Читать книгу The Golden Anchor - Cameron Stelzer - Страница 13

A Sticky Situation

Looking around the quivering web, Whisker saw that his companions had all suffered the same fate. Anna’s small body hung beside his, her eyes wide with shock. The folds of her baggy cloak, flattened against the web, gave her the appearance of a giant squashed cockroach. Further to Whisker’s right, Ruby was suspended sideways with her arms angled awkwardly like the hands of a clock. She was trying in vain to reach for her scissor swords, but her arms stuck fast.

Below Ruby, Chatterbeak was stretched across the entire diameter of the web, his feathers caught in countless silky strands. His beak was wide open and overflowing with sticky, broken threads. One of his claws was wrapped around Horace, who dangled upside down with his head hanging low to the ground.

‘Rotten pies to spider’s webs,’ Horace murmured in a daze. ‘And putrid pastries to crash landings …’

Whisker remained silent. His mind was working overtime, assessing their predicament. He didn’t need to be an arachnophobe to know that being stuck in a spider’s web was a bad thing – a very bad thing. Common sense told him that where there were large webs, there were sure to be unpleasantly large spiders.

His eyes darted from left to right, scanning the edges of the web for any signs of eight-legged activity. The web was enormous and he feared that whatever species of spider had woven it would be of giant proportions.

Seeing nothing in his peripheral vision, Whisker shifted his attention to the web’s construction, hoping the combined weight of its captives would send it crashing down. From what he could see, the web was suspended between two pine trees by a sturdy bridging thread and anchored to the ground to form a triangular-shaped frame. Radial threads ran from the edges of the frame to the centre of the web, where a sticky spiral of capture thread rotated outwards. The pristine condition of the web told Whisker that it had been built recently and that it had been built strong.

‘I thought spider’s webs were supposed to be silver,’ Horace said, raising his head to study the structure. ‘From down here, this one looks gold.’

Whisker glanced across at a sunlit strand of silk. It shimmered gold in the morning light.

‘You’re right, Horace,’ he whispered, recalling a spider his mother had once told him about. ‘I think this web was built by a golden orb-weaver.’

‘And what does this golden orb thingy eat?’ Horace asked warily.

‘Whatever is stuck in its web,’ Ruby hissed, struggling in vain to wrench her arms free. ‘Rat, bird, you name it.’

Horace gulped and looked uneasily into the trees. ‘So where is it now?’

‘Don’t know. Don’t want to know,’ Ruby said, continuing her struggle.

‘Perhaps it’s building another web in a far corner of the forest?’ Whisker offered.

‘Or maybe it’s watching us right now through its eight spidery eyes, deciding who to eat first,’ Horace shuddered.

Anna let out a squeal and shut her eyes.

Ruby stopped squirming and glared at Horace. ‘I thought I told you not to spook the poor girl? Now quit making up horror stories and do something useful to get us out of this mess!’

‘Like what?’ Horace asked.

Ruby bobbed her head towards the forest floor. ‘You’re close to the ground. Surely you can unbutton your trousers and wiggle free.’

‘Unbutton my trousers!’ Horace exclaimed, feigning shock. ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’

Ruby rolled her eye. ‘As much as we would all rather be spared the sight of your bare behind, Horace, it just might save us all from certain death by a giant spider. Now get wiggling!’

‘Alright, alright,’ Horace muttered. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

He squirmed around for some time, puffing and panting like he had ants in his pants. Failing to free himself from the sticky thread, he slumped his head down and let out a defeated sigh. ‘It’s hopeless. My pants are too tight, I can’t undo my belt and Chatterbeak’s oversized claw is pinning me to the web.’

‘Cwaw, cwaw,’ Chatterbeak spluttered, his tongue tangled in golden silk. ‘Leab me ouw o’ dis.’

‘No one’s blaming you, Chatterbeak,’ Whisker said, attempting to keep the peace. ‘Now, can anyone twist their –’ He cut himself short as a soft padding sound registered in his ears. He looked around, trying to locate the source of the sound, but all he could hear was the wind whistling faintly through the needles of the trees.

‘What is it?’ Ruby whispered.

‘I-I thought I heard something,’ Whisker said, ‘but –’

Pad, pad, pad. There it was again. The sound of feet creeping over pine needles.

‘Something’s coming,’ Whisker hissed. ‘Don’t move a muscle. Any vibrations in the web will give us away.’

In statue-like silence, the companions stared out from the web, all eyes watching the ground in front of them. There was no sign of movement.

Where is it? Whisker thought, beginning to panic.

The sound grew clearer and Whisker suddenly realised why he couldn’t see anything. The creature wasn’t approaching from the front of the web. It was approaching from behind. In desperation, Whisker tried swivelling his head to see what was behind him, but the sticky threads tightened around his neck and chin, restricting his movement. From his captive position, all he managed to glimpse was a dark shadow out of the corner of his eye.

‘Here it comes,’ he whispered.

Horace gulped loudly. The shadow crept closer, disappearing from Whisker’s field of vision as it reached the base of the web.

There was a pause as a cloud passed over the sun, plunging the forest floor into inky blackness. And then the web began to vibrate.

It’s climbing, Whisker thought in horror.

He heard a soft click and then a high-pitched scream.

‘Eeek! Eeek! It’s on my back! It’s taken my hook! Get it off me! Get it off m –’ Horace’s cries were abruptly cut short.

Whisker felt his heart skip a beat.

There was a moment of terrifying silence, and then the muffled howls of Horace started up again, ‘Arrhh! Arrhh!’

Whisker’s heart began to race. What on earth is happening to him? He looked down but saw nothing but blurry shapes in the darkness. The web vibrated again and Ruby let out a startled hiss. A small scuffling sound ensued, and then Ruby’s muffled voice joined Horace’s stifled cries of protest, ‘Arrhh! Errhh! Arrhh! Errhh!’

Whisker began to understand. His eyes flashed to Anna, barely visible next to him. The whites of her eyes seemed to be floating inside her large, baggy cloak, and a desperate idea came to him.

‘Anna,’ he whispered. ‘Can you reach my scissor sword?’

‘Huh?’ she said.

‘My scissor sword,’ he repeated with urgency. ‘It’s dangling off my belt. Twist your shoulder to your left and slide your arm free. There’s plenty of room in your coat. You can do it. I know you can.’

Anna nodded apprehensively.

‘And hurry,’ Whisker added. ‘We’re about to be cocooned.’

Anna frantically began wiggling her arm inside her sleeve.

Whisker watched her earnestly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as her arm inched further through the loose fabric.

‘That’s it,’ he encouraged. ‘A little to your left. You’re nearly there …’

The fabric stretched and contorted as Anna bent her elbow, trying to squeeze her forearm through the final section. With a sharp tug, Anna’s paw jerked free and her entire arm slipped out of its sleeve. In the same movement, she reached down through the folds of her cloak, lunging for Whisker’s green-handled scissor sword.

Her paw stopped in mid-air. ‘Uh-oh.’

‘What?’ Whisker said, meeting her startled eyes.

Anna pointed to her brother’s waist and Whisker looked down in puzzlement. It took him a moment to comprehend what he was looking at. His bag, his belt and his scissor sword were gone.

‘But-but how?’ he stammered.

The answer revealed itself as a warm breath on the back of his neck. Anna shrieked in warning but Whisker was powerless to react.

There was a tugging, snapping sensation across his throat. He thrashed his head forward and cried out in pain, but his voice was instantly silenced when something thick and suffocating wrapped itself around his mouth.

Struggling not to choke, he felt his head spinning and his eyes glazing over. Then the darkness of the forest engulfed him.

Whisker must have blacked out for several seconds because the next thing he remembered, was staring dazedly across at his sister. The sun had returned and rays of morning light danced playfully across the web. Anna’s mouth had been gagged and her free arm was stuck to the sticky thread. Whisker was relieved to see that she had not been harmed.

A pitiful clucking noise drew his attention from Anna to his companions below. Whisker noted, in surprise, that neither Chatterbeak nor the two rats were encased in cocoons of silk. Ruby and Horace were gagged in a similar fashion to Anna, but the off-white colour of their binds told Whisker that the thick material was not silk from a golden orb-weaver spider.

Strange … he thought, going cross-eyed to see the gag in his own mouth. He ran his tongue over the material, growing even more confused. It wasn’t sticky like silk. It was soft like cotton, its texture reminding him of an old pillowcase or a bedsheet.

What on earth would a spider be doing with bedding? he asked himself.

A faint vibration rippled through the web and Whisker’s ears pricked up. The soft padding sound had returned and he lowered his eyes to the forest floor, scanning the pine needles for clues.

Where are you? he thought, his curiosity growing stronger. What are you …?

A sudden flash of light caught Whisker’s attention and his eyes darted to his left. Beyond the edge of the web, a narrow beam of sunlight reflected off a long, metallic object. Whisker recognised it instantly as his green-handled scissor sword. As it vanished into the shadows, its new owner stepped into the light.

The creature was a small rodent wearing a grey-and-white striped shirt and matching baggy trousers. He carried a bunched-up sheet over one shoulder, secured at the top with a pillowcase to form a makeshift sack. His beady, black eyes darted suspiciously from side to side as he crept, almost silently, across the ground.

Reaching a safe distance from the web, he turned and grinned contemptuously up at his captives, revealing crooked yellow teeth. In the dappled light of the forest, Whisker glimpsed a single, enormous ear protruding from the right side of the rodent’s head. In the place of his left ear, a grey beret sagged limply over his fur.

If Whisker wasn’t gagged and hanging helplessly from a spider’s web, he would have cried out in disbelief.

He had never officially met this grotesque little character, and yet he knew exactly who he was. He had first seen him on Sea Shanty Island, running from a battalion of soldier crabs. And he had seen him again, barely three days ago – this time as a prisoner.

And in a blinding flash of clarity, Whisker understood the true significance of the bedsheet, the pillowcases and the rodent’s convict-like clothing.

He was the gerbil with the missing ear and he had just escaped from Hawk’s View Prison.