Ruby looked away in embarrassment. Whisker felt his cheeks turning a brighter shade of red than the tomato sail.
Trying to act normal, Ruby pointed to another sail. ‘There’s a matching carrot if you want to use it. I prefer the eagle sail, but it’s much too large for the masts.’
‘H-healthy eating,’ Whisker stammered, saying the first thing that came into his head. ‘Tomatoes and carrots. Yes, that’s what we’re after…’
Horace’s ears pricked up. ‘Healthy eating? Are you having a go at me, too?’
Whisker knew he had to stay focused.
‘I-I have to check on the others,’ he said, darting off.
The rest of the crew were doing exactly what Whisker had requested. Eaton and Emmie (dressed as miniature versions of Horace and Ruby) dangled from the front of the boat, draping the Mer-Mouse figurehead with colourful scarves. Fred and Smudge hung a line of blue bunting between the masts while Pete and Mr Tribble stacked neat piles of books on the deck. There wasn’t a cannon or scissor sword in sight. As the final vegetable sail was raised, Whisker glanced over his shoulder to see the Silver Sardine rapidly approaching.
‘Horace to the wheel,’ he ordered. ‘Ruby and the twins to the sails and the rest of the rats in the navigation room, NOW!’
‘What about me?’ Mr Tribble asked apprehensively.
‘I have a special job for you,’ Whisker said, handing Mr Tribble a white flag. ‘Wave this in the air and act like a school teacher escaping from a ship of hungry cats.’
Four rats and a blowfly crouched in a clutter of sails in a corner of the navigation room.
‘Tell me again,’ Fred said, untangling himself from the eagle sail. ‘Why are we hiding in here?’
‘Because I’m too bony for a school boy and you’re too scary for a teacher,’ Pete replied impatiently.
Smudge raised four arms in the air as if to say, and I’m too unhygienic for a classroom pet.
‘Oh – right,’ Fred mumbled.
‘Just keep your eye on those cats and tell us if they’re up to anything,’ the Captain instructed.
Fred closed his mouth and stared out the rear window. The Captain crept to the front of the room, raising his telescope to a pane of glass in the door.
‘We’re almost within firing range of the warships,’ the Captain said. ‘We should expect the first round of volcanic rocks any minute.’
‘That’ll put a chink in the cats’ armour,’ Pete smirked.
‘Or a big hole in our boat,’ Whisker added, hoping desperately the crabs were as easily fooled as they’d been in the past.
‘Um, sorry to interrupt,’ Fred said slowly. ‘But I think the cats are up to something.’
The rats rushed over to Fred and peered out the rear window. The Silver Sardine was now only a stone’s throw away. They watched as the shaggy shape of Furious Fur appeared at the bow of the boat, clutching a pronged metal object attached to a rope.
‘Murderous mayhem!’ Pete cried frantically. ‘He’s got a grappling hook!’
The Captain seized the closest scissor sword and whacked the ceiling, roaring, ‘PORT SIDE ON THE DOUBLE!’
Whisker heard a muffled cry from Horace and the Apple Pie suddenly lurched to its left. A moment later, the grappling hook hurtled past the window, narrowly missing the hull, and splashed harmlessly into the water on the starboard side of the ship.
Furious Fur hissed in anger and slashed his claws through the air. The terrifying orange and black figure of Captain Sabre came into view beside him. Together, the two cats heaved the soggy rope onto the deck.
‘They’ll get us next time,’ Pete hollered. ‘And then we’re brunch!’
As the grappling hook rose from the surface of the water and Sabre prepared to swing, Whisker hoped Pete was wrong.
With a deafening BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! a chorus of exploding cannons filled the air. To Whisker, the sound was sweeter than birds chirping on a spring afternoon.
With deadly speed and precision, a dozen jagged missiles pounded the metal hull of the Silver Sardine. Sabre was thrown backwards into Furious Fur and together the two cats landed in a sprawling heap on the deck. There was a defeated hiss of ‘Retreat,’ and the chase was over. When the second wave of projectiles arrived, the Cat Fish were already racing away.
Jubilant rejoicing filled the deck of the Apple Pie. Cries of ‘We’re saved!’ and ‘Lady Luck is with us!’ echoed through the salty air. The celebration inside the navigation room was far more restrained.
‘What happens next?’ Pete asked, in his usual negative tone.
‘We sail through the blockade and escape,’ Whisker replied, sounding far more confident than he felt. ‘The warships are here to stop smugglers, not traumatised school students.’
‘Just because we look like a ship of traumatised school students …’ Pete said doubtfully.
No one responded. It was clearly a matter of wait and see.
Horace poked his head through the doorway.
‘Who died?’ he said, staring at the long faces.
‘Not you,’ Pete snarled. ‘That would be a joyous occasion.’
‘Quiet,’ the Captain hissed. ‘Why are you here, Horace?’
‘I’ve come to ask Fred for recess,’ Horace answered. ‘The whole class is starving.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be steering the ship?’ the Captain asked suspiciously.
‘Don’t worry,’ Horace said in a relaxed tone. ‘Mr Tribble’s covering for me.’
‘Mr Tribble,’ Pete spluttered. ‘The plan was to sail through the blockade, not crash into it!’
The horrified look on Horace’s face told the rats that recess could wait. He kicked the door open and darted outside. Whisker stared through the open doorway. Towering over the deck was the most enormous ship he had ever seen. Its giant claw-shaped battering ram protruded from its bow, its four masts extended high into the air and its twelve billowing sails blocked out the sun. It was a monstrous Claw-of-War, and it was on a collision course with the Apple Pie.
Mr Tribble let out a startled cry and the crew took evasive action. Ruby and the twins tugged frantically at ropes in a desperate attempt to collapse the sails. Horace seized the wheel and spun the ship in a tight arc through the water. Whisker grabbed the door frame to steady himself as the port side of the Apple
