The Golden Anchor. Cameron Stelzer

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      The Price of Gold

      ‘Me gold?’ Rat Bait laughed, rattling the coins in his bag. ‘Why, this gold don’t belong to me. It belongs to ye. Ye won the Pirate Cup, an’ this be yer winnings. Well, a small fraction o’ it, anyway. The Apple Pie be loaded to the brim with the stuff.’ He reached down to untie the string. ‘Now, how much do ye require? Three coins? Four?’

      ‘Err, whatever it takes to buy our way into Hawk’s View Prison,’ Whisker answered.

      Rat Bait’s top hat almost fell off his head.

      ‘Buy yer way into a prison!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why in Ratbeard’s name would ye want to do that?’

      ‘So we can rescue the fox,’ Whisker said evenly.

      ‘The fox with no name,’ Rat Bait gasped, clutching his hat with both paws. ‘He’s in the clink?’

      ‘He’s on death row to be precise,’ Whisker explained. ‘And he knows where my parents are.’

      ‘Smoulderin’ rat’s tails!’ Rat Bait cried in utter confusion. ‘That be some serious stuff. How’d the sly devil end up in prison?’

      ‘Whisker gestured to the newspaper. ‘From what we’ve gathered, he was arrested with the Trophy of Champions following our encounter in the Fish ‘n Ships Inn.’

      ‘Aye,’ Rat Bait said, suddenly understanding. ‘Your secret rendezvous with the fox – the trophy for an answer. Smudge went to great lengths to tell me all ‘bout that.’

      Whisker felt a pang of guilt in his stomach as the memory of that evening came flooding back to him.

      ‘I wanted to tell you about the trophy myself,’ he confessed. ‘But I had to keep it a secret. The fox made me promise and there was so much at stake I-I couldn’t risk lying to him. I’m-I’m sorry.’

      ‘Is that why ye gave me that medal o’ yours?’ Rat Bait asked quietly. ‘Just before ye disappeared?’

      Whisker stared at his feet.

      ‘I was kind of hoping it would make up for my actions,’ he mumbled.

      ‘Actions that ultimately saved yer sister,’ Rat Bait said, pointing to the happy rat feeding clumps of snow to Balthazar.

      ‘I-I guess,’ Whisker replied.

      ‘Listen, Whisker,’ Rat Bait said, a serious tone to his voice. ‘I know betrayal when I see it. An’ I’d hardly call what ye did the actions o’ a traitor.’

      Whisker raised his head.

      ‘In fact,’ Rat Bait continued with a chuckle, ‘it’s me that should be apologisin’ to ye. I gave yer medal to that honkin’ swan in return for a lift up the mount’n, an’ now the great galah thinks he’s a world class athlete. I doubt either o’ us will be layin’ our paws on that medal again.’

      ‘Oh, don’t worry about the medal,’ Whisker said with relief. ‘Balthazar deserves some reward for his champion rescue. Besides, I still have my –’ he raised his paw to his throat and felt bare skin, ‘– anchor pendant.’

      For a moment he panicked, wondering what could have happened to it, then, realising the anchor had been in Eddie’s open sack, he anxiously scanned the trees where Balthazar had first appeared. A trail of glittering objects lay strewn across the snow-covered ground. Straining his eyes to see clearer, he spotted his anchor at the foot of a tree, next to his shattered spyglass and a prison guard’s fountain pen.

      ‘There it is,’ he said, pointing into the shadows.

      He attempted a stumbling step forward, but his legs wobbled beneath him and he almost tripped over his own feet.

      ‘Take it easy, lad,’ Rat Bait said, grabbing his arm to stop him falling. ‘Y’er obviously sufferin’ from that post traumatic web disorder thingy. What say I fetch yer belongin’s while you sit down with Miss Ruby an’ Master Horace an’ discuss yer harebrained jailbreak t’gether?’ He lowered Whisker onto the stump and, before the apprentice could protest, he was scampering off towards the trees.

      ‘So, Whisker, do you honestly intend to bribe a prison guard?’ Horace asked, sitting rigidly to avoid sticking to his two companions.

      ‘Not a guard,’ Whisker answered, pointing to the motionless creature at Ruby’s feet. ‘Him.’

      ‘Eddie?’ Ruby hissed, giving the unconscious gerbil a firm kick in the backside with her good foot. ‘You want to give this snivelling little pickpocket a bag of gold as a thank you present for almost slitting our throats?’

      ‘I don’t want СКАЧАТЬ