The Island of Destiny (12 page)

The Hermit wasted no time in hurling himself onto the fine gravel as if it were nothing more than a child's slippery slide. The others braced themselves for the descent and slid after him.

Rough chunks of rock grazed Whisker's feet, lodging themselves uncomfortably up his trouser legs. The wind blew hard over his left shoulder and he knew he was close to the eastern edge of Mt Moochup.

The slope continued to fall, twisting its way down the mountain. Stinging and sore, Whisker skidded to a halt at a line of jagged rocks. The terrain looked unfamiliar to him, but the scuttling sounds reverberating around the rocks were instantly recognisable.

He froze on the crest of a rock. Below him, an army of scorpions had gathered in the shadows. The shiny black creatures swivelled their bodies in the rats' direction and scurried up the rocks, pincers snapping, tails stabbing.

The rats turned on their heels and ran.

‘Hurry!' the Hermit shouted. ‘Back up the mountain.'

Whisker's tail thrashed against passing rocks as he scrambled up the ever-shifting slope. It wasn't just the scorpions that sent his tail into a frenzy, it was the thought of the Cat Fish, waiting somewhere up ahead.

The Hermit made a detour halfway up the slope.

‘Eastern path,' he panted. ‘Rats escape behind mountain.'

Whisker could only imagine what dangers lay behind the mountain – the map had been drawn from the front and gave him no clues. All he knew was that they wouldn't find the
Silver Sardine
– their last chance of escape.

The path wound its way around the mountain, zigzagging around a multitude of fallen obstacles. Whisker caught glimpses of the ocean through gaps in the wind-swept trees clinging to the mountainside. Each trunk grew almost horizontal in the relentless wind.

As the rats gained altitude, the scorpions dropped by the wayside, but the Hermit continued his frantic pace. The path levelled off and opened out onto an exposed ledge, overlooking the eastern sea. Whisker hadn't realised just how high up he was. The wind raced up the side of steep cliffs, almost lifting him off his feet. Mighty waves savaged the rocks far below.

There was no time for sightseeing. In an instant, Whisker had plunged back into the cover of trees and was darting around a sharp bend.

The mountain path straightened. Up ahead, two cats casually strolled into view. Cleopatra spied the rats before any of them could react. She fixed her green eyes on Whisker and sprang towards him with Master Meow bounding after her.

With panicked squeaks, the rats twisted their tails around and fled the way they had come. Three rats on two cats was a survivable fight, but Siamese Sally was certainly lurking nearby.

The ledge loomed directly in front of them, but from an overhanging branch of a beech oak, a scrawny paw swept through the air.

Anticipating the attack, Whisker ducked beneath Sally's blow. She shrieked in rage and dropped onto the track.

Before Whisker could straighten himself, the Hermit's knobbly toes dug into his back and the grey warrior launched himself high into the air. With a perfectly executed roundhouse kick, he struck Sally in the side of the head.

Sally staggered sideways in a daze and the Captain and the Hermit charged past. Whisker resisted the temptation to punch Sally in the nose and instead wrenched the crimson eye patch from her arm. He stuffed the patch into his pocket and darted onto the ledge as the shadow of Cleopatra appeared beside him.

Head down, Whisker sprinted forward, almost colliding with the two rats, standing frozen in the centre of the ledge.

‘Hurry!' he shouted.

His companions didn't flinch.

Whisker looked up to see Sabre and his snarling henchmen skulking towards them. For the second time in as many days, he was trapped on a ledge.

The cats slowly advanced, three from either side, with Sally swaying dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Whisker hoped the howling wind would blow her gaunt body over the edge, taking Cleopatra with her. With a couple of the Cat Fish gone, his chance of escape would rise from
zero
to
slightly better than zero
in an instant.

Master Meow pulled Sally away from the cliff and Whisker's chance of escape dropped to
less than zero
.

‘Why must you insist on these games?' Sabre hissed, inching closer to the rats. ‘My patience is wearing thin.'

‘Thin like layers of onion?' the Hermit muttered.

Sabre glared at the Hermit and drew his sword. ‘And who might you be?'

The Hermit held his ground but declined to answer.

Sabre snarled in irritation. ‘Regardless of who this insolent onion thrower is, he'll be joining his aromatic companions in the cooking pot if I don't see my map and key quick smart.'

‘Err, there's one small problem,' Whisker squeaked, hoping the truth would set him free. ‘We don't actually have the key.'

Sabre flashed him a look of contempt. ‘Do you really think I'm that stupid? I've heard that excuse ten thousand tiresome times before. We both know perfectly well the key is hidden down your trousers or stuffed in One Eye's hat.'

The Captain removed his hat and gave it a good shake. Nothing came out. The Hermit held out his empty paws. His cloak had no pockets and his small bag was still in the cave.

Whisker considered dropping his trousers, but decided against it when the Cat Fish crew drew their cheese knives and took a collective step closer.

The Captain raised his sword in readiness and the Hermit moved his body into a convoluted fighting pose. Whisker wished he was as confident as the Captain and as courageous as the Hermit, but all he could manage was a backwards shuffle to the edge of the cliff.

Fast running out of options, he wrenched the map canister from his belt and held it over the ocean.

‘I'm warning you, Sabre,' he said, in his most convincing voice. ‘Come any closer and I'll drop it.'

Sabre rolled his eyes.

‘You insult me yet again with another of your predictably tiresome moves, young apprentice,' he scoffed. ‘And to think, I was beginning to think so highly of you. Oh, well. There's no shame in dying as a talentless hack when you were born a pathetic rat.'

Jeering and hissing, the Cat Fish crept even closer.

‘I'm not bluffing,' Whisker cried. ‘I swear I'll drop it.'

Sabre shrugged. ‘Do it. See if I care. After I finish you off, I'll have my crew row around and pluck your precious map from the sea.'

In terror, Whisker shifted his eyes from the map to the ocean far below. He had one last option. Sea spray and frothing waves blurred the jagged rocks at the foot of the cliff. Breakers rolled in from all directions. It was no good – without a parachute, any thought of jumping seemed ludicrous. The map canister would survive the fall, but not a live rat.

Whisker felt the weight of defeat dragging him down. His friends were gone. His family was gone. The treasure was lost.

…
What am I fighting for?
The question drifted into his mind. Struggling for an answer, he let his eyes hover aimlessly over the ocean. Amid the swirling blues and greens of the turbulent sea, he caught a glimpse of something golden.

He blinked.

It can't be
, he thought.

He looked again, in disbelief. There, on the crest of a white-capped wave, was his answer.

Controlling his excitement, he raised his eyes from the ocean and prepared for the performance of his life.

The Royal Gala

Sabre pointed his sword at Whisker, clearly unsettled by the young rat's change of disposition. ‘Don't tell me, you've come up with yet another desperate reason to let you go?'

‘Desperate?' Whisker exclaimed, waving his sword wildly over his head. ‘I'm not desperate. I'm excited!'

‘You're excited to be skewered and grilled?' Siamese Sally asked mockingly.

‘NO!' Whisker shouted, his voice echoing off the rocks. ‘I'm excited about the
ROYAL GALA!'

The Captain's jerked his head in Whisker's direction, awaiting an explanation.

Cleopatra narrowed her emerald eyes. ‘You're on a deserted island. I hardly think there's a function hall waiting for your conniving corpses.'

Whisker shook his head and continued to shout, ‘The
ROYAL GALA'S
not here. It's at my
GRANNY SMITH'S
house. She'll be cooking lots of
RED, DELICIOUS
dishes. And after you six cats release us from this ledge, we're sailing straight there in the Hermit's
TOFFEE
raft.'

The Hermit looked at Whisker, totally confused. The Captain, starting to understand, shuffled backwards, tugging the Hermit's tattered cloak as he went.

‘He's gone mad,' Meow laughed, rolling his glass eye in circles. ‘The onions have pickled his brain.'

‘Rubbish,' Sally hissed, moving closer to Whisker. She studied him suspiciously with lifeless eyes. ‘This isn't a court, little rat. Pleading insanity won't save your wretched, rodent neck.'

Whisker shot a glance over his shoulder and tried to remain confident.

‘We stand as one, united on this precipice,' he roared. ‘You think you have us cornered, but it's not over ‘til the
PINK LADY
sings!'

‘It's
fat
lady, I think you'll find,' Sabre corrected. ‘And I can assure you there are none of those here.'

Cleopatra battered her eyelashes. Sally continued to look skeletally dead. The Hermit, finally getting Whisker's cryptic message, broke from his pose and joined the others at the very edge of the cliff.

‘How long do we need?' the Captain whispered, not taking his eye off Sabre.

‘Twenty seconds,' Whisker guessed. ‘Give or take …'

‘I'll handle it from here,' the Captain muttered.

‘Sabre,' he bellowed. ‘I'll give you to the count of three to lower your cheese knife and retreat, or you'll taste bitter defeat at the hands of my fearless crew.'

The Cat Fish laughed.

‘I'd hardly call those sorry sods standing next to you a crew,' Sabre scoffed. ‘Go on. Count away.'

‘ONE!' the Captain counted. ‘For the pies that came before us.'

The Cat Fish stepped into striking range.

‘TWO! For the pies we have tasted in glory.'

The Cat Fish raised their cheese knives.

‘THREE! For the pies you are about to taste.'

The three rats dropped to the ground in unison. There was an awkward pause. Whisker peered up, hoping the grand finale was still on its way.

‘I take it we don't get any pie?' Sabre sniggered.

The rats' response came as a chorus of mighty
BOOMS
from the ocean far below. Four flying projectiles hurtled from the sea, blasting the Cat Fish backwards and smothering them in sticky red jelly and short-crust pastry.

The three rats kept their noses nestled into the ground as the bombardment of sugary delicacies continued. Sabre and his bewildered crew staggered to their feet but were knocked down by a second and third sea assault.

When the cloud of icing sugar finally settled, the entire Cat Fish crew were left lying on their backs in gelatinous pools of berry-red jelly.

While the Cat Fish experienced the sweet taste of defeat, Whisker and his companions scampered across the ledge on all fours, disappearing down a narrow path. The Hermit couldn't resist scraping a large blob of jelly from Furious Fur's hat on his way past.

‘Jelly tarts,' the Captain mused, as they raced along the cliff top. ‘A little unorthodox for
Pie
Rats, don't you think?'

‘Mmm, Hermit loves tarts, yes, yes,' the Hermit mumbled with his mouth full.

‘I'm more of an apple pie rat, myself,' the Captain joked. ‘
Granny Smith
,
Red Delicious, Pink Lady
… I'll take any variety.' He winked at Whisker.

A broad smile spread across Whisker's face. His favourite pie was right in front of him.