Читать книгу The Trophy of Champions - Cameron Stelzer - Страница 10

Familiar Faces

Three rats …

The words echoed through his mind, awakening a memory. For a moment he was somewhere else. He was standing on a sundrenched beach surrounded by three familiar faces. A deep yearning filled his heart as he pictured them standing beside him – his mother, his father, his sister. He wished they were with him now …

With a small sigh, he was back on the dune and the advancing figures began to grow clearer.

The first rat was dressed in a red and black long-sleeve sports top with a golden rat insignia across the chest. On his head, he wore a stately black captain’s hat. He whispered a hasty command to his companions before raising a strange scissor-shaped sword above his head.

The second rat, dressed in a similar sports uniform, grunted a response and aimed a giant fork at the stranger. This rat was huge and hunched and towered above the dune like a misshapen piece of driftwood. His oversized chef’s hat flapped in the wind, his safety pin earring swayed back and forth, and his monstrous left eye stared down like a full moon on a cloudless night.

There was a soft swish of sand as the third rat approached, balancing on the tip of his wooden pencil leg. As his bony frame drew closer, a strange ticking sound resonated from a small object in his paw. He sniffed the air with his long, crooked nose and narrowed his pink albino eyes at the stranger in the cloak.

The stranger looked from one hostile rat to the next and then slowly removed his hood. As the folds of fabric dropped lightly to his shoulders, the unruly fur on the top of his head sprang up like the leaves of a pineapple, revealing his true identity.

The three rats stopped dead in their tracks.

‘Oh my precious paws!’ exclaimed the rat with the pencil leg. ‘It’s you, Whisker. We weren’t expecting you for another twenty minutes.’

‘Hi, Pete,’ Whisker squeaked. ‘Better early than late.’

As the other rats slowly lowered their weapons, Pencil Leg Pete held out a shiny brass pocket watch and pointed to the minute hand.

‘Take a look at your time, young apprentice,’ he said excitedly. ‘No one has completed the Treasure Hunt training course in less than ninety minutes, let alone seventy.’

Before Whisker could reply, the giant rat stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him into the air.

‘Bravo, Whisker,’ he grunted, giving the small rat a crushing bear hug. ‘You’re a champion.’

‘Steady – on – Fred –’ Whisker gasped, struggling for air. ‘I couldn’t have done it without all the unexpected encouragement.’

The rat in the captain’s hat laughed out loud and clapped Pencil Leg Pete on the back. ‘Did you hear that? Encouragement indeed. That’s the politest description of a surprise cannon attack I’ve heard in years.’

‘Aye, Captain,’ Pete said, deadpan. ‘But I’m sure he wouldn’t be as complimentary if he arrived back with half his leg missing.’

Whisker stared down at Pete’s pencil leg and gulped.

‘Don’t worry, Whisker,’ the Captain said in a deep, reassuring voice. ‘I’m sure none of the cannons were actually aimed at you.’

‘You might be right about the cannons,’ Whisker conceded, ‘but the arrows were awfully accurate.’

The Captain let out a long sigh, ‘That sounds like my dear niece, Ruby. Always the perfectionist.’

‘In my defence,’ cried a voice from the field, ‘they weren’t technically arrows and I didn’t actually hit anyone.’

Whisker looked down to see the immaculately presented Ruby Rat striding towards the dune. She carried a silver-coloured bow over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows over the other. Her crimson eye patch framed her stern yet attractive face and her green eye sparkled up at him like an emerald.

Before Whisker knew what was happening, Ruby had plucked a long, slim shaft from her quiver and was aiming it directly at him.

‘Do you have a problem with my archery, apprentice?’ she asked, twitching her fingers on the string.

‘N-no,’ Whisker stammered. ‘I’d just prefer if you pointed that thing somewhere else.’

Ruby shrugged. ‘Sure thing, Whisker.’

Without warning, she spun the bow to her left and released the string. The arrow sped through the air, striking the backside of a short rat staggering out of the grass.

‘Shiver me britches!’ he yelled, tumbling to the ground. ‘We’re under attack. Raise the alarm!’

Ruby ignored the theatrical display and began marching up the dune. She gave Whisker a sly wink as she passed. ‘It’s about time I hit something …’

Whisker glanced uneasily at the small rat, rolling around in the grass.

‘Will Horace be alright …?’ he began.

With an annoyed huff, Ruby pulled another arrow from her quiver and thrust it at Whisker.

‘Hollow-stemmed bulrush,’ she said abruptly. ‘I took the liberty of removing the spiky tip. I doubt it could hurt a fly.’

There was an agitated buzz of wings from the Captain’s shoulder and a large green blowfly raised four tiny fists in the air as if to say, don’t you even try it.

‘Steady on, Smudge,’ the Captain said calmly. ‘I’m sure Ruby has no intention of harming our official mascot.’

Smudge lowered his fists and settled back on his perch. Whisker turned his attention to the bulrush and ran his fingers over its spongy, sausage-shaped end.

‘So much for impenetrable bark,’ he thought aloud. ‘It’s no wonder the arrows simply bounced off.’

‘They can still bruise a backside,’ Hook Hand Horace called out, rubbing his rear end with his golden hook. ‘My sensitive skin is sixteen times softer than gnarled old tree bark.’

Ruby rolled her eye. ‘Save the science for the scientists, Horace.’

‘Rotten pies to scientists!’ Horace shot back. ‘I know what I’m talking about. You can look it up in that dusty old book if you don’t believe me.’

‘Shh,’ the Captain hissed. ‘The Book of Knowledge is not something to be discussed in public.’

The Captain glanced around suspiciously and lowered his voice. ‘I can’t stress to you enough the importance of secrecy when it comes to that item – especially here. The Pirate Cup gathers the vilest of villains and rottenest of rogues together in one location. Regardless of how private your conversations may appear, there is always someone listening. Is that understood?’

‘Aye aye, Captain,’ Horace sighed. ‘I won’t mention you-know-what again.’

‘Good,’ the Captain said. ‘Given the right situation, the information contained in that book could give us a superior tactical advantage over our competitors. It may sound a tad academic, but brains are just as important as brawn in the Pirate Cup. Now, if we have concluded the science lesson, I suggest we get a move on. The opening ceremony commences at midnight tonight, and I am yet to introduce you to our new head coach.’

Pete’s ears pricked up. ‘Head coach? Who? Why wasn’t I consulted about this?’

‘It was a last minute decision,’ the Captain replied flatly, ‘and one made in the best interests of the crew.’

Pete held his ground, ready to mount a challenge.

The Captain let out a troubled groan and tried to explain. ‘As you are aware, our entire campaign had been funded by Madam Pearl, our gracious benefactor. It is also no secret that she expects a winning result. You might assume we can simply sail away with a second place and try our luck elsewhere. But the fact remains that as soon as Madam Pearl’s assistance runs out, we find ourselves stone broke. The Apple Pie is in desperate need of repair, we have a growing number of mouths to feed and, with the entire Aladryan navy breathing down our necks, our future pirating prospects look even slimmer than our bank balance! It pains me to admit it, but the competition prize money may be our sole means of staying afloat.’

‘I hear you. I hear you,’ Pete snorted. ‘We win or we starve. My only hope is that this mysterious coach of yours is some kind of gold-medal guru. I doubt we can win one bloodthirsty event on our own, let alone the entire tournament.’

The Captain managed a wry smile. ‘Let’s just say I’ve enlisted the services of someone highly motivational …’

The return trek through the forest was pleasantly uneventful. Whisker led the march up the dry riverbed, with Ruby and Horace keeping pace beside him. Only a tiny sliver of the moon was visible in the western sky and Horace carried a flaming torch in his hook, illuminating the way.

‘You’re taking this Pirate Cup thing pretty seriously, Whisker,’ Horace panted, struggling to keep up with the energetic rat. ‘I mean, I’ve wanted to win since I was a kid and I know how much is at stake for the Captain, but you’ve taken things to a whole new level. My mind boggles at how much training you can fit into one day.’ He peered across at Ruby and cautiously added, ‘And here I was thinking Little Miss Archery was the competitive one. She’s always got something to prove.’

Lost in her own thoughts, Ruby said nothing. Whisker simply shrugged and increased his pace. Deep down inside he knew that it wasn’t his desire to win the cup that spurred him on. It was the training itself. The long, gruelling days of running, sailing and diving had given him a new focus. Each hour of training had taken his mind off the one thing he was powerless to control: finding his family.

In the rare stillness of the evening, his mind drifted back to the moment he first glimpsed his father’s boat, repaired and restored by Rat Bait after the terrible cyclone. There had been no sign of Whisker’s family when Rat Bait purchased the dilapidated vessel on Drumstick Island and, after much questioning, the only useful information the old rogue could share was: ‘I be buyin’ the boat from a trader. Strange fellow he was, a fox with no name, wearin’ a long black coat …’

As a gesture of goodwill, Rat Bait offered Whisker the restored boat: the Golden Anchor. Whisker resolved that he would only accept the vessel after he had found his family.

In days that followed, the Pie Rats had searched every small island in the Cyclone Sea, following a map from the newly acquired Book of Knowledge. Although the islands were close to where Whisker’s family had disappeared, his heart was never fully in the search. He knew what they would discover before they even started looking.

Empty handed, they had sailed east to Drumstick Island, where Whisker hoped to locate the mysterious fox. To his dismay, the elusive trader had vanished without a trace, leaving no clue as to who he was or where he was headed.

Now, walking through the dark forest on Dagger Island, Whisker’s heart was heavy. He was no closer to finding his parents and sister than he was when the Pie Rats first plucked him from the stormy ocean many weeks earlier.

Refusing to wallow in his own misery, he tried to focus on the days ahead, hoping the thrill of the Centenary Games would somehow fill the void in his heart. Images of cheering spectators, last minute goals and victory parades filled his mind. He even pictured himself holding up the famed Trophy of Champions – a dream shared by Ruby and Horace. But as hard as he tried, the emptiness remained.

‘Whisker?’ Ruby said, breaking his concentration.

‘Yeah,’ he mumbled, his head still in a dark cloud.

‘There’s something I’ve been puzzling over,’ she said softly.

Whisker turned to look at her. In the flickering light of Horace’s torch he could see her staring straight at him, as if reading his thoughts.

‘When we first arrived here,’ she continued, ‘Rat Bait told me that everyone who’s anyone will be at these games.’

‘Everyone?’ he repeated.

‘Well, not technically everyone,’ Horace butted in. ‘I doubt General Thunderclaw and his Blue Claw buddies got an official invite. And Mr Tribble and the twins aren’t coming, not with school starting back in Oakbridge. And it’s too risky for our fugitive sponsor Madam Pearl to make an appearance …’

‘That’s not what I meant, Horace,’ Ruby snapped. ‘Rat Bait was referring to every scoundrel and villain of importance. You know, the kingpins of the smuggling world and the godfathers of piracy.’

‘Not my godfather,’ Horace said. ‘He has a weak bladder and doesn’t travel well … although my Mama, Papa and sisters are coming, and my Papa Niko is a big shot in the Death Ball world – he coached the Freeforian Firetails to three consecutive inter-island championships.’

‘Thank you for that highly relevant information,’ Ruby said sarcastically. ‘I’ll make sure I ask your papa for some little league tips if I run into him.’ Frowning, she turned back to Whisker. ‘Where was I?’

‘Scoundrels and villains,’ Whisker replied.

‘Oh, yes,’ Ruby said, collecting her thoughts. ‘According to Rat Bait, the Pirate Cup doubles as a lucrative business opportunity for underworld figures. Its secret location is the perfect place to cut a deal, plan a heist or –’ she paused for impact, ‘offload a shipment of stolen goods without the authorities knowing.’

‘I’m not quite following you,’ Whisker said quizzically. ‘Is there something on the black market you want to buy?’

Ruby shook her head. ‘It’s not the goods I’m talking about, it’s the shady characters selling them.’

‘Traders,’ Whisker gasped, suddenly understanding.

‘Exactly,’ Ruby said. ‘Items sold during the games often fetch top dollar. When the money is flowing, the traders swoop like vultures. If your nameless fox has something valuable to trade, he’ll make an appearance sooner or later.’

Whisker felt a wave of excitement race up his tail. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Instead of searching the vast oceans for the mysterious trader, all he had to do was wait for the fox to come to him.

‘Oh, one other thing,’ Ruby added. ‘Spectators always spend more money when they’re being entertained.’

‘And how do we do that?’ Horace asked, re-joining the conversation. ‘Comedic routines? Death defying stunts?’

‘That’s easy,’ Ruby grinned. ‘We win in style!’