the summer months. Rich city folk would travel in droves up the wide western road from the nation’s capital, Elderhorne, and stay for the school holidays. There would be sailing, fishing and swimming. In the winter months, Hawk’s View would be covered in white and used as a base for skiers and tobogganers visiting the nearby mountain slopes. Autumn, it seemed, was a quiet time of year.
Without so much as a friendly fisherman to give him the time of day, Whisker turned his attention to a small boatshed, positioned halfway along the dock. Stepping closer, he noticed a weathered metal sign nailed to its door.
Enquire within, Whisker said to himself, raising his paw to knock. I’ll do just that.
His freezing knuckles rapped against the hard wood. Tap, tap, tap.
‘Enter,’ boomed a deep voice from inside.
Running his paw through his recently combed fringe, Whisker steadied his nerves and opened the door.
The shop was a ramble of fishing supplies and boating equipment – an absolute mess. Buoys, cast nets and anchors hung from the rafters. Lifejackets, signal flares and wooden oars lined the walls. There were reels of fishing line stacked next to gumboots, and boxes of matches bulging from shelves. Lead sinkers and brightly-coloured lures overflowed from barrels, spilling onto the grimy floor. Every inch of the shop seemed to be covered with something.
Whisker walked delicately across the cluttered floor, hoping he wouldn’t trip on a loose plank or a bucket of fish hooks.
‘Can I help you, young rat?’ asked a voice from behind the counter.
Whisker looked up, and for a moment he thought the shopkeeper was a part of the display. He was an enormous grey badger wearing a dolphin-print beanie and bright yellow fisherman’s jacket with the price tag still attached to the sleeve. In his paws he clutched a copy of the Cloud Chronicle, Hawk’s View’s local newspaper. The headline read, WILD WEEKEND WEATHER EXPECTED.
‘I-I-I’m after a boat,’ Whisker said, struggling to stop his teeth from chattering.
‘Aye,’ the badger said, studying him suspiciously. ‘And maybe a coat?’
‘N-n-no, th-th-thank you,’ Whisker stammered. ‘I’m n-n-not cold.’
The truth was, Whisker was absolutely freezing. Wearing only a woollen sweater, he was far from adequately dressed for the icy conditions of the lake. In an attempt to shake his Hooded Mouse Bandit identity, he had left his coat and scarf with his companions, accepting Horace’s offer to comb his tangled fur with his hook.
Both Ruby and Horace had volunteered for the boat-buying role, but it was decided that a limping girl in an eye patch, and a hook-wielding midget looked far more conspicuous than a shivering rat with a comb-over.
Whisker’s new appearance as a weather-ignorant city slicker gave him some comfort when he considered he had already seen three wanted posters for his arrest, including one plastered to the wall behind the badger.
As Whisker approached the counter of the shop, the badger peered down at him and shrugged. ‘I’ll never understand the behaviours of you city folk. You’d prefer to be fashionable an’ freeze than button on a respectable cardigan and be warm.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You are from the city, aren’t you?’
‘Port Abalilly,’ Whisker said, between teeth chatters. ‘I’m in the pearl diving industry.’
‘Aye,’ the badger grunted. ‘No pearls out ‘ere, I’m afraid.’
‘I thought I’d give freshwater fishing a try,’ Whisker ventured.
The badger’s face lightened. ‘Now that’s something I can help you with!’ He gestured for Whisker to follow him to a small window at the rear of the shed. Removing the beanie from his black-and-white striped head, he used it to wipe a frosted pane of glass.
‘Take a look out there,’ he said, pointing to a line of small fishing boats moored against the jetty. ‘For the right price, you can have the pick of my vessels. It’s a quiet time of year so the fish’ll be plentiful.’ He tapped the corner of the glass where Falcon Island was visible in the distance. ‘Stay clear of that island, mind you. A wee lad of your size will be lifted straight out of the boat and carried off for a falcon’s supper.’
‘O-okay,’ Whisker gulped. ‘Do you have any enclosed vessels?’
The badger gestured to a blue and white boat at the end of the line. It had a small cabin partway along its hull and appeared to be the only vessel not half-submerged, half-built or in desperate need of repair.
‘The Ice Maiden is my wife’s pride and joy,’ he said, placing his paw over his heart. ‘But I’m afraid to say she’s not for sale – the boat that is, not my wife …’ He winked and added, ‘Although technically she’s not for sale either.’
Whisker reached into his bag and pulled out the string of pearls.
‘Maybe this will change your mind,’ he said, raising the necklace into the air.
The badger’s eyes lit up like lighthouses.
‘Where did you get that?’ he gasped.
‘I’m not just a pearl diver,’ Whisker said, extending the necklace to the mesmerised shopkeeper. ‘I’m an exceptional pearl diver.’
‘Wonders of all wonders!’ the badger marvelled, running his huge, furry fingers over the immaculate pearls. ‘With a necklace like this, you can have the boat and my wife!’
Whisker laughed. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of your beloved Mrs Badger, but there are a few other items I require.’
‘Yes, yes, take whatever you want,’ the badger said absently, unable to take his eyes off the precious pearls. ‘Hooks, lines, sinkers … help yourself to anything.’
‘Thank you,’ Whisker said, looking around the shop. ‘And I have one final request.’
‘Name it,’ the badger said, squeezing the necklace over his head.
Whisker pointed to the badger’s bright yellow fisherman’s jacket. ‘I’m in need of a new coat.’
The badger let out a hearty roar. ‘This one? Be my guest! It’s ten sizes too big for your wee body, but who am I to question the fashion of pearl divers?’
Rattling his new pearls and whistling a jolly sea shanty, the badger removed the shiny yellow jacket and handed it to Whisker.
Whisker smiled to himself as he examined the ghastly yellow item. Wide sleeves … broad neck … extra length … the size is absolutely perfect.
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