Читать книгу The Trophy of Champions - Cameron Stelzer - Страница 11

Suitcases

The athletes’ village of the 25th Pirate Cup was a hive of activity. Teepees, tents and primitive bark huts covered almost every inch of the grassy clearing. Dozens of small iron braziers burned freely, spreading a warm orange glow over the entire campsite. Feathered, furred and scaly creatures bustled to and fro in the firelight, polishing weapons and adding the final touches to their team uniforms.

Doubling as a spectators’ resort, the village had it all: souvenir stands, food stalls, betting parlours and the glorious Champions Tavern. Covered by a huge canvas roof, the tavern was the social heart of the games. Long planks of freshly-cut timber, raised on tree stumps, ran the entire length of the expanse to form enormous tabletops. Huge barrels of Apple Fizz, Hot Chilli Cola and Blackberry Surprise lined the back wall, waiting for thirsty competitors to flood in after a gruelling day’s events.

Situated on the western side of the island, a short walk from the marina berths, the village provided easy access to the nearby waterhole and the outlying Death Ball arena. Further to the south, a cleared strip of land served as the cannon firing range.

Whisker arrived back at the bustling village to see dozens of noisy spectators pouring through a ticket booth. His eyes darted from animal to animal, hoping for a glimpse of orange fur or a flash of black fabric.

Be patient, he told himself. Your trader will come.

‘Has your mother turned up with our spare uniforms yet, Horace?’ the Captain asked, lowering a small map of the island and peering around the crowd.

‘Not yet, Captain,’ Horace squeaked, trying to blow out his torch without singeing his whiskers. ‘She’s arriving on the last ferry from Freeforia.’ He raised his flaming torch and looked in the direction of the marina. ‘I think they’ve just docked. I recognise some of the …’

With a loud CRACKLE, Horace’s whiskers caught alight. He threw his hook in the air and let out a panicked ‘SQUEAK!’

Fred gave the torch an enormous puff, extinguishing the flames and sending Horace’s oversized purple hat flying through the open window of a tent.

There was a terrible screech from inside and a wrinkly old rat poked her head through the doorway. Horace’s hat sat sideways across her head.

‘Which one of you despicable, low-life drongos threw this lice-infested hat at me?’ she yelled, throwing the hat to the ground.

‘It was the wind,’ Horace coughed through the cloud of smoke. ‘A big gust of wind.’

The old rat glared at Horace, unconvinced.

The Captain took a hasty step forward before things got out of control.

‘I think a few introductions are in order,’ he said, helping the furious old rat out of the tent. ‘Crew, may I present to you Granny Rat, my beloved mother and your new head coach.’

The unexpected announcement caught the crew by surprise. Horace’s jaw dropped open, Whisker’s tail went into a spasm and Pete almost broke a lead. Fred, in his usual gentle manner, began a polite round of applause. Granny Rat ignored all four of them and took a step towards Ruby.

Ruby crossed her arms and scowled, clearly displeased with her uncle’s surprise choice of coach.

‘And how’s my favourite granddaughter?’ Granny Rat asked, brushing a fleck of dust off Ruby’s scarlet vest.

‘Only granddaughter,’ Ruby corrected, gruffly.

‘Yes, well, it’s good to find you in a presentable state for a change,’ Granny Rat said, ignoring Ruby’s hostile demeanour. ‘I may have failed in preventing you from becoming a lawless pirate, but at least I gave you a firm grounding in how to be a stylish one.’

‘My cabin’s not filled with pretty little skull-and-cross-bones dresses if that’s what you’re implying,’ Ruby huffed.

‘No,’ Granny Rat murmured, locking eyes with her headstrong granddaughter. ‘That would be too much to expect …’ She sighed to herself then resumed her small talk as if the two rats were best friends. ‘So, have you met any respectable cabin boys yet?’

Ruby mumbled something inaudible and Whisker looked awkwardly at his toes.

‘Chin up, Sonny,’ Granny Rat snapped, whipping her head in his direction. ‘You won’t win the Pirate Cup staring at the ground.’

Startled, Whisker leapt to attention like a soldier on parade. Granny Rat hobbled over to him with an expression that was anything but granny-like. Her ageing body was slight and frail, but her mind was sharper than a razor. It wasn’t hard for Whisker to see why she’d been recruited as the head coach.

What Granny Rat wants, Granny Rat gets, he thought to himself.

‘You must be the new apprentice,’ she said, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘Wafer or whatever your name is.’

‘It’s Whisker, actually,’ Whisker replied.

‘Well, Wafer,’ she continued, ‘I’ve heard you’re quite the adventurer. My dear fool of a husband, the Hermit, hasn’t stopped gabbling on about you since he returned from his island hiatus. From what I’ve deciphered from his ramblings, you’ve already passed four apprenticeship tests and are on track to becoming a capable young Pie Rat. I personally can’t see any of that by looking at you and you’re yet to pass the all-important Pie Rat Sailing Test, but if you combed your fur and learnt to control that fidgeting tail of yours, you might just win us a medal.’

She leant closer to Whisker and whispered with minty breath, ‘I’ll have you know that this isn’t the first time I’ve coached a team in the Pirate Cup, but unlike my previous team’s pathetic performance, I intend to leave these games as a victor. Understand?’

‘Yes, coach,’ Whisker replied, straightening his messy fringe with his trembling tail. ‘I won’t let you down.’

Granny Rat relaxed a few wrinkles and turned to the hulking figure of Fred and the miniscule body of Horace.

‘As for you two …’ she began.

While the newly appointed head coach gave Horace and Fred a pep talk on personal hygiene and team etiquette, a wiry rat wearing a baggy tracksuit approached the tent. He dropped two large suitcases on the ground and crumpled over in exhaustion.

‘Hermit not used to girls’ suitcases, no, no,’ he panted. ‘Girls bring half a house with them.’

‘Don’t ye be complainin’,’ puffed a portly rat behind him, carrying an even larger suitcase. ‘Me case be three times the size o’ yers.’ He straightened his back and began fanning himself with his tattered blue captain’s hat.

‘I’m too old to be carryin’ damsel’s bags, especially with me injury,’ he said, pointing to a large, purple circle around his left eye. ‘This bruise be growin’ bigger by the minute –’

Before he could continue, there were several high-pitched squeals from a nearby ticket booth.

‘Over there,’ cried an excited voice. ‘It’s Horace … near the tent.’

‘Are you sure?’ shrilled another. ‘He looks shorter.’

‘It’s him alright,’ exclaimed a third. ‘Look at those legs. He always was the runt of the litter!’

Horace stuck his head in his hook and whispered, ‘Save me, Whisker. I’m trapped between a maniac coach who wants to bathe me in bleach and three squealing sisters who think I’m a suckling pig.’

As the three overdressed rats pranced towards the pile of suitcases, Whisker wondered if he was looking at the right sisters. Each girl was tall, slender and elegantly presented – a stark contrast to Horace’s stocky frame and ill-fitting pirate attire. With fine features and perfectly straight teeth, the sisters could easily be mistaken for fashion models or pageant queens.

The tallest of the three rats addressed Horace in a patronising tone. ‘Hello, big brother. We almost didn’t recognise you. It’s been such a long time …’

‘Hi, Hera,’ Horace replied, gazing up at her. ‘Still growing I see.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said with a bored shrug. ‘Or perhaps you’re just shrinking –’

Horace shot Whisker a look that said, see what I mean.

The second sister lowered the novel she was reading and gave Whisker a flirtatious wink through a pair of red spectacles.

‘So, Brother,’ she said, not taking her eyes off Whisker, ‘when are you going to introduce us to your handsome friend?’

‘Oh,’ Horace said. ‘Of course, Athena. How remiss of me.’ He cleared his throat and waved his hook in a circle around his companion. ‘This, my dear sisters, is Whisker, master escape artist and apprentice extraordinaire.’

The three girls batted their eyelashes and curtseyed in unison. ‘Hi, Whisker.’

Whisker suddenly felt like a deer in lamplights. His tail coiled around his leg. Death-defying escapes were one thing, but girls had never been one of his strong points.

Horace continued, ‘And these are my three sisters, Hera, Athena and Aphrodite – equally famous for their beauty as they are for their bickering.’

‘Bickering?’ exclaimed the youngest and prettiest rat, almost dropping her small pocket mirror. ‘Since when? Everyone knows I’m perfectly agreeable all of the time …’

‘Put a sock in it, Aphrodite,’ Hera broke in. ‘You and Athena spend more time arguing than you do looking in the mirror. Now, if you simply learnt to do what you were told …’

As the sisters continued their petty quarrelling, an extremely short rat, wearing a Pie Rat supporter’s cap, staggered into view. He carried a suitcase and was clearly struggling to keep it from dragging on the ground. A plump, jolly-faced rat in a golden shawl walked beside him, clutching a basket of fresh chillies. When she saw Horace, she immediately dropped her basket and rushed over to him, smothering him in hugs and kisses.

‘My darling Horace,’ she laughed in a rich, velvety accent. ‘It is so good to see you.’

‘You too, Mama Kolina,’ Horace said warmly, hugging her back. ‘Look, here’s my friend, Whisker.’

‘Ah, Whisker,’ Mama Kolina exclaimed, releasing Horace and throwing her arms around the startled onlooker.

Mama Kolina kissed Whisker on both cheeks and then placed her paws on his shoulders.

‘You need anything, you ask Mama Kolina,’ she said with a wide grin. ‘I cook chilli pies, I mend uniforms, I run errands, I polish boots …’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Horace said, his ears turning red with embarrassment. ‘He gets the idea.’

Horace directed Whisker over to his father, still struggling with the suitcase.

‘And this is my Papa Niko,’ Horace said proudly.

Papa Niko lowered his bags and shook Whisker’s paw.

‘That’s a mighty strong striker’s grip you’ve got there,’ he said, clutching Whisker’s right arm. ‘I take it you’ve played some Death Ball?’

‘A little,’ Whisker replied.

‘It’s a great game, Death Ball,’ Papa Niko said, with a broad smile. ‘Why, it was just the other day I was talking to Frankie Belorio about that very thing.’

‘Frankie Belorio?’ Whisker said, trying to place the name.

‘You know,’ Papa Niko went on. ‘Frankie the flame, the Big B, Super Slammer of ’86, the fastest Bilby in the Aladryan league, world record holder for the most goals scored in consecutive games …’

‘Yes, of course,’ Whisker said, still drawing a blank, ‘him.’

‘Do you want his autograph?’ Papa Niko asked. ‘I can get it for you – no sweat. I know he’s a big celebrity and all but he’s on a promotional tour in Two Shillings Cove, not far from here, and he owes me a favour.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ Whisker mumbled.

‘Speaking of all things Frankie,’ Papa Niko continued, ‘I’ve got an inside scoop – straight from the Bilby’s mouth. I’m yet to learn the details, but Frankie’s working on a new set play for the winter season.’ He beckoned for Whisker and Horace to move closer and whispered, ‘It’s called the Double Decoy – Centre Steal. Pretty amazing, hey? You should see his set plays from last season – unbelievable! I’ll show you sometime. When’s your next training session?’

‘Err … I’m not exactly sure,’ Whisker replied, ‘but right now we need to get ready for the opening ceremony.’

‘Of course you do,’ Papa Niko laughed. ‘Hey, that reminds me, I saw some of the other teams down at the marina – big strong brutes, all of them. Boy oh boy, it’s going to be a fierce competition.’