Mr Tribble’s map of the mountain was, in a word, disappointing. Apart from a few neatly-written place names, it did little to add to Whisker’s understanding of the terrain. Although Whisker had been warned that the location of the full moon feast was a mystery, he still felt slightly cheated when the map disclosed nothing.

      He wished he had the Book of Knowledge with him, though its sheer weight and size had made it impossible to bring on their quest. Its detailed maps, historic accounts and geographical descriptions had provided fact after fact during the Pirate Cup and he wondered what it would reveal if he could look at it now.

      Would the location of the feast be recorded in a map? he asked himself. Could its secret knowledge help rescue Anna?

      Without the answers he sought, Whisker had to rely on what he had: a basic map of the mountain and some vague advice from Mr Tribble about the boulders above Blackbird Wood. Known as the Erratic Blocks, the rugged boulder region of the mountain seemed an unlikely place to celebrate a grand feast but, with no other leads, Whisker accepted it as their starting point.

      ‘So where are those nasty birds hiding out?’ Horace interrupted, sticking his nose over Whisker’s shoulder.

      ‘Who knows?’ Whisker said despondently. ‘Mr Tribble said their nesting territories would be clearly marked – though some interpretation appears to be required.’

      ‘Caw, caw, out of the way!’ Chatterbeak squawked, squeezing his wings between the rats. ‘Expert ornithologist coming through!’

      Horace looked at Whisker blankly. ‘Orni what?’

      ‘Ornithologist,’ Whisker said, stepping aside for the excited parrot, ‘It means he’s an expert in birds.’

      ‘I certainly hope so,’ Horace said. ‘He is a bird.’

      Chatterbeak took a moment to study the map and then prattled, ‘Yes, yes. Just as I thought. The answers are all in the place names.’ He swept his wing over the left half of the map. ‘Listen carefully. The peregrine falcons nest on Falcon Island in the centre of Lake Azure. On the southern side of the mountain is Red Tail Rocks, home to – you guessed it – the red-tailed hawk. Ravens are, of course, blackbirds, so it’s no surprise to find them living in Blackbird Wood.’ He pointed to the far right of the mountain. ‘And that leaves us with Eagle’s Cliffs, home to none other than the mighty golden eagle.’ He shook his tail feathers proudly. ‘Skraww, skraww, here ends the lesson. Any questions?’

      ‘I’ve got one,’ Whisker said, hoping the bird-brained know-it-all had the entire rescue mission figured out. ‘How do we get past Falcon Island on our way to the mountain?’

      ‘Ooooeee!’ Chatterbeak trilled, quickly losing his confidence. ‘We can’t fly, that’s for certain. Peregrine falcons are the fastest birds in the world. They’d spot us the moment we reached the lake and hunt us down before we were halfway to the other side. It’s no secret they have an appetite for birds and a craving for small rodents.’

      ‘What an unfortunate diet,’ Horace muttered. ‘For all of us.’

      Ruby pointed to the right side of the map. ‘Is it possible to fly around the lake and approach the Erratic Blocks from the north-east?’

      Chatterbeak shook his green-feathered forehead. ‘No, no, out of the question. That would take us too close to eagle territory – and believe me, golden eagles make peregrine falcons look like playful budgerigars!’

      ‘Rotten pies to the lot of them!’ Horace snorted.

      Chatterbeak tapped the location of Blackbird Wood with his claw. ‘While you’re at it, you’d better add ravens to your rotten pie, Master Horace. They’re more scavengers than birds of prey, but they’re cunning and crafty and have a devious habit of imitating other animals.’ He shook his feathers in disgust. ‘Skraww, skraww. It’s a disgrace to the entire bird community. A raven should sound like a raven, not an oinking pig! On saying that, Blackbird Wood could be bypassed altogether by following the glacial stream up the mountain.’

      ‘Yeah, but that means approaching the mountain from the south,’ Horace said, dragging his hook across the map. ‘Which in turn means flying past Falcon Island. Which in turn means being eaten for dinner! No thank you.’

      ‘The lake could still be an option,’ Whisker considered, pointing to a small jetty outside Hawk’s View. ‘I saw plenty of boats down by the shore, and we could easy disguise ourselves as a local fishing crew.’

      ‘Sailing boats and silly coats,’ Ruby chuckled, warming to the idea. ‘A classic Pie Rat plan.’

      ‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ Horace frowned, ‘we left our entire stash of Pirate Cup gold with the Captain and he won’t reach the lake for another three or four days. Whisker’s single coin will be lucky to buy us a leaky dinghy, let alone a proper sailboat. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve stolen my fair share of boats in the past, but with a colossal prison looming over my head, I’d prefer to take the saintly path.’

      ‘Relax,’ Whisker said, rattling the pearls in his bag. ‘Our guardian angel has provided us with more than enough to purchase a sea-worthy vessel.’

      Lake Azure

      Whisker stood alone on the deserted jetty overlooking the sky-blue waters of Lake Azure. Small waves, whipped up by a strengthening eastern breeze, broke against the pylons of the jetty, spraying icy-cold water over his trousers and boots.

      The dark shadow of a cloud drifting slowly across the water sparked a momentary bout of panic.

      ‘The Black Shadow,’ he gasped, recalling the mysterious black ship that had appeared to him during the Pirate Cup. ‘It can’t be here. It’s impossible.’

      Banishing any thoughts of the ghostly vessel, Whisker focused on more pleasant aspects of the scenery. Behind him lay the cosy township of Hawk’s View. White curls of smoke rose from the chimneys of steep-rooved cottages, before being quickly swept away by the alpine wind. The occasional animal braved the afternoon chill with a visit to the marketplace, but the cobblestone streets were mostly deserted. It appeared the majority of the townsfolk were indoors, warming their toes by a fire or preparing their evening meals.

      It was a quaint, sleepy little community, and Whisker wondered if its residents had any real understanding of the monstrous prison that lay on their doorstep. Glancing back at a line of lakeside chalets, he pictured the entire town coming to life during the summer months. Rich city folk would travel in droves up the wide western road from the nation’s capital, Elderhorne, and stay for the school holidays. There would be sailing, fishing and swimming. In the winter months, Hawk’s View would be covered in white and used as a base for skiers and tobogganers visiting the nearby mountain slopes. Autumn, it seemed, was a quiet time of year.

      Without so much as a friendly fisherman to give him the time of day, Whisker turned his attention to a small boatshed, positioned halfway along the dock. Stepping closer, he noticed a weathered metal sign nailed to its