Eddie the Ear

      Transfixed, Whisker watched the gerbil lower his sack to the ground and began rifling through its contents. A myriad of questions raced through his mind.

      How did the gerbil sneak past the guards? Is there a secret escape route through the prison walls? Does he know where the fox is being held? What’s in that sack of his?

      The answer to the final question quickly became clear when the gerbil removed a strange curved item from his sack and held it in the air. He examined it for a moment, then shrugged and tossed it back into the sack.

      Horace’s golden hook attachment, Whisker thought, as his one-pawed companion let out a small whine.

      The gerbil, satisfied the four-and-a-half sets of eyes now staring at him posed no threat, proceeded to pull out Ruby’s golden spyglass, her gold hoop earring and the small ruby stone she wore around her neck.

      ‘Very nice,’ he said in a thin, gravelly voice, as he examined his prizes. He ran his dirty fingers over the ruby’s shiny surface, then held the necklace to his throat.

      ‘There,’ he said, admiring his reflection in the blade of Whisker’s scissor sword. ‘Eddie the Ear has never looked so sophisticated.’

      Ignoring Ruby’s howls of protest, he returned the items to his sack, then retrieved Whisker’s brown drawstring bag.

      ‘Now what have we here?’ he asked himself, loosening the two cords. He inserted his paw into the narrow opening of the bag and pulled out an old brass compass.

      ‘Worthless junk,’ he muttered, discarding it over his shoulder. ‘Eddie has no need for such a cumbersome item.’ He slid his wiry fingers back into the bag and removed Whisker’s golden spyglass.

      ‘Looky, looky, another miniature telescope,’ he marvelled. ‘What a pretty pair these two will make.’

      The last item he retrieved from Whisker’s small bag was a golden coin.

      ‘Hmm …?’ he pondered, weighing it in his paw. ‘A little too light for an Aladryan coin. But look.’ He peered closer at the face of the coin and let out a gasp of recognition. ‘Ah, Freeforian … how very interesting.’

      His eyes darted momentarily to Whisker, and the Pie Rat apprentice had the sick feeling that this strange little creature knew more than he was letting on.

      Whisker’s thoughts didn’t hover on the coin for long. In the blink of an eye, the gerbil had tossed the empty bag aside and was reaching into the sack for his next prize. He held up the broken ends of a thin, black cord. In the centre of the cord hung a small golden pendant.

      Whisker felt a stinging pain flash across his throat as he realised what he was looking at – his golden anchor. Eddie the Ear had ripped it clean off his neck.

      ‘Ugly anchor,’ Eddie muttered to himself, turning the pendant around to study the initials on the back. ‘No one wants something that’s already engraved.’ He paused and considered, ‘Still, a goldsmith could always melt it down as scrap.’

      Whisker felt his blood boiling. The anchor wasn’t some cheap trinket to be liquefied in a furnace. It had been a gift from his parents, a family heirloom passed down from his great-grandfather, the famous explorer Anso Winterbottom. No thieving little rodent was going to sell it as scrap.

      ‘ARRHH!’ Whisker cursed from beneath his gag, ‘ARRHH, ARRHH, ARRHH!’

      The gerbil considered him for several seconds, his single large ear swivelling in Whisker’s direction. Realising he was in no danger from the irate rat, he dropped the golden anchor in the sack and rubbed his grimy paws together.

      ‘And what did we find in their pockets?’ he asked himself, reaching down for the last remaining items. ‘Always things in pockets …’

      Whisker heard the crumple of paper and felt a knot in his stomach. Please, no, he thought. Don’t let him see that.

      The gerbil held up two folded documents and waved them in Whisker’s direction.

      ‘Recognise these?’ he asked, toying with the rat.

      Whisker tried to keep a blank face. He knew exactly what they were and he prayed the gerbil couldn’t read.

      In Eddie’s left paw was an ancient map of Cloud Mountain. In his right paw was something far more modern. It was a page from the local newspaper, The Cloud Chronicle, and it was dated today.

      Eddie tucked the folded square of newspaper into his pants and opened the map.

      Even if Eddie couldn’t read, Whisker knew that the image that confronted him would be instantly recognisable. There was no mistaking the snow-covered summit and rugged black cliffs of the highest mountain in Aladrya.

      ‘Cloud Mountain,’ Eddie sniggered, running his eyes over the surface of the map. ‘What an abominable place. I can’t understand why anyone would want to go there.’ He flashed Whisker a crooked smile and added, ‘Unless, of course, you were a bird lover.’

      Whisker gave the gerbil nothing in response. For the second time in as many minutes, he had the sick feeling that the devilish little rodent knew far more than he was prepared to reveal.

      Eddie carelessly let the map flutter to the ground and then pulled out the newspaper. He paused to check his captives were still secure, before unfolding the double page spread. Any hopes that the thieving pickpocket was illiterate evaporated the instant Eddie began to read.