The Trophy of Champions (34 page)

‘On a mountain,' the fox said in a flat, expressionless tone. ‘She's found a new home with a family of birds. They love rats dearly.' His lips formed a thin smile. ‘Your sister was a little undernourished for their liking, but I'm sure with a few mountain berries she'll be as plump as a pig in no time …'

Whisker struggled to process everything he was hearing.
Mountains … berries … birds …
All he knew was that his sister was alive.

‘And what about my parents?' he asked excitedly. ‘Are they alive, too?'

‘Your parents?' The fox repeated, a cruel smirk creeping across his face. ‘I recall our deal was for one answer, not two.'

‘What?' Whisker gasped, his stomach twisting into a knot. ‘But that's not fair … y-you've got to tell me. Please –'

‘A deal is a deal,' the fox snarled, pushing past Whisker to the trophy.

In anger and desperation, Whisker moved his paw to the handle of his scissor sword. ‘Tell me where they are or I'll-I'll …'

‘You'll what?' the fox hissed, scooping up the trophy in his arms. ‘Stab me with a broken piece of stationery? I think not!' He stepped backwards, raising the trophy like a shield. ‘I'd love to stay and fight, dear apprentice, but both of us should really be getting a move on. And I thought rats had good hearing …'

Whisker shot a terrified glance at the open window. The unmistakable scuttle of crabs echoed from the balcony beyond.

‘The Blue Claw,' he gasped.

By the time Whisker had found his legs and turned to flee, the fox was already disappearing out the door.

Panic-stricken, Whisker hurtled over the hollow crust of the pasty and sprinted for the closing door.

With a rumbling
THUD
–D
–D
, the door slammed shut in his face.

Frantically, he lunged for the door knob. There was a soft
click
from the other side and Whisker knew his fate was sealed.

Trapped in a room with nowhere to hide, he did the only thing he could think of: he drew his sword, steadied his nerves and sprinted for the window.

The Blue Claw converged from both ends of the long balcony, their powerful claws snapping wildly. They reached the high rollers' room as the cloaked body of Whisker hurtled through the window. With a panicked squeak he cleared the balcony and plunged head first into a fish-shaped topiary tree.

The leafy foliage broke his fall, but the branches left him stinging and sore.

With no time to examine his wounds, he scrambled down the tail of the giant green fish, landing on the dew-covered grass.

Desperately, he scanned the moonlit courtyard for an escape route. He was surrounded on all four sides by solid brick walls. Above him, the two huge towers of the inn rose high into the air. In the centre of the courtyard stood the glorious stone fountain. Water squirted from the mouths of three enormous fish, splashing playfully into the pool below. Pale moonlight reflected off the rippling surface of the water, bringing the entire courtyard to life.

As beautiful as the fountain was at night, it was the wrought iron door in the centre of the northern wall that caught Whisker's attention.

Ignoring the shouts of the watching crabs, he scurried across the courtyard towards his only exit. He had barely reached the fountain when the door burst open and a swarm of angry crustaceans surged through. Led by a gigantic blue soldier crab, they fanned out in a wide arc.

Outnumbered fifty-to-one, Whisker stumbled backwards into the pool, splashing through the shallow water towards the closest stone fish.

The crabs continued their advance, moving in an unbroken ring, their claws open and their eyestalks twitching in anticipation. Reaching the pool, they began to swim.

Whisker stowed his sword and climbed. Using the strength in his arms, he pulled himself up the stone scales of the fish until he reached the very top of the waterspout. Icy water splashed over his hooded cloak, soaking him to the bone. His chest heaved as he gulped in great breaths of air.

He looked down to see the leader of the crabs hauling himself onto a ledge at the base of the fish. He was broad-shelled and powerful, sporting the biggest claws Whisker had ever seen. The lightning-bolt tattoos on either claw revealed his unmistakable identity: General Thunderclaw, the most feared officer in the Aladryan Navy.

Thunderclaw let out a sharp whistle and a mottled blue soldier crab wearing a monocle appeared on the edge of the pool. In his undersized claw he clutched a tightly rolled scroll.

Whisker instantly recognised the crab as the clerk from Prison Island.

‘Is that our suspect?' Thunderclaw asked, raising a claw in Whisker's direction.

The clerk unrolled the scroll to reveal a crumpled poster. In its centre was a portrait of a scruffy-looking rodent wearing a grey hooded cloak.

Whisker glanced down at his soggy, grey traveller's cloak and he wished he'd worn his tacky palm tree tourist shirt instead.

‘It's our mouse, alright,' the clerk acknowledged, peering through his monocle. ‘We've been on his trail for several weeks.'

‘Then it's high time we brought him into custody,' Thunderclaw roared. ‘You know the drill. Dead or alive – but preferably dead!'

With a great cheer, the crabs converged.

Flight

Whisker never dreamed his life would end this way – all alone, on the wrong side of the law, but as the hostile crabs surged up the sides of the fountain, three little words gave him hope.

Hold on, Whisker.

The words seemed to be carried on the wind, barely louder than a whisper.

In confusion, he looked down, his head spinning, water blurring his eyes. The crabs were right below him, snapping their claws and taking wild swipes at his toes. But as hard as they tried, they couldn't quite reach him.

Mystified, he continued to stare as the bodies of the crabs shrank smaller and smaller. Then, to his amazement he saw that he was no longer standing on the fountain. He was floating in mid-air, high above the courtyard.

Am I dead?
he thought, trying to move his arms and legs. A sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder gave him the answer.

‘Caw, caw,' squawked a familiar voice. ‘Stop your squirming or I'll drop you!'

‘Chatterbeak?' Whisker exclaimed, looking up at the shadowy mass of feathers above him. ‘Is that you?'

‘Keep your voice down,' the bird cooed. ‘I don't want my beak featured on the next wanted poster.'

‘But-but what are you doing here?' Whisker gasped.

‘I thought that was obvious,' came a second voice from above. ‘He's rescuing you.'

‘Ruby?' Whisker gasped.

‘And me,' Horace called down to him. ‘There's room for two on this flying taxi.'

‘Skraww, skraww!' Chatterbeak shrilled, gliding past the turret of the eastern tower. ‘Prepare for landing!'

Whisker had just enough time to glimpse the circular balcony of the penthouse before Chatterbeak released his talons and he was somersaulting through the open door.

‘Ouch,' he groaned, landing in a soggy heap at the foot of a luxurious four-poster bed.

Frankie Belorio, dressed in a pair of gold-thread pyjamas, rushed over and helped him to his feet. Smudge buzzed in circles around his head.

‘Evenin', Whisker,' Frankie said in a matter-of-fact voice.

Smudge pointed vigorously to the open French doors.Sensing he was not out of danger yet, Whisker drew his sword and turned to see Ruby storming into the room. Behind her, Horace was still clambering off Chatterbeak.

‘You've got some explaining to do, apprentice,' she hissed, striding up to him.

Before Whisker could stop her, she had thrown her arms around his neck and was hugging him tightly. Speechless, Whisker dropped his sword and hugged her back.

‘I'm still angry with you,' she said, her voice quivering with emotion. ‘And I haven't forgotten you're a lying scumbag.'

‘I know,' Whisker said, smiling through his pain. ‘It's good to see you too, Ruby.'

Ruby released him from her embrace and pointed to a crumpled scrap of paper lying on a bedside table. Large words were scrawled across its yellowed surface in campfire charcoal.

‘I found your note in my quiver of arrows,' Ruby said, picking up the paper. ‘Something told me you needed our help.'

‘Isn't that the truth!' Horace called out.

‘What about the cats …?' Whisker began.

Ruby flashed him a mischievous grin. ‘Still dozing in the bottom of our rowboat. The Captain thought it would be safer if we took their boat instead. As you can see, Horace and I found a swifter way to reach you.'

‘Fred wanted to come, too,' Horace added, ‘but our fine feathered friend imposed some weight restrictions.'

Chatterbeak shook his tail feathers defensively. ‘Caw, caw! I'm not a flying packhorse!'

Whisker was still puzzled about one thing.

‘How did you know where to find me?' he asked.

‘The clue on your note was a dead giveaway,' Ruby replied.

‘
Clue?' Whisker said, dumfounded. ‘What clue?'

Ruby flipped the scrap of paper over to reveal a detailed map of a deserted farm and a ship-shaped inn.

‘Gustave's Plan B,' Whisker said, feeling slightly stupid. ‘It was the only paper I had.'

‘A fortunate coincidence,' Ruby quipped. ‘We already knew that something strange happened to you in the inn – something you couldn't tell any of us.'

‘And when we spotted the fish-shaped topiary trees from the air, it seemed like the logical place to find you,' Horace added. ‘Frankie even offered up his penthouse suite for our stakeout.'

‘Thanks, Frankie,' Whisker said gratefully. ‘I'm sorry to drag you into this mess.'

‘Oh, don't apologise,' Frankie said cheerfully. ‘I'm rather enjoyin' all the excitement. It's not every day a band of trophy-winning desperados show up on my balcony!'

Whisker felt a sudden pang of guilt.