The Forgotten Map (16 page)

The muffled coughs and groans of the Cat Fish grew louder as they advanced towards him. Whisker took a desperate breath. He had to. Smoke filled his lungs and his head began to spin. In panic, he opened his eyes to stop himself from falling. He could just make out a square of moonlight shining through the haze and knew the window was close.

He struggled on – his eyes watering, his vision blurring, his head growing dizzier. Suddenly, he felt tugging from below and the rope began to swing from side to side.

Cleopatra,
he thought in terror.

The swinging grew more violent and Whisker's left paw slipped from the rope. His right paw and faithful tail held tight. Frantically, he threw his left paw back onto the rope and pulled himself higher. He waited for the rope to swing in the direction of the window, and with a desperate lunge, hurled himself onto the ledge.

It wasn't a great leap and his body began to slide. He clawed at the shattered window pane and scratched frantically for footholds against the wall. As he struggled to hold on, a gust of ocean breeze blew through the open window. With a mighty breath of fresh air, Whisker dragged his body onto the ledge.

As much as he longed to climb through the window and escape, he knew there was one thing he had to do first. Ignoring the hissing from below, he drew Rat Bait's sword from his belt and, with the only sword move he knew, swung it towards the thick rope of the pulley.

Rat Bait's sword was sharp and it sliced through the rope like it was melted chocolate. Whisker had expected at least some resistance and he felt his upper body continuing to spin as the pulley crashed to the floor. He tried to steady himself but it was too late. One moment he was balanced precariously on the ledge, and the next he was plunging out the window towards the darkness below.

Whisker looked down in horror. At first he thought he was headed for a lawn covered with broken shards of glass. But before he crashed to an unfortunate death, he understood what he was looking at: It wasn't glass; it was the gleaming surface of the ocean.

With an awkward splash, Whisker's body plunged into the moonlit sea. The cuts on his paws and feet stung in the salty water, but the sharp pain reminded him he was alive. As his head bobbed out of the water he felt the ocean wash away the poisonous purple smoke from his mouth and eyes.

Treading water, Whisker looked back at the monstrous warehouse. Above its four padlocked doors he could make out a huge sign, flickering in the purple glow of the fading flames within:
Pearl's Imports
. To the left of the warehouse, he saw the silhouette of a three-masted ship in a dry-dock. To his right stretched a long jetty.

Whisker swam towards a nearby ladder. To his relief he saw Rat Bait clambering up the last of its rungs. Whisker gave a low whistle and Rat Bait waved in acknowledgement.

‘What in Jolly Roger's name is happenin' in there?' Rat Bait mumbled as Whisker hauled himself onto the jetty.

‘Gourmet Gunpowder,' Whisker panted.

‘Aye,' Rat Bait said with a nod. ‘I thought I smelled lavender. Gourmet Gunpowder be made for rich landlubbin' ladies, ye know.'

Whisker didn't care who it was made for. It had done its job and he was alive.

‘You left this behind,' he said, handing Rat Bait his scissor sword. ‘It's really sharp.'

‘That it be,' Rat Bait said looking down at the pool of blood around Whisker's foot. ‘An' we'll be needin' it again before the night's out. Unless the cats all be dead?'

‘No,' Whisker replied, shaking his head. ‘They're only stunned. But maybe the purple smoke will poison them?'

Rat Bait picked up several old rags from the jetty and handed one to Whisker.

‘It'd take more than a bit o' smoke to kill a Cat Fish,' he said, wrapping a rag around his injured tail. ‘We'd best make for the harbour before they bash the doors down.'

‘Maybe they'll double back through the alleyway?' Whisker said, bandaging his toe.

‘Let's not find out,' Rat Bait cried, galloping down the jetty.

The rats heard no sounds as they passed the warehouse and the silence made Whisker nervous. The Cat Fish had either passed out in a cloud of purple haze or they were already on their trail.

The lane turned into a street and Whisker began to see lit-up shop windows once more. He knew it wouldn't be long before he reached the harbour where Fred's rowboat was waiting for him. Whisker had almost forgotten the rest of his crew in the chaos and confusion of the Cat Fish attack. He hoped the Blue Claw hadn't captured Horace and dragged him off to a windowless prison where talking and laughing were banned.

Taking a sharp right, Whisker and Rat Bait entered a dimly lit street with a signpost that read
Street O' Supplies
. They hurried down the centre of the road, trying not to look like two drowned rats escaping from a crew of vengeful cats.

Whisker heard the bell of the distant clock tower ringing on the hour and counted the chimes. They reached eleven and then stopped.

As if signalled by the bell, furry arms reached out of nowhere and grabbed Rat Bait's legs. Before Whisker had time to cry out in warning, he felt rough paws grab his own legs and drag him backwards into a drain under the footpath.

He tried to scream but two paws held his mouth shut and his arms and tail were pinned behind his back. He heard Rat Bait thrashing around beside him, and with a dull thud of metal, Rat Bait went silent.

The Waiting Game

Whisker dared not move. He dared not blink. He knew he should be dead. The only explanation he could think of was that the Cat Fish were planning a slow and torturous death as revenge for the Gourmet Gunpowder stunt.

Petrified, he peered up through the gap under the footpath and awaited their next move. He heard a ‘Shhh,' from somewhere in the drain, followed by the sound of footsteps on the street above. His kidnappers pulled him further into the shadows, but he could see enough to know who was approaching: Six furry sets of legs. Some of the legs were limping, some were burnt or singed and one had small chunks of broken clay nestled in its tangled fur.

Whisker's head spun in confusion.
If I'm staring at the Cat Fish
,
then who on earth dragged me into the drain? Soldier crabs don't have paws.

Outside, Sabre began barking orders. ‘Spread out and search the shops, all of you. They must be here somewhere. Are you sure you saw them coming down this street, Prowler?'

‘Positive,' Prowler replied.

‘My tail hurts,' moaned the deep voice of Furious Fur. ‘The rotten rodent burnt every inch of hair off it!' He removed his dirty hat from his fluffy white head and used it to scratch his backside. ‘Oooh. I'm in agony.'

‘Stop your whining, you big Persian kitten,' Cleopatra spat. ‘We've all got something to complain about.'

‘Poor Miss Pretty has a teeny-weeny little scratch,' Sally said sarcastically. ‘Look at me. I've lost half an ear!'

‘The makeover suits you,' Cleopatra replied. ‘It enhances your lifeless look.'

Sally hissed angrily and took a step towards Cleopatra.

‘Ladies, please,' Sabre growled. ‘Save your anger for the rat. That wretched Whisker is mincemeat when we drag him out of hiding.'

Whisker gulped as Furious Fur punched his paws together and the whole crew sniggered in evil anticipation.

‘Check the chemist shop on the corner, Master Meow,' Sabre ordered. ‘And take Fur with you. We're in need of a large box of bandages and I'm in no mood to be paying for them.'

‘Aye aye, Captain,' Master Meow replied, with a roll of his glass eye. ‘I might pick up a few scalpels while I'm there. They're much better for dissecting small pests than a cheese knife.'

Whisker gulped again and hoped that whoever had just kidnapped him had no plans of ransoming him to the Cat Fish.

The cats disappeared into the shops and Whisker felt the paws around his mouth release their grip. He took a deep breath and caught the smells of musty books, strawberries and seven-month-old pies – the unmistakable aromas of Pie Rats. Whisker never imagined being kidnapped could feel so good. All of a sudden he was safe, and he was saved.

‘Sorry about that,' whispered the familiar voice of Horace. ‘There wasn't time to explain.'

‘Indeed not,' came the rich tones of Captain Black Rat. ‘It's a pity your new friend wouldn't stop struggling. He'll have quite a headache when he wakes up.'

‘Serves him right,' Ruby grunted, still pinning Whisker's arms behind his back.

‘Hi there, Ruby,' Whisker said timidly. ‘Would you, err, mind?' Although there was something comforting about her standing so close to him, his arms were beginning to ache.

Ruby roughly released him and snapped, ‘You've got some explaining to do, apprentice! You can start by telling us why you're the most wanted creature on the …'

‘Quiet,' Pete hissed. ‘The cats are on the street again.'

The rats shrank back into the shadows as the Cat Fish congregated in the middle of the street with annoyed grunts of ‘They're not in there … nothing to report,' and ‘who used all the bandages?' After brief murmurings, the cats dispersed into shops further down the street and the night grew quiet again.

‘What's the plan, Captain?' Pete whispered when it was safe to speak again.

‘We can't do anything until these cursed cats have gone,' the Captain replied. ‘Then we'll have to wait for the others to arrive.'

‘You're not all here?' Whisker asked, unable to see anyone in the darkness.

‘No,' Pete grunted. ‘Fred and the mice are still out shopping. We couldn't find them after the crab commotion in the town square.'

‘The Blue Claw arrested the gerbil with the missing ear,' Horace explained. ‘I climbed onto a shop awning after you disappeared and watched the whole thing. He had a compass with the Governor's seal on it and they dragged him off to their warship …' He stopped mid-sentence.

Whisker peered out and saw three white poodles in matching blue sailor's outfits strolling down the centre of the street. Cleopatra, Sally and Prowler wandered out from different shops and casually followed the dogs into Sea Shanty Boulevard. Furious Fur burst open the doors of a smoked fish shop and bounded after them with a small tail dangling from his mouth. That left just two Cat Fish in the street: Master Meow and Sabre.

As Whisker watched, four more sets of legs walked into view and crossed to the opposite side of the road. The largest figure carried a bright orange tray filled with baking supplies. The three smaller creatures pointed at decorations in the windows.

‘Oh my precious paws,' Pete groaned. ‘It's Fred and the mice.'

‘We've got to warn them,' Horace whispered. ‘Sabre's certain to recognise Fred.'

‘Be still,' the Captain said calmly. ‘They are in no danger.'

Whisker heard Ruby draw her swords and wondered if he should borrow Rat Bait's weapon again.
Not a good idea,
he told himself, wiggling his bandaged toe.

The Pie Rats watched with bated breath as Fred and the mice opened the door to the last shop on the street, Salamander's Splendid Supplies, and stepped inside
.

Pete gave a sigh of relief. ‘That will keep them occupied for a while. It would take an hour just to browse one level and the shop has two.'

Whisker hoped he was right. Fred's attention span was far shorter than Pete's.

A minute later, the skulking bodies of Sabre and Master Meow emerged from a nearby building. Instead of following their crew into Sea Shanty Boulevard, the two cats silently opened the door to Salamander's Splendid Supplies and slipped into the shop.

Whisker gasped in horror as the door closed behind them.

‘This changes nothing,' the Captain said, placing a comforting paw on Whisker's shoulder. ‘An attack on Fred or the mice will serve Sabre no purpose.'

‘So what are we going to do?' Horace asked fearfully.

‘We're going to do what's smart,' the Captain replied. ‘We wait until Sabre exits the shop, or attack if we hear noises. Fred is a match for any cat and he won't go down without a fight.'

As usual, the Captain's word was final and the five rats waited, with only the wheezing snores of Rat Bait to break the silence.

As seconds turned to minutes, Whisker began to feel ill. It wasn't because he had inhaled a cloud of noxious purple smoke that evening, nor because he had lost a gallon of blood from his toe, it was because Fred and the mice were in grave danger and it was entirely his fault.

‘They've been in there too long,' Pete whispered, as the eerie silence continued. ‘Sabre could have searched the shop twice by now and he's got Meow to help.'

‘Two more minutes,' the Captain said. ‘And then we go in.'

It was the longest two minutes of Whisker's life, and when it was over, nothing had changed.