The Island of Destiny (3 page)

Struggling for clarity, he thought back to the jungle citadel where the Pie Rats first discovered the key. He'd seen directional symbols carved on the palace doorways –
Right passage up … left passage down …
Whisker remembered two symbols in particular: the right paw of royalty and the left paw of despair.

Right leads to riches,
Whisker considered.
Maybe we should take the right passage through the lagoon?

He looked back at the Island of Destiny. The island had its own symbol – two arrows, representing the twin mountains of the island: Mt Mobziw and Mt Moochup.

The left mountain holds the treasure,
Whisker thought,
so maybe left, not right, is the correct direction …?
He let his head drop into his paws in frustration.

‘There's only one way to resolve this,' he muttered.

He rolled up the map and slid it into a canister, sealing the top with a cork. Wedging the canister into his belt next to his green scissor sword, he picked up the key.

If the map can't give me an answer,
he thought
, maybe the island can.

Whisker had no idea how long he'd been in the navigation room. He staggered onto the windy deck to discover the world outside had changed. The rain had cleared and the sun poked through gaps in the separating clouds. The entire crew was gathered in the centre of the deck, witnessing the spectacle in front of them.

Sharp rocks dotted the ocean ahead, marking the entrance to the Treacherous Sea. Steep cliffs of basalt rock rose to the north. Sprawling pine trees and crumbling boulders covered the rugged cliff tops. In the distance, twin mountains, black as the night, towered over the cliffs like silent sentinels. The peak of the eastern mountain eclipsed its western sibling by a mere boulder or two.

The island was more terrifying than Whisker had ever imagined. Even from a distance, he could hear the wind howling through the trees, roaring and racing down the cliffs to the surging sea. Closing his eyes, he imagined he was listening to a graveyard of phantoms, endlessly wailing, eternally cursed.

If the wind was the terrifying life force of the island, then the waves were its minions. They battered every rock, pounded every cliff face – savagely, relentlessly.

Whisker shivered. ‘An island of destiny or an island of death?'

‘Both,' Pete muttered. ‘Every rat's destiny is death.'

Horace looked up from his net. ‘Don't listen to him, Whisker. You can get us through. I know it.'

Whisker wished he shared Horace's confidence, but he couldn't shake his feeling of dread. He turned his back on the island and climbed the stairs to the helm.

‘Any luck?' the Captain asked.

Whisker ran his tongue over his teeth, avoiding an answer. The Captain gripped harder on the wheel, unable to hide his frustration.

‘Is the net ready, Horace?' he shouted.

‘Nearly, Captain,' Horace replied. ‘I just need to load it into a cannon.'

‘I thought nets were for throwing?' the Captain snapped.

‘Err, some nets are,' Horace said cautiously. ‘But I'd prefer we trapped the creature before it got within throwing range.'

‘Very well,' the Captain huffed. ‘But be quick about it. The entrance to the lagoon is just ahead.'

Horace hurriedly stuffed the net into a cannon on the deck. Loose cords dangled out like the tentacles of an octopus.

Whisker watched apprehensively as the
Apple Pie
skirted around a rock and entered the Treacherous Sea. Huge cliffs rose to either side, unscaleable walls of stone, curving in an arc around the lagoon. Directly ahead, the protruding rocks were as large as ships and twice as tall. Not a blade of grass grew on their barren surfaces.

It was time for Whisker's decision:
left or right?

He held the key in front of him and, imagining the island was the map, aligned the shaft with the centre of the mountains. Light sparkled through tiny rust holes in the surface of the key and filled the round hole at its base.

Whisker looked beyond the cliffs, beyond the rocks, beyond the lagoon to the only glimmer of beauty on the entire island: the Rock of Hope. He could just make out the shape – a white rock, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by flowing water.

He lowered the key but kept his gaze. His line of sight led directly through a narrow passage between the rocks.

‘Keep Hope in your sights,'
Whisker thought aloud. And then it came to him. ‘Of course. The riddle is meant to be taken literally. There's only one way to keep Hope in our sights and that's …'

‘Right or left?' the Captain bellowed. ‘I need an answer.'

‘Neither!' Whisker shouted. ‘Sail straight ahead.'

‘WHAT?' Pete cried from the deck. ‘We'll be wrecked on the rocks!'

‘Beaten to breadcrumbs!' Mr Tribble gasped.

‘Pounded into pancakes!' Emmie squeaked.

Fred licked his lips. ‘Mmm, pancakes …'

Pete kicked Fred with his pencil. ‘You're not helping. None of you are helping.' He pointed a bony finger up at Whisker. ‘Give me one logical reason why we should listen to you? And it better not involve that blasted riddle. It's led to nothing but trouble.'

Whisker dropped his chin and stared at his toes.

‘I don't know,' he mumbled. ‘Maybe the water is too shallow for the creature … or maybe it's too narrow between the rocks … or maybe the wind is calmer …'

‘Three great reasons,' Horace chimed in. ‘I'm convinced. Off we go then.'

Pete stamped his pencil leg in defiance. ‘Call a vote, Captain.'

The Captain studied the faces of his crew and nodded. ‘As you know, only full members of the crew are permitted to vote. All those in favour of sailing straight through the rocks raise your paws now.'

Horace and Fred raised their paws. Smudge stuck four arms into the air and blew off the barrel. Ruby gave Whisker one of her expressionless stares and raised her paw.

‘Four votes seals it,' the Captain confirmed.

Pete snorted in disgust and clomped into the navigation room. Whisker mouthed an awkward
thanks
to Ruby, and turned to the Captain. The Captain hadn't shifted his paws from the wheel, not even to vote, and the
Apple Pie
was already heading straight into the rocks.

‘You said straight,' he said in a low voice. ‘I sailed straight. The vote was merely a formality.'

‘Do you honestly think we can make it through?' Whisker asked.

‘It's a tight squeeze,' the Captain said, ‘but you were right about the wind. It's much calmer in here.'

Whisker wondered if the Captain was simply being polite. The wind swirled in mighty gusts around him, whipping up the waves and sending them crashing over the rocks. The
Apple Pie
rocked up and down in the centre of the narrow passage like a rubber duck in a bath tub.

‘A little to your starboard, Captain,' Ruby called out. ‘I can see the bottom and there's a rock ledge coming up.'

The Captain gave the wheel a gentle spin and the ship turned to its right.

‘Pull in the sails,' he ordered. ‘Too much speed and we'll collide with a rock.'

The twins tinkered with their mice knots, adjusting the sails, and the
Apple Pie
slowed its pace. Whisker held up the key. The Rock of Hope was still in view.

The crew remained alert and on edge as the
Apple Pie
manoeuvred through the rocks. Fred and Smudge stood lookout on either side of the ship, surveying the ocean; Horace waited next to the loaded cannon and Pete remained in the navigation room, doing whatever grumpy quartermasters do on such occasions.

Large rocks to the east sheltered the ship from the wind, but the swirling gusts returned with greater force as the
Apple Pie
neared the Rock of Hope.

Pete poked his head from the navigation room.

‘Are we there yet?' he muttered in a less than pleasant voice.

‘Shallow water dead ahead!' Ruby cried.

Whisker looked up. The
Apple Pie
approached two final rocks. One lay to his near left, and the other further to his right.

‘Turn her starboard, Captain,' he said. ‘We can squeeze between the rocks and still maintain our course.'

Smudge buzzed his wings frantically and pointed to the starboard side of the ship.

‘What is it?' Horace asked with wide eyes.

Ruby darted to the bulwark.

‘More rocks!' she exclaimed. ‘Just below the surface – everywhere. We'll run aground.'

‘That can't be,' Whisker cried. ‘The map says …'

‘… nothing about low tide,' Pete cut in.

Whisker looked ahead to the shore. A long strip of wet sand extended from the Rock of Hope to the sea. The tide was fully out. He felt his tail work itself into a knot.

‘Rotten pies to low tide,' Horace groaned.

Pete screwed up his nose. ‘Port side, Captain. Circle around the rocks. Before we bottom out.'

The Captain let out a low growl. ‘Yet again, it seems we have no other choice. If we maintain a narrow berth around the rock on the left, we can hopefully centre up for the final approach.'

Whisker didn't respond. His eyes were transfixed on the rocky shape, rising like a tombstone from the crashing waves. He wasn't superstitious, but anyone could see it was a bad omen – a very bad omen.

‘SAILS OUT!' the Captain bellowed, swinging the wheel hard left. ‘And make it snappy. I want us past that rock in sixty seconds.'

The crew rushed to the sails and began to work the ropes.

‘Whisker, I need you on the jib,' Ruby shouted.

Whisker leapt down the stairs and raced to the bow of the ship, still clutching the key in his paws. While Ruby and the mice adjusted the two larger sails, Whisker added some slack to the giant pair of underpants.

He edged along the bowsprit and peered down. The shallow rocks beneath the surface suddenly disappeared as the
Apple Pie
glided over the edge of a deep ravine. He looked ahead to see the Rock of Hope vanish behind the black pillar of rock. Like a solar eclipse on midsummer's day, their guiding light was gone – the Pie Rats were at the mercy of the Treacherous Sea.

‘Prepare to turn,' the Captain commanded.

The crew heaved on the ropes, swivelling the sails around to capture the gusty wind. The
Apple Pie
began curving around the rock.

Seconds passed and Whisker grew anxious. He watched as the tip of the shoreline grew visible, the sand glowing yellow in the afternoon sunshine.

Almost there
… Whisker thought.

The western side of the estuary came into view and then, finally, Whisker saw what he was looking for. As the
Apple Pie
straightened up, the Rock of Hope reappeared from behind the last rock of the lagoon.

Whisker sighed with relief. The eclipse was over. In moments they would be in the safety of the shallows.

THUD!

Out of nowhere, a monstrous blow echoed through the hull of the ship, toppling barrels and shattering windows. Whisker grabbed the jib line to steady himself. Behind him, Pete slipped on his pencil and tumbled onto the deck. The mice squeaked in terror.

The vibrations stopped and the crew grew silent, listening attentively to the sounds of the sea. All they heard was the deck of the
Apple Pie
creaking softly and the sails flapping quietly in the wind.

‘Oh my precious paws,' Pete groaned, staggering to his feet. ‘What the flaming rat's tail was that?'

Horace gripped the cannon with a terrified look on his face. ‘Th-th-the creature.'

Whisker peered into the dark water at the front of the ship, hoping the hull had simply scraped a rock. Fred scanned the starboard side for clues. They saw nothing.

‘Check the hull for damage …' the Captain began. He never finished his sentence.

There was a loud
SPLASH
from the port side of the ship and an enormous head rose from the waves. Its brown-speckled skin glistened in the dying rays of the sun, its beady eyes stared down from either side of its hideous snout and its mouth curved open to reveal not one but two sets of savage jaws.

It was the most terrifying creature Whisker had ever seen. It wasn't a beast of mythology. It was real, very real and Whisker didn't need a second look to know what it was.

‘GIANT MORAY EEL!' he bellowed. ‘PORT SIDE!'

The eel's slender body rose higher into the air, propelled by its serpentine tail. Its dorsal fin rippled along its spine like seaweed in a tidal current. It hovered over the ship. Then it struck. Teeth bared, it ripped through the foresail.

Ruby and Mr Tribble leapt clear as the eel's body battered the mast. The huge fork toppled backwards, tearing the jib sail from its line. Whisker was flung from the bowsprit and hurtled towards the deck.