Whisker said, with wide eyes.
There was a loud fanfare of trumpets and the entire crowd fell silent. Whisker saw a tall white rabbit in a purple coat and a top hat hopping into view. With several graceful bounds, he reached the centre of the arena and raised a funnel-shaped bullhorn to his mouth.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began in a thick accent, ‘it is a great pleasure to velcome you to ze twenty-fifth Pirate Cup. As you know, zis spectacular event is held once every four years, making zis year’s tournament ze Centenary Games. I am Baron Gustave, otherwise known as ‘G’, your games organiser.’
There was an enthusiastic round of applause.
Horace nudged Whisker with his hook. ‘I thought I recognised him. Baron Gustave owns the Gunpowder Galleria on Sea Shanty Island.’
‘Remind me to thank him sometime,’ Whisker murmured. ‘That Gourmet Gunpowder really packs a punch.’
The sound of the crowd died down and Gustave continued, ‘As you are avare, ze authorities have gone out of zeir vay to stop zese games. Rest assured, no Pirate Cup has ever been cancelled. Nor vill it be. Zis year’s entries may be small, but ze talent is enormous.’
The crowd roared and Gustave pointed to a tunnel on the opposite side of the arena.
‘Presenting ze first challengers. From ze icy waters of Antarctica, I give you ze Penguin Pirates!’
There was a cacophony of squawks and hoots as six identical fairy penguins waddled out. Each wore a checked bandanna and a navy blue singlet with the monogram PP emblazoned across the chest. A flag bearer at the front of the procession carried an enormous navy and white flag.
‘Me old employers from the south,’ Rat Bait laughed. ‘Not the fastest bunch o’ birds in a footrace, but they’re as quick as fish in the water.’
Gustave pointed to a second tunnel and continued his introductions. ‘From ze west coast of Aladrya, I present to you ze Cane Toad River Pirates!’
With loud CROAKS and RIBBITS, six large cane toads hopped into the arena. Their puffed-up leader carried a mustard-coloured flag with two crossed cane stalks. The all-girl crew behind her wore matching sports dresses. On closer inspection, Whisker noticed their warty faces were smothered in brightly coloured mascara, eyeliner and lipstick.
Horace winced. ‘And I thought my sisters overdid the makeup.’
‘POND SCUM,’ the Captain said, reading the large, green letters on the flag bearer’s shirt. ‘Penelope Pond Scum to be precise. She’s the poison-spitting captain of the Leaping Lily, and her slippery gang consists of her five enchanting daughters.’ He gave Horace a look of concern. ‘Despite what the fairy tales may say, Horace, I would not recommend kissing any of these toads.’
‘Advice taken, Captain,’ Horace gulped. ‘I’ll stick to girls of a less warty appearance.’
The third team was now making its way into the stadium. Even with a bullhorn, Baron Gustave was drowned out by the deafening howls and barks of adoring fans dressed in blue and white.
‘There’s no mistaking that reception,’ Pete muttered, twitching his pencil leg uncomfortably. ‘Those rough-as-guts Sea Dogs always get the crowd support – especially when they’re throwing innocent rats into shark-infested waters.’
Horace gave Pete’s pencil leg a hard tap with his hook. ‘I thought a small fish nibbled your leg off?’
Pete screwed up his nose. ‘That’s beside the point. I’d still have both legs if those bottom-sniffing canines showed some chivalry and left me on dry land.’
‘Well, I doubt you’ll get an apology,’ Horace said, gesturing to a commotion at the end of the tunnel. ‘Bartholomew Brawl and his howlers don’t appear to have attended any doggy obedience classes lately.’
Horace was right. On their march into the arena, two poodles and a bulldog had already bumped over several Penguin Pirates, and were currently heckling a cane toad named Sugar about her choice of blue eye shadow.
Unimpressed, Gustave shook his ears and gestured for the Pie Rats to proceed up the tunnel.
‘And now, dear spectators,’ he boomed through the bullhorn, ‘I present to you, ze most appetising team in ze competition, ze delicious Pie Rats!’
There was a mixture of laughs and jeers as Fred raised the Jolly Rat high into the air and proudly led the Pie Rats onto the field.
As Whisker left the safety of the tunnel and stepped into the bright lights of the stadium, he felt his tail pulsing with energy. All around him, the mighty grandstands rose to the tops of the tallest trees to create a cauldron-like atmosphere. Ecstatic spectators crammed into every available seat and dangled precariously from overhanging branches. The stadium was a waterfall of moving bodies, louder and larger than any circus audience he’d ever seen.
Whisker knew that Papa Niko and the others were cheering him on from the stands, but it was impossible to make out their faces amidst the screaming mammals, birds and amphibians.
Who else is hidden in that crowd? he asked himself.
Mesmerised by the sights and sounds, he stumbled around the arena in a bewildered daze, almost running into a three-legged pug with a biscuit peg leg. Acting ignorant, Whisker gave the snarling dog a friendly wave and pretended to be listening to Baron Gustave’s next introduction.
‘… Ze fifth team of participants is ze always enthusiastic royal family from ze Island of Kings, ze Marvellous Marmosets.’
A pompous parade of crown-wearing monkeys with white ear tufts and long, banded tails marched out of the closest tunnel. A cross-eyed marmoset in a jester’s hat led the procession, followed by a knight in a rusty metal helmet.
‘Rotten pies to show ponies,’ Horace groaned, trying to hide behind his hook. ‘Since when were they eligible to enter? I’d hardly call jungle kidnapping an act of piracy.’
King Marvownion’s eyes lit up when he spotted Captain Black Rat in the centre of the arena.
‘Great goslings in gumtrees!’ he exclaimed, almost losing his oversized crown. ‘Isn’t this a remarkable coincidence? My old buddies the Pie Rats are here for a rematch.’
The Captain tipped his hat and replied with a pained smile, ‘I’m sure we can squeeze another victory into our tight schedule, Marvownion.’
King Marvownion opened his mouth to object, but Baron Gustave was already introducing the sixth team, his words echoing around the stadium.
‘Our final team is a last minute entry. I have no doubt zey vill bring much excitement to zis tournament.’
There was a startled gasp from the crowd as the team came into view. Whisker’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Gustave cried, ‘I give you ze dreaded Cat Fish!’
The entire audience watched in fearful silence as Captain Sabre, the formidable orange and black Bengal,
