The Forgotten Map (21 page)

‘Cherry virus, my furry rear end,' Horace whispered to Whisker. ‘And they say pirates are the dishonest lot …'

As the barrels were unloaded for inspection, Mr Tribble cautiously approach the Sergeant with a letter in his paws.

‘What's this, mouse?' the Sergeant snapped.

‘An official letter from the Governor,' Mr Tribble answered in a timid voice.

Whisker glanced across at the letter. Sure enough, it had the Governor's signature at the bottom, next to a gold banana. The letter looked authentic enough – Whisker just hoped the Sergeant didn't have his own copy of the Pirate Cup poster or he may recognise the banana.

The Sergeant scratched his shell and tapped a couple of legs against the wooden dock.

‘Where is this cart?' he asked.

Mr Tribble pointed to the back of the ship.

‘It looks heavy,' the Sergeant grumbled, scuttling up the gangplank for a closer look.

‘LISTEN UP, ALL ABLE-BODIED SEAMEN!' he shouted. ‘I need several strong volunteers to unload this cart, reload it and then drag it up the hill. Is that understood?'

The entire crew ignored the request and continued unloading their barrels.

‘Well?' the Sergeant huffed, grabbing one of the passing guinea pigs with his claw. ‘Did you hear me or not?'

‘I heard you alright,' the annoyed guinea pig replied. ‘But you won't get me to volunteer, or anyone else for that matter. It's against the Wharf Union's regulations. If it's official government business, it's your responsibility.'

‘But,' the Sergeant croaked, ‘my crabs don't have time for this. We're understaffed as it is and it will be dark shortly.'

‘And rain is on the way,' Mr Tribble added, pointing to the black clouds gathering off the coast of Aladrya. ‘The Governor would be most upset if his books sat out here and got drenched. You could take them straight up to the prison in the cart. It would be nothing for a few strong soldiers.'

‘Humph,' the Sergeant puffed, scuttling down the plank. ‘It seems I have no alternative.' He thrust the letter at Mr Tribble. ‘Give the letter to the Gatekeeper and he can inspect the contents himself if he desires.'

‘As you wish,' Mr Tribble said with a bow.

It took eight crabs to get the cart off the boat and twelve to push it up the hill. With most of the crabs assigned to cart duty, the dock inspection was fast tracked and Whisker was soon undertaking the awkward process of pushing barrels up the rough path to the prison fortress.

‘Books shouldn't be this heavy,' Whisker heard one of the crabs complaining as he overtook the cart with his barrel.

The path flattened out towards the top of the hill, and Whisker paused to catch his breath. As expected, the prison gates were wide open. Crabs scurried around inspecting the contents of open barrels before rolling them into the courtyard beyond. Whisker turned to admire the glorious sunset as he waited for Horace and Ruby. The last rays of the fading summer sun sparkled in the west and storm clouds to the east were bathed in a warm orange light. Where distant rain had not yet broken from the clouds, the sun-drenched cliffs of Aladrya formed a golden rim around the darkening ocean.

He glanced to the north. It didn't take long to locate what he was looking for: the blurry speck of a distant ship. Its appearance was a comfort, but it also made him nervous. He hoped the activity on the island distracted other watching eyes.

‘Are you ready?' Horace puffed, catching up with Whisker.

‘Of course,' Whisker replied in a half-convincing voice.

He looked warily over his shoulder to see Ruby a few steps behind him.

‘Just follow the plan,' she instructed. ‘Keep pushing and don't stop. When the time comes, follow Horace's lead.'

‘Right,' Whisker gulped. ‘This had better work.'

Side by side, Whisker and Horace bumped their barrels towards the prison entrance. The huge gatehouse loomed in front of them like a hungry monster. Sharp points of the portcullis hung down like fangs from the roof of its snarling mouth, inviting its prey to enter.

Whisker took one last look at the setting sun and, with a nod from Horace, began to run. The crabs to their left were too busy examining barrels to notice Whisker and Horace speeding past them.

As the prison grew closer, Whisker's barrel hit a rock and veered awkwardly to one side.

‘Hold steady,' Horace hissed.

Whisker steadied himself and drew level with the gatehouse. Maintaining his pace, he passed through the open doors. The next moment, the portcullis was right above him and he was hurtling through the narrow passageway towards the courtyard.

He'd almost reached the grassy space when his vision was blocked by a snapping silhouette.

‘STOP!' boomed a panicked voice.

But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

Whisker's barrel bounded into the approaching Gatekeeper, sending him flying. The barrel spun uncontrollably into Horace's barrel, and ricocheted off the wall, knocking Whisker and Horace over like two pins in a bowling alley.

Whisker was used to being thrown to the ground, and bounced back onto his feet in an instant. Horace was not so fortunate. A barrel landed on top of him, breaking on impact. He tried to move, but he was pinned to the ground under a pile of splintered wood and sesame seeds.

‘Can't breathe … need air,' he moaned.

Before Whisker could do anything, he was surrounded by a sea of angry crustaceans.

Follow Horace's lead,
he repeated in his mind. Horace was clearly not doing anything, so Whisker did the same and stood perfectly still. In front of him, the Gatekeeper lay on his back, waving eight legs frantically in the air.

‘WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?' he fumed.

‘We're new …' Horace wheezed, spitting out sesame seeds as he spoke. ‘We didn't realise … the barrels picked up so much speed on the flat …'

‘YOU FAILED TO REALISE A FEW THINGS!' the Gatekeeper roared, as the soldiers turned him right-side up again.

‘We're terribly sorry, your crabbiness …' Horace gasped deliriously. ‘Maybe you should invest in some speed bumps or something … A couple of old shells would work … Just clean out the rotten crab meat first …'

‘HOW DARE YOU – YOU – MISERABLE MOUSE!' the Gatekeeper shrieked in hysterics. ‘Don't you know you are inside the walls of a prison?'

‘Where?' Horace mumbled with flickering eyes. ‘I'm feeling a little light-headed at present … Do you think I could have some crab cakes with that order?'

‘NO, YOU MAY NOT!' the Gatekeeper bellowed. ‘You are inside an Aladryan prison, not a takeaway shop, and crimes committed inside a prison carry an automatic life sentence.'

‘Well, it wasn't my barrel that ran you over …' Horace panted. ‘It was his …'

He twitched his head in the direction of Whisker and promptly passed out.

Prisoners

There was nothing left for Whisker to say. As usual, Horace had said everything.

‘Take them both to the holding cell,' the Gatekeeper ordered. ‘I'll need witness statements from all crabs present. I want them to pay for this. Who do they think they are?'

‘They're my friends and you can't lock them up for one little accident,' came a reply from behind the soldiers.

‘Who said that?' the Gatekeeper snapped, spinning around to face the portcullis.

‘Another mouse,' snorted one of the soldiers.

Whisker looked up to see Ruby standing between the two open doors.

‘Get her out of here,' the Gatekeeper said impatiently. ‘I don't have time for this.'

Two of the guards grabbed Ruby and dragged her, kicking and screaming, out of the prison. In the commotion, Whisker saw a long golden object slip from her coat and clang noisily to the ground.

Ruby stopped howling and the soldiers stared at the object. The closest crab picked it up.

‘Gatekeeper,' he said. ‘Isn't this a standard issue government telescope? It's got the official seal on it.' He tapped an etched banana symbol with his claw and the Gatekeeper moved closer.

‘You little thief,' the Gatekeeper hissed. ‘It seems you'll be joining your friends in the prison after all … Whoops. I tell a lie. You won't actually be joining them. You're a lady, and we have somewhere special set aside for ladies who can't keep their thieving paws to themselves. I doubt you will ever see your friends again.'

Whisker met Ruby's eye and she looked back at him with her usual stone-cold expression.

‘It's the western tower for you,' the Gatekeeper ordered, ‘and there's not a shred of paperwork to be done. This telescope is all the evidence we need.'

Ruby was pushed into the prison and disappeared from view. Speechless, Whisker continued staring after her.

‘Move it,' grunted a soldier, giving Whisker a sharp jab in the back.

Surrounded by guards, Whisker was led through the courtyard and into the eastern tower. Horace's unconscious body was dragged beside him, leaving a trail of sesame seeds on the grass. Whisker hung his head sombrely and made no brave attempt to escape. Even his tail did what it was told.

Inside the tower, Horace was dropped roughly onto the floor of the holding cell – minus his detachable hook and Whisker was thrown in behind. A metal gate was swung closed and locked with a key. The Gatekeeper led a procession of angry crabs across the corridor into a room marked
Clerk's Office.

Peering through the bars of the gate, Whisker saw the dungeon staircase to the left of the office. Beside the staircase stood a small table containing a lit candle, an opened letter and the confiscated items.

The door to the clerk's office was ajar and Whisker listened to the ruckus of a dozen crabs speaking at once.

‘… I heard what he called the Gatekeeper … They must have been going at least double the prison speed limit … No, I've never tried crab cakes …'

‘One at a time, please,' a timid voice piped through the chaos. ‘All crabs wishing to be considered as credible witnesses, please take an incident report form, fill in your details and write in five hundred words or less, the exact events you witnessed this evening.'

There were murmurs and shuffles from within the office.

‘And please do it quietly,' the timid voice demanded. ‘I need to concentrate on completing the offender's portraits.'

Whisker jumped back from the gate as a mottled blue soldier crab with a monocle tiptoed from the office. In his undersized claws, the crab carried a bundle of paper, two pencils and a drawing easel.

‘I am the clerk,' he said in a small voice. ‘You are charged with a very serious crime. Please cooperate by looking in my general direction, and if it's not too much to ask, please try and pull your best criminal expression.'

Whisker had never sat for a portrait sketch and felt rather self-conscious. He tried to draw the attention away from himself by pointing at Horace who lay peacefully on the floor with his eyes closed and his gold stump protruding from his coat sleeve.