the alley. With the sound of the eagles growing louder, he steered his large feathered body into the brick-walled alleyway, almost colliding with a row of garbage bins.
Whisker held on for dear life, the red bricks flashing past him in a blur. Directly ahead, the alley formed a T-intersection with a wide cobblestone road. On the far side of the road stood the town hall and its mighty clock tower. The elegant stone building was wedged between the theatre and the magistrate’s court. The entire suite of buildings ran in an unbroken line through the centre of the town, with no alleyways, lanes or walkways between them.
‘Left or right?’ Horace shouted as the light at the end of the alley grew brighter.
Whisker hesitated, considering his options. Flying left would lead them to the river mouth. Flying right would take them to the market square. Both directions meant following the road and both directions were in plain sight of the eagles.
‘What’s it to be?’ Horace urged.
Whisker was about to yell ‘LEFT,’ when he remembered something his father had once told him – a piece of advice passed down from his great-grandfather, Anso. Always look for the third option.
It had saved him in the past and it could save him today. Suddenly, Whisker saw the situation in a whole new light.
‘Over,’ he bellowed. ‘Fly over the buildings.’
‘Caw, caw! Are you crazy?’ Chatterbeak squawked, clipping the lid of an overflowing garbage bin with his right wing. ‘Every bird in the sky will see us up there.’
There was a crescendo of clanging metal as the lid crashed unceremoniously to the ground.
Ruby winced. ‘I’m pretty sure they already know our location, Clatterbeak.’
Conceding the point, the heavily laden parrot took several great wing strokes, rising higher into the air. He strained under the weight of his four passengers but quickly reached the second story windows of the theatre.
Whisker glanced behind him to see two dozen eagles drawing level with the jetty, their eyes locked on the parrot.
‘Listen, Chatterbeak,’ he whispered. ‘When you reach the top of the theatre, I want you to fly right as if you’re heading for the market square. As soon as you’re out of sight behind the clock tower, change direction and fly east towards the Hawk River. The line of buildings should hide you from view and, with any luck, the eagles will take the bait and continue into town.’
‘And then what?’ Horace asked as they reached the gutter line.
‘The fog is thickest over the river,’ Whisker said, glancing to the east. ‘It should provide us with enough cover for a stealthy getaway.’
‘Stealthy?’ Ruby muttered. ‘That will be a first.’
The Getaway
Chatterbeak did as he was instructed. Nearing the apex of the theatre’s curved roof, he manoeuvred to his right and began skimming low over the tiles in the direction of the clock tower.
Whisker looked down to see the entire township spreading out beneath him. Curious eyes peered out through closed windows, but the laneways and pavements were deserted. He felt uneasy. It was as if the townsfolk had anticipated their arrival.
‘Gertrude,’ he muttered to himself. ‘That betraying beaver must have arrived before us and raised the alarm.’
No, he reasoned. Surely she’s still on the lake …
The triangular spire of the clock tower rose in front of him and his attention turned to the white clock face, hovering in the shadows like an enormous full moon.
It engulfed his entire vision, and for a moment he was back on Cloud Mountain with his sister lying captive on the stone altar and the full moon rising above her.
And then he was falling, holding on for dear life as Chatterbeak plummeted from the sky.
Hidden from sight behind the high tower, the freefalling parrot rocketed down the side of the building, gathering speed with every metre he dropped. The icy air blasted Whisker’s eyes and his snow hood was wrenched from his head. Eyes blurring, fingers slipping, he struggled to maintain his grip on his sister.
Hold on, he urged himself. You’ve got to hold on.
Chatterbeak continued his manic descent with no sign of slowing. Anna let out a startled gasp as rose bushes and topiary trees raced up to meet them.
The moment before impact, the speeding parrot pulled up short, swooping low over a box hedge and then ploughing through an arched rose arbour. Thorn-riddled branches scratched at him like claws and his passengers flattened their bodies against his feathers, desperate to avoid being snagged on a rose thorn and wrenched from their seats.
Horace copped the brunt of the battering and he yelped in pain as sharp, spiky branches lashed out at him from all directions.
The rose arch widened and Chatterbeak emerged from the other side, shaking thorns and twigs from his feathers.
Horace continued to yelp and moan, ‘Rotten pies to second class seats.’
‘You’ll live, Horace,’ Ruby hissed, untangling several branches from the end of her longbow.
‘Yeah, as a pin cushion,’ Horace muttered, as the parrot swept low over the snowy lawn.
Whisker looked back, his heart pounding, his paws trembling. Brushing the unruly fringe out of his eyes, he fixed his gaze on the town hall. The cries of the eagles still echoed across the sky, but the tiled roofs of the buildings obscured them from his sight. Uncertain if his plan had actually worked, he swivelled forward, urging Chatterbeak on.
The ground raced beneath them, close enough to touch, much to the dismay of Horace who was soon coated in a layer of snow. By the time Chatterbeak reached two riverside cottages on the outskirts of town, Horace resembled a miniature snowman.
The parrot cleared a final picket fence and, with no sign of pursuit, plunged into the soupy fog of the river.
The fog rolled around them like a protective cacoon and Whisker allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
He glanced down to see how his sister was faring.
‘How are you holding out, Anna?’ he asked.
Anna Winterbottom peered up at Whisker with her large brown eyes. She plucked a rose thorn from her oversized cloak and gave him a cautious nod.
‘We’ll be off this river soon,’ Whisker reassured her. ‘And then we’ll find Mum and Dad, I promise.’
Anna raised a tiny, quivering finger and pointed into the fog.
‘Fox,’ she squeaked.
‘That’s right,’ Whisker said. ‘The fox knows where to find them.’
‘Chains,’ Anna said with a shudder.
Whisker
