The Trophy of Champions. Cameron Stelzer

of all things Frankie,’ Papa Niko continued, ‘I’ve got an inside scoop – straight from the Bilby’s mouth. I’m yet to learn the details, but Frankie’s working on a new set play for the winter season.’ He beckoned for Whisker and Horace to move closer and whispered, ‘It’s called the Double Decoy – Centre Steal. Pretty amazing, hey? You should see his set plays from last season – unbelievable! I’ll show you sometime. When’s your next training session?’

      ‘Err … I’m not exactly sure,’ Whisker replied, ‘but right now we need to get ready for the opening ceremony.’

      ‘Of course you do,’ Papa Niko laughed. ‘Hey, that reminds me, I saw some of the other teams down at the marina – big strong brutes, all of them. Boy oh boy, it’s going to be a fierce competition.’

      

      The Centenary Games

      Dressed in their official team colours of red, black and gold, the Pie Rats stood in the shadows of the dark tunnel, awaiting their entry cue. Large sheets of bark curved over their heads, supported by a framework of sticks and rope. Through small cracks in the bark, Whisker could see the flickering light of hundreds of flaming torches in the grandstands above him. The dull stomping of feet and the muffled shouts of excited spectators reverberated through the roof.

      Clearly visible at the end of the tunnel was the glorious Death Ball arena, a dusty circle of earth where challengers would battle for victory in the days to come.

      Joining the Pie Rats in the tunnel were their team officials: Granny Rat (Head Coach), the Hermit (Team Trainer) and Rat Bait (Chief of Security). The noticeable absentees were Madam Pearl (Team Sponsor) and the three mice. With an enormous bounty on her head, the fugitive white weasel had decided it was safer not to attend the games, while Mr Tribble, Eaton and Emmie were forced to return to Oakbridge Primary School for the start of the autumn term.

      Whisker was glad to have Rat Bait as a valued member of the team. The reformed scoundrel had found a new lease on life since landing on the island and he seemed determined to prove his loyalty to the Pie Rats. Wearing a black shirt marked SECURITY, he appeared to know more than anyone about the evening’s proceedings, and it came as no surprise to Whisker to learn that Rat Bait and the Hermit were both members of Granny Rat’s original Pirate Cup team.

      ‘Any moment now,’ Rat Bait whispered to Whisker, as the sound of the crowd grew louder. ‘It’s always the same. As soon as the mysterious organiser appears, the teams’ll parade out.’ He gave his swollen eye a quick rub. ‘Tell me when we’re up, lad, me vision’s still a bit hazy.’

      Whisker looked cagily at Rat Bait’s black eye.

      ‘Did you get that in the line of duty, sir?’ he asked.

      ‘Err, not exactly,’ Rat Bait answered sheepishly. ‘It be more a matter o’ someone settlin’ an old score.’ He shot Granny a quick glance and whispered. ‘Best ye be followin’ yer coach’s instructions, young Whisker.’

      ‘Aye,’ Whisker said, with wide eyes.

      There was a loud fanfare of trumpets and the entire crowd fell silent. Whisker saw a tall white rabbit in a purple coat and a top hat hopping into view. With several graceful bounds, he reached the centre of the arena and raised a funnel-shaped bullhorn to his mouth.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began in a thick accent, ‘it is a great pleasure to velcome you to ze twenty-fifth Pirate Cup. As you know, zis spectacular event is held once every four years, making zis year’s tournament ze Centenary Games. I am Baron Gustave, otherwise known as ‘G’, your games organiser.’

      There was an enthusiastic round of applause.

      Horace nudged Whisker with his hook. ‘I thought I recognised him. Baron Gustave owns the Gunpowder Galleria on Sea Shanty Island.’

      ‘Remind me to thank him sometime,’ Whisker murmured. ‘That Gourmet Gunpowder really packs a punch.’

      The sound of the crowd died down and Gustave continued, ‘As you are avare, ze authorities have gone out of zeir vay to stop zese games. Rest assured, no Pirate Cup has ever been cancelled. Nor vill it be. Zis year’s entries may be small, but ze talent is enormous.’

      The crowd roared and Gustave pointed to a tunnel on the opposite side of the arena.

      ‘Presenting ze first challengers. From ze icy waters of Antarctica, I give you ze Penguin Pirates!’

      There was a cacophony of squawks and hoots as six identical fairy penguins waddled out. Each wore a checked bandanna and a navy blue singlet with the monogram PP emblazoned across the chest. A flag bearer at the front of the procession carried an enormous navy and white flag.

      ‘Me old employers from the south,’ Rat Bait laughed. ‘Not the fastest bunch o’ birds in a footrace, but they’re as quick as fish in the water.’

      Gustave pointed to a second tunnel and continued his introductions. ‘From ze west coast of Aladrya, I present to you ze Cane Toad River Pirates!’

      With loud CROAKS and RIBBITS, six large cane toads hopped into the arena. Their puffed-up leader carried a mustard-coloured flag with two crossed cane stalks. The all-girl crew behind her wore matching sports dresses. On closer inspection, Whisker noticed their warty faces were smothered in brightly coloured mascara, eyeliner and lipstick.

      Horace winced. ‘And I thought my sisters overdid the makeup.’

      ‘POND SCUM,’ the Captain said, reading the large, green letters on the flag bearer’s shirt. ‘Penelope Pond Scum to be precise. She’s the poison-spitting captain of the Leaping Lily, and her slippery gang consists of her five enchanting daughters.’ He gave Horace a look of concern. ‘Despite what the fairy tales may say, Horace, I would not recommend kissing any of these toads.’

      ‘Advice taken, Captain,’ Horace gulped. ‘I’ll stick to girls of a less warty appearance.’

      The third team was now making its way into the stadium. Even with a bullhorn, Baron Gustave was drowned out by the deafening howls and barks of adoring fans dressed in blue and white.

      ‘There’s no mistaking that reception,’ Pete muttered, twitching his pencil leg uncomfortably. ‘Those rough-as-guts Sea Dogs always get the crowd support – especially when they’re throwing innocent rats into shark-infested waters.’

      Horace gave Pete’s pencil leg a hard tap with his hook. ‘I thought a small fish nibbled your leg off?’

      Pete screwed up his nose. ‘That’s beside the point. I’d still have both legs if those bottom-sniffing canines showed some chivalry and left me on dry land.’

      ‘Well, I doubt you’ll get an apology,’ Horace said, gesturing to a commotion at the end of the tunnel. ‘Bartholomew Brawl and his howlers don’t appear to have attended any doggy obedience classes lately.’

      Horace was right. On their march into the arena, two poodles and a bulldog had already bumped over several Penguin Pirates, and were currently heckling a cane toad named Sugar about her choice of blue eye shadow.

      Unimpressed, Gustave shook his ears and gestured for the Pie Rats to proceed up the tunnel.

      ‘And now, dear spectators,’ he boomed through the bullhorn, ‘I present to you, ze most appetising team in ze competition, ze delicious Pie Rats!’

      There was a mixture of laughs and jeers as Fred raised the Jolly Rat high into the air and proudly led the Pie Rats onto the field.

      As Whisker left the safety of the tunnel and stepped into the bright lights of the stadium, he felt his tail pulsing with energy. All around him, the mighty grandstands rose to the tops of the tallest trees to