The Captain stood on the deck with Whisker and Horace. It was still dark. The moon had disappeared and the fog had closed in around them. Whisker told the Captain everything he’d seen, minus the detail about Horace falling asleep. The Captain listened carefully, saying nothing.

      When Whisker had finished, the Captain spoke. ‘Under the circumstances, I believe you made the right decision. If you’d raised the alarm, we would all be dead right now.’

      Whisker felt his tail drop to the deck.

      ‘Were they cats?’ he gasped.

      ‘They’re not just cats,’ Horace exclaimed, ‘they’re the Cat Fish pirates; the most deadly crew on the sea. Their ship, the Silver Sardine, is made from hundreds of sardine tins. It’s unsinkable. Their cannons shoot flaming fur-balls, and one direct hit would incinerate our ship in moments.’

      The Captain adjusted his eye patch and added, ‘No one has laid eyes on them for several years, but it seems they’ve been lured out of hiding …’

      ‘But where are they are headed?’ Whisker asked in growing terror.

      ‘The Crescent Sea,’ the Captain said. ‘They must have passed through the Cyclone Sea a few days behind us. It’s fortunate our paths have crossed on a dark and misty night, and not on a clear and sunny day.’

      This information should have relieved Whisker, but instead he felt an icy chill run down his tail.

      ‘My … family,’ he stammered. ‘We lost them in the Cyclone Sea. You don’t think the Cat Fish pirates could have –’

      ‘– found them?’ Horace said, finishing his sentence. ‘Let’s hope not. The Cat Fish are not as charitable as the Pie Rats and they take no prisoners.’

      ‘But we take no prisoners, right?’ Whisker said.

      ‘We take no prisoners because we let them go,’ Horace explained. ‘The Cat Fish take no prisoners because they eat them. That’s the difference.’

      Whisker gulped.

      ‘The sea is wide,’ the Captain said calmly, ‘and your parents’ boat is small. The Cat Fish usually prey on larger vessels filled with silver and gold … Did you recognise any of the crew?’

      ‘Just that despicable silver Tabby at the wheel,’ Horace spat.

      ‘Master Meow’, the Captain elaborated. ‘That glass-eyed rogue is as rough as they come.’

      ‘And he owes me a paw,’ Horace hissed, with a shake of his hook.

      ‘Who was on lookout duty?’ the Captain asked.

      ‘I couldn’t see anyone in the crow’s-nest,’ Whisker replied.

      ‘That would be Prowler,’ the Captain snorted. ‘He’s rarely seen by anyone. He’s a Russian Blue and his blue-grey coat is the perfect night camouflage. He was probably asleep, the lazy creature – unlike the lookouts on my boat.’

      Horace gave Whisker a sheepish smile.

      ‘You didn’t see Sabre?’ the Captain asked.

      ‘Who’s … Sabre?’ Whisker murmured.

      ‘Who, indeed,’ Horace replied coldly. ‘He’s the captain, of course. And if evil took an animal form, it would look like him.’

      ‘Sabre,’ the Captain explained, ‘is a Bengal – a cross between a leopard and a bad tempered black cat. His fur is orange and covered with black spots and stripes. He’s stronger than most cats and very cunning. If you’re unfortunate enough to get close to him, you will notice dozens of fighting scars. My recommendation is to stay very far way – unless, of course, you’d like to join the eye patch club?’

      Whisker stared at the Captain’s face. ‘Sabre poked out your eye?’

      ‘Indeed, he did,’ the Captain replied. ‘But I was lucky. Others have lost much more than an eye in taking on Sabre.’

      ‘How did it happen?’ Whisker asked. ‘Were you attacked?’

      ‘Not exactly,’ Horace said. ‘We were boarding a ship full of hamsters, and just about to take possession of a pantry filled with sweet pies and jelly tarts, when the Cat Fish decided to join the party. After a brief skirmish in which yours truly and the Captain lost a few body parts, we scrambled back to our ship, leaving the Cat Fish to devour the plunder.’

      ‘And what happened to the poor hamsters?’ Whisker gasped. ‘Did the Cat Fish …?’

      ‘Eat them?’ Horace said, horrified. ‘Of course not! What kind of heartless rats do you think we are? While Pete patched up our wounds, Fred kept the Cat Fish at bay with a fork in one paw, while flinging the hamsters onto our ship with the other. He was amazing.’

      ‘I thought you didn’t carry passengers – or prisoners,’ Whisker said in confusion.

      ‘They weren’t passengers,’ the Captain clarified, ‘they were victims of tragic circumstance, and we dropped them off on the very next island.’

      ‘That’s right,’ Horace reminisced, ‘Drumstick Island … it’s a great place for a holiday. It’s got the best lagoon. Fred still keeps in touch with them, you know. He always pops in for a pie if we’re sailing past …’

      ‘Is this really relevant?’ the Captain interrupted.

      Horace stared at the floor. ‘No, sir.’

      ‘I think he’s just overtired,’ Whisker said.

      The Captain looked at both of them.

      ‘Go and get some rest,’ he ordered. ‘I don’t want my crew stumbling around half asleep if the Cat Fish decide to change their course. I’ll keep watch until dawn.’

      ‘Thank you, Captain,’ they replied gratefully, tiptoeing into the darkness.

      ‘The sun will be up soon,’ Horace yawned as they reached the top of the stairs. ‘It must be four o’clock by now.’

      Whisker didn’t answer. He was intrigued by something the Captain had said.

      He peered over his shoulder and saw the Captain staring into the fog where the silver ship was last sighted. The Captain mumbled to himself and Whisker made out a few of the words: ‘… I certainly hope we get to it first … for all our sakes …’

      Scissor Swords

      Two rats faced each other on the sun-drenched deck. Whisker nervously clutched a rusty green scissor sword in his trembling paws. Opposite him, Ruby stared back with a confident smirk on her face and a scarlet scissor sword in each paw.

      It was late afternoon and there had been no further signs of the Cat Fish. Whisker had slept until lunchtime and his rusty weapon had been scrounged from the cargo hold only minutes before the fight.

      Win or lose, this was his chance to earn some respect. As he tightened his grip on the sword, he felt his nervousness turn to determination. He took a deep breath, steadied his tail and waited for the signal.

      As the Quartermaster of the ship, Pencil Leg Pete began proceedings with a long-winded spiel. ‘The purpose of this fight is to determine the skill, speed and strength of the Pie Rat recruit …’

      ‘Yeah, yeah, enough of the boring banter,’