The Forgotten Map (26 page)

In the light of four candles and two hanging lanterns, Whisker lay on his back, nervously awaiting Pete's fiddly task of stitching up his claw wounds. Covered by an old bed sheet, the operating table was nothing more than the kitchen preparation bench.

Pete stood over him with a needle and thread in one paw and a brown bottle in the other. Whisker's tail anxiously thudded against a leg of the table.

‘Drink this,' Pete said impatiently.

‘What is it?' Whisker asked.

‘Medicine,' Pete replied.

Whisker sniffed the bottle. ‘It doesn't smell like medicine, it smells like treacle.'

Pete frowned. ‘What's wrong with treacle?'

‘It's full of sugar,' Whisker exclaimed.

‘So?' Pete muttered. ‘Sugar gives you energy. And in your state, you need all the energy you can get.'

Whisker rolled his eyes. ‘Treacle's got more sugar than Apple Fizz. And you know what that makes rats do.'

‘It's not the sugar in Apple Fizz that sends rats troppo,' Pete argued, ‘it's the bubbles. And there are definitely no bubbles in this medicine.'

‘But it's not medicine,' Whisker protested. ‘It's treacle.'

Pete stamped his pencil. ‘How would you know? You haven't tried it!'

‘Fine,' Whisker said. ‘I'll prove it to you. If it smells like treacle and looks like treacle, it must be …' he grabbed the bottle and swallowed the entire contents.

‘Ooogh,' he cried. ‘That's not treacle!'

‘I told you,' Pete said smugly. ‘It's medicine.'

‘Are you sure?' Whisker gagged. ‘It tastes worse than one of Fred's mouldy pies!'

‘The worse it tastes, the faster it works,' Pete replied bluntly.

‘Since when?' Whisker said doubtfully. ‘It tastes absolutely horrid and it hasn't done a thing.'

Pete shook his head. ‘Can you feel that?'

‘Feel what?'

‘The needle passing through your skin?'

‘But you haven't started operating yet,' Whisker cried.

‘Yes I have,' Pete grinned. ‘I started the moment you took a swig. You only needed a sip, mind you, but the whole bottle should keep you going for the next couple of days.'

Whisker glanced across at his shoulder. Pete was right. The ship's doctor was busily stitching up his wounds and he didn't feel a thing. In fact, he felt no pain in his body at all. Even his tail hung limply over the side of the table.

He tried wiggling his toes. He couldn't feel them either.

‘Pete?' he asked cautiously. ‘Am I going to be numb for days?'

‘Of course not,' Pete groaned. ‘Don't you know anything about Pie Rat medicine?'

‘No,' Whisker squeaked.

‘The medicine works in two ways,' Pete explained. ‘First it numbs your pain and then it gives you a healing rush of energy. So I'd strongly suggest you shut your trap and let me finish before your heart goes into overdrive.'

Feeling rather anxious about the whole ordeal, Whisker decided to follow Pete's recommendation. He shut his mouth, closed his weary eyes and let the mysterious medicine do its job.

In less than a minute, he was asleep.

Whisker had no idea of how long the operation took. He only remembered the sound of Pete clearing his throat to wake him.

‘Ahem.'

Whisker slowly opened his eyes.

‘Is it over?' he croaked.

Pete looked down at him. ‘I am happy to announce that the operation was a success. There is no permanent damage to your shoulder and you should regain full control of your arm in due course.'

Whisker tried to move. It was no use. His body was still paralysed.

‘What's in that medicine, anyway?' he asked groggily.

‘Mostly treacle,' Pete replied, ‘and a few secret herbs an explorer brought back from a jungle somewhere … I'll need to locate some more. You swallowed the last of my supply.'

With the sound of approaching footsteps, a strong smell of Salamander's Burn Cream filled the air. Horace's face suddenly appeared next to Pete's.

‘How do you feel?' Horace asked.

‘Numb,' Whisker replied. ‘You?'

‘Like a piece of buttered toast.'

‘Delicious,' Whisker said dreamily.

‘Are you hungry?' Horace enquired. ‘Fred's made supper.'

‘I'm a bit stuck right now,' Whisker said. ‘Maybe you can wedge a piece of pie down my throat while I wait for my arms and legs to start working.'

‘Whisker drank the whole bottle,' Pete explained.

‘Way to go, Whisker!' Horace applauded. ‘You're going to be the life of the party. That stuff's better than Apple Fizz.'

‘Err … have you had some, too?' Whisker asked.

‘Yeah, but that was a long time ago,' Horace recalled. ‘I drank two bottles when I lost my paw and I've been buzzing ever since.'

‘Simple Simon, save us,' Pete cried, clomping out of the room. ‘I can't handle two of you.'

Horace continued to stare down at Whisker.

‘What?' Whisker asked. ‘Has Pete stitched my ears together?'

‘No, you frozen fruit cake!' Horace exclaimed. ‘Madam Pearl has agreed to give us the map. It's hidden in Port Abalilly, as we suspected.'

‘Did she tell you?' Whisker asked excitedly.

‘Not exactly,' Horace replied. ‘I overheard her talking to the Captain when I walked past the navigation room. I didn't hear everything, only the last bit when I pressed my ear against the door.'

‘You scoundrel, Horace!'

‘Me?' Horace said with a cheeky grin. ‘That's what ears are for.'

Whisker tried to shake his head. Nothing happened.

‘So how long until we reach Port Abalilly?' he asked.

‘It's about half a night's voyage,' Horace said. ‘We should arrive a few hours before dawn – if we don't run into the Blue Claw.'

On the mention of the Blue Claw, Whisker suddenly remembered the piece of paper in his pocket.

‘Horace,' he gasped. ‘Put your paw into my right pocket and pull out whatever's in there.'

Hesitantly, Horace pulled out the crumpled note.

‘What's this?' he asked.

‘I'm not sure,' Whisker said. ‘Perhaps you should read it.'

Horace unfolded the paper. His singed face contorted into a troubled frown as he read the message aloud.

Horace lowered the letter. ‘What day is it, Whisker?'

‘Thursday,' Whisker replied. ‘I saw it written on Pete's hat.'

Horace's jaw dropped. ‘That means in less than an hour it will be …'

‘Friday,' Whisker gulped, ‘… raid day.'

‘We'll have to abort,' Horace gasped. ‘Three dozen crabs on a prison island is one thing, but sneaking past the entire navy is madness, even for me.'

‘But we can't abort,' Whisker said desperately. ‘As soon as the guards discover Madam Pearl has escaped, they'll send word to Port Abalilly and her shop will be swarming with soldiers.'

Horace looked stumped. ‘So what are we going to do?'

‘We need a third option,' Whisker said boldly. ‘Talk to the Captain. Talk to Madam Pearl. Show them the letter. They'll think of something.'

‘And if they don't?' Horace said.

Whisker felt a tingle at the bottom of his tail as a strange strength began flowing through his veins. He slowly sat up.

‘If they don't, then I will, and no one's going to stop me!'

Horace gave him a sideways glance. ‘Are you sure that's not the medicine talking?'

Whisker didn't have time to respond. The conversation was interrupted by a flurry of footsteps as Ruby burst into the room. She was puffing hard and looked extremely rattled.

‘Both of you … on the deck … now,' she panted. ‘We have a problem.'

‘We know,' Horace exclaimed. ‘Take a look at this letter.'

Ruby glanced down at the crumpled piece of paper and shook her head. ‘Not that problem, you naïve gnat! The problem is …'

BOOM!
A terrifying sound rumbled in the distance.

‘Thunder?' Whisker said puzzled.

Horace turned pale. ‘Not thunder – cannons. I'd know that sound anywhere … We're under attack.'

‘From who?' Whisker gasped, staggering to his feet in confusion. ‘The Blue Claw? Have they found us already?'

‘It's worse than that!' Ruby screamed as a second boom filled the air.

Whisker didn't need any more clues. He knew there was only one thing worse than a fully armed Claw-of-War ship.

‘ALL PAWS ON DECK!' the Captain bellowed, ‘THE CAT FISH ARE ON THE PROWL!'

Flaming Fur-balls

With wide eyes and a wild tail, Whisker bounded onto the deck.

A third boom filled the air, and a blazing meteor rose into the sky from the south-east. Flames writhed and twisted from the projectile, leaving burning embers in a fiery trail behind it. It grew larger and closer. Then all of a sudden the comet dropped from the sky and splashed into the ocean in a hiss of steam.

The Pie Rats breathed a collective sigh of relief – the Cat Fish and their flaming fur-balls were still out of range.

There was a flash of lightning from the distant storm and for a split second, the entire ocean lit up. Whisker saw the unmistakable shimmering silhouette of the
Silver Sardine
racing towards them.

‘We can't out-run them!' Pete yelled from the helm, as another flaming missile hurtled through the sky. ‘They'll be upon us in minutes.'

The Captain frowned. ‘What are our chances in a broadside cannon fight, Horace?'

‘Slim at best,' Horace mumbled. ‘Our pies are more for show than a deadly battle with an armour-plated fish factory. How did the feral felines find us anyway?'

‘I bet it was that dirty rotten Rat Bait,' Pete yelled back.

‘There's no time for guessing games,' the Captain said quickly. ‘We'll have to head west and hope we can reach Sea Shanty Island before the Cat Fish. There's a north-easterly blowing and that should give us a good head start…'