The Forgotten Map (13 page)

‘Capt'n Rat Bait at yer service,' he said in a gravelly sailor's drawl.

Whisker nervously shook his paw and replied, ‘Hi. I'm Whisker.'

‘It be a pleasure to meet ye,' Rat Bait said, studying Whisker closely. His eyes grew wide at the sight of Whisker's gold anchor pendant. ‘An' what might ye be doin' in the Capt'n's Inn tonight?'

Although Whisker was glad he was facing an old rat and not an angry crab, there was something odd about this grubby character.

‘I'm on my way back from purchasing supplies,' Whisker replied warily.

‘An' what did ye buy?' Rat Bait enquired.

Whisker wasn't prepared for this question. He'd tumbled into the inn empty-handed. Just as he was about to admit his lie, Whisker remembered he did have something to back up his story; the jar of Gourmet Gunpowder. He'd forgotten to remove it from his pocket when he returned to the boat.

He slipped his paw into his pocket and gently pulled out the jar.

‘Wow!' Rat Bait exclaimed. ‘That be some mighty good stuff. But ye must be cuckoo in the head to be wanderin' ‘round with it. There's soldiers out there, ye know.'

Whisker hurriedly stuffed the jar away.

‘Come on, Capt'n Whisker,' Rat Bait said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I'll buy thee a drink. ‘Tis not often I get to drink with another rat.'

Rat Bait led him to the corner of the bar where the bilby barman was serving drinks. The barman handed a mug to a bulldog in a sky blue coat before turning to Rat Bait.

‘Same again?' he enquired.

‘Aye,' Rat Bait replied.

The barman eyed Whisker up and down.

‘And for your grandson?'

‘Err … I'll just have some water,' Whisker mumbled, before adding, ‘I'm on duty.'

Rat Bait and the barman both laughed.

‘Did you ever hear of such a thing?' the barman roared. ‘A pirate on duty on Sea Shanty Island. And asking for water? That's a good one!'

Whisker felt extremely awkward. He wished Horace was here to guide him through the dos and don'ts of tavern etiquette.

‘Yer a strange one, Capt'n Whisker,' Rat Bait chuckled. ‘The lad'll have the same as me.'

Although he'd never touched a drop of the sugary liquid in his life, Whisker thought it best not to protest. He watched as the barman filled two large mugs with Apple Fizz and handed them to the rats. Rat Bait flicked the barman a few small coins and beckoned for Whisker to follow him to a table against the side wall.

When they were seated, Rat Bait raised his mug and proposed a toast: ‘Here's to the brotherhood o' rats. May our whiskers grow long an' our tails stay slender!'

‘Cheers,' Whisker replied, holding up his mug.

Rat Bait sculled a large mouthful of Apple Fizz.

Whisker put his mug straight back down. His mother's words ran through his head.
Apple Fizz will do nothing but rot your teeth and give you the hiccups. It was invented for toothless toads with croaking problems and not for respectable rats.
Whisker wasn't sure how much of this was true, but now wasn't the time to test her theory.

While Rat Bait was still drinking, Whisker seized on the opportunity to ask about the Blue Claw.

‘So how about those crabs?' he said casually.

Rat Bait slammed his mug on the table.

‘Nasty creatures,' he burped. ‘I'll be glad to see them scuttlin' off to another island. They've got no right to be here.'

‘What are they after?' Whisker asked.

Rat Bait's eyes narrowed. ‘Stolen goods, mostly. Anythin' with the Gov'nors seal on it. They sail in an' raid the joint every couple o' weeks. They can't be arrestin' no one here o' course, but they still drag them off to Aladrya an' throw them in the clink. We can't be doin' a thing to stop 'em. There's just too many o' the blighters.'

‘Have they come after you?' Whisker whispered.

‘I be out o' the game,' Rat Bait said, with a tinge of relief. ‘I haven't got nothin' they'd want since I turned me back on piracy an' started me ship repair business. That be some years ago now. But once a capt'n, always a capt'n.'

Rat Bait took another gulp of his drink. Whisker clutched his mug but left it resting on the table.

‘Do you own one of the shops along the wharf?' Whisker asked.

‘Not here,' Rat Bait spluttered. ‘I be travelin' east t'wards Freeforia an' lookin' for the right business opportunity, if ye know what I mean …' He let his sentence trail off to a whisper and winked at Whisker.

Whisker had no idea what Rat Bait meant, but the sly look in the old captain's eyes told him it was something extremely important and something very secretive. Rat Bait would not divulge any more information and went back to talking about his ship repairs.

‘I been workin' south-west o' here,' he said, wiping Apple Fizz from the side of his mouth, ‘where it be cold enough to freeze yer tail off in winter. Them penguin pirates give me plenty o' work. What with them crashin' into all them icebergs an' such. Ye should have seen some o' their ships. The holes be so big, I wonder how they still be afloat.'

Rat Bait sighed. ‘But lately I been thinkin' o' retirin' to somewhere warm where me bones won't feel like icicles in the mornin'.'

Rat Bait took another large swig of his mug and drained its contents. He slammed it on the table and looked squarely at Whisker.

‘So, Capt'n Whisker. What's yer story? Ye be very young, if ye don't mind me sayin' so.'

Whisker didn't know what to say. It was hardly the place to talk about the circus or how much he missed his family. He stared into the syrupy liquid in front of him and hoped an exciting answer would suddenly leap out of the bubbles.

‘I … um, well …' he mumbled.

He was cut off by a loud commotion coming from the entrance passage.

‘Where is he?' a deep voice hissed. ‘I know he's in here.'

‘Please, sir,' a second voice trembled. ‘This is a respectable establishment. We don't want any trouble.'

‘There'll only be trouble if you refuse to let me in,' the deep voice snapped. ‘You know the rules, it's my right.'

There was a pause.

‘Very well,' came a hesitant reply. ‘You may go in, but …'

‘But what?' the deep voice snarled.

‘But … there is to be no killing. Understand? And no eating the guests …'

The words echoed down the passageway like a fog horn on a still night. The bandicoots stopped strumming mid-chord, conversations came to an abrupt halt and every sailor in the tavern froze in fear as a soft padding sound drifted down the passage towards them.

Whisker looked across at Rat Bait in terror.

‘Wh – who?' he stammered.

Rat Bait merely twitched his nose and gave Whisker a look that said,
you, my boy, are about to find out.

Whisker stared across the room. A shadowy form skulked out of the dark passage on four huge paws. Its fur was a deep orange colour and covered with black stripes and spots. Its claws were sharp and its hazel eyes were fierce. If Whisker hadn't known better, he would have said it was a leopard. But as he looked closer, a horrible realisation set in.

The creature wore an orange captain's hat with a silver fish skeleton. Over one shoulder it carried a large cheese knife, strapped to a belt. As it moved into the lantern light of the room, there was no mistaking its identity.

It was Sabre, the captain of the Cat Fish, and he was headed straight for Whisker.

Sabre

It had never crossed Whisker's mind that he'd end up as an entrée, but as the thought became very real, he hoped the experience would end quickly, with one enormous bite and not too much nibbling of his tail and ears.

Sabre merely gave him a disinterested glance and turned to face the quivering bandicoots.

‘You're paid to play,' he hissed, ‘so start playing or I'll stuff your pathetic little banjos down your throats and see how you like to be strummed.'

The bandicoots nodded in panic and continued playing with trembling paws.

‘NOT THAT SONG!' Sabre howled. ‘It's too depressing. Play
The Owl and the Pussy Cat.'

The bandicoots exchanged nervous glances and began to pluck the tune. The dull murmur of voices resumed and a scrawny meerkat and a fox in a black trench coat made for the door.

‘Arr … that's better,' Sabre purred, turning back to the rats.

‘Good evenin', Capt'n Sabre,' Rat Bait said politely. ‘Would ye care to join us for a drink?'

‘Do I look like a repulsive rodent?' Sabre spat. ‘I would rather drink poisoned porcupine pus than drink with a stinking rat!'

In any other circumstance, Whisker would have been deeply offended by such an insult, but tonight it was music to his ears.

Rat Bait shrugged. ‘Suit yerself, Capt'n Sabre. I'll be off to get another round for me an' the li'l capt'n.'

He stood up to go, but Sabre raised himself onto two legs and roared, ‘SIT DOWN!'

Rat Bait slumped down with a resigned sigh.

Sabre reached his paw under his belt and pulled out a small deck of playing cards.

‘Remember these?' he snarled.

Rat Bait fidgeted nervously. ‘Err … should I?'

Sabre laid four cards face down on the table and placed the deck beside them.

‘Surely you haven't forgotten our little game?' he hissed. ‘The one where you managed to win all of my money with one extremely lucky hand …'

‘Ye win some, ye lose some,' Rat Bait casually remarked.

Sabre took a deep breath. ‘And that's the gamble, isn't it? We have no control of how the cards fall.'

Rat Bait nodded slowly.

‘WRONG!' Sabre snapped. ‘It seems that someone has taken the
gamble
out of gambling. Let's take another look at your winning hand, shall we?'

Rat Bait gulped.

Sabre turned to Whisker and scowled, ‘Turn them over, little captain, and do tell us what you see.'

Whisker turned over the first card.

‘Ace of Spades,' he read.

He looked up at Sabre for a response.

‘What are you waiting for?' Sabre hissed. ‘Turn them all over.'

Obediently, Whisker turned over the second card.

‘Ace of Diamonds.'

He turned over the third card.

‘Ace of Clubs.'

He knew what the fourth card was going to be before he turned it over.

‘Ace of Hearts,' he murmured, ‘… lucky hand.'

‘THERE IS NO LUCK!' Sabre roared. ‘Look at the deck and see for yourself.'

Whisker slowly reached out his paw and flipped over the top card of the deck. He thought he was seeing double.

‘It's another Ace of Hearts,' he said awkwardly.

‘And how many aces should there be?' Sabre asked, with an evil whisper.

‘Four?' Whisker replied shakily.

‘EXACTLY!' Sabre howled, scattering the cards across the room. ‘Which means someone has cheated. And it's certainly not an honest little pussy cat like me. I LOST ALL MY MONEY!'

Rat Bait shrank in his chair.

‘W-were t-there others playing?' Whisker stammered, clinging to the hope that Sabre had the wrong rat.

Sabre glared at Whisker with malicious eyes.

‘There was one other creature at our table. An otter. But he lost all his money, too, and I've already interrogated him.'

Sabre opened his mouth and pretended to pluck something from between his teeth.

‘Ye didn't,' Rat Bait moaned. ‘Poor Otis was a good friend o' mine.'

‘A good friend you decided to swindle!,' Sabre hissed.

‘Ye can't prove nothin,' Rat Bait said defiantly. ‘Ye be the one that ate the only witness.'

‘How dare you accuse me of eating a fellow card player,' Sabre protested. ‘I merely gave his tail a much needed trim.'

‘Rat Bait's a fellow card player,' Whisker piped in a small voice. ‘Does that mean you won't be eating him?'

Sabre wasn't tricked. ‘Rat Bait's fate depends on what he's prepared to hand over to me.'

‘I haven't got yer gold,' Rat Bait mumbled. ‘I spent it.'

‘Of course you did,' Sabre scoffed. ‘And I expected nothing less from such a wasteful wretch. But don't worry, I'm not asking you for a few gold coins, I'm asking you for something far more useful …'

Sabre lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Your slimy otter friend told me you have something rather important, something old, something
forgotten
, something I want.'

Whisker saw a look of betrayal run across Rat Bait's face.

‘I trusted Otis,' he mumbled angrily. ‘He said he'd keep the map a secret.'

‘Don't blame poor Otis,' Sabre chuckled. ‘It's terribly hard to keep a secret when your tail is in a cat's mouth.'

‘Ye filthy ball o' fur!' Rat Bait snapped.