The Island Of Destiny - Cameron Stelzer Pie Rats

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he told himself. Crack a joke. Make her laugh. It always works for Horace …

      ‘Y-you did ask me for a paw,’ he gabbled.

      ‘So I did,’ Ruby said, managing a small grin. ‘Now lend me another one so I can tighten this rope.’

      Trying to act natural, Whisker helped Ruby tension the line supporting the jib sail, keeping his eyes on his paws at all times.

      He finished double-checking his knot and looked through the rain to the two masts of the ship: a giant silver knife and a colossal silver fork. The T-shirt mainsail and handkerchief foresail appeared secure in the gusty wind. The cutlery-clothesline combination never ceased to amuse Whisker – especially when he considered they were attached to an enormous pie-shaped hull.

      Ruby followed Whisker’s gaze across the deck.

      ‘Mouse knots,’ she murmured, pointing to the fixing points holding the sails in place. ‘Small fingers equal strong knots. Thank goodness for stowaway school mice …’

      She was interrupted by a frantic BUZZ from the corner of the deck. Whisker turned to see a large green blowfly, wearing a red and white striped jumper, clutching the edge of a barrel.

      ‘What is it, Smudge?’ Ruby asked.

      The loyal mascot of the Pie Rats pointed into the storm with one arm and held on tightly with the other five.

      ‘I think he’s spotted something,’ Whisker said.

      ‘Rain,’ Ruby huffed. ‘A whole lot of rain.’

      Smudge shook his head and pointed again.

      Whisker squinted out to sea, hoping to catch a glimpse of a rock or an island. All he could see was rain, more rain and a blurry patch that looked remarkably like rain.

      ‘Find Fred, Whisker,’ Ruby snapped. ‘He’ll tell us if there’s anything out there.’

      Without protest, Whisker scampered down the stairs in search of the sharpest lookout of the crew, Fish Eye Fred.

      The ship lurched from side to side with every passing wave, bouncing Whisker off the walls of the narrow corridor. He heard the sounds of silver plates clanging to the floor and the echo of Pencil Leg Pete’s spare pencils rolling around a cabin. Finding the upper level deserted, he made his way to the cargo hold at the bottom of the ship.

      Peering through the doorway, Whisker could see orange light radiating from a lantern in the centre of the cluttered room. Horace scrounged through a pile of ropes in the corner, while Pete splashed his red pencil leg in a pool of water, issuing orders to Fish Eye Fred and the three school mice.

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      To his right, Whisker noticed a large hole in the side of the hull, boarded up with wooden planks, stamped FIREWORKS. Fred was busy painting a brown liquid over the cracks. Emmie and her twin brother Eaton applied the gravy-like substance to small leaks, while Mr Tribble examined the opposite side of the hull for further damage.

      Mr Tribble looked up through smeared glasses as Whisker entered the room.

      ‘Hello, Whisker,’ he said in his polite teacher’s voice. ‘Have you come to assist?’

      ‘Err, not exactly,’ Whisker said, almost slipping on a fresh patch of gravy. ‘I need to borrow Fred. Smudge has spotted something in the rain.’

      Pete screwed up his bony white nose and sniffled, ‘Can’t you see we’re all busy?’

      ‘Some of us are busy,’ Horace muttered. ‘Others are just paddling in puddles.’

      Pete narrowed his pink albino eyes at Horace. ‘Supervising is a very important role, especially for a quartermaster of my calibre.’

      Horace gave Pete a dismissive wave of his hook and returned to the ropes.

      ‘I’m sure we can spare Fred for a couple of minutes,’ Mr Tribble said diplomatically.

      ‘Alright then,’ Pete snapped. ‘But you’re on gravy duty, Tribble. That stuff gets up my nose!’

      Fred handed his saucepan of gravy to Mr Tribble and grunted goodbye to Eaton and Emmie. Eaton looked up and, as usual, said nothing. Emmie, the recently appointed hygiene officer of the ship, shook her head.

      ‘You can’t go up there looking like that, Uncle Fred,’ she said. ‘You’ve got gravy all over your arms.’

      Fred removed his white chef’s hat from his enormous head and used it to wipe the gravy from his tattooed arms.

      ‘Better?’ he asked.

      ‘You’ve still got a spot on your earring,’ Emmie scolded. ‘Ruby would be ever so furious if it dripped on her deck.’

      Fred gave his safety pin earring a quick wipe and stuck his gravy-stained hat back on his head.

      ‘Now we go,’ he grunted.

      The giant rat followed Whisker up to the deck, whistling an out-of-tune rendition of Rain, Rain Go Away through his protruding front teeth. The rain had eased slightly when they reached the top of the stairs, but the wind was no less fierce.

      ‘Over here,’ Ruby hissed from the bow of the ship.

      Fred lumbered towards her, swivelling his enormous eye from west to east.

      ‘Lots of rain,’ he remarked.

      Ruby frowned at Smudge. ‘I told you.’

      Fred fixed his eye on a point out to sea.

      ‘Black rocks to the east,’ he muttered.

      ‘East,’ Whisker exclaimed. ‘Are you sure?’

      Fred nodded. ‘Looks like an island.’

      Smudge folded four arms across his chest, awaiting an apology. The wind blew him straight off the barrel.

      ‘Land ahoy!’ Ruby shouted. ‘Starboard side.’

      The Captain raised a short telescope to his eye and peered through.

      ‘That’s our island,’ he declared. ‘And to think, we were sailing straight past it.’

      There was a cacophony of bumps and thumps as Horace leapt onto the deck in a tangle of ropes and sinkers.

      ‘Shiver me shipwrecks!’ he cried, ‘What have I missed?’

      ‘A whole lot of rain …’ Ruby smirked. ‘Oh, and Fred found the Island of Destiny.’

      Horace gave Fred a friendly prod with his hook. ‘Good work, big fella.’

      Smudge waved two arms in the air as if to say, hey what about me? I saw it first.

      The Captain lowered his telescope, swinging the wheel to his right. The Apple Pie turned eastward into the wind and an icy blast of rain smacked the crew head on.

      ‘Brrrr,’ Horace shivered dramatically.

      ‘Drop the anchor and haul in the sails,’ the Captain commanded. ‘We can’t sail into this headwind, and I won’t risk tacking and losing the island.’

      Ruby, Whisker and Horace scrambled over to the sails, lowering the enormous items of clothing, while Fred attempted to drop the anchor. There was a loud CLUNK as the anchor line came to the end of the spool.

      ‘Oh dear, oh double dear,’ Fred groaned. ‘We’re in deep, deep water.’

      Ruby leapt from the mast. ‘The anchor hasn’t reached the sea floor, Captain. We can’t just drift; the wind will blow us miles from the island.’

      The Captain was silent, considering his options. Whisker looked east. The rain appeared to be

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