The Forgotten Map (24 page)

He swung the metal object behind his back and then projected it forward like a discus. The lid whizzed through the air and struck the crab in the side of the head, jolting it off balance. Its legs scurried uselessly beneath its body and it crashed to the ground in a heap of flailing legs.

‘NOW!' Whisker shouted, taking a step towards the stairwell. He didn't attempt a second step. He felt the slippery oil beneath his toes and struggled not to fall.

‘Not like that,' Ruby yelled, ‘Like this.'

She took a few running steps on the dry stones before launching herself onto her stomach, splashing headfirst into the oil. With speed and precision, she slid across the tower on her thick coat, disappearing down the stairwell. Horace frantically followed after her.

‘I can't do that,' Madam Pearl moaned. ‘I'm a lady, not a pirate.'

‘We'll go together,' Whisker cried as the spider crab began to pick itself up. He grabbed Madam Pearl's paw with his good arm. ‘After three. One … two … three …'

They sprinted for several steps and then Whisker dragged Madam Pearl down with him. He winced as his injured shoulder hit the ground, but once they were skidding through the oil, there was no stopping them.

‘Duck!' Whisker shrieked, as a long claw shot out to block their path. Their heads dropped to the ground and with their noses squashed against the oily stones, Whisker and Madam Pearl slid under the claw to their freedom.

They entered the dark stairwell and for a moment they were airborne. Then they came crashing down – tumbling over stairs and landing in an oily heap of coats and fur.

‘Am I dead?' mumbled a voice in the darkness.

‘No,' groaned another voice. ‘But you're lying on top of me and your elbow's digging into my back.'

‘That's not my elbow,' said the first voice. ‘That's my skeleton key, and it better not be broken.'

‘If it's broken, it serves you right for crashing on top of me!' snapped the second voice.

‘Well, someone crashed on top of me,' protested the first voice. ‘Someone fluffy.'

‘Get your filthy paws off my precious coat!' snapped a third voice.

‘Madam Pearl,' said the first voice. ‘I'm terribly sorry. Have you seen Whisker?'

‘I can't see anything, you one-pawed fool,' she replied angrily. ‘It's dark and I'm squashed.'

‘Don't worry, I'm here,' Whisker said groggily from the top of the pile.

‘Get off me at once!' Madam Pearl demanded. ‘I feel like a piece of cheese in a greasy rat sandwich.'

‘You ungrateful goat!' Ruby hissed from the bottom of the heap. ‘We just saved your neck, remember.'

‘After you ruffians got me into this ridiculous mess and then threw me down the stairs,' Madam Pearl retorted.

‘This isn't helping,' Whisker muttered, clambering off Madam Pearl. ‘The giant crab is still up there and the last place we want to be is stuck in a dark stairwell.'

Grumbling and groaning, the animals untangled themselves and began fumbling down the stairs towards the prison level. Whisker led the way. It wasn't that he wanted to be the leader, it was more a matter of urgency. Even if the spider crab didn't pursue them, the guards in the courtyard would surely come to investigate. Whisker was weak from his loss of blood, his tail danced deliriously behind him and it wouldn't be long before his whole body collapsed in a heap. At all costs, he must keep moving.

He didn't pause at the prison level. He hurried past the arsenal level, desperately hoping there wasn't another spider crab lurking beyond the archway. Finally, staggering down the remainder of the stairs, he reached the ground floor and made his way to the courtyard door.

He cautiously turned the handle and opened the door. The warm light of the lanterns streamed through the narrow gap.

‘What can you see?' Horace whispered.

‘There's a big pile of books next to the broken barrels,' Whisker said, peering out. ‘And I can hear the guards in the entrance passage.'

‘Let me see,' Ruby demanded, pushing Whisker out of the way.

Whisker squeaked as a shot of pain ran through his shoulder. Ruby ignored him and focused on the scene through the doorway.

‘It's simple,' she said. ‘We make a dash for the pile of books, and when they're not looking, we barge our way out.'

‘Rotten pies to shonky escape plans,' Horace huffed. ‘There are more than a dozen guards, we're unarmed, and we'd have to crawl on our paws and knees to get under the portcullis …' He paused. ‘Any better ideas, Whisker?'

With his head swirling with dizziness, Whisker was in no position to come up with a brilliant suggestion, but he tried to sum up the situation as best as he could.

‘The Captain's plan …' he struggled to remember, ‘was to create a diversion and draw the guards away from the entrance. What we need is a …' He was hoping the answer would flow off his tongue, but his mind simply wasn't up to it.

‘Fire,' Madam Pearl answered for him. ‘We need a fire. If my shop or warehouse caught on fire I'd drop everything and pick up a bucket. I'm sure they would do the same.'

‘Okay,' Ruby agreed. ‘We'll start a fire. But with what? We can't burn the books; they're the perfect hiding spot.'

‘I say we throw a flaming torch in the arsenal,' Horace said with a wishful look on his face.

Madam Pearl glared at him. ‘Have you got clam chowder for brains? A fire is one thing; an exploding arsenal is a totally different kettle of frizzled fish! No sane crab would attempt to put it out; they'd simply turn around and scuttle the other way.'

Horace screwed up his nose and Ruby shrugged, but Madam Pearl's words flashed through Whisker's clouded mind like lightning bolts of clarity.

‘I have it,' he whispered excitedly. ‘A fire inside the arsenal would be disastrous, but a fire outside the arsenal would be perfect. It would be their urgent duty to put it out.'

‘Alright,' Ruby said with a little more interest. ‘Where do you propose we start this fire?'

‘Right here,' Whisker stated. ‘We burn down this door.'

‘It won't burn,' Ruby argued. ‘Not without kindling. And I for one won't go back up that tower to collect more firewood.'

‘You won't have to,' Whisker replied, managing a small grin through his pain. ‘We've brought the kindling with us.'

Horace frowned. ‘I didn't bring any firewood.'

‘He doesn't mean wood, you dopey Doberman!' Madam Pearl hissed, removing her oil-drenched coat. ‘He means these.' She handed her coat to Whisker and straightened her white silk evening dress. ‘My outfit is ruined, anyway.'

The three rats followed Madam Pearl's direction and removed their grey hooded coats, heaping them in an oily pile inside the door. The extent of Whisker's shoulder wound was immediately clear. The plain grey shirt he was wearing was now a deep crimson colour. Even Ruby looked concerned.

‘Everyone out,' Whisker ordered, ignoring their sympathy. ‘I'll meet you behind the pile of books once I've lit the fire.'

‘No you won't,' Horace said firmly. ‘You've already had all the fun with the spider crab. I'm the pyromaniac of the crew, so stand aside.'

Whisker was too weak to argue.

Ruby opened the door and, satisfied no one was watching, tiptoed around the edge of the courtyard to the pile of books. Whisker motioned for Madam Pearl to follow and he brought up the rear.

As he settled into a hiding position behind a sesame seed barrel, Whisker saw Horace creep out of the doorway and remove a flaming torch from the courtyard wall.

The bustling noise of the soldiers continued.

Horace stepped towards the door and gave it a gentle push. The door came to rest in the pile of coats. Inching closer, he held the blazing torch in his paw and prepared to hurl it inside. With a triumphant look on his face, he paused to savour the moment.

Whisker returned a look of pure terror.

Out of the doorway came the unmistakeable shape of a long-armed claw. With deadly speed and precision, it sprung into action and clamped its pincers around Horace's right arm.

Before Whisker knew what was happening, Horace was gone.

Three Wishes

Ignoring the danger, Whisker jumped to his feet and raced towards the open doorway of the tower.

He'd only gone a few steps when a huge burst of flames exploded from the ground floor, knocking him to the ground. Scrambling to his knees, he saw the flaming figure of Horace rolling on the grass in front of him.

By the time Whisker had reached his friend, the dewy grass had smothered the flames and Horace was no more than a singed and smoking ball of fur.

Whisker grabbed his arm and pulled him behind the books as a wave of soldier crabs flooded the courtyard.

‘What happened?' Ruby cried in bewilderment.

‘… spider crab,' Horace puffed. ‘… took … my skeleton key.'

Ruby shook her head. ‘That's all you think about, isn't it? And here I was worried about you. Well you don't need your stinking skeleton key anymore, Horace – the front doors are already open.'

Horace pulled his hook attachment from his belt, inserted it into his stump and mumbled, ‘Old faithful.'

Trying to remain focused, Whisker peered towards the gatehouse and whispered, ‘Have all the guards left?'

‘I counted twelve crabs from the cart and three from the gatehouse,' Madam Pearl replied.

‘So what are we waiting for?' Ruby said. ‘If the boys have finished bleeding and burning, we should get a wriggle on.'

Without waiting for a response, she bounded around the corner and disappeared from view. Madam Pearl dashed after her and Whisker and Horace staggered behind like two wounded commandos retreating from a battlefield.

The courtyard was thick with smoke as they made their way towards the gatehouse. Whisker could barely see the well or the frantic crabs. As predicted, the entrance passage was deserted.

Horace and Whisker squeezed past the broken cart and slid awkwardly under the portcullis. They slipped through the narrow opening between the two wooden doors and looked out at the silhouettes awaiting them. Fred and the Captain had arrived.

Whisker waved a weary greeting.

‘So nice of you to join us,' the Captain said in a low voice. ‘Follow me if you please.' Before Whisker had time to catch his breath, the Captain set off down the western side of the slope.

The scramble down the hill was slow but uneventful. It was easier for the rats to crawl on all fours, and Whisker limped along at the back of the line like a three-legged dog.

Behind him, the glow of the prison fire grew fainter as the Blue Claw went about their fireman duties. By the time Whisker reached the small clump of trees halfway down the slope, the prison was nothing more than a black shadow on the top of the hill.

SNAP.

Whisker heard the sound and stopped. He pricked up his ears and listened. The distant groans of the soldiers had started again. But there was something closer, something much closer.

‘Pssst,' hissed a voice from the branches above him.

Whisker jumped.

‘W-w-who's there?' he stammered.

‘Err … um … no one really,' replied a familiar voice. ‘… just a bird.'

‘Mr Tribble, is that you?' Whisker cried.

There was a rustle of leaves as Mr Tribble tumbled from the tree, landing straight on top of Whisker.

‘Ouch …' Whisker groaned.

‘I'm terribly sorry,' Mr Tribble apologised, rolling off Whisker's flattened body. ‘It appears my legs have gone to sleep. Trees are not the most comfortable places to hide and I had a rather long wait.'

‘We had a few unexpected delays,' Whisker muttered, struggling to his knees. ‘Come on, we'd better catch up.'

Whisker and Mr Tribble found the others hiding behind a boathouse near the dock. Smudge was with them.

‘Look what the rat's dragged in,' Horace whispered. ‘We almost forgot about Mr Tribble.'