Читать книгу The Island Of Destiny - Cameron Stelzer - Страница 11

Deep Water

The water beneath the surface was dark and turbulent. Weighed down by his sword, Whisker exhaled the air from his lungs and kicked deeper. He knew he only had seconds to find the Captain.

A black shape moved swiftly past him, covered in a tangle of criss-crossed cords. Frantically, he made a lunge for it. His paws wrapped around the smooth sides of a barrel. He dug his claws into the soft wood to stop himself slipping and held on tight. It wasn’t the Captain, but it was moving in the right direction.

With the water rushing past his eyes, it was a struggle for Whisker to see anything, but he could just make out the silhouette of the Apple Pie above him and the shadow of a large rock to his left.

The cord jerked violently to the left and the barrel scraped the side of the rock. Whisker felt something brush past his right ear. Tightening his grip, he turned to see the limp body of the Captain drifting beside him, the rope still attached to his ankle.

Whisker seized his opportunity and grabbed the rope with one paw, looping his tail around the Captain’s leg. When he was confident he was secure, he kicked off from the barrel, sending it bouncing into the rock. It smashed open on impact, clouding the water in a dark liquid. Whisker lost sight of everything in the murky haze.

Frantically, he tried to draw his scissor sword, but the speed of the current worked against him. He felt for the Captain’s sword. Alas, the handle was out of reach.

A burning sensation spread through his lungs and he knew he was running out of time. If the Captain was still alive, he needed to get him to the surface – fast.

The rope jolted left and Whisker was thrown against a rock. He winced in pain as a sharp piece of coral dug into his side, and he struggled not to inhale a lungful of gravy-tainted water. His head pounded, his chest burned, but he tried to stay focused.

You’ve survived this before, he told himself, fumbling blindly with the rope in a futile attempt to unravel twisted loops and tangled knots. It was hopeless. The knots were too tight.

Please, please, please, he begged, not giving in.

As if responding to his plea, the rope suddenly went slack and Whisker felt a surge of hope – we’re free.

He kicked furiously with his legs and pulled himself up the side of the rock with his paw, dragging the Captain with him. The water cleared and the Apple Pie grew visible. Halfway to the surface the rope began to tighten.

We’re still attached, he thought in panic.

In a final desperate attempt to free the Captain, Whisker looped the rope around a small outcrop of rock. Clutching the loose end in both paws, he waited in agony, his lungs ablaze.

The rope went taught, tightening the loop. The creature pulled and Whisker held on. Seconds passed. The rope refused to break. Whisker felt himself blacking out …

SNAP!

With a powerful jolt that threw Whisker backwards, the rope finally tore in two and the Captain was free. Whisker fought his way to the surface, bursting through the white crest of a wave. He gulped in the salty air, each breath more painful than the last.

Deliriously, he dragged the Captain onto a rock and reached down to check his pulse. Whisker’s paw barely touched his neck when the Captain coughed up a mouthful of water and began sucking in air.

Whisker slumped down next to him, overwhelmed with relief and exhaustion. He watched helplessly as the wreck of the Apple Pie was dragged along the western side of the lagoon and disappeared out to sea. The Captain was alive but the Pie Rats were gone.

The black velvet hat of the Captain drifted through the waves, rising and falling like a cork in a sea of champagne. Its golden pie insignia caught the attention of the two rats on the rocks.

Whisker drew his scissor sword and plucked the soggy shape from the sea, handing it to the Captain. The Captain wedged the once-regal hat on his head, dribbling water over his face. He didn’t blink. He didn’t speak.

Whisker returned his sword to his belt, noticing the small map canister wedged beneath his pie-buckled belt. Its presence was a relief, but it also filled him with guilt. What good was the map without the key – the key he’d lost?

You should have been more careful, he scolded himself. You could have put it in a pocket, or left it in the navigation room.

He sat on a rock and wallowed in guilt. The Captain hadn’t spoken a word since Whisker had dragged him from the ocean, but Whisker could feel his black eye watching him closely. The key was Whisker’s responsibility. This was the second time he’d lost it and there were no excuses. He had to come clean.

‘I-I dropped the key in the lagoon,’ he blurted out. ‘I’m sorry.’

The Captain remained expressionless. ‘You risked your life to save me, Whisker. I’m hardly going to give you a lecture about losing a key.’

Whisker sighed and turned back to the ocean.

‘Thank you,’ the Captain added. ‘You didn’t have to come after me. It was more than anyone could have asked. I’m supposed to be keeping you alive, remember?’

Whisker was unsure how to respond.

‘I kind of just fell in,’ he replied humbly, . ‘Besides, what’s an apprentice without a captain?’

‘What’s a captain without his crew?’ the Captain said, the smile draining from his face. ‘Or his ship?’ He stared out at the horizon. ‘You and I are two peas in a mushy pea pie, Whisker. You’ve lost your family and now I’ve lost mine.’

‘B-but they’ll come back for us,’ Whisker stammered. ‘After they escape from the eel … Ruby and Horace and the others … we’ll see them again – won’t we?’

The Captain put a shaky paw on Whisker’s shoulder and Whisker felt a double pang of sadness in his aching chest – the Pie Rats were his family, too.

‘We can only hope,’ the Captain said slowly.

Whisker nodded. He was no stranger to hope. He carried it everywhere he went, in the form of a gold anchor pendant hanging around his neck. It wasn’t a charm, it was a reminder.

He touched its golden surface. The faces of his parents flashed before his eyes: Faye, the green thumb, patient and kind; Robert, the circus rat, crafty and inventive. Then he saw his little sister Anna, the lover of stories, followed by the faces of the Pie Rats: Ruby, Horace, Fred, Smudge, the mice, even Pete. He couldn’t give up on any of them. He refused to give up on any of them.

‘It’s getting dark,’ the Captain said, breaking Whisker’s thoughts. ‘Do you have the energy to swim to shore?’

Whisker peered across the lagoon to the Rock of Hope, its smooth surface radiating the pink and purple hues of the twilight sky. It was a shining beacon on a rough sea. A short distance away, a barrel bobbed in the waves, and broken deck-boards and strands of rope drifted nearby.

‘I can make it to the barrel,’ Whisker said hoarsely. ‘I think it’s safer if we paddle across.’

The Captain agreed. ‘Who knows what other creatures lurk beneath these waters?’

The two rats anxiously rowed their barrel-boat across the choppy surface of the lagoon. Fortunately, there were no signs of giant eels, stinging bluebottles or hungry fish.

They reached the sandy shallows, slid from the barrel and dragged themselves onto the shore. It wasn’t the triumphant landing Whisker had hoped for, but he had finally reached the Island of Destiny.

Grateful to be alive, he squeezed the water from his clothes and staggered up the sand. The Captain limped beside him, wincing with every step. From the safety of their spiral shells, hermit crabs watched the waterlogged rats approach the Rock of Hope.

Whisker knelt down in the centre of the estuary and drank from the cool water flowing around the rock. It was pure and thirst-quenching and tasted refreshingly sweet after the salty water of the ocean.

With renewed strength, he stood up and stared at the giant rock in the centre of the river. In the fading light, it appeared as a ball of pale blue, framed by the black silhouettes of the twin mountains. Whisker could hear the wind howling through the foothills and the waves crashing against the cliffs. The Rock of Hope was like the calm eye of a cyclone – a place of peace in the midst of its turbulent surroundings.

He saw a flicker of movement from the upper edge of the rock. When he looked again, it was gone. He scanned the estuary, puzzled.

‘Is something wrong?’ the Captain asked with a furrowed brow.

‘No,’ Whisker said. ‘I thought I saw … oh, never mind.’

The Captain glanced warily at the rock. ‘I suggest we head into the foothills and find shelter for the night. The further we are from the lagoon, the safer I’ll feel.’

The two rats followed the beach past the Rock of Hope and ascended a grass-covered dune to the east. The wind raced over the crest, spraying grains of sand into their eyes. Whisker raised his arm to protect his face and squeezed his eyes until they were almost shut.

Blindly, they pressed on.

The dune dropped down into a sandy valley and then rose to meet a line of sprawling pine trees. Whisker scrambled up the bank, his toes sinking into the sand. The Captain trudged warily beside him, his eye darting from the trees to the dunes.

They’d almost reached the crooked trunk of a huge pine tree, when the Captain threw out his arm and stopped Whisker in his tracks.

‘Stay perfectly still,’ he hissed.

Whisker froze.

‘What is it?’ he whispered.

The Captain sniffed the air and moved his paw to the handle of his sword.

‘Something’s following us,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Don’t turn around – not until I give the signal, understand?’

‘Y-yes, Captain,’ Whisker trembled.

Cautiously, the rats entered the pine forest, their eyes adjusting to the gloom. The wind whistled above them, and dry needles crackled under their feet. Their pursuer was silent.

As they moved further into the forest, the dense canopy of branches and pine needles blocked the faint light of evening stars. Whisker caught a strong scent of onion in the air and stopped. The Captain pulled him behind a tree and drew his sword.

‘It’s here,’ he whispered, ‘whatever it is …’

‘What do we do?’ Whisker asked, hoping the creature was nothing more than a large onion rolling along in the wind.

The Captain felt the rough, flaking bark of the tree.

‘We either fight the beast or climb and hope our pursuer has vertigo,’ he said. ‘What’s it to be?’

Whisker drew his sword. Although he was still a novice at sword fighting, he’d already faced Sabre, the dreaded captain of the Cat Fish, and survived. Cowering in a tree didn’t seem like a Pie Rat thing to do.

There was a soft crunch from the opposite side of the tree. The Captain pointed at Whisker and gestured to his left, his fingers twitching on the handle of his scissor sword.

Whisker nodded.

The Captain raised three fingers and then lowered them, silently counting, three … two … one … NOW.

The rats attacked. Swords raised, they leapt from either side of the tree to face their enemy. The forest floor was deserted, but the onion smell lingered. Back to back, Whisker and the Captain scanned their surrounds for any sign of life.

‘It must be close,’ the Captain whispered. ‘Watch your feet for hidden burrows …’

Suddenly there was a loud cackling sound from the branches above him and Whisker jumped in fright.

‘Noisy sailors choose to fight,’ laughed a thin, raspy voice. ‘Hermit chooses to climb. Sailors never catch Hermit in a tree. Hermit knows forest like eel knows lagoon.’

Trembling, Whisker peered up, unable to see anything through the mass of needles and pine cones overhead. The Captain slashed at low branches in frustration.

‘Reveal yourself, you devilish fiend!’ he shouted. ‘If that vile sea creature is a pet of yours, you’ll pay dearly, do you hear?’

‘No! No!’ the voice cried. ‘Nasty eel is not Hermit’s pet. Eel is no one’s pet.’

‘So why were you following us?’ the Captain roared.

‘Hermit was curious,’ the voice croaked. ‘Hermit not seen pesky visitors on island for many y –’ he stopped himself and laughed. ‘Hermit not seen visitors on island – ever.’

The Captain was far from amused.

‘We’re not visitors to be trifled with,’ he hissed. ‘Our scissor swords are sharp and …’

‘Scissor swords?’ the voice broke in. ‘Noisy sailors carry scissor swords: sparkling, shiny scissor swords? Sailors let harmless old Hermit hold one, yes, yes? Just for a moment?’

‘Not on your life!’ the Captain bellowed. ‘The closest you’ll come to a scissor sword is when my blade is pointed at your conniving throat.’

The voice in the tree didn’t respond. Whisker felt an icy gust of wind blow through the forest.

‘Stay alert,’ the Captain whispered.

Awaiting an attack, Whisker raised his sword above his head and scanned the darkness for the mysterious pursuer.

There was a dull thud to his right. The Captain leapt in the direction of the sound but Whisker stayed rooted to the spot, his tail squirming in the pine needles at his feet.

The onion smell drifted into his nostrils.

‘He’s not there,’ the Captain hissed over his shoulder.

‘I know,’ Whisker said in a petrified voice. ‘He’s standing right behind me.’

The Captain spun around – and abruptly halted. An expression of pure bewilderment ran across his face.

‘You!’ he gasped.

Whisker slowly turned. A scrawny rat stood in the shadows of the trees, his sinewy body draped in a course, fibrous cloak. He was a rat of many years, lean and ragged, but a match for any rat – scissor sword or not. His black eyes sparkled with a familiar intensity, though Whisker was certain he’d never seen him before.

Defensively, Whisker tightened the grip on his weapon and maintained his stance. The rat stared past Whisker to the Captain, a look of recognition filling his eyes. A broad smile grew across his face.

‘Many moons have passed,’ he sighed. ‘Yes, yes. Time has been long.’

‘Not long enough,’ the Captain said through gritted teeth.

The Hermit’s smile quickly vanished. He looked at Whisker with desperate eyes. Whisker took a step backwards, aware this was no ordinary reunion.

The Captain extended his sword and scowled. ‘Ran out of gold, did you, Hermit? Decided to return to the island to finish your failed quest?’

The Hermit’s jaw dropped. His lip trembled.

Whisker turned from the Hermit to the Captain and suddenly it clicked.

‘Return?’ the Hermit gasped. ‘No, no. Hermit could never return. Hermit never left.’