The Trophy of Champions. Cameron Stelzer

Rat hobbled over to him with an expression that was anything but granny-like. Her ageing body was slight and frail, but her mind was sharper than a razor. It wasn’t hard for Whisker to see why she’d been recruited as the head coach.

      What Granny Rat wants, Granny Rat gets, he thought to himself.

      ‘You must be the new apprentice,’ she said, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘Wafer or whatever your name is.’

      ‘It’s Whisker, actually,’ Whisker replied.

      ‘Well, Wafer,’ she continued, ‘I’ve heard you’re quite the adventurer. My dear fool of a husband, the Hermit, hasn’t stopped gabbling on about you since he returned from his island hiatus. From what I’ve deciphered from his ramblings, you’ve already passed four apprenticeship tests and are on track to becoming a capable young Pie Rat. I personally can’t see any of that by looking at you and you’re yet to pass the all-important Pie Rat Sailing Test, but if you combed your fur and learnt to control that fidgeting tail of yours, you might just win us a medal.’

      She leant closer to Whisker and whispered with minty breath, ‘I’ll have you know that this isn’t the first time I’ve coached a team in the Pirate Cup, but unlike my previous team’s pathetic performance, I intend to leave these games as a victor. Understand?’

      ‘Yes, coach,’ Whisker replied, straightening his messy fringe with his trembling tail. ‘I won’t let you down.’

      Granny Rat relaxed a few wrinkles and turned to the hulking figure of Fred and the miniscule body of Horace.

      ‘As for you two …’ she began.

      While the newly appointed head coach gave Horace and Fred a pep talk on personal hygiene and team etiquette, a wiry rat wearing a baggy tracksuit approached the tent. He dropped two large suitcases on the ground and crumpled over in exhaustion.

      ‘Hermit not used to girls’ suitcases, no, no,’ he panted. ‘Girls bring half a house with them.’

      ‘Don’t ye be complainin’,’ puffed a portly rat behind him, carrying an even larger suitcase. ‘Me case be three times the size o’ yers.’ He straightened his back and began fanning himself with his tattered blue captain’s hat.

      ‘I’m too old to be carryin’ damsel’s bags, especially with me injury,’ he said, pointing to a large, purple circle around his left eye. ‘This bruise be growin’ bigger by the minute –’

      Before he could continue, there were several high-pitched squeals from a nearby ticket booth.

      ‘Over there,’ cried an excited voice. ‘It’s Horace … near the tent.’

      ‘Are you sure?’ shrilled another. ‘He looks shorter.’

      ‘It’s him alright,’ exclaimed a third. ‘Look at those legs. He always was the runt of the litter!’

      Horace stuck his head in his hook and whispered, ‘Save me, Whisker. I’m trapped between a maniac coach who wants to bathe me in bleach and three squealing sisters who think I’m a suckling pig.’

      As the three overdressed rats pranced towards the pile of suitcases, Whisker wondered if he was looking at the right sisters. Each girl was tall, slender and elegantly presented – a stark contrast to Horace’s stocky frame and ill-fitting pirate attire. With fine features and perfectly straight teeth, the sisters could easily be mistaken for fashion models or pageant queens.

      The tallest of the three rats addressed Horace in a patronising tone. ‘Hello, big brother. We almost didn’t recognise you. It’s been such a long time …’

      ‘Hi, Hera,’ Horace replied, gazing up at her. ‘Still growing I see.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ she said with a bored shrug. ‘Or perhaps you’re just shrinking –’

      Horace shot Whisker a look that said, see what I mean.

      The second sister lowered the novel she was reading and gave Whisker a flirtatious wink through a pair of red spectacles.

      ‘So, Brother,’ she said, not taking her eyes off Whisker, ‘when are you going to introduce us to your handsome friend?’

      ‘Oh,’ Horace said. ‘Of course, Athena. How remiss of me.’ He cleared his throat and waved his hook in a circle around his companion. ‘This, my dear sisters, is Whisker, master escape artist and apprentice extraordinaire.’

      The three girls batted their eyelashes and curtseyed in unison. ‘Hi, Whisker.’

      Whisker suddenly felt like a deer in lamplights. His tail coiled around his leg. Death-defying escapes were one thing, but girls had never been one of his strong points.

      Horace continued, ‘And these are my three sisters, Hera, Athena and Aphrodite – equally famous for their beauty as they are for their bickering.’

      ‘Bickering?’ exclaimed the youngest and prettiest rat, almost dropping her small pocket mirror. ‘Since when? Everyone knows I’m perfectly agreeable all of the time …’

      ‘Put a sock in it, Aphrodite,’ Hera broke in. ‘You and Athena spend more time arguing than you do looking in the mirror. Now, if you simply learnt to do what you were told …’

      As the sisters continued their petty quarrelling, an extremely short rat, wearing a Pie Rat supporter’s cap, staggered into view. He carried a suitcase and was clearly struggling to keep it from dragging on the ground. A plump, jolly-faced rat in a golden shawl walked beside him, clutching a basket of fresh chillies. When she saw Horace, she immediately dropped her basket and rushed over to him, smothering him in hugs and kisses.

      ‘My darling Horace,’ she laughed in a rich, velvety accent. ‘It is so good to see you.’

      ‘You too, Mama Kolina,’ Horace said warmly, hugging her back. ‘Look, here’s my friend, Whisker.’

      ‘Ah, Whisker,’ Mama Kolina exclaimed, releasing Horace and throwing her arms around the startled onlooker.

      Mama Kolina kissed Whisker on both cheeks and then placed her paws on his shoulders.

      ‘You need anything, you ask Mama Kolina,’ she said with a wide grin. ‘I cook chilli pies, I mend uniforms, I run errands, I polish boots …’

      ‘Yes, Mama,’ Horace said, his ears turning red with embarrassment. ‘He gets the idea.’

      Horace directed Whisker over to his father, still struggling with the suitcase.

      ‘And this is my Papa Niko,’ Horace said proudly.

      Papa Niko lowered his bags and shook Whisker’s paw.

      ‘That’s a mighty strong striker’s grip you’ve got there,’ he said, clutching Whisker’s right arm. ‘I take it you’ve played some Death Ball?’

      ‘A little,’ Whisker replied.

      ‘It’s a great game, Death Ball,’ Papa Niko said, with a broad smile. ‘Why, it was just the other day I was talking to Frankie Belorio about that very thing.’

      ‘Frankie Belorio?’ Whisker said, trying to place the name.

      ‘You know,’ Papa Niko went on. ‘Frankie the flame, the Big B, Super Slammer of ’86, the fastest Bilby in the Aladryan league, world record holder for the most goals scored in consecutive games …’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Whisker said, still drawing a blank, ‘him.’

      ‘Do you want his autograph?’ Papa Niko asked. ‘I can get it for you – no