scanning the trembling faces of his opponents. At the sight of the young Pie Rat apprentice, standing rigid with his teammates, Sabre’s face suddenly turned sour.
‘Dirty little rat,’ he hissed, throwing his flag to the ground. ‘Crawled out of your dingy cave, did you?’
Overcome with terror, Whisker took a stumbling step backwards. Sabre drew his cheese knife and prowled closer, with a look of pure contempt in his eyes.
‘That’s right,’ Sabre scowled, slashing his knife through the air. ‘Run away, little apprentice. You’re not so tough without your pet bear, are you?’
Whisker bit his tongue and held his ground, hoping his trembling legs weren’t about to collapse beneath him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ruby edging closer, with her paws on the handles of her two scarlet scissor swords. Horace was right beside her.
One by one, the Cat Fish gathered around Sabre, their razor-sharp cheese knives glistening in the torchlight.
‘Just like the good ol’ days,’ Horace gulped, putting on a brave face. ‘Outnumbered but never outdone …’
Before the reunion could turn ugly, there was a flash of white and Baron Gustave threw himself between the two teams, waving an open scroll in his paw.
Sabre took one look at the scroll and pulled away. Ruby slowly released the grip on her swords.
‘A reminder to all participants,’ Gustave said firmly, ‘according to ze code of ze games, zere is to be no fighting off ze sporting field. Any teams found breaking ze rules vill be expelled from ze tournament.’
‘Well, that’s a welcome piece of news,’ Horace said, letting out a sigh of relief. ‘Let’s just hope we don’t run into the Cat Fish on the field.’
As Whisker struggled to calm his nerves, Gustave raised the scroll in front of him and boomed into the bullhorn.
‘Now zat ze teams have been introduced, I vill explain ze events for zis year’s cup. Seven events vill be held – one for each of ze seven seas. For reasons of secrecy and security, events vill only be announced on ze morning zey are held. In no particular order, ze events are: Plank Diving, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Treasure Hunt, Cannon Firing, Sea Race, Mystery Challenge, Death Ball.’
The crowd roared with excitement.
Gustave continued, ‘One point is avorded to ze vinner of each event. Zere are no points for second or third places. Death Ball is played in two pools of three teams. Ze top team from each pool plays in ze final. Only ze vinner of ze grand final receives a point for Death Ball –’
He tapped the scroll with the end of his bullhorn. ‘However, ze rules state zat if two teams are tied on equal points at ze end of ze tournament, ze team vith ze most Death Ball victories vill be declared ze champions.’ There was a dull murmur of approval from the crowd. Gustave began rolling up the scroll. ‘And now, gallant competitors, I vill show you vot you are competing for.’
A line of youthful white rabbits wearing matching purple coats marched out of a tunnel carrying three large open chests. Each chest overflowed with sparkling gold coins. As alluring as the treasure was, all eyes were fixed on the rabbit at the end of the line. In his paws he clutched an enormous two-handled cup. A line of precious jewels ran in a circle around its base. Etched into the side of the cup was an elaborate skull and two crossed torches. Cast from solid gold, the Trophy of Champions was truly magnificent.
The athletes watched, spellbound, as the rabbit placed the glittering object on a velvet-covered pedestal. Without a word, another white rabbit hopped out of the tunnel, carrying a flaming torch. When he neared the trophy he took a single graceful leap into the air and thrust the end of the torch over the rim of the giant cup. With a hiss of bright violet flames, the trophy blazed to life.
The arena erupted in spontaneous applause.
‘Zis sacred purple fire vill burn until ze Centenary Games have concluded,’ Gustave stated. ‘To celebrate one hundred years of athletic achievement, I have one final event to announce.’ He waited for total silence. ‘Zis trophy vill remain in public sight at all times. You may see it on ze island, or you may see it on my ship, ze Velvet Wave. Ze first team zat can touch zis trophy before ze end of ze last event vill receive one bonus point.’
There was a murmur of curious interest from the athletes.
‘Piece of cake,’ croaked one of the toads. ‘That’s easier than catching a cane beetle stuck on its back.’ She gave her hind legs a mighty kick and launched herself high into the air.
With lightening quick reflexes, the surrounding rabbits whipped out an arsenal of pea shooters and slingshots from their coats and peppered the unsuspecting toad with purple paint pellets. She crashed to the ground, dripping in sticky purple liquid.
‘The colour suits you, Sugar!’ barked one of the poodles.
Gingerly, she picked herself up and limped back to her team, while the audience roared with laughter.
‘I failed to mention zat my twelve sons vill be keeping a close eye on ze trophy,’ Gustave chuckled. ‘A single spot of paint on any team member vill rule out ze entire team from ze bonus event.’ He frowned sympathetically at the paint-splattered toad. ‘I’m afraid to say, zat includes you, Miss Sugar.’
Ignoring the croaking protests of the toads, Gustave gestured to a square-sided tower rising high above the trees. It was constructed from rough planks of timber and topped with a bark roof. A large bronze bell hung at the top, accessed by a rickety rope ladder. The entire tower appeared to be leaning precariously to the right.
‘Ze first event vill commence tomorrow morning,’ Gustave announced. ‘You vill hear ze bell toll vhen it is time to assemble. I bid you all goodnight.’
‘What about the Death Ball pools?’ Bartholomew Brawl barked. ‘Aren’t you gonna tell us who we’re fightin’?’
‘No,’ Gustave replied bluntly. ‘Zat vould spoil ze surprise – and surprises are vot zese games are about.’
The Bells of Autumn
The stars were still shining in the indigo sky when the bell rang out across the sleepy island. Whisker opened his bleary eyes and stared at the roof of the tent. Troubled thoughts of the Cat Fish had plagued his mind for most of the night.
Every crash and clang from the bustling Champions Tavern had woken him with a fright. Every snarl, sneeze, sigh and snore that echoed through the campsite had set his nerves on edge. In the dark hours of the morning he’d almost convinced himself Sabre was lurking outside his tent, waiting to pounce. Whisker longed for the quiet sanctuary of the ocean, where the dull murmur of the wind and the rhythm of the waves gently rocked him to sleep.
‘Couldn’t they wait till sunrise to ring that blasted bell?’ Horace moaned, covering his ears with his pillow. ‘Professional athletes deserve their rest.’
Fred opened his enormous eye and blinked at his two tent-mates.
‘No
