The Trophy of Champions (16 page)

Oh no,
Whisker thought in dismay,
can this get any worse?

Taking one furious look at the sign, Ruby spun on her heel and stormed off down the beach.

‘Ruby, wait,' Whisker called out. ‘Don't go. Just listen to me.'

Ruby took several stomping steps and, without turning around, hissed, ‘Save it for your precious girlfriends, apprentice!'

Speechless, Whisker was left staring after her in shock and confusion.

‘Way to go, prince charming,' Horace muttered. ‘And here I was thinking I had the rotten love life.'

‘Love life?' Whisker gasped. ‘I don't have a love life.'

‘Exactly,' Horace said. ‘And you won't get one the way you're going.'

Before Whisker could respond, he felt the strap of his anchor pendant tightening around his neck.

‘Ah ha! Caught you at last, you disgraceful little diving disaster,' came the croaky voice of Granny Rat. ‘Don't tell me you're responsible for today's defeat too?'

‘N-n-no,' Whisker stammered, ‘it was all the penguins, honestly.'

‘Humph,' Granny snorted, tightening her grip. ‘A likely excuse. Now stop squirming and listen up, Wafer. You've got one final chance to redeem yourself, is that understood?'

‘Yes, Coach,' Whisker gulped.

Granny Rat released Whisker's pendant and lowered her voice. ‘I've been monitoring the tournament schedule over the past few days. Baron
Predictable
has adhered to the simple pattern of two Death Ball games followed by two events. If he continues in this fashion, your do-or-die showdown with the toads will be held tomorrow.' She gave Whisker a smug smile. ‘It has also come to my attention that one of you half-brained baboons has discovered a way to defeat the Cane Toads.'

‘It's more of a defence strategy,' Whisker said, trying to downplay the idea.

‘Well whatever you call it, you've got until sunrise to have it perfected,' Granny ordered. ‘If we lose this match our tournament is as good as over.'

Fashion on the Field

When the icy dawn wind howled through the campsite the following morning, Whisker was already dressed and fed and waiting in the supply tent with a barrel of salt, a bundle of reeds and a selection of Athena's personal belongings. On the first chime of the bell, he woke Horace and Fred and set off in the direction of the tower. Unlike the previous evening, there was a distinctive lack of purple in the hazy sky.

‘The trophy's gone,' Whisker exclaimed as the dark structure came into view. ‘Gustave must have moved it during the night.'

‘Another lost opportunity,' Horace shivered. ‘A pre-dawn ambush would have been our best hope yet.'

A long-eared silhouette appeared at the top of the tower and the small crowd assembled at its base looked up expectantly.

‘Ze remaining pool games of Death Ball vill be held today,' Baron Gustave boomed into his bullhorn. ‘Ze action vill commence in thirty minutes vith ze Cane Toads versus ze Pie Rats.'

‘Surprise, surprise,' Horace said, hurrying down the track. ‘We've got just enough time for a refreshing salt shower.'

‘Ruby's not going to like it one bit,' Whisker panted. ‘You know how much of a clean freak she is.'

‘That's the least of her worries,' Horace scoffed. ‘She'll forget all about the salt when she sees the stylish head-gear we've designed for her.'

Ruby did not appreciate the salt. Nor did she enjoy Athena's bright pink glasses being strapped to her head. And she definitely did not approve of the tacky souvenir placemat covering her mouth and nose.

‘I carn breaf in dis 'orrible ting!' she gasped though the thick, red fabric.

‘That's why you have a snorkel,' Horace said, wedging a piece of hollow reed into the corner of Ruby's mouth.

‘Mm mm brr brr,' Ruby protested.

‘Don't worry, Ruby,' Horace said, turning cross-eyed through a pair of sparkly silver spectacles. ‘We'll be nerdy scuba-diving-bushrangers together.' With a flick of his wrist, he pretended to shoot her with his racket attachment.
‘KAPOW!'

Unimpressed, Ruby stormed off to a dark corner of the dressing room and began hurling a practice ball against the dirt wall. The door creaked open and Rat Bait walked in.

‘Avast!' he exclaimed, catching sight of the bespectacled crew. ‘Who let the underwater optometrists on the loose?'

‘Whisker's the mastermind behind our poison protection strategy,' Horace gurgled through his snorkel.

‘Aye,' Rat Bait said, turning his attention to the white flecks on Horace's shoulders. ‘But what's with all the dandruff?'

‘It's not dandruff,' Horace protested. ‘It's salt. Pure, unadulterated salt. Those warty wenches will think twice about getting up close and personal with Mr Salt Shaker.' He wiggled his hips like a cabaret performer and began a ridiculous little dance. Fine grains of salt sprayed everywhere.

‘You'd best be perfectin' that
salt-sa
routine quick smart, me boy,' Rat Bait chuckled. ‘The match commences in two minutes' time.'

About two minutes later, the Pie Rats entered the stadium to a chorus of heckles and taunts.

‘You've outdone yourselves this time,' hollered an old lizard in the third row. ‘It's an
F
for fail in the fashion stakes –'

‘– and a
C
for cuckoo in the crazy department!' croaked a fat tree frog.

‘Argh, give ‘em a break,' shouted an otter in a baggy bandanna. ‘With wayward cannon shots, bumbling belly flops an' tantrums galore, they're the most entertainin' team I've seen in years.'

If only entertainment equalled success,
Whisker sighed as he took his place on the wing.

If the crowd had come for entertainment, they got what they paid for. From the very first bounce, the battle of the masked salt bandits versus the poison-spitting pond dwellers was as captivating as it was ridiculous. While the Pie Rats were happy to tackle and tussle with the toads, the salt-loathing amphibians refused to get within arms' distance of their opponents. What resulted was a comedic game of Catch and Kiss (minus the kissing).

The toads relied on wide passes and long-range shots at goal to stay in the game, but the Pie Rats defended valiantly and maintained a one goal lead for the entire first half. The toads' best chance to level the score came late in the second half, when Wart Face sprayed an unprotected section of Fred's enormous eye with poison. Fred was taken from the field for precautionary treatment and Pete hobbled on as his replacement in the goal box.

With only minutes remaining, Granny Rat ordered the entire team to fall back in defence. The toads shifted the ball from wing to wing and then attacked with a sweeping lob over the defenders' heads. Just when the ball appeared to be headed for an open corner of the goal, Pete arrived out of nowhere, spinning on his pencil leg and, with a spectacular roundhouse kick, sent the ball hurtling out of the stadium.

By the time Gustave's sons had retrieved the ball from the top of a gum tree, the hourglass had run down and the match was officially over. Whisker threw off his mask and glasses and celebrated with a huge breath of fresh air. Ruby was more interested in washing off the salt and poison than savouring the sticky victory and hurried off to the waterhole without her teammates.

‘We did it!' Horace exclaimed, high-fiving Whisker with his racket attachment. ‘We made the Death Ball final.'

‘Thanks to Pete and Athena,' Whisker said, plonking his weary body onto the bench. ‘Don't look now, but I think our new hero has just found himself an admirer.'

The two rats stared across at Pete, still wearing his protective glasses. Athena had her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and was hugging him affectionately. Pete looked utterly bewildered.

‘That's beautiful,' Horace sighed. ‘Those lovey dovey bookworms can bore each other to death and leave the rest of us exciting folk alone. It's the perfect ending to a glorious morning. I couldn't ask for anything more.'

‘How ‘bout a relaxin' day off?' Rat Bait said, creeping up beside them.

‘Are you serious?' Horace gasped. ‘That would be the icing on the chocolate mud cake.'

‘Shh,' Rat Bait whispered. ‘I be overhearin' Gustave talking to Chatterbeak just now. They're plannin' a rest day startin' at sunset t'day an' finishin' at sunrise the day after termorra. Ol' Gustave said somethin' ‘bout keepin' the athletes fresh for the final three events.'

‘Fantastic!' Horace squeaked, clapping his paw with his racket. ‘That's a day-and-a-half of rest.'

‘But what about the trophy?' Whisker asked. ‘We'd lose two nights of potential raids.'

‘That can't be helped,' Rat Bait said softly. ‘Listen, if yer keen to have a crack, ye could always squeeze in an afternoon raid, t'day. They won't be expectin' ye, an' half o' Gustave's sons'll be stuck here refereein' the next match.'

‘Maybe,' Whisker considered, ‘but it's awfully risky during daylight, and we're yet to come up with a suitable plan.'

‘Suit yerself,' Rat Bait said with a shrug. ‘Now, speakin' of a plan, what say we take a li'l field trip down to Two Shillin's Cove termorra for some
rest an' refreshments?'

‘I'm up for that,' Horace agreed heartily. ‘And while we're there, we can visit Frankie Belorio for an autograph. Papa says he's staying at the Fish ‘n Ships Inn – it's where all the celebrities go. What do you say, Whisker?'

‘Sure,' Whisker sighed, flicking a sticky, white glob off his poison-stained shirt. ‘But first we might need to invest in some new outfits …'

The bustling town of Two Shillings Cove was situated at the mouth of the Hawk River in southern Aladrya. Functioning as a major trading centre as well as a popular tourist destination, its elegant, stone buildings and round-towered hotels ran up the side of a steep hill overlooking the sheltered cove.

The Pie Rats sailed into the sunny cove mid-morning and berthed their small vessel on an outer dock. The respectable town was no place for a pirate ship, especially one as peculiar as the
Apple Pie
, and Rat Bait had arranged for a less conspicuous craft to ferry the crew to their destination.

In an attempt to blend in with the crowd, the Pie Rats were dressed in a mish-mash of tacky tourist outfits, while their soiled uniforms soaked in a tub of Salamander's Stain-Busting Soap Suds. Joining the day-trippers were Granny Rat and Horace's family. The Hermit, unaccustomed to crowded streets and cramped shops, volunteered to stay back and guard the supply tent with Smudge.

Whisker had spent the entire voyage trapped in a conversation with Papa Niko about his favourite subject, Death Ball. When Papa Niko ran out of Freeforian Firetails stories, he turned to his second favourite topic, Greek mythology.

‘Did you know that my three lovely daughters were named after Greek goddesses?' he said to Whisker as they stepped onto the wooden dock.

‘I think Horace mentioned that once,' Whisker replied, struggling to attach a slippery mooring rope to a bollard.

‘Hera, my eldest daughter, was named after the queen of the gods,' Papa Niko said dreamily. ‘In Greek mythology, Athena was the goddess of wisdom and the arts and Aphrodite was the goddess of love and beauty.' He chuckled to himself. ‘I think Mama Kolina was accurate with her name choices, don't you think?'

‘Extremely,' Whisker replied, glancing up at the three sisters parading down the dock. Aphrodite was staring at herself in a pocket mirror, Athena had her head buried in a guide book and Hera was scolding them both for not watching where they were going.

‘Have I told you about my favourite Greek myth yet?' Papa Niko asked, helping Whisker secure the rope. ‘It's called the
Trojan Horse.
Between you and me, I think it's the answer to your trophy dilemma.
'