The Trophy of Champions. Cameron Stelzer

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      The three rats stopped dead in their tracks.

      ‘Oh my precious paws!’ exclaimed the rat with the pencil leg. ‘It’s you, Whisker. We weren’t expecting you for another twenty minutes.’

      ‘Hi, Pete,’ Whisker squeaked. ‘Better early than late.’

      As the other rats slowly lowered their weapons, Pencil Leg Pete held out a shiny brass pocket watch and pointed to the minute hand.

      ‘Take a look at your time, young apprentice,’ he said excitedly. ‘No one has completed the Treasure Hunt training course in less than ninety minutes, let alone seventy.’

      Before Whisker could reply, the giant rat stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him into the air.

      ‘Bravo, Whisker,’ he grunted, giving the small rat a crushing bear hug. ‘You’re a champion.’

      ‘Steady – on – Fred –’ Whisker gasped, struggling for air. ‘I couldn’t have done it without all the unexpected encouragement.’

      The rat in the captain’s hat laughed out loud and clapped Pencil Leg Pete on the back. ‘Did you hear that? Encouragement indeed. That’s the politest description of a surprise cannon attack I’ve heard in years.’

      ‘Aye, Captain,’ Pete said, deadpan. ‘But I’m sure he wouldn’t be as complimentary if he arrived back with half his leg missing.’

      Whisker stared down at Pete’s pencil leg and gulped.

      ‘Don’t worry, Whisker,’ the Captain said in a deep, reassuring voice. ‘I’m sure none of the cannons were actually aimed at you.’

      ‘You might be right about the cannons,’ Whisker conceded, ‘but the arrows were awfully accurate.’

      The Captain let out a long sigh, ‘That sounds like my dear niece, Ruby. Always the perfectionist.’

      ‘In my defence,’ cried a voice from the field, ‘they weren’t technically arrows and I didn’t actually hit anyone.’

      Whisker looked down to see the immaculately presented Ruby Rat striding towards the dune. She carried a silver-coloured bow over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows over the other. Her crimson eye patch framed her stern yet attractive face and her green eye sparkled up at him like an emerald.

      Before Whisker knew what was happening, Ruby had plucked a long, slim shaft from her quiver and was aiming it directly at him.

      ‘Do you have a problem with my archery, apprentice?’ she asked, twitching her fingers on the string.

      ‘N-no,’ Whisker stammered. ‘I’d just prefer if you pointed that thing somewhere else.’

      Ruby shrugged. ‘Sure thing, Whisker.’

      Without warning, she spun the bow to her left and released the string. The arrow sped through the air, striking the backside of a short rat staggering out of the grass.

      ‘Shiver me britches!’ he yelled, tumbling to the ground. ‘We’re under attack. Raise the alarm!’

      Ruby ignored the theatrical display and began marching up the dune. She gave Whisker a sly wink as she passed. ‘It’s about time I hit something …’

      Whisker glanced uneasily at the small rat, rolling around in the grass.

      ‘Will Horace be alright …?’ he began.

      With an annoyed huff, Ruby pulled another arrow from her quiver and thrust it at Whisker.

      ‘Hollow-stemmed bulrush,’ she said abruptly. ‘I took the liberty of removing the spiky tip. I doubt it could hurt a fly.’

      There was an agitated buzz of wings from the Captain’s shoulder and a large green blowfly raised four tiny fists in the air as if to say, don’t you even try it.

      ‘Steady on, Smudge,’ the Captain said calmly. ‘I’m sure Ruby has no intention of harming our official mascot.’

      Smudge lowered his fists and settled back on his perch. Whisker turned his attention to the bulrush and ran his fingers over its spongy, sausage-shaped end.

      ‘So much for impenetrable bark,’ he thought aloud. ‘It’s no wonder the arrows simply bounced off.’

      ‘They can still bruise a backside,’ Hook Hand Horace called out, rubbing his rear end with his golden hook. ‘My sensitive skin is sixteen times softer than gnarled old tree bark.’

      Ruby rolled her eye. ‘Save the science for the scientists, Horace.’

      ‘Rotten pies to scientists!’ Horace shot back. ‘I know what I’m talking about. You can look it up in that dusty old book if you don’t believe me.’

      ‘Shh,’ the Captain hissed. ‘The Book of Knowledge is not something to be discussed in public.’

      The Captain glanced around suspiciously and lowered his voice. ‘I can’t stress to you enough the importance of secrecy when it comes to that item – especially here. The Pirate Cup gathers the vilest of villains and rottenest of rogues together in one location. Regardless of how private your conversations may appear, there is always someone listening. Is that understood?’

      ‘Aye aye, Captain,’ Horace sighed. ‘I won’t mention you-know-what again.’

      ‘Good,’ the Captain said. ‘Given the right situation, the information contained in that book could give us a superior tactical advantage over our competitors. It may sound a tad academic, but brains are just as important as brawn in the Pirate Cup. Now, if we have concluded the science lesson, I suggest we get a move on. The opening ceremony commences at midnight tonight, and I am yet to introduce you to our new head coach.’

      Pete’s ears pricked up. ‘Head coach? Who? Why wasn’t I consulted about this?’

      ‘It was a last minute decision,’ the Captain replied flatly, ‘and one made in the best interests of the crew.’

      Pete held his ground, ready to mount a challenge.

      The Captain let out a troubled groan and tried to explain. ‘As you are aware, our entire campaign had been funded by Madam Pearl, our gracious benefactor. It is also no secret that she expects a winning result. You might assume we can simply sail away with a second place and try our luck elsewhere. But the fact remains that as soon as Madam Pearl’s assistance runs out, we find ourselves stone broke. The Apple Pie is in desperate need of repair, we have a growing number of mouths to feed and, with the entire Aladryan navy breathing down our necks, our future pirating prospects look even slimmer than our bank balance! It pains me to admit it, but the competition prize money may be our sole means of staying afloat.’

      ‘I hear you. I hear you,’ Pete snorted. ‘We win or we starve. My only hope is that this mysterious coach of yours is some kind of gold-medal guru. I doubt СКАЧАТЬ