he whispered to the pendant. ‘And after that, I’m going to find you and Mum and we’ll be a family again …’
Whisker faltered, struggling to hold back the tears, longing to hear his father’s voice – a single word, that was all he needed; a sign that everything was going to be alright.
But no words came and Whisker’s vision of his father quickly dissolved into the darkness of the room.
Wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, Whisker turned the pendant around and tucked it under his sweater. Then he buttoned up his coat and wrapped the long scarf around his neck, hiding any trace of the golden charm. Sentiment had given him purpose. Now it was time to be brave.
He refastened his pie-buckled belt and attached his brown drawstring bag. Along with the anchor pendant, the bag contained the sole items Whisker possessed: his last gold coin from Rat Bait; a string of pearls and an extendable spyglass from Madam Pearl; and the Hermit’s faithful old compass. Each object had been a gift from a mentor and Whisker had a feeling he would need them all before his mission was accomplished.
My bag of magic tricks, Whisker said to himself, shifting his attention to his new mountaineering coat. Studying the thick outer fabric of the blue-grey coat, Whisker came to the conclusion that the colour would camouflage him perfectly against the rocks and snow of the mountains. He also realised that the hooded coat looked uncannily similar to the grey hooded cloak of his alter ego, the Hooded Mouse Bandit.
As thoughts of safety filled his mind, Whisker was suddenly aware that something was terribly wrong.
‘Where’s Ruby?’ he asked in alarm, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of the emerald-eyed rat. ‘Wasn’t she supposed to be with you, Horace?’
‘She was,’ Horace said, looking away guiltily, ‘but halfway between the school buildings and the cottage, she decided to go on a little scouting expedition. I believe it had something to do with noises from the school gates …’
Whisker’s tail dropped to the ground. ‘And you let her go by herself?’
‘I tried to stop her,’ Horace said. ‘Honestly I did, but you know what she’s like – headstrong and independent.’ He glanced at Chatterbeak for support. ‘Look, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. We saw a couple of pigeons flying past an hour ago and Chatterbeak thought they’d returned to do their business on the school crest.’
‘Pigeons,’ Mr Tribble said, suddenly anxious. ‘You saw pigeons?’
‘True, true,’ Chatterbeak squawked, ‘two pooping pigeons, no mistake.’
‘Which direction were they heading?’ Mr Tribble asked, hurriedly rising to his feet.
‘Due north,’ Horace answered. ‘Why?’
Mr Tribble thrust a scroll into Whisker’s paws.
‘You need to leave at once,’ he hissed. ‘Your safety has been compromised.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Horace protested. ‘No one could possibly know we’re here.’
Mr Tribble scooped up Whisker’s tattered cloak and hurled it into the fire.
‘North-flying pigeons are carrier pigeons,’ he said, quickly adding Whisker’s Pirate Cup uniform to the blaze. ‘Messages are sent directly from Two Shillings Cove to the Oakbridge barracks near the river. By now, every soldier in the district will know about your encounter with General Thunderclaw. All it takes is for one lookout to spot a brightly coloured parrot circling the school grounds, and the entire Oakbridge battalion will be here in an instant.’
‘Rotten pies to aerial surveillance,’ Horace muttered. ‘Chatterbeak is hardly a stealth flyer.’
Chatterbeak stuck his head under his wing and clucked sulkily.
‘Pull yourselves together, both of you,’ Whisker said, thrusting his scissor sword into his belt. ‘If the Blue Claw are already at the school gates, Ruby will need our help.’
‘It’s not the Blue Claw you have to worry about,’ Mr Tribble said, shaking his head, ‘it’s the Highland Hounds. The vicious hunting dogs of the Oakbridge battalion will sniff you out a mile away and then tear you to shreds before you know what’s biting you.’
‘Rotten pies to sniffer hounds!’ Horace gasped, plunging his nose into an armpit. He raised his head a moment later and winced, ‘Oh boy, we’re in serious trouble …’
The Highland Hounds
Picking up a bowl of dried herbs from the mantelpiece, Mr Tribble stepped away from the fire and threw the entire contents into the roaring flames. Immediately a pungent grey smoke began billowing across the room and out of the door.
‘That should mask your scent until you’re safely into the trees,’ he coughed, bustling the three travellers from the cottage.
‘If it doesn’t choke us first,’ Horace spluttered.
‘Once you reach the classrooms, I’d suggest you get airborne,’ Mr Tribble advised. ‘You won’t see them coming and there are too many places the dogs can trap you.’
Chatterbeak flapped his wings in anticipation. Horace hugged the two children goodbye as Mr Tribble gave Whisker his final instructions.
‘The map in your possession will tell you everything I know about Cloud Mountain,’ he said. ‘The nesting territories of the four species of birds are clearly marked, but I’m afraid to say the exact location of the feast remains a mystery to me. Few creatures have visited the mountain and returned to share its secrets. Fewer still have attempted an expedition during the first month of autumn.’
He pointed skywards to the ominous grey clouds. ‘Heavy snowfalls at the end of the monsoon season increase the threat of avalanches. And there’s always the risk of capture.’
Whisker nodded apprehensively and turned to go.
‘Follow Eagle’s Pass to the lakeside village of Hawk’s View,’ Mr Tribble added. ‘Once you have crossed Lake Azure, head for the boulders above Blackbird Wood. It’s the logical place to commence your search and may provide you with a clue.’
‘Thank you,’ Whisker said. And with a quick wave to Eaton and Emmie, he wrapped his scarf around his mouth and dived into the smoky undergrowth.
Hazy black shadows drifted across the forest floor, shrouding the three companions as they ran. Blindly, they scampered over thick beds of pine needles, ducking and weaving past low branches and moss-covered logs. Quickly losing any sense of direction, they took whatever paths they could find, often leading to wrong turns and sudden dead ends.
Despite their slow progress, there was no thought of flight. A bird of Chatterbeak’s size had little chance of ascending through the dense layers of branches, especially with two heavily-dressed Pie Rats as passengers.
Whisker
