The Trophy of Champions (28 page)

Steadying his stumpy legs, Horace continued running, leaving Whisker flailing in the water.

‘Get the pipsqueak!' Sabre bellowed, tearing after Horace. ‘He's got the ball.'

Baring her fangs, Cleopatra darted off the right wing in pursuit of the rats.

With the attention focused on his teammates, Whisker scrambled out of the puddle, hooked his tail behind him and raced down the deserted right side of the field.

The Cat Fish supporters closest to Whisker tried desperately to grab Sabre's attention, but their voices were overpowered by a deafening chant of ‘HORACE! HORACE!' from the Oakbridge students.

Spurred on by the sound of his own name, Horace increased his strides to a pace that would match any rodent. Unluckily for Horace, his pursuers were cats.

From the safety of his own wing, Whisker saw Cleopatra and Sabre pounce in unison. Horace's tiny body was thrown forward, knocking Fred's legs from under him. Fred landed on Horace and the two of them crumpled to the ground. A moment later, Meow's hefty frame barged Ruby over the sideline and she disappeared into the frenzied crowd.

The loss of his teammates did nothing to slow Whisker's pace. Without faltering, he continued his wide, sweeping run in the direction of the cat's goal.

There was a howl of rage from the middle of the field as Sabre, wrestling the two rats for the ball, suddenly found himself clutching Horace's racket attachment. Covered by a mud-soaked napkin, its circular head had been disguised to look like a brown, rubber Death Ball.

Sabre's hazel eyes burned with rage. He threw the racket at the dazed rats and locked eyes with Whisker.

‘After the apprentice,' he shouted, slashing his claws through the air. ‘He's got the real ball!'

Whisker felt a shot of terror race through his ball-carrying tail. The double decoy had just been discovered and the entire Cat Fish death squad was now after him.

Cleopatra was on his trail in an instant. Furious Fur, his fur standing on end, bounded from the goal in an attempt to cut Whisker off. Behind him, Whisker heard the sound of hurried footsteps and knew that Prowler had recovered from his knock.

GONG –

The grandfather clock began to chime.

Eleven strokes,
Whisker gasped.

GONG –

He looked up to see he was still out of shooting range, even if tail shots were permitted.

GONG –

Gripped by panic, all he could do was run.

GONG –

The clock sounded its fourth chime. Maintaining his steady course, Whisker urged himself forward.

GONG –

The cats drew closer, their claws extended mercilessly.

GONG –

Furious Fur rose up like a shaggy, white monster, preparing to strike.

GONG –

The seventh chime of the clock announced to Whisker that time was almost up. Now was his moment to act.

GONG –

Using the last of his strength, he swung his tail in a wide arc and launched the ball high into the air.

GONG –

The cats skidded to a halt, their eyes raised to the heavens as the ball soared over their heads and across the field to the one player they had dismissed without a thought: Pete.

GONG –

The bony runt of a rat twirled unmarked on his pencil leg and, with his trademark roundhouse kick, sent the ball rocketing through the open mouth of the goal.

Whisker never heard the eleventh chime of the clock. The ear-splitting roar of the rent-a-crowd drowned out every other sound.

Somewhere in the chaotic celebrations a full-time whistle was blown and Chatterbeak announced the Pie Rats as ‘one-nil champions of Death Ball.'

The reception the Pie Rats received befitted a ten-nil performance. As the snarling, protesting cats followed the referee off the field, Pete was thrust onto Fred's shoulders and the bedazzled rat blew kisses to his adoring Athena. Horace held his broken racket attachment aloft like it was the real Trophy of Champions and Whisker found himself being smothered in hugs by Hera and Aphrodite. The two sisters appeared to have forgiven him for his past indiscretions and sang his praises for orchestrating the set play of the century:
The Double Decoy – Centre Steal with Roundhouse Twist.

‘Frankie and Pete, Frankie and Pete,' Whisker kept repeating as he squirmed away to the reserve bench. ‘They're the real heroes.'

Hoping Ruby hadn't seen the sisters' gushing display of affection, Whisker was relieved to spot her on the far side of the field, fending off her own admirers: half a dozen love-struck hamsters all begging for a kiss. With a less-than-subtle response of, ‘You'll get a boot up your backsides, you smelly little brats!' Ruby stomped over to the Captain, still lying rigid on the bench.

Granny Rat and the Hermit stood calmly by his side, apparently unfazed by their son's current state of inactivity. Smudge perched on the Captain's chest like a miniature sentinel, guarding his master.

‘He'll be right as rain, come tomorrow,' Granny Rat said, giving the Captain an affectionate pat on the cheek.

‘Yes, yes,' the Hermit agreed, ‘ready for the Sea Race.'

‘What about the Stealth Raid?' Whisker asked in a whisper. ‘Don't we have to pull that off tonight?'

‘I'm sure you can manage without him,' Granny Rat said reassuringly. ‘My nimble-footed husband has already loaded the cut-outs onto the
Apple Pie
, and the cart of pasties is hiding in the bushes near the fishing jetty in readiness for tonight's delivery. As far as I'm aware, no one suspects a thing. All you have to do is wait until dusk and then proceed with the plan. Touch the trophy and the championship is yours.'

There was a loud wheezing sound as Rat Bait staggered up to the small group, looking extremely rattled. All heads turned to him in surprise.

‘We may have – a wee problem –' he panted.

While he tried to catch his breath, he pointed to the far bank of the dam, where Gustave stood in discussion with five of his sons.

‘I saw several o' Gustave's lads arrivin' at the end o' the game,' he puffed. ‘Their arms were overflowin' with supplies an' they were all talkin' at once ‘bout the Blue Claw.'

‘The Blue Claw,' Ruby gasped, grabbing a scissor sword from under the bench. ‘Are they here?'

‘Not ‘ere,' Rat Bait said, with a shake of his head, ‘but they've been spotted in Two Shillin's Cove, raidin' shops an' searchin' for a wanted felon o' some description. It's only a matter o' time before they extend their search up the hill. From what I could gather, the rabbits grabbed all the supplies they could carry an' raced back to the farm. The dock delivery's been cancelled an' I'd bet a parlour of pasties Gustave's about to make a big announcement.'

‘Announcement?' Whisker said in confusion. ‘What kind of announcement?'

Rat Bait pointed to the cloudless sky. ‘It's a fine day for a sailin' race, don't ye think?'

Rat Bait's prediction was spot on. Within minutes, Baron Gustave moved to the centre of the dam and boomed into his bullhorn. ‘Due to unforeseen circumstances, ze Sea Race vill commence at twelve o'clock today.'

There was a roar of support from the Cat Fish supporters, glad to have something to finally cheer about.

As Whisker studied the faces in the crowd, an intense feeling of panic spread through his body. He counted six of Gustave's sons scattered around the dam. He could hear the marmosets and the Penguin Pirates jabbering away behind him, but Sabre and his carnivorous crew were nowhere in sight.

The Velvet Wave,
Whisker thought in horror.
With half the guards missing and the farm in a frenzy, it's the perfect time to mount a raid.

Growing more anxious by the moment, he paused to reflect on the turn of events. The Pie Rats and Cat Fish were currently tied on two competition points. The cats had two Death Ball victories while the rats had three, edging them ahead for the first time during the games.

With the Trojan Pasty plan now out of the question, the Pie Rats would have to win the Sea Race if the cats pulled off a stealth raid of their own. It seemed highly unlikely the rats could out-sail their competitors, especially with the Captain lying unconscious on a bench.

Whisker wondered if he was simply being paranoid.

The cats are probably lazing under an apple tree, licking their fur,
he reasoned, turning his attention back to Gustave.

‘
…
All participating crews must be assembled on ze wharf in thirty minutes,' the Baron announced. ‘Ships are to remain in a moored position vith sails tightly furled until ze starting signal. Upon leaving ze river, crews vill make zeir vay through ze Crumbling Rock Islands. As zese vaters are currently uncharted, no maps vill be provided.'

Crumbling Rock Islands,
Whisker repeated in his head.
Now why does that name sound so familiar?'

He recalled sailing through the waters as a boy, following the wide Central Channel from southern Aladrya to Freeforia. The route was safe and easy to navigate, and few ships ever strayed into the rocky maze of islands to the north and south of the channel, in fear of being shipwrecked or buried alive by collapsing cliffs. Dangerous and inhospitable, no one had attempted to map the individual islands, and the whole place remained an uncharted mystery.

Although he couldn't quite place it, Whisker knew he had a more recent connection with the islands.

Did I overhear a conversation in the athletes' village?
he thought.
Or was it something the fox said?
Unable to put his finger on it, he returned to Gustave's final instructions.

‘Navigators may set zeir own courses,' the Baron said, ‘but each ship is required to pass two checkpoints. Ze first is a cliff on ze northernmost island and ze second is a marker ship anchored to ze south of ze finish line.'

‘And where exactly is the finish line?' squawked one of the penguins. ‘Don't tell me it's an uncharted location, too.'

‘Oh no, you'll have no trouble finding it,' Gustave grinned. ‘It's none other zan ze desert island from ze Mystery Challenge. Ze first crew to reach its sandy shore and set off a flare vill receive one point, officially ending ze Centenary Games.'

‘A fat lot of good one point will do us,' another penguin grumbled. ‘The Cat Fish and the Pie Rats are the only teams that can still win the Cup.'

‘True,' Gustave considered, ‘but you can still have an impact on vhich team vins.'

‘Great goats gobbling gumboots!' King Marvownion exclaimed, almost losing his crown. ‘A flea-ridden rat on a victory podium is one thing, but there's no way I'm letting those cheating cats claim the trophy. It would be an abomination.' He turned to the Pie Rats. ‘The Royal Court of the Marmosets are at your service.'

Before any of the rats could respond, a fairy penguin stepped forward and saluted them with a scorched flipper.

‘Count us in, too,' he piped. ‘The Cat Fish have used us for target practice one too many times.'

‘Hear, hear,' agreed the rest of his crew. ‘No more barbecued penguins!'

‘Very well,' Pete said cautiously. ‘We have ourselves an alliance. I can't guarantee success, mind you, but with three ships against one, we've at least got a fighting chance.'

The next fifteen minutes rushed by in a blur. There were hurried goodbyes to Mr Tribble and the twins, forced to return to school before the home-time bell
.
Next came a tirade of abuse from Granny Rat about the unkempt state of the
Apple Pie
and, lastly, a heated debate broke out about who should command the ship while the Captain lay concussed in his cabin. Pete won in the end, mainly due to his superior navigational knowledge and the number of six-syllable words he threw into the argument.

With the leadership sorted, the crew got straight to work, preparing the ship for the race.

As Whisker scampered up the rigging to make his final adjustments to the sails, he was relieved to see six cats skulking around the deck of the
Silver Sardine.
Climbing higher, he saw an empty fishing jetty in the distance.

They weren't raiding the Velvet Wave after all,
he thought, relaxing his tail.
Gustave's sons must have moved the ship after the Blue Claw sighting.

He hurried down the rope ladder to join Rat Bait and the rest of the crew, who had gathered around Pete.

‘Our course will be roughly triangular in shape,' Pete explained, scratching three lines on the deck with his pencil leg. ‘We'll circumnavigate the northern group of islands, staying well clear of the cliffs, and then sail back through the Central Channel. It's the longest route, but it's also the safest and we can utilise the kite sail for the downwind sections.'