, Capt’n Whisker. What’s yer story? Ye be very young, if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so.’
Whisker didn’t know what to say. It was hardly the place to talk about the circus or how much he missed his family. He stared into the syrupy liquid in front of him and hoped an exciting answer would suddenly leap out of the bubbles.
‘I … um, well …’ he mumbled.
He was cut off by a loud commotion coming from the entrance passage.
‘Where is he?’ a deep voice hissed. ‘I know he’s in here.’
‘Please, sir,’ a second voice trembled. ‘This is a respectable establishment. We don’t want any trouble.’
‘There’ll only be trouble if you refuse to let me in,’ the deep voice snapped. ‘You know the rules, it’s my right.’
There was a pause.
‘Very well,’ came a hesitant reply. ‘You may go in, but …’
‘But what?’ the deep voice snarled.
‘But … there is to be no killing. Understand? And no eating the guests …’
The words echoed down the passageway like a fog horn on a still night. The bandicoots stopped strumming mid-chord, conversations came to an abrupt halt and every sailor in the tavern froze in fear as a soft padding sound drifted down the passage towards them.
Whisker looked across at Rat Bait in terror.
‘Wh – who?’ he stammered.
Rat Bait merely twitched his nose and gave Whisker a look that said, you, my boy, are about to find out.
Whisker stared across the room. A shadowy form skulked out of the dark passage on four huge paws. Its fur was a deep orange colour and covered with black stripes and spots. Its claws were sharp and its hazel eyes were fierce. If Whisker hadn’t known better, he would have said it was a leopard. But as he looked closer, a horrible realisation set in.
The creature wore an orange captain’s hat with a silver fish skeleton. Over one shoulder it carried a large cheese knife, strapped to a belt. As it moved into the lantern light of the room, there was no mistaking its identity.
It was Sabre, the captain of the Cat Fish, and he was headed straight for Whisker.
Sabre
It had never crossed Whisker’s mind that he’d end up as an entrée, but as the thought became very real, he hoped the experience would end quickly, with one enormous bite and not too much nibbling of his tail and ears.
Sabre merely gave him a disinterested glance and turned to face the quivering bandicoots.
>
‘You’re paid to play,’ he hissed, ‘so start playing or I’ll stuff your pathetic little banjos down your throats and see how you like to be strummed.’
The bandicoots nodded in panic and continued playing with trembling paws.
‘NOT THAT SONG!’ Sabre howled. ‘It’s too depressing. Play The Owl and the Pussy Cat.’
The bandicoots exchanged nervous glances and began to pluck the tune. The dull murmur of voices resumed and a scrawny meerkat and a fox in a black trench coat made for the door.
‘Arr … that’s better,’ Sabre purred, turning back to the rats.
‘Good evenin’, Capt’n Sabre,’ Rat Bait said politely. ‘Would ye care to join us for a drink?’
‘Do I look like a repulsive rodent?’ Sabre spat. ‘I would rather drink poisoned porcupine pus than drink with a stinking rat!’
In any other circumstance, Whisker would have been deeply offended by such an insult, but tonight it was music to his ears.
Rat Bait shrugged. ‘Suit yerself, Capt’n Sabre. I’ll be off to get another round for me an’ the li’l capt’n.’
He stood up to go, but Sabre raised himself onto two legs and roared, ‘SIT DOWN!’
Rat Bait slumped down with a resigned sigh.
Sabre reached his paw under his belt and pulled out a small deck of playing cards.
‘Remember these?’ he snarled.
Rat Bait fidgeted nervously. ‘Err … should I?’
Sabre laid four cards face down on the table and placed the deck beside them.
‘Surely you haven’t forgotten our little game?’ he hissed. ‘The one where you managed to win all of my money with one extremely lucky hand …’
‘Ye win some, ye lose some,’ Rat Bait casually remarked.
Sabre took a deep breath. ‘And that’s the gamble, isn’t it? We have no control of how the cards fall.’
Rat Bait nodded slowly.
‘WRONG!’ Sabre snapped. ‘It seems that someone has taken the gamble out of gambling. Let’s take another look at your winning hand, shall we?’
Rat Bait gulped.
Sabre turned to Whisker and scowled, ‘Turn them over, little captain, and do tell us what you see.’
The Forgotten Map Page 8