The Trophy of Champions (12 page)

Perfect Tens

More than any other moment in the Centenary Games, Whisker felt a compelling urge to win. It wasn't so much the thought of glory that spurred him on, it was the prospect of letting down his entire team if he failed.

He had one dive to get it right.

Drawing the longest straw, Whisker had the advantage of watching the other competitors dive first.

Toad-Pole ascended the tower to perform a
triple somersault handstand dive
. She began the dive by standing on her hands at the front of the board, with her legs raised above her. With a mighty flick of her wrists, she launched her body over the edge, and completed two near-perfect somersaults.

On her third somersault, she slightly over-rotated and splashed awkwardly into the water. The judges awarded her two eights and a seven and gave her a stern warning about climbing out of the water with a distasteful wedgie between her warty buttocks.

Following Toad-Pole was Penelope Pond Scum, attempting
four-and-a-half somersaults in the pike position.
As she launched off the board and spun smoothly through the air it seemed she was destined for glory. Reaching her final half-somersault, however, the tops of her feet clipped a passing wave, creating a small splash. The judges awarded her three nines.

‘Caw, caw!' Chatterbeak screeched, shaking his blue and yellow wings wildly. ‘What a cracking contest this is turning out to be. For his final dive, the unfathomable Jester Mimp will be undertaking a
gizmo gando twooba balooba ringa ring ding dong in the freestyle position
.'

The crowd watched expectantly as Mimp reached the top of the tower and crouched down in a starter's position. With a loud
SQUAWK
from Chatterbeak, Mimp launched himself into action and sprinted down the length of the plank. When he reached the end, he did a half-somersault and bounced off his head. What followed was nothing short of outrageous. There were twists and spins, somersaults and toe-taps, all to the ring of tiny bells. With a face-first dive into the ocean, the spectacular routine was over.

It was impossible to silence the vocal audience as the judges announced their scores. The koala and the hare both awarded Mimp perfect tens for creativity and execution. The turtle revealed a conservative score of nine, citing Mimp's ‘lack of traditional diving techniques' as his only criticism.

Standing nervously on the northern pier, Whisker did the maths and realised he needed three perfect tens to win the competition. Fancy freestyle manoeuvres simply wouldn't cut it. For the turtle to award top marks, the dive had to be a flawless demonstration of technique and skill. Whisker's only chance was to perform the most difficult dive in the book, a routine known as
a reverse four-and-a-half somersaults in the pike position
. It was a dive few animals ever attempted and hardly any pulled off.

As Whisker climbed the tower, he felt the pressure mounting. He'd practiced the dive during the training sessions with mixed results. Sometimes his feet had clipped the surface of the water, creating a splash, other times his somersaults were too slow. Today, there was no margin for error. A slight over-rotation meant disaster. A slow take-off would hand victory to Mimp, leaving the Pie Rats with their third straight defeat, and little hope of winning the competition.

It's all in the timing,
Whisker told himself, recalling the instructions his father had given him in the big top.
Focus on the routine. Block everything else out.

He reached the top step and slowly walked onto the plank. Beneath him, the crowd was hushed, watching in anticipation, studying his every move. Above him, the sky was ablaze with colour – gold, peach, purple and blue, the dusk tones reflected in the rippling surface of the darkening sea. The sun hovered low to the west, its ochre rays catching the tips of the tallest trees and illuminating the wavy edges of distant clouds.

The stage was set for a glorious finale.

In the quiet of the moment, Whisker felt a distant memory drifting into his mind. He was no longer standing on a plank overlooking the ocean. He was perched on a trapeze at the very top of the circus tent with his parents and sister willing him on.

Drawing strength from his vision, he fixed his eyes on a spec on the horizon and prepared his take-off.

He jumped once.

He jumped twice.

Then, just as he was about to jump a third time, he glimpsed a hazy black shape, moving across the waves. He only saw it for a moment before he launched himself into a backwards somersault, but it was enough to break his concentration and send his dive into disarray.

He felt a sickening blow to the back of his skull as his head clipped the edge of the plank.

Stars filled his vision. His arms and legs went limp.

The next thing he knew, he was spinning out of control, tumbling and falling with no sense of up or down.

He saw a dark cloud drawing closer.
Or was it a wave?
He really couldn't tell. There was a hard
THWACK
followed by an enormous
SPLASH
and his eyes filled with salt water. The sea awakened his senses and suddenly he knew where he was and what had just happened.

The bubbles rose around him, growing bigger as they made their way to the surface. Whisker made no attempt to follow them upwards. He knew they would only lead to failure. Instead, he waited until the last bubble had meandered past his nose, and began swimming under the northern pier. He reached the far side and surfaced behind a barnacle-covered pylon, out of sight of the watching crowd.

From the shadowy water he listened to the gasps and murmurs of the startled onlookers as the scores were announced.

‘What kind of final was that?' someone groaned. ‘Two ones and a zero. That's the lowest score ever recorded at a Pirate Cup.'

‘Was that even a
dive
?' someone else asked.

‘Where is that disgraceful rodent?' questioned a third. ‘Do you think he's drowned? Good riddance I say …'

Treading water, Whisker pressed his back against the rough post and contemplated swimming to the mainland.

How can I ever show my face again?
he thought.
I'm the laughing stock of the games.

‘Caw, caw, he's over here!' screeched a loud voice above him. ‘Alive and well it seems, though a little disoriented …'

Despite Chatterbeak's attempts to coax Whisker from his hiding spot, the water-logged rat waited until the sun had disappeared and the celebrating marmosets had left the marina before he finally clambered onto the deserted pier. The leader board that awaited him did nothing to bolster his spirits.

No one wants to see a pathetic loser,
he told himself, sloshing past the diving tower. He heard the sound of footsteps and a short figure appeared at the far end of the marina.

‘I've been sent to collect you, Whisker,' Horace called out. ‘You're lucky it's me and not Granny Rat. She had intended to drag you out herself, but the pier was far too uneven for her frail legs.'

Whisker trudged down the pier without responding.

‘I told Granny the plank was to blame for your mishap,' Horace said, trying to make conversation. ‘I think she bought it.'

‘It wasn't the plank,' Whisker muttered. ‘It was me.'

‘You must have a reason though?' Horace said sympathetically. ‘You're much too good to simply hit your head and fall.'

‘I saw something,' Whisker blurted out, ‘but that's no excuse. I should have maintained my concentration.'

‘What was it?' Horace asked.

‘Nothing, really,' Whisker said, glancing out to sea. ‘Just a ship …'

‘I didn't see any ships,' Horace said, perplexed. ‘No one on the southern pier did.'

‘Of course you didn't,' Whisker moaned. ‘You were all watching me make a donkey out of myself.'

‘Err, good point,' Horace said, reaching the end of the pier. He stopped to look back at the ocean. ‘The ship wasn't a Claw-of-War, was it?'

Whisker shook his head. ‘No. It only had three masts, not four, and its sails weren't blue like Aladryan warships. They were black – jet-black.'

Horace gulped. ‘
Jet-black
. Are you sure?'

‘I'm certain,' Whisker said. ‘Jet-black sails. Jet-black hull. I've never seen anything like it –' He paused. ‘Well, I have seen the ship once before – on the night of the training run.'

The colour drained from Horace's face. ‘You're positive it was the same black ship? I mean, there were plenty of other ships on the water that night, with all the spectators arriving.'

‘I know what I saw,' Whisker said stubbornly, ‘and it wasn't a spectator ferry. Besides, the ship wasn't headed for the island, it was sailing straight past it.'

Horace was unusually quiet as he processed what Whisker had said.

‘Two sightings of the black ship in less than a week,' he murmured. ‘And no one else saw it …'

‘So?' Whisker blurted out in confusion. ‘What does that mean? What's so significant about this ship?'

Without answering, Horace turned around and began walking up the coastal track.

‘Come on,' he said, over his shoulder. ‘It's time we visited my Mama. She has a few stories you probably should hear.'

Mama Kolina's lavish tent was located on the western outskirts of the village. Whisker could hear her singing to herself as he approached the long, triangular structure. He stopped when he reached the entrance to the tent.

‘In you go,' Horace said, hastily pushing Whisker through the open doorway. ‘I'll be out here if you need me. Mama Kolina prefers to do these things alone.'

‘What things?' Whisker whispered. ‘I thought we were here for a story.'

‘Just tell her what you saw,' Horace said, closing the canvas flaps. ‘Don't be shy …'

Anxiously, Whisker stared around the dimly lit interior of the tent. Five stretcher beds ran in a line along one wall, each covered by a detailed patchwork quilt. Strange runes and symbols criss-crossed the patterned fabric. At the far end of the tent, illuminated by the warm glow of a wood stove, sat Mama Kolina in her golden shawl. She was hunched over a small table, polishing what appeared to be a crystal ball. A large cauldron bubbled on the stove beside her.

Whisker stared at the strange objects around him and a sick feeling of dread grew in his stomach.

Runes, crystal balls and boiling caldrons,
he thought in panic.
What have I gotten myself into?

He considered backing out before Mama Kolina caught sight of him, but her strong voice broke the silence.

‘Ah, Whisker,' she said, without looking up. ‘Welcome, my dear boy. Do come in. I have been expecting you.'

‘R-really?' Whisker stammered. ‘You knew I was coming?'

‘Why, of course,' she replied. ‘Why else would I be waiting here? Now, hurry in before you catch a cursed cold.'