The Trophy of Champions. Cameron Stelzer

Games would somehow fill the void in his heart. Images of cheering spectators, last minute goals and victory parades filled his mind. He even pictured himself holding up the famed Trophy of Champions – a dream shared by Ruby and Horace. But as hard as he tried, the emptiness remained.

      ‘Whisker?’ Ruby said, breaking his concentration.

      ‘Yeah,’ he mumbled, his head still in a dark cloud.

      ‘There’s something I’ve been puzzling over,’ she said softly.

      Whisker turned to look at her. In the flickering light of Horace’s torch he could see her staring straight at him, as if reading his thoughts.

      ‘When we first arrived here,’ she continued, ‘Rat Bait told me that everyone who’s anyone will be at these games.’

      ‘Everyone?’ he repeated.

      ‘Well, not technically everyone,’ Horace butted in. ‘I doubt General Thunderclaw and his Blue Claw buddies got an official invite. And Mr Tribble and the twins aren’t coming, not with school starting back in Oakbridge. And it’s too risky for our fugitive sponsor Madam Pearl to make an appearance …’

      ‘That’s not what I meant, Horace,’ Ruby snapped. ‘Rat Bait was referring to every scoundrel and villain of importance. You know, the kingpins of the smuggling world and the godfathers of piracy.’

      ‘Not my godfather,’ Horace said. ‘He has a weak bladder and doesn’t travel well … although my Mama, Papa and sisters are coming, and my Papa Niko is a big shot in the Death Ball world – he coached the Freeforian Firetails to three consecutive inter-island championships.’

      ‘Thank you for that highly relevant information,’ Ruby said sarcastically. ‘I’ll make sure I ask your papa for some little league tips if I run into him.’ Frowning, she turned back to Whisker. ‘Where was I?’

      ‘Scoundrels and villains,’ Whisker replied.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Ruby said, collecting her thoughts. ‘According to Rat Bait, the Pirate Cup doubles as a lucrative business opportunity for underworld figures. Its secret location is the perfect place to cut a deal, plan a heist or –’ she paused for impact, ‘offload a shipment of stolen goods without the authorities knowing.’

      ‘I’m not quite following you,’ Whisker said quizzically. ‘Is there something on the black market you want to buy?’

      Ruby shook her head. ‘It’s not the goods I’m talking about, it’s the shady characters selling them.’

      ‘Traders,’ Whisker gasped, suddenly understanding.

      ‘Exactly,’ Ruby said. ‘Items sold during the games often fetch top dollar. When the money is flowing, the traders swoop like vultures. If your nameless fox has something valuable to trade, he’ll make an appearance sooner or later.’

      Whisker felt a wave of excitement race up his tail. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Instead of searching the vast oceans for the mysterious trader, all he had to do was wait for the fox to come to him.

      ‘Oh, one other thing,’ Ruby added. ‘Spectators always spend more money when they’re being entertained.’

      ‘And how do we do that?’ Horace asked, re-joining the conversation. ‘Comedic routines? Death defying stunts?’

      ‘That’s easy,’ Ruby grinned. ‘We win in style!’

      

      Suitcases

      The athletes’ village of the 25th Pirate Cup was a hive of activity. Teepees, tents and primitive bark huts covered almost every inch of the grassy clearing. Dozens of small iron braziers burned freely, spreading a warm orange glow over the entire campsite. Feathered, furred and scaly creatures bustled to and fro in the firelight, polishing weapons and adding the final touches to their team uniforms.

      Doubling as a spectators’ resort, the village had it all: souvenir stands, food stalls, betting parlours and the glorious Champions Tavern. Covered by a huge canvas roof, the tavern was the social heart of the games. Long planks of freshly-cut timber, raised on tree stumps, ran the entire length of the expanse to form enormous tabletops. Huge barrels of Apple Fizz, Hot Chilli Cola and Blackberry Surprise lined the back wall, waiting for thirsty competitors to flood in after a gruelling day’s events.

      Situated on the western side of the island, a short walk from the marina berths, the village provided easy access to the nearby waterhole and the outlying Death Ball arena. Further to the south, a cleared strip of land served as the cannon firing range.

      Whisker arrived back at the bustling village to see dozens of noisy spectators pouring through a ticket booth. His eyes darted from animal to animal, hoping for a glimpse of orange fur or a flash of black fabric.

      Be patient, he told himself. Your trader will come.

      ‘Has your mother turned up with our spare uniforms yet, Horace?’ the Captain asked, lowering a small map of the island and peering around the crowd.

      ‘Not yet, Captain,’ Horace squeaked, trying to blow out his torch without singeing his whiskers. ‘She’s arriving on the last ferry from Freeforia.’ He raised his flaming torch and looked in the direction of the marina. ‘I think they’ve just docked. I recognise some of the …’

      With a loud CRACKLE, Horace’s whiskers caught alight. He threw his hook in the air and let out a panicked ‘SQUEAK!’

      Fred gave the torch an enormous puff, extinguishing the flames and sending Horace’s oversized purple hat flying through the open window of a tent.

      There was a terrible screech from inside and a wrinkly old rat poked her head through the doorway. Horace’s hat sat sideways across her head.

      ‘Which one of you despicable, low-life drongos threw this lice-infested hat at me?’ she yelled, throwing the hat to the ground.

      ‘It was the wind,’ Horace coughed through the cloud of smoke. ‘A big gust of wind.’

      The old rat glared at Horace, unconvinced.

      The Captain took a hasty step forward before things got out of control.

      ‘I think a few introductions are in order,’ he said, helping the furious old rat out of the tent. ‘Crew, may I present to you Granny Rat, my beloved mother and your new head coach.’

      The unexpected announcement caught the crew by surprise. Horace’s jaw dropped open, Whisker’s tail went into a spasm and Pete almost broke a lead. Fred, in his usual gentle manner, began a polite round of applause. Granny Rat ignored all four of them and took a step towards Ruby.

      Ruby crossed her arms and scowled, clearly displeased with her uncle’s surprise choice of coach.

      ‘And how’s my favourite granddaughter?’ Granny Rat asked, brushing a fleck of dust off Ruby’s scarlet vest.

      ‘Only granddaughter,’ Ruby corrected, gruffly.

      ‘Yes, well, it’s good to find you in a presentable state for a change,’ Granny Rat said, ignoring Ruby’s hostile demeanour. ‘I may have failed in preventing you from becoming a lawless pirate, but at least I gave you a firm grounding in how to be a stylish one.’

      ‘My cabin’s not filled with pretty little skull-and-cross-bones dresses if that’s what you’re implying,’ Ruby huffed.

      ‘No,’ Granny Rat murmured, locking eyes with her headstrong granddaughter. ‘That would be too much to expect …’ She sighed to herself then resumed her small talk as if the two rats were best friends. ‘So, have you met any respectable cabin boys yet?’

      Ruby mumbled something