With the anchor raised and the sails unfurled, the Apple Pie moved swiftly through the waves.
‘Where am I headed?’ Mr Tribble called from the helm.
‘Away from these cursed commandos!’ the Captain barked. ‘Just watch out for shipwrecks and shallow water.’
Mr Tribble gave the wheel a hard spin and the Apple Pie jerked violently to the left. Half a dozen crabs tumbled overboard.
‘Turn starboard,’ Horace shouted. ‘We’re headed for a wreck!’
Mr Tribble swung the wheel frantically in the opposite direction.
‘Port!’ Pete hollered. ‘You’re steering into the sandbar.’
‘I’m a teacher, not a navigator!’ Mr Tribble shrieked, spinning the wheel chaotically from side to side.
‘Just turn the wheel gently,’ Pete spluttered.
Mr Tribble took a deep breath, steadied himself and delicately turned the wheel.
The attacking crabs thinned out and swimmers fell by the wayside as the Apple Pie continued through the early morning obstacle course of water-logged hulls and sunken cargo ships. Whisker looked down from his position on the rigging to see the last handful of clawed commandos standing in the corner of the deck.
‘They’re mine,’ Horace cried, rushing forward.
Ruby appeared out of nowhere and stepped in his way.
‘Ladies first,’ she smirked.
‘That’s not fair,’ Horace protested. ‘You’ve got two swords and you always get more crabs.’
‘Stop complaining!’ Ruby snapped. ‘You had a head start.’
‘Whatever happened to sharing?’ Pete groaned from across the deck.
As Ruby and Horace continued bickering, the huge shape of Fred emerged behind them. The remaining crabs took one look at the giant and leapt overboard.
‘Putrid pastries!’ Horace huffed in annoyance. ‘Two more crabs and I would have reached thirty.’
‘What a shame,’ Ruby hissed. ‘One more and I would have had fifty.’
Horace ignored her and turned to Fred. ‘How many big fella? Eighty? Ninety?’
‘Ten,’ Fred replied with a baffled shrug.
Ruby grinned triumphantly at Horace and pranced down the stairs to hunt for unwanted passengers below. The remaining crew assembled at the helm. Mr Tribble looked extremely relieved when Pete offered to take the wheel.
‘It’s much harder than it looks,’ he admitted.
‘So what did our new friends want?’ the Captain asked quietly. ‘They didn’t mention you-know-what did they?’
‘The Forgotten Map?’ Whisker gasped. ‘No …’
It had only been a few hours since Whisker’s daring map-retrieval mission (he still stank of perfume from his flamboyant getaway from Madam Pearl’s boutique shop) and the last thing he wanted was for the map to fall into the claws of the Aladryan Navy.
‘There’s nothing to worry about, Captain,’ Horace said confidently. ‘Those hard-headed coral crunchers wouldn’t know the difference between a treasure map and a piece of toilet paper.’
‘Then perhaps their attack was connected to last night’s raid?’ the Captain wondered.
‘You mean today’s raid,’ Pete muttered, pointing a bony finger out to sea. ‘The note we intercepted mentioned a blockade of warships to the west, and we’ve just sailed out of our only safe haven.’
The Captain stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t intended on leaving Shipwreck Sandbar until the blockade had disbanded on Saturday morning. But then again, no Claw-of-War would venture within firing range of the sandbar – the water is far too shallow. If we head due-south through the remaining wrecks, we may escape unseen …’
‘And then what?’ Pete said sceptically. ‘Drop in for a slice of pie on Prison Island?’
Horace gave Pete a prod with his hook. ‘Lighten up, grumpy bones. If we turn west before we reach Prison Island, we’ll be on a direct course for the Island of Kings – where the missing key awaits us.’
‘You make it sound so easy, Horace,’ Pete muttered. ‘I’ll wager my breakfast there’s a Claw-of-War lurking beyond the last wreck.’
‘I’ll accept your wager,’ Horace said eagerly. ‘If the coast is clear, I’m a well fed rat.’
‘You’ll be a well starved rat …’ Pete sniggered under his breath.
Pete turned the Apple Pie to the south and Whisker helped the mice adjust the sails. Horace and Fred busied themselves removing broken crab claws and other debris from the deck. Ruby soon emerged at the top of the stairs and stood frowning at the multitude of scratch marks left by the crabs.
‘Anything to report, my dear?’ the Captain asked with interest.
‘No, Uncle,’ she replied, her expression lightening. ‘I found your cabin untouched and the Forgotten Map still hidden in the top drawer.’
Whisker let out a sigh of relief. Legend foretold that the Forgotten Map led to a mysterious treasure of great power on the Island of Destiny. It was Whisker’s silent hope that the treasure would bring back his parents and sister, who disappeared in their little red boat on the night he was washed overboard in the cyclone. Whisker clung to the belief they were still alive …
His thoughts were interrupted by an excited cry from Horace: ‘Argh me pastries! Last wreck to our starboard side. Put the kettle on, Fred.’
‘Hold your rat’s tails,’ Pete said warily. ‘I think the Captain should take a look at this.’
The Captain clambered up to the helm and raised a short telescope to his eye. Horace and Whisker scurried after him. Pete stood motionless behind the wheel, looking queasy.
‘So?’ Horace squeaked, tugging the Captain’s sleeve. ‘Who misses breakfast?’
The Captain lowered the telescope. ‘I’m afraid you both do.’
‘What?’ Horace gasped, turning a sickly shade of green.
‘There’s no Claw-of-War,’ the Captain elaborated, ‘but the coast is definitely not clear.’
‘S-s-so what’s out there?’ Whisker stammered, suddenly feeling as ill as the others.
‘I’ll give you a hint,’ the Captain said, deadpan. ‘They smell like fish, but they can’t stand water …’
