on the deck, slicing cheese knives through the air in readiness.
Whisker gulped in terror. On an empty stomach, and with very little sleep, the prospect of arrest was far easier to swallow than a mid-sea massacre. As his trembling paws lowered the telescope, he felt his mind retreating into the calm world of his memories.
He closed his eyes. Distant recollections floated in and out of his mind as he searched for an answer: What should I do? He’d first experienced this strange phenomenon when he was sinking in the Cyclone Sea. His memories had found him an answer and the answer had saved his life.
Whisker focused his thoughts. Past memories turned to recent events. Images became clearer …
He was on the Apple Pie. A waterlogged mouse wearing thick glasses climbed aboard. In his paws he clutched a pile of precious books wrapped up in a school flag …
Whisker opened his eyes. The Cat Fish showed no signs of altering their course.
‘Good,’ he mumbled. ‘Sometimes it pays to have enemies.’
‘What’s that?’ the Captain asked expectantly.
A mischievous grin spread across Whisker’s face.
‘Captain,’ he said, ‘how would you feel about giving the Apple Pie a little makeover?’
The Captain flashed Whisker a puzzled expression. ‘Are you sure that’s not the perfume talking?’
Whisker gave himself a quick sniff. The scent of roses and cherry blossoms filled his nose.
‘N-no, Captain,’ he replied.
‘Very well,’ the Captain sighed. ‘I don’t know what goes through that crazy circus head of yours, Whisker, but if it gets us out alive, get beautifying.’
‘LISTEN UP CREW,’ the Captain bellowed across the deck. ‘Whisker has a plan. Do exactly what he asks – no questions. That means you, Horace.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Horace muttered back. ‘I may be a chatterbox, but I do know when to keep my mouth sh …’
‘ZIP IT!’ the Captain roared.
Horace stuck his hook in his mouth and Whisker wasted no time in rattling off a peculiar list of requests.
‘First, I need a spare set of sails – the brighter, the better; plus any ribbons, scarves or bunting you can find. Second, I require Pete’s collection of books to be stacked on the deck and all cannons and scissor swords hidden away. Third, I need Ruby and Horace to swap clothes with Emmie and Eaton. And finally, I need Mr Tribble’s school flag flying up there.’ He thrust his finger in the direction of the foremast.
The crew stared back in bewilderment. Not even Horace dared to ask why?
With two sharp claps from the Captain, the crew leapt into action. They swarmed below, raiding the cargo hold, closing cannon hatches and turning Pete’s cabin inside out. In minutes the deck was covered with flowing fabric and piles of books.
Whisker surveyed the ship. In the centre of the deck, Ruby fossicked through a pile of spare sails. Nearby, Horace raised the Oakbridge school flag up the mast.
‘I can barely move in this getup,’ Horace complained, unbuttoning Eaton’s school blazer with his hook.
‘Try cutting back on the pies,’ Ruby muttered.
‘That’s hardly fair,’ Horace whined. ‘I’ve already missed breakfast.’
Ruby held up a red and green sail.
‘What about this one, Whisker?’ she asked. ‘It’s a giant tomato.’
Whisker walked over for a closer look. Ruby fidgeted awkwardly in Emmie’s maroon blazer, but stopped when she realised Whisker was approaching.
‘School was never my thing,’ she said awkwardly. ‘They didn’t teach sword fighting. Besides, no one could possibly look good in one of these.’
‘Oh,’ Whisker replied. ‘I think you look, um … well … th-the colour suits you.’
Ruby looked away in embarrassment. Whisker felt his cheeks turning a brighter shade of red than the tomato sail.
Trying to act normal, Ruby pointed to another sail. ‘There’s a matching carrot if you want to use it. I prefer the eagle sail, but it’s much too large for the masts.’
‘H-healthy eating,’ Whisker stammered, saying the first thing that came into his head. ‘Tomatoes and carrots. Yes, that’s what we’re after…’
Horace’s ears pricked up. ‘Healthy eating? Are you having a go at me, too?’
Whisker knew he had to stay focused.
‘I-I have to check on the others,’ he said, darting off.
The rest of the crew were doing exactly what Whisker had requested. Eaton and Emmie (dressed as miniature versions of Horace and Ruby) dangled from the front of the boat, draping the Mer-Mouse figurehead with colourful scarves. Fred and Smudge hung a line of blue bunting between the masts while Pete and Mr Tribble stacked neat piles of books on the deck. There wasn’t a cannon or scissor sword in sight. As the final vegetable sail was raised, Whisker glanced over his shoulder to see the Silver Sardine rapidly approaching.
‘Horace to the wheel,’ he ordered. ‘Ruby and the twins to the sails and the rest of the rats in the navigation room, NOW!’
‘What about me?’ Mr Tribble asked apprehensively.
‘I have a special job for you,’ Whisker said, handing Mr Tribble a white flag. ‘Wave this in the air and act like a school teacher escaping from a ship of hungry cats.’
Four rats and a blowfly crouched in a clutter of sails in a corner of the navigation room.
‘Tell me again,’ Fred said, untangling himself from the eagle sail. ‘Why are we hiding in here?’
‘Because I’m too bony for a school boy and you’re too scary for a teacher,’ Pete replied impatiently.
Smudge raised four arms in the air as if to say, and I’m too unhygienic for a classroom pet.
‘Oh – right,’ Fred mumbled.
‘Just keep your eye on those cats and tell us if they’re up to anything,’ the Captain instructed.
Fred closed his mouth and stared out the rear window. The Captain crept to the front of the room, raising his telescope to a pane of glass in the door.
‘We’re almost within firing range of the warships,’ the Captain said. ‘We should expect the first round of volcanic rocks any minute.’
‘That’ll put a chink in the cats’ armour,’ Pete smirked.
‘Or a big hole in our boat,’ Whisker added, hoping desperately the crabs were as easily fooled as they’d been in the past.
‘Um, sorry to interrupt,’ Fred said slowly. ‘But I think the cats are up to something.’
The rats rushed over to Fred and peered out the rear window. The Silver Sardine was now only a stone’s throw away. They watched as the shaggy shape of Furious Fur appeared at the bow of the boat, clutching a pronged metal object attached to a rope.
‘Murderous mayhem!’ Pete cried frantically. ‘He’s got a grappling hook!’
The Captain seized the closest scissor sword and whacked the ceiling, roaring, ‘PORT SIDE ON THE DOUBLE!’
Whisker heard a muffled cry from Horace and the Apple Pie suddenly lurched to its left. A moment later, the grappling hook hurtled past the window,