think very carefully about your next move,’ the voice continued, increasing the pressure of the blade. ‘It would be a shame to use an antique letter opener for a less savoury purpose.’
The intruder felt the razor sharp blade slicing through the fibres of his cloak, and knew the threat was serious. Conceding defeat, he lowered his sword and raised both arms in the air. His tail collapsed limply to the ground.
‘A wise decision,’ the voice whispered. ‘Now turn around slowly and keep your paws where I can see them.’
Avoiding any sudden movements, he shuffled in a semi-circle until he was face-to-face with his attacker.
What he saw made him cry out in shock.
Suspended from the ceiling by a thin rope was a lavishly dressed weasel. Pure white from head to toe, her entire body seemed to glow in the dim light. She had snow-white fur, an ivory-coloured coat and a necklace of flawless white pearls. Even the ornate knife she held was solid white gold, its polished blade reflecting the startled expression of the onlooker.
‘Madam Pearl,’ he gasped, staring in disbelief at the elegant white weasel. ‘W-what are you doing here?’
The fugitive antiques dealer let out a long sigh.
‘I could ask the same question of you, Whisker,’ she said, lowering herself to the ground. ‘Don’t you Pie Rats ever knock?’
Whisker opened his mouth to respond, but a flurry of movement from the closest bed caught his attention. A small mouse was wiggling out from under the covers, chattering excitedly.
‘Wake up, Eaton!’ she squeaked, prodding the sleeping lump next to her. ‘Look who has come to visit.’
‘Leave me alone, Emmie,’ the lump mumbled. ‘It’s Saturday and I’m sleeping in.’
Emmie let out an annoyed ‘humph,’ and, abandoning her attempts to rouse her grumpy brother, scampered over to Whisker.
‘Tell us the good news,’ she said, throwing her tiny arms around his waist. ‘What happened after the Death Ball final? Did you win the Pirate Cup? Can we see the trophy?’
Whisker patted her affectionately on the shoulder.
‘It’s, well … it’s a long story, Emmie,’ he began.
She looked up in alarm.
‘Did something happen?’ she asked.
Sighing deeply, Whisker lowered himself onto one knee until his troubled blue eyes were level with Emmie’s delicate face. It had been less than a day since he’d last seen the little mouse, but in those short hours, his entire world had turned upside down.
‘Emmie,’ Whisker said, taking his mind back to their final adventure together on the good ship Apple Pie, ‘do you remember Rat Bait’s story about the mysterious trader he met on Drumstick Island?’
‘Yes,’ she said with a shiver. ‘The fox with no name. He arrived on the island with your family’s boat soon after they disappeared in the cyclone. The fox traded the boat and a bag of gold for Rat Bait’s sloop and then vanished without a trace. Eaton says no living soul has seen him since.’
‘Eaton is a smart little lad,’ Whisker said. ‘And I would have agreed with him two days ago.’
The lump in the bed grunted.
Emmie’s eyes widened.
‘You found the fox?’ she gasped. ‘But-but how?’
‘It was chance encounter,’ Whisker admitted, ‘nothing more.’
‘And what about your family?’ Emmie asked. ‘Did you find them? Are they alive?’
Whisker’s lips moved but no sound escaped. It was a painful subject and he struggled to control the storm of emotions that swirled inside him – fear, uncertainty, guilt.
After a long pause, he finally found the words.
‘I made a secret deal with the fox during the Pirate Cup,’ he confessed. ‘He promised me an answer in return for the Trophy of Champions.’
Emmie stared at him in stunned silence.
The lump in the bed winced.
Madam Pearl turned a whiter shade of white.
‘What devilish cunning by the fox!’ gasped the weasel. ‘And such an enormous burden for one young rat to bear.’
Whisker looked up at her, his fragile emotions quickly turning to anger.
‘Don’t patronise me,’ he snapped, before he could stop himself. ‘The Pirate Cup was always about winning and you know it.’
A spark of indignation flashed across Madam Pearl’s face, but she maintained her composure and accepted the accusation graciously.
‘Quite so,’ she said calmly. ‘A sponsor’s hope is always for victory.’
Whisker held her gaze. Madam Pearl’s look of motherly concern told him more than she was prepared to say. As the secret sponsor of the Pie Rat team, she had given Whisker every possible financial assistance to win the Cup. He was now reminded of what else she had given him: her loyalty and her devotion. It was immediately clear he’d severely misjudged her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I know you’re on my side.’
‘Always,’ she said simply.
A moment of understanding passed between them. Whisker turned back to Emmie, who was tugging the hem of his ragged cloak.
‘So tell us what happened,’ she squeaked. ‘Did you win the trophy?’
Whisker wished he could share her childlike enthusiasm, but all he could muster was a hollow, ‘Yes, Emmie. We won.’
‘And did you get your answer?’ she asked.
‘Half an answer,’ Whisker sighed. ‘My baby sister Anna is alive, but she’s in terrible danger.’
‘W-what about your parents?’ Emmie stammered. ‘Are they …?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘The fox refused to tell me. All I know is that Anna is being held captive by the birds of Cloud Mountain, and I have until the next full moon to rescue her.’
‘The full moon feast of autumn,’ Madam Pearl recalled, staring through the slits in the small window. ‘The one night every eagle, hawk, raven and falcon of the mountain gathers to prepare for the coming of winter.’ She turned back to Whisker, her face anxious. ‘Time is against you. The full moon rises the evening after tomorrow.’
‘I know,’ Whisker said. ‘And I must hurry. But first I have a favour to ask. My journey ahead is treacherous. Without a map of the mountain, I fear my quest will be in vain.’
The
