The Golden Anchor. Cameron Stelzer

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      ‘And this A.W. character,’ Rat Bait said, stopping his finger below the first engraving. ‘Was he, perchance, some distant uncle of yers?’

      ‘He was my great-grandfather,’ Whisker said. ‘Anso Winterbottom.’

      Rat Bait’s eyes looked up in shock. ‘Anso Win’erbottom, the famous explorer, be yer great-grandfather?’

      ‘Yes,’ Whisker said in surprise. ‘I-I thought you knew that. He wrote the Book of Knowledge, the book we retrieved from the Island of Destiny. His name is on the title page.’

      Rat Bait shook his head in disbelief. ‘I be lying unconscious in a pile o’ rocks when ye found that book an’ no one’s mentioned the name o’ its author since.’

      Horace raised the stump of his hook into the air. ‘Sorry. That would be on account of me being a blabbermouth. The Captain made us promise not to mention the author or the origins of the book on the off chance our enemies came snooping around for it.’

      ‘And that in turn meant keeping Whisker’s history a secret,’ Ruby added. ‘In fact, Whisker’s true identity has been a closely guarded secret since he first came aboard.’ She shot a hesitant glance at the apprentice. ‘It might not be my place to say this, but my uncle thought having a Winterbottom in the crew would attract a little too much unwelcome attention. It was one of the reasons he insisted on changing Wentworth’s name to Whisker. Even Madam Pearl was sworn to secrecy about Whisker’s past the night we rescued her from Prison Island.’

      ‘Aye,’ Rat Bait said, his face contorted into a painful frown. ‘That explains why ye only mentioned Whisker’s parents’ first names: Robert and Faye.’ He ran his finger over the third set of initials, muttering quietly to himself, ‘R.W. Robert Win’erbottom. Robert Win’erbottom …’

      ‘It wasn’t that we didn’t trust you,’ Horace began. ‘It’s just that –’

      ‘I understand,’ Rat Bait said, his eyes not leaving the anchor. ‘The Capt’n be looking out for his crew. An’ he be right to do so. I been a dirty, double-crossin’ scoundrel, after all.’ He sighed and moved his finger to the second set of initials. ‘E.W.’

      ‘Ernest Winterbottom,’ Whisker said, watching him in puzzlement. ‘He was my grandfather. He ran away before my father, Robert, was born and –’

      Rat Bait raised a paw to silence him, the possessions in his arm clattering to the ground.

      ‘That part o’ the story I do know,’ he said.

      Whisker stared back at him, shocked and confused, trying to comprehend the significance of what he had just heard.

      Rat Bait knew about his grandfather.

      Rat Bait knew about his past.

      What else did he know?

      Whisker’s head spun with questions. Why? When? How –?

      And then suddenly, as if a lantern had been ignited in his mind, Whisker saw clearly what he had been missing from the start. It had begun in the Captain’s Inn, with the curious expression on Rat Bait’s face when he first glimpsed the anchor pendant hanging around Whisker’s neck. It continued with Rat Bait’s interest in the small boat Whisker had built with his father – a boat with a carved anchor figurehead, a boat repaired by Rat Bait himself and renamed the Golden Anchor. And it ended during the Pirate Cup when Rat Bait spoke regretfully about a life he abandoned in his quest to conquer the world.

      The evidence was there. And it all pointed to one conclusion.

      ‘So, Rat Bait,’ Horace said casually, oblivious to what was happening around him, ‘I take it you knew Whisker’s grandfather?’

      ‘No,’ Whisker said, without breaking the old rat’s gaze. ‘Rat Bait is my grandfather.’