vibrating from the impact.
âBullâs Eye,â Whisker said, trying to cover his fright with friendly conversation.
Ruby glared at Whisker. âI wasnât aiming at the wheel.â
With a nervous twitch of his tail, Whisker decided the conversation was over.
âWhat are you doing here, Horace?â Ruby asked, ignoring Whisker. âYou never get up this early.â
âWe are preparing for cannon classes,â Horace replied.
âThe cannons are below deck, not up here,â Ruby sneered.
âTrue,â Horace considered, âbut itâs too cramped below for a proper demonstration. Besides, look at the sky. Itâs going to be a beautiful day. What else could you wish for? A romantic sunrise and the booming sound of cannons â magnificent!â
Whisker stared out at the horizon. The sky was turning a rich shade of pink and the distant clouds were rimmed with the golden light of the approaching sun.
It does look stunning , he thought. He chanced a look at Ruby. For a moment, in the soft light he saw a different Ruby; a girl with a serene and peaceful face and a gentle smile. She reminded him of his mother on the summer morning they first launched their boat. He could almost picture Ruby holding his sleeping sister, Anna, as their boat sailed from the flooded inlet into the vast, sparkling ocean.
Ruby, suddenly aware she was being watched, shot a glance at Whisker. Whisker dropped his eyes awkwardly and awaited the harsh remark that would certainly follow. It never came.
He looked up and his eyes made contact with hers. She looked at him crossly, but without all of the venom he had come to expect. Their gaze was broken by a loud thudding noise from below the deck.
âRight on time,â Horace said, rubbing his hook.
âOn time for what?â Ruby muttered. âWaking up the rest of the crew?â
The noise grew louder and Whisker saw a large body poke up from the stairwell, followed by an even larger cylindrical shape, thudding on every step.
âFred has arrived with our cannon!â Horace cried excitedly.
When Whisker turned back to Ruby she was already pulling her sword from the wheel.
âMake sure the boy doesnât hit anyone,â she said sternly as she left the deck.
Welcome back, Ruby, Whisker sighed.
As the morning sun rose over the horizon, Whisker helped Horace and Smudge assemble the cannon. Fred made several trips down the stairs, each time returning with a stack of stale pies and a terrible stench.
âOooh, yuck!â Whisker gagged. âYour pies are disgusting, Fred. Some are close to putrid.â
Horace laughed. âPutrid is preferred.â
âBut what are they for?â Whisker asked. âTarget practice?â
Smudge twitched his wings to get Whiskerâs attention. Excitedly, he pointed to a pile of pies with one arm and the cannon with another. With two more arms he made an explosion gesture. Whisker immediately understood.
âTheyâre cannonballs!â he exclaimed.
âExactly,â Horace said with a wide grin. âThey donât call us Pie Rats for nothing.â He beckoned for Whisker to follow him to the nearest pile of pies. âWe have two categories of pie projectiles, long range and close range. You are currently looking at the long range variety. They are triple-baked by Fred and left in the sun until the pastry is harder than an armadillo in armour. They wonât disintegrate in the air over long distances and can tear a hole through a sail.â
He walked over to the second pile of pies. âOver here, we have everyoneâs favourite, the Close Range Chaos .â
Whisker took a step towards the pies and caught a whiff of something truly disgusting. He decided not to venture any closer.
âClose range pies,â Horace continued, âare child-friendly projectiles that disintegrate in the air, showering our enemies in a stinky, sticky
Liz Kenneth; Martínez Wishnia
Christopher Berry-Dee, Steven Morris