Читать книгу The Island Of Destiny - Cameron Stelzer - Страница 12

The Hermit

Captain Black Rat had a temper but he wasn’t a fool. The fire died in his eye as quickly as it had sparked.

He lowered his sword and stared, transfixed, at the strange figure in front of him. The Hermit stared back, motionless. Both rats shared the same expression – disbelief.

‘But Rat Bait said …’ the Captain choked.

‘Rat Bait said many things,’ the Hermit murmured. ‘Many stories, many tales, yes, yes. But truth? Hmm …’ He took a deep breath. ‘Hermit remembers stormy afternoon, wild, wild sea. Eel attacked Princess Pie. Hermit tumbled overboard. Princess Pie vanished into storm. Hermit waited months – Hermit waited years. Crew of Princess Pie never returned …’

He pointed to the map canister in Whisker’s belt. ‘Hermit left Forgotten Map for his son.’ He turned back to the Captain. ‘Finally you have come.’

The Captain looked from the Hermit to Whisker, his face a sea of emotions.

‘The map was meant for me?’ he gasped in confusion. ‘My father was here all along … But-but that means everything Rat Bait told us was a lie.’

Whisker searched his mind for clarity, trying to separate truth from treachery. He remembered the night he’d met Rat Bait, the former first mate of the Princess Pie, and recalled the words the old rogue had spoken. One line of Rat Bait’s story suddenly took on a whole new meaning: We lost the c – we lost the cargo and supplies over the side.

At the time, Whisker was fixated on the treasure and thought nothing of Rat Bait’s awkward pause. But now it was obvious. Rat Bait had almost given himself away. The Princess Pie hadn’t lost her cargo, she had lost her captain.

‘We know Rat Bait lied about the key,’ Whisker said quietly. ‘There’s nothing to stop him lying about your father, too.’

The Hermit gave the Captain a pleading stare. The Captain stared back, speechless. His tongue moved, but he didn’t utter a sound.

Whisker could only imagine what was going through his mind. The very rat the Captain had trained himself to hate was standing right in front of him, no longer a monster but an innocent victim of a terrible lie.

After an agonising silence, the Captain slowly extended the handle of his scissor sword to the Hermit, struggling to hold back the tears.

‘A noble captain deserves a sword,’ he quavered, ‘and the loyalty of his family.’

The Hermit took one look at the sword and threw his arms around the Captain.

‘Hermit needs his son,’ he sobbed.

For a moment, the Captain stood rigid, then, with a gush of tears, he dropped his sword and hugged the Hermit tightly. The Hermit pounded the Captain on the back like a giddy school boy celebrating a winning goal. The sobbing soon turned to laughter.

Whisker watched the joyous reunion, unable to look away. Part of him felt like an outsider, but the rest of him longed to know what it felt like to finally have his family back. He’d come to the island with high hopes. The Island of Destiny had already rewritten one future.

The Captain finally broke from the Hermit’s embrace and regained his composure.

‘Whisker,’ he said in a formal voice, ‘may I present to you my father, Ratsputin, noble captain of the Princess Pie and Pie Rat extraordinaire.’

The Hermit extended his paw to Whisker and spoke with oniony breath. ‘Hermit pleased to meet you, master Whisker.’

Whisker shook his rough paw. ‘The pleasure is mine, Captain Ratsputin, sir.’

The Hermit twitched his ears. ‘Captain Ratsputin, no, no. Hermit it is. No captain here, only Hermit, scorpions and owls.’ He waved his arms theatrically above his head. ‘Hermit welcomes you to windy, windy island where wind is always windy.’

‘Nice to, err … be here,’ Whisker replied, wondering if the Hermit had spent a little too long in the sun – or the wind.

The Hermit gave him a long stare and waved his finger in a circle around his ear.

‘Hermit not cuckoo,’ he laughed. ‘Hermit just muddles words. Hermit not used to visitors. Owls and scorpions not friendly neighbours, no, no.’ He lowered his voice and looked around suspiciously. ‘Owls hunt at night. Must hurry. Hermit’s lair this way.’

He took a step into the undergrowth and beckoned for them to follow. The Captain picked up his sword and gave Whisker a reassuring nod. Together, the two Pie Rats followed the Hermit into the darkness of the forest.

The ground rose steadily upwards as the Hermit marched on, leading the rats further from the lagoon. The sandy dirt of the forest floor became rockier and the pine trees turned to mountain shrubs. Moss-covered boulders dotted the dark landscape, heralding the foothills of the mighty twin mountains. The sound of running water echoed in the distance.

The Hermit stopped next to a small plant, bent down and wrapped his fingers around its thin, green stem. Giving it a sharp tug, a brown onion bulb popped up from the dry earth. He brushed the soil from the onion and continued up the slope, quietly whistling to himself.

The sound of water grew louder and a gurgling brook came into view, meandering past rocks and bushes. Starlight sparkled across its rippling surface. Whisker stopped, hypnotised by its gentle rhythm.

‘River flows from mountain spring,’ the Hermit whispered, moving steadily away from the river. ‘Hermit’s lair on eastern mountain, Mt Moochup. Keep moving. No time to waste.’

Whisker pulled his eyes from the enchanting stream and trailed after him. Soon they were in the open, scrambling up egg-shaped boulders and creeping through crevices on the lower slopes of the mountain. The wind tore through their clothes. Whisker pushed his body close to the rocks, hoping the next icy gust wouldn’t carry him away.

He looked to the air for any sign of owls. The rocky peaks of the mountains spiralled upwards towards the starry heavens and a dark ring of cliffs surrounded the lagoon far below.

The Hermit vanished into a crevice and Whisker and the Captain shuffled after him, entering the onion-scented interior of a small cave.

With a TAP of two stones, a spark flashed in the darkness. Several taps later and the Hermit had managed to start a small fire in the centre of the cave. He threw a bundle of dried grass and sticks onto the fire and chuckled, ‘Owls don’t see smoke on windy nights, no, no. Hermit has roast onions on windy nights, yes, yes.’

He proceeded to gather an armful of small onions from a pile in the corner and handed several to Whisker and the Captain.

‘Onions and pine nuts – island delicacies,’ he said, taking a seat next to the fire. ‘Roast pine nuts for dessert.’

The Hermit peeled an onion and wedged it on the end of a stick. The others watched as he began turning it over the flames.

Whisker generally disliked brown onions. His mother once told him they were packed with essential vitamins, but that hardly compensated for their terrible aftertaste. On this occasion, however, hunger and good manners ensured he gave at least one a try. He figured it would be impolite to ask for dessert before he’d touched his main course.

Hesitantly, he selected the smallest onion from the pile and tore off its outer layers. Following the Hermit’s lead, he skewered the onion on a stick and thrust it into the fire.

The smell of roast onions was surprisingly appetising. Whisker ate three well-cooked onions and several pawfuls of roasted pine nuts before his hunger was satisfied. He leant back against a rock and hoped it was only raw onions that gave the Hermit his terrible breath. A loud oniony burp that popped out of his own mouth quickly convinced him otherwise.

‘It’s a good thing Ruby’s not here,’ he muttered quietly to himself. ‘But then again …’

The Hermit’s ears twitched.

‘Who’s Ruby?’ he asked inquisitively.

‘Ruby is our boatswain,’ the Captain said. ‘She’s also my dear niece and your granddaughter.’

‘Hermit has a granddaughter?’ the Hermit exclaimed.

The Captain nodded. ‘She’s a fine girl, our Ruby. Isn’t she, Whisker?’

Whisker felt his cheeks flushing.

‘Y-yes,’ he stammered.

‘Ruby lost her mother, your daughter, in the plague, along with the rest of her family,’ the Captain explained to the Hermit. ‘Ruby’s been in my crew ever since she was old enough to swing a sword.’

The Hermit’s face darkened. ‘Little Lilith is gone?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ the Captain said. ‘Many things have changed over the years.’

‘Hermit’s wife?’ the Hermit asked.

The Captain grinned. ‘Granny Rat is as angry as ever and very much alive. She’ll be furious to see you, that’s for sure. But I’ve no doubt she’ll welcome you back with open arms.’ His face grew stern. ‘Granny never trusted Rat Bait and often questioned his story. Heaven help the lying scoundrel if she ever tracks him down – if I ever track him down.’

‘Hermit is afraid we’ll never see any of them again,’ the Hermit said gravely. ‘Ships never return to windy, windy island. Hermit and rats stranded forever.’

Whisker’s tail coiled itself around an onion. The Captain gave the Hermit a defiant look, as if accepting a challenge.

‘You don’t know the crew of the Apple Pie,’ he murmured. ‘They’re loyal to the end. If they’re alive, they’ll return. I know it.’

‘Hermit hopes so,’ the Hermit sighed. ‘Hermit once believed Princess Pie would return. Every day he watched. Every day the same: empty horizon.’

‘Except today,’ the Captain said.

‘’Cept today,’ the Hermit repeated. ‘Today more rats marooned …’

The Captain didn’t respond. The Hermit sighed and threw another branch on the fire, its withered leaves bursting into flames. Whisker looked from the Hermit to the Captain, sensing it was going to be a stalemate.

‘So what can we do?’ he asked in a small voice. ‘Surely we can build a raft to get off the island?’

The Hermit brushed the ash off his paws. ‘Hermit built raft, yes, yes. Many years ago. Mighty raft it was – wrecked on Cyclone Sea. Hermit swam back to island.’

‘What about the treasure?’ Whisker asked hopefully. ‘We know it has great power.’

The Hermit shook his head.

‘Treasure still a mystery,’ he replied sadly. ‘Hermit searched for many years on western mountain. Hermit found no clue of secret location.’

Whisker glanced guiltily at the Captain and then turned back to the Hermit.

‘The King’s Key revealed where the treasure was hidden,’ he explained, ‘but I’m afraid it’s lying at bottom of the Treacherous Sea.’

The Hermit’s eyes lit up. ‘Whisker remembers location of treasure?’

‘Yes,’ Whisker replied. ‘The lower slopes of Mt Mobziw. But a location’s not much good without the key. I’m sure we’ll need it to open a door or …’

‘Whisker shows Hermit the map,’ the Hermit cut in. ‘Hermit shows Whisker something – useful.’

‘Oh-ok,’ Whisker said, intrigued.

He reached across for the map canister, drying near the fire and carefully removed its delicate contents. The Hermit shuffled to the back of the cave and pulled out a brown drawstring bag from a crack in the wall. He brought the bag closer to the fire.

‘Hermit’s treasures,’ he said, reaching his paw inside.

He pulled out an ancient compass, a few scraps of faded paper and a rusty metal key. Like a mother handling a new born baby, he gently placed them on a rock.

Whisker cautiously picked up the key and examined it closely. It had three teeth and an oval shaped handle. Its rough, iron surface lacked any painted detail, but its outline was unmistakable. With growing excitement, he placed it over the hole in the map. It was an exact fit.

‘Well I’ll be …’ he marvelled.

‘So you had a key after all, you crafty sea dog,’ the Captain chuckled.

The Hermit winked. ‘Hermit made key from outline on map many years ago. Hermit no fool, no, no. Hermit just bad at solving riddles to locate real key.’

The Captain laughed. ‘That’s why it pays to have a bright young apprentice in your crew.’ He slapped Whisker on the back. ‘This one’s quite the problem solver when he’s not wrestling chameleons or infuriating giant spider crabs.’

The Hermit grinned at Whisker. ‘Many problems for apprentice to solve on windy, windy island, yes, yes. Hermit takes rats to Mt Mobziw – first light. Now rats sleep.’

Almost on cue, Whisker let out a deep yawn. His mind was still racing, but his body longed for rest. It had been a big day – most days were big days with the Pie Rats. Whisker had lost count of how many days he had nearly died, had nearly been eaten or had nearly died while nearly being eaten. Reassuring himself he was at least safe for the night, he curled up next to the fire and, with one last oniony burp, fell fast asleep.