dry earth. He brushed the soil from the onion and continued up the slope, quietly whistling to himself.
The sound of water grew louder and a gurgling brook came into view, meandering past rocks and bushes. Starlight sparkled across its rippling surface. Whisker stopped, hypnotised by its gentle rhythm.
‘River flows from mountain spring,’ the Hermit whispered, moving steadily away from the river. ‘Hermit’s lair on eastern mountain, Mt Moochup. Keep moving. No time to waste.’
Whisker pulled his eyes from the enchanting stream and trailed after him. Soon they were in the open, scrambling up egg-shaped boulders and creeping through crevices on the lower slopes of the mountain. The wind tore through their clothes. Whisker pushed his body close to the rocks, hoping the next icy gust wouldn’t carry him away.
He looked to the air for any sign of owls. The rocky peaks of the mountains spiralled upwards towards the starry heavens and a dark ring of cliffs surrounded the lagoon far below.
The Hermit vanished into a crevice and Whisker and the Captain shuffled after him, entering the onion-scented interior of a small cave.
With a TAP of two stones, a spark flashed in the darkness. Several taps later and the Hermit had managed to start a small fire in the centre of the cave. He threw a bundle of dried grass and sticks onto the fire and chuckled, ‘Owls don’t see smoke on windy nights, no, no. Hermit has roast onions on windy nights, yes, yes.’
He proceeded to gather an armful of small onions from a pile in the corner and handed several to Whisker and the Captain.
‘Onions and pine nuts – island delicacies,’ he said, taking a seat next to the fire. ‘Roast pine nuts for dessert.’
The Hermit peeled an onion and wedged it on the end of a stick. The others watched as he began turning it over the flames.
Whisker generally disliked brown onions. His mother once told him they were packed with essential vitamins, but that hardly compensated for their terrible aftertaste. On this occasion, however, hunger and good manners ensured he gave at least one a try. He figured it would be impolite to ask for dessert before he’d touched his main course.
Hesitantly, he selected the smallest onion from the pile and tore off its outer layers. Following the Hermit’s lead, he skewered the onion on a stick and thrust it into the fire.
The smell of roast onions was surprisingly appetising. Whisker ate three well-cooked onions and several pawfuls of roasted pine nuts before his hunger was satisfied. He leant back against a rock and hoped it was only raw onions that gave the Hermit his terrible breath. A loud oniony burp that popped out of his own mouth quickly convinced him otherwise.
‘It’s a good thing Ruby’s not here,’ he muttered quietly to himself. ‘But then again …’
The Hermit’s ears twitched.
‘Who’s Ruby?’ he asked inquisitively.
‘Ruby is our boatswain,’ the Captain said. ‘She’s also my dear niece and your granddaughter.’
‘Hermit has a granddaughter?’ the Hermit exclaimed.
The Captain nodded. ‘She’s a fine girl, our Ruby. Isn’t she, Whisker?’
Whisker felt his cheeks flushing.
‘Y-yes,’ he stammered.
‘Ruby lost her mother, your daughter, in the plague, along with the rest of her family,’ the Captain explained to the Hermit. ‘Ruby’s been in my crew ever since she was old enough to swing a sword.’
The Hermit’s face darkened. ‘Little Lilith is gone?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ the Captain said. ‘Many things have changed over the years.’
‘Hermit’s wife?’ the Hermit asked.
The Captain grinned. ‘Granny Rat is as angry as ever and very much alive. She’ll be furious to see you, that’s for sure. But I’ve no doubt she’ll welcome you back with open arms.’ His face grew stern. ‘Granny never trusted Rat Bait and often questioned his story. Heaven help the lying scoundrel if she ever tracks him down – if I ever track him down.’
‘Hermit is afraid we’ll never see any of them again,’ the Hermit said gravely. ‘Ships never return to windy, windy island. Hermit and rats stranded forever.’
Whisker’s tail coiled itself around an onion. The Captain gave the Hermit a defiant look, as if accepting a challenge.
‘You don’t know the crew of the Apple Pie,’ he murmured. ‘They’re loyal to the end. If they’re alive, they’ll return. I know it.’
‘Hermit hopes so,’ the Hermit sighed. ‘Hermit once believed Princess Pie would return. Every day he watched. Every day the same: empty horizon.’
‘Except today,’ the Captain said.
‘’Cept today,’ the Hermit repeated. ‘Today more rats marooned …’
The Captain didn’t respond. The Hermit sighed and threw another branch on the fire, its withered leaves bursting into flames. Whisker looked from the Hermit to the Captain, sensing it was going to be a stalemate.
‘So what can we do?’ he asked in a small voice. ‘Surely we can build a raft to get off the island?’
The Hermit brushed the ash off his paws. ‘Hermit built raft, yes, yes. Many years ago. Mighty raft it was – wrecked on Cyclone Sea. Hermit swam back to island.’
‘What about the treasure?’ Whisker asked hopefully. ‘We know it has great power.’
The Hermit shook his head.
‘Treasure still a mystery,’ he replied sadly. ‘Hermit searched for many years on western mountain. Hermit found no clue of secret location.’
Whisker glanced guiltily at the Captain and then turned back to the Hermit.
‘The King’s Key revealed where the treasure was hidden,’ he explained, ‘but I’m afraid it’s lying at bottom of the Treacherous Sea.’
The Hermit’s eyes lit up. ‘Whisker remembers location of treasure?’
‘Yes,’ Whisker replied. ‘The lower slopes of Mt Mobziw. But a location’s not much good without the key. I’m sure we’ll need it to open a door or …’
‘Whisker shows Hermit the map,’ the Hermit cut in. ‘Hermit shows Whisker something – useful.’
‘Oh-ok,’ Whisker said, intrigued.
He reached across for the map canister, drying near the fire and carefully removed its delicate contents. The Hermit shuffled to the back of the cave and pulled out a brown drawstring bag from a crack in the wall. He brought the bag closer to the fire.
‘Hermit’s treasures,’ he said, reaching his paw inside.
He pulled out an ancient compass, a few scraps of faded paper and a rusty metal key. Like a mother handling a new born
