The Forgotten Map (12 page)

‘I'm not agreeing with anything,' Whisker said defiantly.

Horace stared back at him with a confident smirk on his face. Whisker wasn't in the mood to argue with a self-proclaimed love god, and tried a different tactic.

‘Look, Horace. You're the hopeless romantic. Maybe you're in love with Ruby?'

Horace didn't take the bait.

‘She's too tall for me,' he said with a dismissive wave of his hook. ‘Besides, I've seen the way she looks at you.'

‘The way she looks at me,' Whisker gasped. ‘Are you kidding? She wants to rip off my head one minute and stuff my insides with squashed sea slugs the next!'

Horace stood up from the table. ‘You're still young, Whisker. In a couple of years you may understand. But then again, I may have it all wrong … Good night, young Casanova.' He raised his hook, did a small pirouette and danced out of the room, blowing kisses.

Whisker sat alone in the empty mess room. He let his head slump into his paws and groaned. He didn't want to admit it, but deep down inside he hoped there was a small bit of truth to what Horace had said.

Sea Shanty Island

From the front of the rowboat, Whisker stared out at the twinkling lights of Sea Shanty Island. The sounds of jolly sea chants, out-of-tune accordions and breaking bottles drifted across the calm water towards him.

The Pie Rats had anchored the
Apple Pie
a few hundred metres from the entrance to the harbour and lowered their small rowboat to take them ashore. As usual, Fred was called upon to use his powerful shoulders to row the companions through the maze of pirate ships, fishing boats and makeshift rafts that filled the harbour.

Whisker turned his attention from the shops that surrounded the dock to the moored vessels around him. He was looking for two boats in particular. One was small and red, the other, long and silver. He saw neither.

The rowboat silently pulled alongside a short jetty. Horace secured the vessel to a barnacle-covered post and the passengers scampered out. No one breathed a word. It was only after they were safely off the jetty and onto the main dock that the Captain finally broke the silence.

‘I suggest we split up and try to blend in with the crowd,' he whispered. He glanced down at the mice, dressed in a mishmash of Horace's old clothing. ‘Stay close to Fred. No one will give you any grief with a bodyguard like him by your side. If you don't mind visiting the Buccaneers' Baking Shop, you'll have a wonderful evening, I'm sure.' The Captain slipped a few gold coins into Fred's pocket. ‘We'll meet back here at midnight. There's a clock tower in the town square if you lose track of time. You'll hear it chime on the hour.'

‘Let's go shopping, Uncle Fred,' Emmie squealed, grabbing hold of Fred's huge, furry paw with her tiny mouse fingers.

As Fred and the mice disappeared down a lane, the Captain turned to Whisker. ‘Pete and I are headed for the post office in the town square. You are more than welcome to join us, or if you would prefer the company of …'

‘I'll take care of him,' Horace volunteered. ‘I'm sure he's seen the inside of a dreary old post office before. I'm off to somewhere far more exciting, the home of high-end pyrotechnics.'

Whisker's eyes lit up. There was never a dull moment with Horace. Ruby abruptly turned on her heel and walked off towards the shops, mumbling, ‘I need to visit Sails n' Things to buy a new roll of string.'

‘Will you be alright on your own, my dear?' the Captain called after her.

‘I'm not on my own,' she smirked, tapping the swords on her belt. ‘I've got my two best friends with me.'

‘Shucks,' Horace sighed dramatically. ‘And I thought we were her two best friends. Come on, Whisker. I'll give you the grand tour.'

The two rats stepped out of the shadows of the dock, into the bright lights of Sea Shanty Boulevard.

‘Oh, how I've missed this place,' Horace reminisced. ‘Where else can you stumble into a back alley tavern overflowing with Hot-Chilli Cola that curls your whiskers and blows steam from your ears? Where else can you squawk like a parrot in a karaoke club and receive a standing ovation? Where else can you dine on dishes of delectable deep sea delights for less than a dime? And where else can you find twenty-four-hour souvenir shops that stock everything from black market belt buckles to pirate sheet music? Nowhere but Sea Shanty Island!'

Whisker felt his tail tingle with excitement.

‘We'd better take care of business first,' Horace said, pointing to a sign on a nearby shop.

‘Gunpowder Galleria,'
Whisker read. ‘Don't you have enough gunpowder already?'

‘I'm not here for gunpowder,' Horace replied, ‘I'm here for dynamite. You never know when you're going to need a big fat stick of dynamite.'

‘You also mentioned pyrotech … something,' Whisker said. ‘What on earth is that?'

‘Ah, shucks,' Horace said, shaking his head. ‘That was supposed to be a surprise. Pyrotechnics are fireworks. I was going to buy some for your apprenticeship graduation.'

‘That's okay,' Whisker replied, trying not to think of the damage Horace could cause with an entire box of fireworks stuffed into a cannon. ‘It's the thought that counts.'

‘Rotten pies to sentimental thoughts,' Horace scoffed. ‘Nothing beats a big bang! I may have spoilt the surprise for you, but we can still catch Pete unawares. Come on, you can help me pick some out.'

Whisker had been grocery shopping, present shopping and even circus costume shopping before, but this was his first explosives shopping experience. There were so many fireworks to choose from. The shelves were filled with rockets and whizzers and hissers and fizzers, all in an assortment of wondrous colours.

After an hour of deliberation, Horace paid for a crate of assorted fireworks and a crate of Deadly Dynamite. The rabbit behind the counter talked him into buying a jar of the Galleria's Gourmet Gunpowder. Whisker enquired if it was simply normal gunpowder in fancy packaging. The rabbit rolled his eyes and threw in a second jar for free.

‘Put this in your pocket,' Horace said, handing Whisker one of the jars. ‘The crates are full and my other pocket is bulging with loose change.'

Whisker looked hesitant.

‘It's perfectly safe,' Horace reassured him. ‘Just don't go and sit on a barbeque.'

Whisker slid the jar into his pocket. ‘Where to now?'

‘It would be safest if we drop – I mean, gently lower these crates into the boat first,' Horace suggested. ‘Unless you'd rather celebrate your graduation early?'

‘Pass,' Whisker replied.

After carefully stowing the crates under the seats of the rowboat, Whisker and Horace went to explore the nightlife of the island.

‘There's a fabulous dessert bar I want to take you to,' Horace said, turning down a street towards the town square. ‘You've got to try their Caramelised Coconut Cream Pie. It's the best pie in the world. But don't tell Fred.'

As the two rats wandered blissfully along the street, two small possums bounded past, nearly bowling them over.

‘Hey, watch it!' Horace yelled, trying to steady himself.

A moment later a whole barnyard of animals came rushing down a laneway towards them. Most of them were pirates, and all of them had terrified looks on their faces.

‘Run for it,' cried a gerbil with a missing ear. ‘They're coming for us!'

With the mass of bodies tearing towards them, Whisker couldn't see who the pursuers were. He could, however, hear a loud scuttling sound coming from the end of the lane. Two words from Horace told him who they were and what he should do.

‘CRABS! RUN!'

Whisker ran.

The throng of escaping pirates twisted and turned down alleyways and lanes, picking up startled onlookers as they went. No one seemed to know why they were being chased, but all of them were guilty of something. Whisker soon lost sight of Horace in the mass of fur, feathers and cabaret costumes around him.

As the crowd rounded a corner, Whisker's foot caught on a raised cobblestone. He stumbled for a few steps, trying to regain his balance, but the sea of frantic bodies drove him down. He desperately flung his paws forward to break his fall as his body crashed to the pavement.

Before he had time to pick himself up, he felt the sharp pain of paws and claws digging into his back as the runners trampled over him. Bruised and battered, Whisker dragged himself towards the closest doorstep as the pirates streamed past. He flattened his body against the wooden door and hoped the crabs would pass without noticing him.

As he pushed back further to avoid a knobbly knee to the nose, he heard a
click
above him as the latch of the door released. The door swung inwards with a stiff
creeeeeeeak
and he tumbled inside.

Without dwelling on his good fortune, he rolled his body to one side and kicked the door shut with his foot. He lay panting on the floor as the muffled sound of scuttling grew louder and then faded down the street. It was only when he was certain the army had passed that he raised his head from the floor and looked around him.

It appeared he had entered through the back door of a large tavern. The ornate gold sign that hung above the long serving bar read:
The Captain's Inn.
Dozens of thirsty pirates and sailors sat on stools along the bar. Others wearing fancy uniforms huddled around small tables in the dark corners of the room, while two bandicoots entertained them with banjos. No one seemed to have noticed Whisker's entrance.

With its velvet cushioned chairs and old-world charm, the Captain's Inn was the grandest tavern Whisker had ever seen. It was a little too fancy for his liking, but he thought Horace might like it …
if the army of soldier crabs hadn't captured him yet.
Whisker quietly stood up and straightened his twisted tail. He must find his friend.

As he took a step towards the door, he caught the strong scent of Apple Fizz tinged with the foul smell of greasy fur. It was definitely time to go.

His trembling fingers closed around the brass door knob, but before he could turn it, he felt a strong paw on his shoulder.

‘Leavin' so soon, li'l capt'n?' rasped a husky voice.

Whisker froze. He dared not look around, but he knew it would be pointless to try to run – the paw's grip was like a vice.

‘Come an' ‘ave a drink with a fellow rat,' the voice croaked.

On hearing these words, Whisker remembered the Pie Rat code:
Your brother is a rat
… Slowly, he turned around to face the stranger.

The rat was slightly taller than Whisker and considerably older. His dull beige fur was mottled with silver hairs and his brown eyes looked bloodshot and weary. He carried some extra weight around his belly, but his arms and shoulders were still broad and strong. His square jaw gave him a distinguished look, even though his tattered captain's hat hung crookedly to one side.

The old rat removed his paw from Whisker's shoulder and wiped it on his faded blue coat before extending it to Whisker in greeting.