the Mer-Mouse. There was something vaguely familiar about her face.
‘I think I’ve seen her before,’ he confessed.
Horace’s eyes darted from side to side.
‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not supposed to know this, but yes, she was made to look like someone.’
‘Who?’ Whisker gasped.
‘You’ll guess it sooner or later,’ Horace replied, ‘so I may as well tell you: Imagine the Mer-Mouse was wearing a crimson eye patch …’
‘GET UP HERE AT ONCE!’ cried the angry voice of Ruby.
Whisker and Horace jumped to their feet and pretended to adjust the giant underpants sail.
‘Get your paws off those knickers and fix that sail!’ she yelled, pointing to the foresail.
One of the connecting ropes had loosened and the sail was flapping to one side. The long red pencil supporting the sail jolted back and forth in the wind.
‘Oops,’ Horace gulped, ‘I might need to brush up on my knots.’
The two rats dropped to their knees and began fumbling with the rope. Ruby wasn’t finished.
‘Since when did I give you permission to slacken off?’ she hollered. ‘As soon as I’m not looking, you’re smooching up to Horace’s golden girlfriend.’
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Horace spluttered, ‘she’s …’
‘Both of you are on night watch,’ Ruby cut in.
‘Rotten pies to that!’ Horace protested. ‘You’re not the judge and jury on this boat.’
‘BUT I AM,’ came the unmistakeable screech of Pete hobbling up the stairs. ‘From what I can see, Ruby has every right to punish you for your behaviour. A lazy Pie Rat is a dead Pie Rat, remember?’
Whisker’s tail drooped limply onto the deck. Neither he nor Horace had a comeback.
‘You are both on watch tonight,’ Pete instructed. ‘And I mean all night. If I catch either of you sleeping, you will do it again tomorrow night –’ He glared at Whisker, ‘following your gruelling sword fight.’
Later that evening, two rats hung off the rigging of the Apple Pie. Both rats wished their ship had a comfortable crow’s-nest and not a mythical Mer-Mouse.
‘What’s the time, Whisker?’ Horace asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Whisker replied sulkily. ‘You’ve already asked me six times. Why don’t you ask the Captain? He’s the only one with a clock.’
‘I can’t,’ Horace said. ‘He’s asleep.’
‘Everyone’s asleep,’ Whisker groaned in frustration. ‘The whole world is asleep.’
‘Bats are awake,’ Horace said.
‘Well, where are they?’ Whisker snapped. ‘They’re not out here. There’s nothing out here.’
‘Easy does it, Whisker,’ Horace said defensively. ‘Is there something you want to talk about?’
‘Talk about?’ Whisker spluttered. ‘We’ve been talking for the past nine hours. I don’t want to talk. I want to sleep.’
Horace counted on his fingers ‘… Seven, eight, nine …So it must be three o’clock then. We’ve been up here since six …’
Whisker moaned. His eyes were heavy and his paws were sore from clutching the ratlines that ran up the mast.
He tried to stay awake by watching the light of the crescent moon filtering through the gathering fog. Every now and then, the patches of mist would drift apart and the moonlight would dance on the rippled surface of the ocean.
The air grew colder as dawn approached and Horace began to snore. With his hook twisted around the rope ladder, he was in no immediate danger of falling off. Whisker was about to wake him regardless, just in case Pete was on the prowl, when a distant flash caught his eye.
He rubbed his tired eyes and looked again. Something shone in the moonlight. It wasn’t the white cap of a wave. It was something much bigger. Silently, Whisker stretched out his paw and plucked a small telescope from Horace’s belt. Horace continued to snore.
Whisker slowly extended the telescope and held it to his eye. The mist blocked his vision at first, but when it cleared, he was in no doubt of what he was looking at – another ship.
It was larger and longer than the Apple Pie. Each of its three masts resembled upside-down broadswords. At the top of the mainmast lay a crow’s-nest. It looked empty. A flag flew from the top of the foremast, though it was too dark for Whisker to make out the design.
The most amazing thing about this ghostly apparition was its colour: From the bottom of the hull to the top of the masts, the whole boat sparkled silver. Even the sails glistened in the pale moonlight.
Whisker had been ordered to keep watch, but no one had told him what to do if he saw anything. He assessed the situation. On its current course, the silver ship would disappear in a few minutes – earlier if the fog thickened. Whisker didn’t need to be a pirate to know this wasn’t a ship to attack. It was faster than the Apple Pie, carried more cannons and gave Whisker shivers down his tail.
Whisker shook Horace gently. He didn’t want to frighten him, but he knew that Horace must see the ship for himself.
‘Leave me alone, Mama,’ Horace mumbled, still half asleep. ‘It isn’t morning yet.’ He rolled his head to one side and continued snoring.
‘Pssst,’ Whisker hissed, shaking him again. ‘Wake up, Horace. It’s me, Whisker. You’ve got to wake up.’
This time Horace woke with a start.
‘I wasn’t sleeping,’ he spluttered. ‘You can’t prove anything.’
‘Shh,’ Whisker whispered. ‘They’ll hear you.’
‘Who?’ Horace yawned. ‘The Captain and Pete?’
‘No,’ Whisker said, handing him the telescope. ‘Them.’
Horace raised the telescope to his eye and peered through.
‘Do you know who they are?’ Whisker asked anxiously.
Horace didn’t reply. The telescope shook in his paw. The silver ship disappeared into a patch of fog and Horace finally lowered the telescope. He looked petrified.
‘Was it a pirate ship?’ Whisker gasped. ‘Should we tell the Captain?’
Horace nodded, still not speaking.
Anxiously, Whisker began to climb down. He was two rungs from the bottom when Horace
