The Island of Destiny (6 page)

Hesitantly, he selected the smallest onion from the pile and tore off its outer layers. Following the Hermit's lead, he skewered the onion on a stick and thrust it into the fire.

The smell of roast onions was surprisingly appetising. Whisker ate three well-cooked onions and several pawfuls of roasted pine nuts before his hunger was satisfied. He leant back against a rock and hoped it was only raw onions that gave the Hermit his terrible breath. A loud oniony burp that popped out of his own mouth quickly convinced him otherwise.

‘It's a good thing Ruby's not here,' he muttered quietly to himself. ‘But then again …'

The Hermit's ears twitched.

‘Who's Ruby?' he asked inquisitively.

‘Ruby is our boatswain,' the Captain said. ‘She's also my dear niece and your granddaughter.'

‘Hermit has a granddaughter?' the Hermit exclaimed.

The Captain nodded. ‘She's a fine girl, our Ruby. Isn't she, Whisker?'

Whisker felt his cheeks flushing.

‘Y-yes,' he stammered.

‘Ruby lost her mother, your daughter, in the plague, along with the rest of her family,' the Captain explained to the Hermit. ‘Ruby's been in my crew ever since she was old enough to swing a sword.'

The Hermit's face darkened. ‘Little Lilith is gone?'

‘Yes, I'm sorry,' the Captain said. ‘Many things have changed over the years.'

‘Hermit's wife?' the Hermit asked.

The Captain grinned. ‘Granny Rat is as angry as ever and very much alive. She'll be furious to see you, that's for sure. But I've no doubt she'll welcome you back with open arms.' His face grew stern. ‘Granny never trusted Rat Bait and often questioned his story. Heaven help the lying scoundrel if she ever tracks him down – if I ever track him down.'

‘Hermit is afraid we'll never see any of them again,' the Hermit said gravely. ‘Ships never return to windy, windy island. Hermit and rats stranded forever.'

Whisker's tail coiled itself around an onion. The Captain gave the Hermit a defiant look, as if accepting a challenge.

‘You don't know the crew of the
Apple Pie
,' he murmured. ‘They're loyal to the end. If they're alive, they'll return. I know it.'

‘Hermit hopes so,' the Hermit sighed. ‘Hermit once believed
Princess Pie
would return. Every day he watched. Every day the same: empty horizon.'

‘Except today,' the Captain said.

‘'Cept today,' the Hermit repeated. ‘Today more rats marooned …'

The Captain didn't respond. The Hermit sighed and threw another branch on the fire, its withered leaves bursting into flames. Whisker looked from the Hermit to the Captain, sensing it was going to be a stalemate.

‘So what can we do?' he asked in a small voice. ‘Surely we can build a raft to get off the island?'

The Hermit brushed the ash off his paws. ‘Hermit built raft, yes, yes. Many years ago. Mighty raft it was – wrecked on Cyclone Sea. Hermit swam back to island.'

‘What about the treasure?' Whisker asked hopefully. ‘We know it has great power.'

The Hermit shook his head.

‘Treasure still a mystery,' he replied sadly. ‘Hermit searched for many years on western mountain. Hermit found no clue of secret location.'

Whisker glanced guiltily at the Captain and then turned back to the Hermit.

‘The King's Key revealed where the treasure was hidden,' he explained, ‘but I'm afraid it's lying at bottom of the Treacherous Sea.'

The Hermit's eyes lit up. ‘Whisker remembers location of treasure?'

‘Yes,' Whisker replied. ‘The lower slopes of Mt Mobziw. But a location's not much good without the key. I'm sure we'll need it to open a door or …'

‘Whisker shows Hermit the map,' the Hermit cut in. ‘Hermit shows Whisker something – useful.'

‘Oh-ok,' Whisker said, intrigued.

He reached across for the map canister, drying near the fire and carefully removed its delicate contents. The Hermit shuffled to the back of the cave and pulled out a brown drawstring bag from a crack in the wall. He brought the bag closer to the fire.

‘Hermit's treasures,' he said, reaching his paw inside.

He pulled out an ancient compass, a few scraps of faded paper and a rusty metal key. Like a mother handling a new born baby, he gently placed them on a rock.

Whisker cautiously picked up the key and examined it closely. It had three teeth and an oval shaped handle. Its rough, iron surface lacked any painted detail, but its outline was unmistakable. With growing excitement, he placed it over the hole in the map. It was an exact fit.

‘Well I'll be …' he marvelled.

‘So you had a key after all, you crafty sea dog,' the Captain chuckled.

The Hermit winked. ‘Hermit made key from outline on map many years ago. Hermit no fool, no, no. Hermit just bad at solving riddles to locate real key.'

The Captain laughed. ‘That's why it pays to have a bright young apprentice in your crew.' He slapped Whisker on the back. ‘This one's quite the problem solver when he's not wrestling chameleons or infuriating giant spider crabs.'

The Hermit grinned at Whisker. ‘Many problems for apprentice to solve on windy, windy island, yes, yes. Hermit takes rats to Mt Mobziw – first light. Now rats sleep.'

Almost on cue, Whisker let out a deep yawn. His mind was still racing, but his body longed for rest. It had been a big day – most days were big days with the Pie Rats. Whisker had lost count of how many days he had nearly died, had nearly been eaten or had nearly died while nearly being eaten. Reassuring himself he was at least safe for the night, he curled up next to the fire and, with one last oniony burp, fell fast asleep.

X Marks the Spot

Dawn was just as windy as the night before. Whisker awoke to the sound of the wind whistling through the narrow entrance to the cave. Through the thin wisps of smoke circling around the smouldering fire, he saw the Hermit shuffling along the wall, munching on a raw onion like it was a juicy apple.

Whisker sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. His troubled dreams had been filled with scenes of sinking ships and drowning rats, but the nightmares faded from his mind when he saw the first rays of the rising sun.

Today we search for the treasure,
he told himself.
Today I find my answer.

He scoffed down a rushed breakfast of cold nuts, politely refusing the raw onion on offer, and set off with the others towards Mt Mobziw. The Hermit had a spring in his step. The Captain had a spring and a slight hobble. Whisker scurried.

They traversed the rough ground, heading west. The land dropped away to the south, exposing the rocky faces of huge boulders. The Rock of Hope, clearly visible on the sandy lip of the lagoon, glowed a rich gold in the morning sun.

Whisker searched the sea for ships. Crashing waves and jagged rocks filled his vision. He could see the Hermit up ahead, staring at the same distant scene, and wondered how many days the marooned rat had spent watching and waiting for a ship to sail into view.

Thousands
, he guessed.
Are we destined to wait for thousands more?

The rats continued marching until they were directly above a stream of water gushing from a hole in the mountainside. The water splashed over the rocks to form a shallow river, twisting its way down the slope towards the ocean.

‘Mountain spring,' the Hermit whispered. ‘Centre of windy, windy island. River runs south to white rock.' He pointed ahead. ‘Mt Mobziw west, Mt Moochup east. Scorpions north, yes, yes. Rats hurry past.'

They continued at a faster pace, Whisker keeping a watchful eye to the north. Scorpions, together with giant spider crabs, were at the top of his list of
creepy critters to avoid at all costs
.

Whisker was by nature a climber. The Hermit, it seemed, was a rock-hopper. He leapt between boulders like they were nothing more than cobblestones on a flat road, perfectly timing his jumps over crevices and small ravines so his pace never altered. He moved so swiftly and silently along the rocks that Whisker and the Captain almost lost sight of him.

After hours of frantic scrambling, the rats began moving higher up the side of the mountain. The terrain transformed from smooth-topped boulders to crumbling black rocks and loose soil. The occasional wind-ravaged pine tree punctuated the bleak landscape.

The Hermit stopped and waited for the others to catch up.

‘Owl territory,' he said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Whisker checks map, yes, yes?'

Whisker added
owls
to his mental list and slid the map from the canister. He held it steady in the wind as the Hermit took the rusty key from his bag.

The Captain used his fingernail to scratch a small X on the lower tooth, replicating the treasure symbol from the original King's Key. The Hermit's eyes grew wide with delight as the Captain moved the key into position over the map.

‘According to these coordinates,' the Captain explained, ‘the treasure should be located halfway along the mountain, just above the line of boulders.' He glanced around at the mountainside. ‘We must be close.'

The Hermit twitched his ears. ‘Not here, no, no. Further west. Hermit knows the way.'

He grabbed the key from the Captain's paw and excitedly raced off up the mountain. Whisker and the Captain were left staring after him.

‘He hasn't changed a bit,' the Captain chuckled to Whisker. ‘Not even the island has slowed him down. He's the same fearless and energetic rat I remember when I was a boy – a little rash and impulsive, mind you, but that comes with the territory.'

Whisker could see the sheer joy on the Captain's face as he revisited his childhood memories – memories he'd suppressed for many years. It seemed a wall of hatred had finally been dissolved.

The Hermit glanced over his shoulder and hooted down to them like an owl. ‘Hurry, hurry. Slow rats are owl's breakfast. Lazy rats are scorpion's tea.'

Whisker stashed the map in his belt and jogged after the Hermit with the Captain laughing by his side.

‘Remind you of anyone?' the Captain asked playfully.

‘I can think of one fearless, energetic and impulsive rat,' Whisker replied. ‘Though she comes with a temper.'

‘An unfortunate family trait,' the Captain sighed. ‘You can thank Granny Rat for that. She's got more angst than Ruby, yours truly and a giant moray eel put together.' He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘On saying that, Granny does make a terrific mashed potato pie when she's in a rage. It's to die for.'

‘Potato pie,' the Hermit moaned from up ahead. ‘What Hermit would give for mashed potato pie.'

Reaching the supposed treasure site, Whisker half expected to find a giant X painted on the side of the mountain. It turned out there was no X, no hidden door and nothing whatsoever to indicate they were remotely close to the treasure.

The Hermit was convinced their location matched the bearing on the map, but after many hours of scraping through dirt and tapping on rocks, he too began to have his doubts.