The Forgotten Map. Cameron Stelzer

was a splash. And then there was silence.

      ‘RAT OVERBOARD,’ Pete yelled. ‘MAKE HASTE!’

      Horace grabbed a rope and ran to the edge of the deck. Whisker followed after him in shock and fear.

      ‘There he is,’ Horace cried, as the Captain’s body bobbed up in a cocktail of slime and seawater.

      ‘THROW ME THE ROPE, YOU FOOL,’ the Captain spluttered.

      Whisker was relieved the Captain was alive, but his relief was soon overcome by a terrifying feeling of dread – this was entirely his fault.

      Horace threw the Captain the rope and, with Whisker and Pete’s assistance, dragged him onto the deck.

      Ruby clambered down from the mast and rushed over to give her uncle a hug. She stopped in her tracks before she reached him and uttered, ‘Eeeyeeew!’

      Whisker could see why. The Captain looked like he had been dragged from a sewer. His velvet coat and vest were smeared with a greasy grey residue. His fur was speckled with chunks of mouldy pie crust. His soggy hat drooped over his face. But the worst part was the terrible smell.

      ‘We should have left him in the water a bit longer,’ Horace whispered. ‘He’d be much calmer and less smelly.’

      The Captain looked down at his ruined clothes and scraped a chunk of garlic from his vest.

      ‘What in the name of Ratbeard’s breakfast is this repulsive muck?’ he exclaimed.

      Whisker looked at Horace and Horace pointed to the lumbering figure of Fred emerging from the stairs.

      ‘Look, here comes Fred to explain everything,’ Horace babbled. ‘We’ll be over here if you need us …’

      ‘YOU TWO AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE!’ the Captain roared, grabbing Horace and Whisker by their collars.

      Whisker turned his head and tried not to breathe in the putrid vapours.

      ‘Oh dear, oh double dear,’ Fred said, joining the group. ‘What a nasty accident.’

      ‘It’s more like a catastrophe,’ Ruby snapped. ‘The boy forgot to look before he fired.’

      ‘Is this true?’ the Captain asked angrily.

      Whisker felt like saying it was partly the Captain’s fault for wandering around in a daze during cannon training, but simply squeaked, ‘Yes.’

      ‘And who was supervising?’ the Captain barked.

      ‘That would be me,’ Horace gulped.

      The Captain took a deep breath and turned to Pete. ‘What is the mandatory punishment for shooting one’s Captain?’

      Pete looked grave. ‘I’m afraid to say … the punishment is death.’