The air rang with the sound of an incredible explosion. That was it, right? That was the sound of our heroes being shot off into the sky, like a stray strand of saliva from a particularly overzealous conversationalist?

It did seem a fair ways off, however. Latimer poked his head out from the cannon, and gasped once he beheld the source of the noise. From the direction of the prison, an incredible bright series of flashes was whizzing about. They danced lazily through the air, before erupting into a spectacular explosion of light and colours. Latimer had never seen anything more beautiful or wondrous in his life, although no doubt part of his adoration was due to this having delayed his demise.

From the crowd, there was an audible ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ and ‘achoo!’ from an armadillo whose nose was runny. Flinders was not impressed, however. She snapped her fingers at Mr. Billups a few times, who was able to pull his attention away from the brilliant display long enough to produce a telescope. Flinders snatched it from his hands, focussing on the distance.

She seemed less intrigued by the colourful explosions in the sky, instead looking off into the horizon, towards the ocean that laid beyond.

‘Shima,’ she muttered to herself pensively. ‘…Ahh yes, now I remember.’

The spectacle continued on this way for several minutes, enough time for Captain Whiskers to gather his courage and peek out from the cannon.

‘What’s all this ruckus?’ he queried. ‘Have I gone to heaven?’

‘Yes, captain,’ Latimer said sarcastically. ‘This is heaven. It looks the exact same as the location we were just in prior to this, complete with every single person from Terocca.’

‘Bah!’ Whiskers groaned, sinking back down. ‘A most disappointing heaven, indeed.’

When it stopped at last, the residents immediately turned their attention to Mayor Flinders. To her credit, she seemed to have a speech prepared just for the occasion.

‘And so it is,’ she shouted grandly. ‘The prophecy has held true; with perseverance and faith, we have been rewarded with our answer. The key to our future lies far off in the distance, and our hero is indeed among us. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the champion of the new cloud… Captain Whiskers!’

With a hint of annoyance, Whiskers emerged from the cannon. The flattery he was now receiving seemed fairly token. Just moments ago, he had been denounced from his previous title, and the crowd was ready to launch him from a cannon. Now, he was back in their good books.

‘These people can’t make their minds up,’ he said to Latimer. ‘They’re either scorning your name or kissing your feet. I daresay anything I offer now will result in more adulation.’

He shot a hand up, and the people went silent.

‘My favourite letter is G!’ he declared.

They cheered uproariously. Whiskers looked back at Latimer and rolled his eyes. He raised his hand again, and they obediently shushed.

‘I have never met a woman named ‘Barbara’!’

Further cheers. Louder, even. He raised his hand once more. Another quietened crowd was the response.

‘I would really like to wallop you all!’

They were ecstatic. People began dancing and singing, and small children were being tossed into the air. Whiskers and Latimer climbed out from the cannons and, brushing themselves off, approached Mayor Flinders.

‘Take a walk with me, if you’d please,’ she said quietly. Hesitantly, they followed her back down to the town hall. There, Flinders sat in a chair, facing against the wall. Latimer sat at the desk across from her, while Whiskers attempted to differentiate the spots of gunpowder from the spots of his fur.

‘If you’re seeking an apology, you’ll be sorely disappointed,’ Flinders said simply. ‘I was merely following the necessary set of procedures, and, lo and behold, it has revealed the true path to saving our town.’

‘One moment longer, and the captain and I would have been the ‘lights in the sky’ you’ve been waiting for!’ Latimer said angrily.

‘Truly, I actually thought that was the desired result,’ Flinders replied. ‘Regardless, the next course of action has been made clear. Far beyond the fascinating display that has the people in a frenzy, lies an island. To those who reside there, it is known as Shima.’

She waved her fingers through the air while she spoke, as if in a daze. ‘Some time ago, people of the mainland attempted trade with the island — trinkets, baubles, and whatnot. However, something strange occurred. Items they acquired from the island seemed to bring about great misfortune. Some feared they held a curse, and so it became known around Terocca as the Island of Curses. Travel to and from Shima was strictly forbidden from then on…’

At last, Flinders turned to face them, her eyes filled with an eerie ambition. ‘Until now!’

‘You’re sentencing us on a journey to a strange island in search of deadly souvenirs to save your town?’ Latimer said slowly, trying to grasp the situation. ‘How exactly is this meant to be a suitable solution?’

‘Their land is bountiful, boasting both fruit and rain. They are thriving, while we are left to starve. I see it now; the champion of the new cloud is not one who literally brings rain to our town. It is he who frees us from blind superstition, and retrieves the fruit and fresh water we require to rebuild Terocca! In our exhaustion, we’ve not been able to tend to our soil — we’re withering away to nothing. Do you understand my frustration, to watch on while my town dries up before my very eyes?’

She slammed her fists against the desk following this impassioned plea. Despite his annoyance, Whiskers couldn’t help but feel convinced.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

‘Your proposal is a fair one, but who would join us on such a dangerous mission?’

‘Mr. Billups will serve as navigator. He is the finest sailor this town has produced, and will be a definite asset on your voyage. I will assemble the rest of your crew as I see fit, though you will be pleased to know that your old friends, Mr. Johns and Mr. Melky, will accompany you. They will surely attend to your needs.’

‘Capital!’ Whiskers declared. ‘I do love Mr. Johns and Mr. Melky…’

A brief pause.

‘Who are they, again?’

Flinders stood, and strode towards a large map on the wall. Latimer saw the names of several townships he didn’t recognise, and felt slightly embarrassed. Perhaps his copy was due for an update, after all.

‘You should reach your destination within three days,’ she advised, pointing to an uncharted part of the map. ‘Do you have any other requirements?’

‘Hmm,’ Whiskers murmured, tilting his head. ‘Can I request an excellent cook? Or a fiddle player? Or an uproarious jester, who can cook and play the fiddle? These are about the only things I require, you know.’

‘Aye,’ Latimer intervened. ‘We require the services of a rat, currently imprisoned. His name is Squeaker, and we will not set sail without him.’

‘Ahh yes,’ Whiskers said, nodding. ‘Squeaker ought to come aboard, too. Unless of course there’s only room for the jester.’

Latimer elbowed Whiskers in the gut sharply. Flinders eyed them for a moment.

‘Granted,’ she said. ‘Your crew will be ready for you at the dock. I’d advise you to raise anchor sooner rather than later — these waters aren’t known for being kind to travellers of the night.’

‘I’ll attest to that,’ Whiskers agreed.

Without another word, Flinders turned her chair, and sat back down to face the wall. Latimer rose and walked towards the door, while Whiskers remained sitting, a curious look on his face. He had never seen such an obtuse way of ending a conversation. He’d have to try it himself someday. He began to wonder if Flinders would be forced to stay there until she heard the door shut…

Maybe, if they closed it, but they were actually still in the room, they’d be able to startle her with a wicked shout of ‘boo’! She’d get such a fright at first, but later they would laugh and-

Latimer grabbed Whiskers sharply by the collar, and pulled him out of the room.

*

Upon their arrival at the dock, the crew gathered around them hurriedly. Mr. Johns and Mr. Melky were, inevitably, the first to greet them.

‘O, great champion!’ Mr. Melky gushed. ‘We are unfathomably honoured to be joining you on this perilous quest.’

He began jousting with an invisible foe as he spoke. ‘Be it beyond me to sing my own praises, but I am quite the deft swordsman, you know. Should we happen upon some kind of deadly ruffian, they will not be long for this world!’

Casually, Whiskers produced his own imaginary weapon. In a few disinterested swipes, he disarmed Mr. Melky, before thrusting his fictional blade towards him.

Mr. Melky wailed in agony, falling to his knees. Whiskers snorted, making his way towards the ship as Mr. Melky recalled that he had not actually been stabbed. Mr. Johns shook his head, embarrassed.

‘I told you that you should have used the invisible dagger instead!’

Mr. Billups was busily loading cargo onto the ship, assisted by a donkey and a diminutive squirrel who was in actual fact doing most of the work.

‘How does our journey look, Mr. Billups?’ Whiskers inquired, amazed that the squirrel seemed to be handling the enormous crates with such ease.

‘Hard to say at this point,’ Billups replied. ‘The conditions look fairly friendly for the first leg of the voyage, but it’s been quite some time since anyone’s headed out to Shima. Waters around the island seem quite choppy, and alas, there are more than a few jagged rocks dotted under the waves.’

‘And who do we have on-board?’ Latimer asked.

‘A sparse crew, but more than capable,’ Billups said with satisfaction. ‘Mr. Johns and Melky shall serve as cabin boys.’

He gestured towards the donkey. ‘This fellow with the toothy grin here is Mr. Majorski, and he serves as both surgeon and cook.’

‘Sometimes one right after the other,’ Majorski said, beaming. Whiskers shuddered.

‘The stout squirrel to my left is Mr. Brickmayer, the ship’s gunner,’ Billups continued.

‘Charmed,’ Brickmayer replied in a gruff voice.

Next, Billups gazed upwards. ’Above us in the rigging at present is Mr. Crow, the ship’s lookout.’

Whiskers squinted as he looked up, spotting a large black bird that was flapping about the sails.

‘A crow named crow who will be manning the crow’s nest?’ Whiskers scoffed. ‘He had his career path set in stone, didn’t he?’

Annoyed, the bird landed down on the dock with a thud, hulking over Whiskers and glaring.

‘That kind of presumption is downright rude, innit!’ the bird snarled. ‘The name’s Weasel, not Crow, and I’m the ship’s boatswain — I make sure this whole operation doesn’t go down into the drink! Cross me again, and we might spring a leak, you understand?’

‘Quite!’ Whiskers said nervously. ‘And may I say, that’s some hearing you have there, Mr. Weasel…’

Nodding, Weasel took off again, and Whiskers breathed a sigh of relief.

‘A crow named Weasel. Right. That’s only a little bit confusing, I’ll handle it. So where is the actual Mr. Crow, then?’

‘As I said, he’s that fellow up in the rigging,’ Billups repeated, pointing a webbed finger.

Looking up for a second time, Whiskers saw a nervous-looking character he hadn’t noticed the first time, manoeuvring about the rigging. He was wiry, with large glasses and oversized boots. He was, most unfortunately, a weasel.

‘This complicates matters,’ Whiskers muttered.

‘First Mate Choo is within the ship at present, getting our new powder boy acclimated with the ship’s artillery. He’s that… rat character you insisted be on-board,’ Billups noted, a hint of disdain in his voice.

‘Your other friend here will fill the role of deckhand,’ Billups said as he gestured towards Latimer, who brushed off the indignity with disinterest. ‘And I will be captaining the vessel.’

Whiskers began to cough uncontrollably, as though he literally could not swallow the concept.

‘I’m sorry, I must have misheard you,’ Whiskers said slowly. ‘Did you just claim, Mr. Billups, that you would be the captain aboard this ship?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Billups said simply, grabbing the last (and lightest) of the cargo. ‘Who else would it have been?’

‘I must warn you, Billups,’ Whiskers said, seething. ‘I have been referred to as Captain Whiskers for so long, I scarcely even remember my own first name!’

Latimer tilted his head, interested.

‘What is your name anyway, captain?’

Whiskers shrugged.

‘I don’t know. Harold, maybe? Harold sounds nice.’

Billups waved his hands in dismissal.

‘No, no, champion, we can’t have you endangered on this mission. Your role is that of champion, and as such, you are our lifeblood. Our muse, perhaps.’

Muse Whiskers? It sounded dreadful. Plus, it clashed directly with the plaques Whiskers had made for his desk, should he one day own a desk.

‘I refuse to be belittled in such a manner,’ Whiskers huffed. ‘I need a more suitable title than that.’

‘I suppose, you could be… second mate?’ Billups said, framing the words with his fingers as quotation marks. ‘So long as you don’t touch anything, or do anything.’

The job finished, Billups made his way up onto the deck. Whiskers rubbed his paws together with glee.

‘That settles that, then,’ Whiskers whispered to Latimer as he followed the rest of the crew on-board. ‘Should Billups and his first mate fall afoul of some mishap, I’ll reclaim my rightful role as captain!’

‘A noble goal, sir,’ Latimer said sourly.

Squeaker appeared from below deck, sputtering and coughing. His fur was coated in black powder. From behind him emerged a gargantuan elephant, who strode across the deck to greet Whiskers.

‘A pleasure to meet you, champion,’ the elephant said with glee. ‘I’m First Mate Choo!’

‘…And a long life you will no doubt lead, my good man,’ replied Second Mate Whiskers, deflated.