The Forgotten Map (30 page)

Whisker looked around and noticed a drainpipe behind the rubbish bins. He followed it to the ground with his eyes.

‘What about the stormwater drains?' he gasped.

Madam Pearl's face darkened. ‘All pipes lead to the sewer and you don't want to know what's down there.'

Whisker looked back at the drainpipe and this time his eyes followed it upwards.

‘The roof!' he exclaimed. ‘We can all climb.'

‘But what about the luggage?' Mr Tribble muttered.

‘We only need one suitcase,' Whisker answered. ‘And I can manage that with my tail.'

While Whisker stuffed all but the blue suitcase into the bins, Madam Pearl and Mr Tribble scrambled up the drainpipe to the tiled roof of the third floor. Whisker hooked his tail around the handle of the suitcase and clambered after them.

The suitcase only contained a few pairs of pyjamas and the small coin purse and it didn't take long for Whisker to reach his companions on the roof. Cautiously, he leant over the edge and saw a hound in a blue cap and six soldier crabs marching down the centre of the lane.

‘Not so close,' Mr Tribble whispered. ‘It's a long way down.'

Whisker pulled himself back and turned to see Madam Pearl wiping brown boot polish from her white dress.

‘Follow the gutter and turn left at the end of the building,' she mumbled. ‘I'll catch up in a minute. My disguise is ruined.'

Whisker carefully edged along the tiles on four paws, dragging the suitcase behind him. He kept his head bent low, allowing his whiskers to guide him over the topsy-turvy roofline. Halfway along, he peered over the gutter and saw the patrol leaving the lane below. Wondering how far he still had to go, he turned back to the roof and looked up.

A volcano of pure fear erupted in his chest. Directly in front of him, outlined by the moon-lit sky, was the crouching silhouette of Prowler.

Whisker's mouth went dry. His tail went limp. The suitcase slipped from his tail. There was a loud crash in the laneway followed by the tinkle of coins.

But Prowler did not pounce.

Whisker stared, unable to move.
Why doesn't he attack?

As Whisker continued to stare, he realised why. Prowler was different. His belly was rounder, his ears were larger, his tail was shorter and he wasn't wearing a Russian cap. He wasn't Prowler at all. He was a hideous stone gargoyle with two stumpy horns and a protruding forked tongue.

Relief replaced Whisker's fear – but only for a moment. Footsteps echoed from far below. Whisker looked down to see a dark figure with a long tail standing over the broken suitcase.

I'm done for,
Whisker shuddered.
He'll raise the alarm
.

More noises pierced the night air: The distant bark of a hound, the snapping of claws and the scuttle of legs.

Hastily, the dark figure dropped to his knees and scooped up the scattered coins. Seconds later, as the patrol entered the lane, the figure jumped to his feet and sprinted towards a dark rectangle at the base of a building. He reached down, heaved out a metal grate and disappeared headfirst into a hole.

Whisker moved closer to the cover of the stone gargoyle and watched as the hound neared the suitcase. He sniffed its contents before trotting over to the hole in the wall.

‘Who was it?' panted an approaching crab.

‘Thieving sewer rat,' the hound replied. ‘Same as usual. Nickin' suitcases from ol' ladies an' bustin' ‘em open if they're locked. ‘e made off wit' a purse o' gold coins – minus a few ‘e dropped ‘round the lane.'

The crab shook his claws. ‘For the record, he got away with all the coins. Help yourself, men. Finders keepers!'

Whisker shuffled out of sight as the crabs searched for the remainder of the scattered coins.

‘You can thank Fred's old sewer buddy for showing up,' Madam Pearl whispered, drawing level with him. ‘That nosy hound didn't think once to look up here.'

‘I'm sorry,' Whisker apologised. ‘I nearly ruined everything.'

‘Well you didn't, so there's nothing to worry about,' Madam Pearl reassured him. ‘Chin up; we've still got a map to collect.'

Pearl's Antiques was once the grandest shop in the entire port. Now its ornate plaster façade was covered in misspelt graffiti, its windows were smashed and its interior looked like the aftermath of an earthquake.

Whisker swung himself through the window of the top floor and landed with a soft thud on a ragged rug. Mr Tribble followed awkwardly, tripping over a lop-sided footstool and landing face first in a pile of shredded velvet cushions.

Whisker helped him to his feet and they both stared in disbelief at the mess that surrounded them. For a moment, Whisker had a terrible vision of the Forgotten Map lying in tatters under the broken vases and cracked porcelain pie platters strewn around the room.

Madam Pearl looked up from where she sat, clutching a broken string of pearls. A deep frown ran across her brown face.

‘They had no right to do this,' she said angrily. ‘I know it's just … stuff, but they could have at least sold it and –' she looked at Mr Tribble, ‘given the money to an orphanage or something.'

Mr Tribble shook his head. ‘It's an absolute disgrace.'

Whisker gave Madam Pearl a moment to compose herself, then quietly asked, ‘Is the map here?'

Madam Pearl shook her head. ‘No. It's not in here. But it's close. Follow me.'

She stood up and walked over to the spiral staircase in the centre of the room. Taking one last look around her, she dropped the pearls beside a shattered chandelier and descended the stairs.

Every floor they passed was the same – utter destruction. What the Blue Claw hadn't destroyed, they had stolen. The scissor swords, the cheese knives, the human sewing needles were all gone.

The companions reached the bottom of the staircase and Madam Pearl headed towards the serving counter. She moved a broken chair aside and thrust her arm beneath the smashed cash register.

‘It's lucky crabs have claws and not paws,' she whispered. She fumbled around for a few seconds until something went
CLICK
.

‘Marvellous,' she said, regaining some enthusiasm. ‘Stand back, gents.'

Whisker jumped out of the way as the floor he was standing on started to move. Within moments a square hole appeared, revealing a secret flight of stairs.

‘Where does that lead?' Whisker gasped.

‘To the cellar,' Madam Pearl replied, ‘and beyond to the dock. But a battalion of soldier crabs is hardly my
light at the end of the tunnel
.'

Whisker peered down the stairs.

‘So the map is in the cellar?' he said.

‘Gracious, no!' Madam Pearl exclaimed. ‘It's in my other shop.'

‘What other shop?' Whisker and Mr Tribble cried together.

‘The Portside Boutique, of course,' she said, pointing through a shop window. ‘It's just across the road. How else would I know about the summer sale?'

Mr Tribble shrugged.

‘Why didn't you tell us about this earlier?' Whisker said in a disgruntled voice.

‘Because the less you know, the better,' she replied bluntly. ‘No one knows I own that shop. Not even the squirrels who work there. That's the only reason it hasn't been ransacked by the Blue Claw and the only reason your map is still safe. Do you understand?'

Whisker hung his head.

Madam Pearl tried to compose herself. ‘Follow these instructions. Go to the Boutique and ask for the red squirrel named Selma. Tell her the password in return for the map …'

‘But the Boutique won't be open yet,' Mr Tribble broke in.

‘That doesn't matter,' she replied. ‘It's the week of the big sale and the staff will be wide awake and setting up.'

Whisker looked across the street. She was right. A warm glow already emanated from the windows of the Portside Boutique.

Madam Pearl continued, ‘Leave town the way you came. When you get to the bridge, tell the Sergeant I went shopping without you.'

She stepped into the secret stairway and took a deep breath. ‘I'm sorry. I've done all I can to help you, but in light of what we've seen tonight, you'll be much safer on your own.'

Whisker started to protest, ‘But will you be …'

‘Safe?' she replied. ‘Yes, Whisker. I have more than one secret cellar in which I can hide.' She paused. ‘I hope you find everything you're looking for …'

Whisker gave Madam Pearl a small wave as she disappeared into the darkness. With another
CLICK
the floorboards moved back into place and they were on their own.

Whisker raised his paw to the door of the Portside Boutique.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
.

Faint voices drifted from inside, but no one answered.

He tried again.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
.

Still no response.

‘We can't wait here forever,' Mr Tribble said, glancing around the empty street. ‘What if the patrol comes back?'

Whisker knocked a third time.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
.

‘GO AWAY!' cried a shrill voice from behind the door. ‘We don't open ‘til six.'

‘We're here to see Selma,' Whisker said politely.

‘About what?' the voice asked grumpily.

‘A, err … package,' Whisker replied.

There was a pause followed by the sound of sliding bolts. The door opened inwards to reveal the face of a light brown squirrel wearing enormous fake eyelashes.

‘Selma's upstairs,' she said in an agitated voice. ‘Come inside, if you must, and I'll fetch her.'

Whisker and Mr Tribble stepped into the shop and the squirrel bolted the door behind them.

As they waited, Whisker looked around at the rows and rows of summer frocks, high heeled shoes and sale signs filling the ground floor. A plaque next to the staircase read:
1
st
Floor Evening Wear. 2
nd
Floor Cosmetics. 3
rd
Floor Fragrances.

‘Who needs an entire floor for perfume?' he thought aloud.

The brown squirrel returned with a red squirrel wearing even bigger fake eyelashes.

‘Thank you, Tina,' said the red squirrel, gesturing for her colleague to leave. The brown squirrel disappeared up the stairs and the red squirrel turned to Whisker and Mr Tribble.

‘I'm Selma, the store manager. How may I help you?'

Whisker took a deep breath, and in his clearest voice recited: ‘
The map is ready to reveal its secret
.'

Selma's large eyes lit up.

‘Indeed it is,' she replied knowingly. ‘Perhaps I should fetch your package then?'

Mr Tribble nodded anxiously.

‘Wait here one moment,' she said, pulling a small key from her dress. She stepped through a doorway behind the serving counter and disappeared.

Whisker heard a
SWISH
, a small
CLICK
, several
WHIRLS
, a
CREAK
and a
SHUFFLE
. There was a pause and then another
CREAK
, a dull
THUD
, several more
WHIRLS
, a second
CLICK
, and a final
SWISH
. He gave Mr Tribble a vacant look.

‘Combination-key safe,' Mr Tribble murmured, ‘hidden behind a tapestry. We've got one at school for the report cards.'

As Selma walked out carrying a long metal cylinder, Whisker knew the item in her paws was far more important than any report card.

She extended the cylinder towards them, and before he knew what he was doing, Whisker rushed forward like a deranged dog scrambling for a stick.

As his fingers snatched for the object, Mr Tribble's paw shot out and grabbed it first.

Whisker gasped in shock. Mr Tribble stepped back, clutching the cylinder.