swords.’
‘I’m not here to talk about the fight,’ Whisker said, mustering the courage, ‘I’m here for the sailing lesson.’
With a huff of annoyance, Ruby lowered the telescope and looked at him.
‘Alright, boy. I take it you’ve been on ships before?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘a few.’ He hesitated. He didn’t want to appear over-confident. ‘Mainly small boats.’
Ruby’s face contorted into a frown. ‘The Apple Pie is a Square Rigged Brig, not a small boat. Can you work the sails?’
‘I think so,’ Whisker said cautiously.
‘Okay,’ she said, pointing to the mainsail. ‘What’s supporting that sail?’
‘A coat hanger,’ he answered.
Ruby rolled her eye. ‘Yes, that’s obvious. But what’s its sailing name?’
‘A yard,’ Whisker replied without hesitation.
‘And the two lines hanging from either end?’
‘They’re called braces. They’re used to turn the yard around in different wind conditions.’
Ruby looked impressed, but only for a moment. She pointed to a rope tied to the centre of the coat hanger.
‘And what about that line?’
Whisker followed the rope with his eye. It passed through a small metal eyelet at the top of the giant knife and then ran down the mast to his shoulder height. At that point it was looped around a hook and tied off.
‘That’s called a halyard,’ he replied slowly. ‘It raises and lowers the yard and the entire sail.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now, whatever you do, don’t untie that loop without holding the rope securely. Fred did that in his orientation and the whole sail came crashing down on top of him. Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Whisker squeaked. The last thing he wanted was to create a scene in front of Ruby. If he could impress her during the sailing lesson, she might go easy on him during the sword fight.
Ruby continued, a little less uptight, ‘See that small cloud on the horizon? I want you to set a course to reach it.’
Whisker turned towards the speck of white in the distance and felt a gust of breeze hit his face.
‘It’s upwind,’ he considered, ‘so we can’t sail straight for it.’
‘Go on,’ Ruby said.
‘We’ll have to tack,’ he explained. ‘That involves following a zigzag course from left to right to catch the wind. It will take a while, but we’ll get there eventually.’
Without warning, Ruby spun the wheel violently to her right and the boat lurched to its starboard side. Whisker nearly tumbled backwards.
‘Hurry up!’ Ruby cried. ‘The sails are waiting for you.’
Regaining his balance, Whisker scrambled down from the helm and ran over to the mainmast.
Ruby whistled to Smudge, who was sitting on a yardarm. ‘Fetch Horace. We need an extra pair of paws up here.’
Moments later, Horace arrived in a fluster.
‘Who’s the mad-rat steering this boat?’ he spluttered. ‘I just spilt a mug of Apple Fizz all over myself.’
‘Good,’ Ruby snorted. ‘You shouldn’t be drinking that sugary poison this early in the morning. Give Whisker a hand before the wind rolls us over.’
Horace didn’t argue. He grabbed a rope and, together with Whisker, tilted the mainsail into position. They repeated the process with the foresail and Ruby adjusted the wheel.
Soon they were sailing as close as they could into the wind. The square shape of the sails meant the angle was quite large and they would have to follow a wide zigzag course to reach their destination. Whisker knew the cloud would either move or disappear before they even got close to it.
‘Prepare to come around,’ Ruby ordered, swinging the wheel in the opposite direction.
The boat turned to its port side and for a moment they were facing directly into the wind. The sails lost their shape and began to flap awkwardly. As the boat continued turning, Whisker and Horace pulled at the ropes, and the sails sprang back to life. In no time, the boat was racing along on the second leg of the course.
As Whisker predicted, the cloud soon vanished. They had completed six or seven legs of the journey and by that stage Ruby was satisfied with Whisker’s performance.
‘You could have been quicker during the turns,’ she pointed out.
Horace raised his hook in the air and groaned. ‘Give us a break, Ruby. We were one paw down.’
‘We still have to sail back,’ Ruby said. ‘Do you think you can handle it?’
‘Of course,’ Whisker replied, ‘it’s downwind from here.’
‘Don’t be reckless,’ Ruby warned, looking more at Horace than at Whisker. ‘Pull the sails in a bit if you have to. I don’t want too much speed. If you break the pie off the Mer-Mouse, you’re dead!’
As Ruby swung the boat around, Whisker turned to Horace, perplexed.
‘What in the salty sea did she mean by that?’
‘Haven’t you seen her?’ Horace asked.
‘Seen who?’ Whisker said in confusion
‘The golden lady of the ship, of course,’ Horace exclaimed.
‘What … golden lady?’
‘Get these ropes sorted, and I’ll introduce you to her.’
Whisker lay on his stomach at the bow of the boat and peered over the side. The ship sliced through the water with ease, but the occasional wave sent a shower of spray in his direction.
‘She’s beautiful,’ he said, wiping the water from his eyes.
Horace smiled. ‘She’s the spirit of the vessel.’
They both stared down at the golden figurehead adorning the front of the boat. She had the head and arms of a mouse and the tail of a fish. Two golden shells covered her chest and in her paws she clutched a golden pie. To Whisker, she was a gleaming goddess in a sea of sparkling sunshine.
‘This is our Mer-Mouse,’ Horace said with pride. ‘She’s a mythical creature that roams the ocean in search of handsome young sailors and well cooked pies. She’s actually a rat, but no one liked the name Mer-rat.’
‘Where
