First Mate Latimer sat up against a large tree at the town centre, trying his best to drown out the noise of the faire, which was still going strong.

Sundown was approaching, and he was quite ready to leave this place far behind. Unfortunately, the mayor was quite adamant that they should partake of the festivities, and considering she had saved their ship from sinking to the bottom of the harbour, they really couldn’t deny.

Whiskers had been taking full advantage of the offer. He played the hammer game seventeen times, only stopping when the mallet had broken in half from too much use. He had sampled the local specialty; some dreadful pastry called a ‘dust cake’ (not bad after the fourth or fifth, he said), and was now watching the puppet show for the third time in a row.

‘I wonder where Frederick is?’ one of the puppets pondered aloud.

‘He’s in the yellow box,’ Whiskers shouted, rocking back and forth in excitement. ‘He’s got your birthday present, and it’s a sandwich!!’

Whiskers laughed hysterically. A couple of parents led their disappointed children elsewhere.

Latimer had an uneasy feeling about what had transpired in the cargo hold. He had been forced to jettison the damaged goods while Whiskers was searching for a caulker, leaving only a mere fraction of worthwhile fruit left. He had hidden that hastily in his sleeping quarters. It was not going to be a suitable delivery when they arrived in Lefour.

But more than that, he couldn’t shake the notion that the mayor had known something was up from the moment she’d arrived. However, she didn’t seem too shocked when Mr. Billups had mentioned fruit, nor terribly suspicious once the excuse of acetone was offered.

Perhaps Latimer was just reading too much into it. He closed his eyes and sighed. In the distance, Whiskers was having an argument with one of the puppets about something called a ‘fourth wall’.

Amidst the captain’s youthful exuberance, Latimer couldn’t help but feel old nowadays. Though his body was still strong and able, he was over fifty, and he was finding himself fonder of rest than of adventure. He often wondered if he should just find a home somewhere on land, settle down and retire. Frankly, the idea terrified him, but isn’t that what folks of his age were supposed to do? Shouldn’t he have had little pups of his own?

Latimer pondered for a moment what he’d name them. Something strong and respectable, like Jacob or William. Or, if they were girls, something that exuded brilliance: something like Ursula… or perhaps Abigail?

Yes, that’d be perfect. Little Abigail Latimer. She’d be an excitable explorer, eager to discover all of the wonders of the world. For a moment, Latimer was hit with a pang of regret that he had not fathered a child, and most likely he never would.

‘The puppet punched me in the eye!’ Captain Whiskers wailed, now standing before Latimer and bawling. The feeling of regret immediately subsided.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’

Mayor Flinders was again standing on the podium. A hush hit the crowd, aside from Whiskers’ snivelling.

‘It has been a most magnificent day, filled with excitement and spectacular fun. Why, it may go down as one of the grandest days Terocca has ever seen.’

The mayor gestured towards the darkening sky.

‘But it will serve as little more than a prelude, for tonight, we welcome the harbinger of prosperity and hope. The single soul who will bring our beloved community back from the brink of destruction, and begin a thriving new era. Tonight, we shall all pay tribute to our champion… the champion of the new cloud!’

The last words were spoken with true passion, and the people responded with incredible excitement. Their sound was like a roar, they leapt about with such enthusiasm you’d think they had all just been awarded fabulous new houses.

There was one voice that cut through them all, however. A voice that was not filled with happiness, but with bitter rage.

‘Prove it!’

This was shouted again and again by someone at the rear, and as more people heard it, they each went quiet, turning in shock. Before long, the whole crowd was silent, apart from this one voice.

‘Prove it!’

‘Prove it!’

‘PROVE IT!’

The people parted, and at last, the culprit was revealed. It was the goat from the tavern, and he sounded much different now. His once unassuming voice was powerful and commanding. He had made himself hoarse in his fury.

‘You prove to me any shred of evidence that our hero has come,’ he snarled at the mayor. ‘Give us some proof, instead of these empty promises.’

The townspeople began to boo and hiss at this protest. Whiskers and Latimer watched on nervously, fearful that a riot was about to erupt. The mayor raised a wing and shushed them.

‘Now, now… Let’s not be too harsh. Each man is entitled to an opinion, is he not? For in these dark and uncertain times, when we see some ray of hope shining upon us, we are fearful, and we may begin to doubt.’

The mayor was holding something. It was hard to make it out amidst her feathers, but it was red and round.

‘However, I ask this of you… If we do not pursue this light, will we ever find our way out of the dark? Are we to assume that our fate is to perish among the shadows? Or will we take opportunity in our hands—this one, fleeting chance at redemption—and bring forth our salvation?’

The crowd was again filled with vigour. Now Flinders was holding the red object high above her head. It was an apple.

Whiskers and Latimer looked at each other, mortified. It couldn’t have been from their ship, could it?

‘I present to you now, the source of this fruit, and soon, of many more. The piercing light amongst the darkness. Please welcome the champion of the new cloud, Captain Whiskers!’

And just like that, there was silence once more. All eyes were upon Whiskers.

‘What?’ Latimer choked in disbelief.

‘Most bizarre,’ Whiskers mumbled. ‘How does a cloud bring light amidst the dark, exactly?’

The townspeople lifted Whiskers up into the air, and he was thrown about like some sort of prize. The goat who had disrupted the proceedings had been apprehended by the sheriff, and was being taken away. Either Flinders didn’t notice this, or she did not care. She walked off of the podium, and left the people to their celebrations.

‘Captain,’ Latimer shouted, trying to make his way through the wild throng. ‘Captain!!’

‘I say, folks,’ Whiskers said whilst being chucked in each direction. ‘I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I fear too much bouncing about is going to make me sick! I’m filled with confusion and dust cakes…’

They then placed him on the ground and surrounded him, each eager to shake his hand and bring him gifts. He could barely make out what everyone was saying, trying his best to thank them for their charity.

‘Our saviour! I have crafted a pot to mark this wonderful day!’

‘Why, thank you! It will look stupendous upon the deck.’

‘Oh please, bringer of clouds, accept this shield, bearing the emblem of our humble town!’

‘Ah, splendid! I can shield myself from… danger, or some such.’

‘O champion! Please wear this cloak I have woven to warm your mighty shoulders!’

‘Yes, all right, much appreciated. …Odd sort of thing to weave during a heat wave, though.’

‘I implore you, spotted hero, to drink this mug of delicious brown!’

‘Oh gods, keep it away!’

*

This went on for what seemed to be hours. Afterwards, a badger wearing a snazzy pair of trousers and a hamster with a ridiculously squeaky voice led Whiskers and Latimer towards a house that looked far too grand to be found in this modest town.

They threw open the doors, and Whiskers gasped when he saw the room before him. The furniture was immaculate, the carpet soft and warm. There were elaborate paintings on the walls, portraits of important-looking people and beautiful landscapes. In the centre of the room was the most luxurious bed Whiskers had ever seen.

He giddily ran over and leapt upon the bed, sinking face-first into a pillow so fluffy, it could very well float away.

‘This is outstanding,’ Whiskers cried, his face still buried into the bed.

‘I don’t think we can afford such excessive lodging,’ Latimer said warily, but the hamster raised his hand to cut him off.

‘Not another word, we wouldn’t dream of charging a single meew to house the champion of the new cloud,’ he explained. ‘This room has been prepared specifically for his arrival. Cleaned thoroughly three times a day, to ensure it is up to his lofty standards!’

Latimer watched as Whiskers rolled about in the blankets, looking like some sort of bizarre satin worm.

‘Lofty, you say?’

‘Should he need us at any time, he need only call,’ the badger added. ‘No request shall be denied!’

The satin worm suddenly shot up. Whiskers’ head poked out from it.

‘Your excellent trousers,’ he ordered, pointing at the badger. ‘I must have them!’

‘But of course,’ the badger replied. Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped them to the floor, and passed them to the hamster, who hurriedly ran them over and placed them upon the bed. He then returned beside the badger, who was now standing there in his underpants.

‘This is the proudest day of my life,’ the badger declared.

‘Will there be anything else tonight, o champion?’ the hamster asked.

‘For the moment, no,’ Whiskers replied, reaching out to grab the trousers and pull them into his blanket. ‘Should I think of something, I will be sure to let you know!’

‘Most certainly,’ the hamster said giddily. ‘The very second you require assistance, we will be on hand. Incidentally, my name is Mr. Melky, and the gentleman to my left is Mr. Johns. You… hadn’t asked yet, but just in case you eventually grew inquisitive!’

The servants bowed, and walked out the door. Latimer groaned, shaking his head and flopping onto a chair.

‘This is dreadful,’ he moaned. ‘How on earth did the mayor get hold of that apple?’

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, first mate,’ said Whiskers. ‘I’m amazed you managed to hide as many as you did while trying to hold back that leak. Besides, it’s a blessing—now we’re heroes! Cloud champions, or what have you.’

‘These people believe you’re going to bring rain to them,’ Latimer snapped. ‘What happens if there isn’t any? How long will they keep their faith? How much time does this legend allow until they turn on you?’

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‘Hopefully we can figure out some other way of helping them,’ Whiskers said pensively. ‘I can’t promise them rain… But surely we could do something for them. I do my best to help those in need, you know.’

Latimer smiled warmly.

‘You have my trust, captain. After all, I wouldn’t be sitting here now if it weren’t for your charity.’

‘Ahh, ages ago… In fact, I’m struggling to recall exactly how that all went down.’

Latimer laughed for the first time in ages. To him, the day they’d met was still fresh in his mind. There he was, running for his life from the citizens of the kingdom of Vaskelle. An unfortunate misunderstanding at the pub had led to blows, and Latimer had picked the wrong man to swing at.

One swift right hook across the jaw of an otter who later turned out to be Prince Gustavo, and the full force of the law came bearing down. The people had rarely seen such mayhem, as Latimer flung debris into the path of his pursuers, darting about through the alleys and even clambering up to the rooftops at one point. That ended poorly, as his sore back would still tell you. It isn’t until you’re up on those roofs that you realise just how impossibly far it is to jump across.

Eventually, Latimer was able to lose them long enough to scale the kingdom wall and scramble to the pier. He eyed the various boats docked there, and chose the Dread Lock for reasons even he couldn’t explain. He snuck aboard, and crept unwittingly into the captain’s quarters. There, he happened upon Captain Whiskers, fourteen at the time, and not any less mature than the present edition.

‘A stowaway,’ Whiskers gasped, rubbing his eyes and trying to disguise the fact that he had been napping. ‘You’ve come to purloin my swag, have you?’

‘No, no, not at all,’ Latimer replied desperately, shushing the frantic youngster. ‘I just needed a place to hide, is all.’

Whiskers unsheathed his sword and pointed it in the direction of the intruder.

‘Tarry, scallywag,’ he warned. ‘Lest my blade meet your hide!’

‘What are you talking about?’ Latimer said. ‘And put that silly wooden sword away!’

Discouraged, Whiskers lowered his weapon a little.

‘I’m talking in tones most threatening and… sinister! Also, don’t be so quick to doubt the blade of the Spotted Wonder—I can throw this thing really quite hard!’

‘No doubt you could, my boy, but honestly, I mean you no harm. I beg you, just let me lay low here for a short while. Then you’ll be rid of me forever.’

Whiskers bit his lip, trying to consider the offer. Was this fellow telling the truth? Or was he really a scandalous rogue who intended to run off with the booty?

‘I say, is anyone aboard?’

A voice rang from above, accompanied by a fleet of footsteps. Latimer dived into a barrel moments before the prince made his way into the room, guards and angry royal supporters at his side.

‘Identify yourself, child,’ Prince Gustavo demanded, flicking a lock of long, blonde hair from his eyes.

‘Identify myself?’ Whiskers scoffed. ‘It seems you have trespassed upon my ship—I believe the identifying is up to you!’

‘Hold your tongue, boy,’ one of the guards said firmly. ‘You’re in the presence of Prince Gustavo of Vaskelle! State your name, or we will take this ship in the name of the kingdom.’

‘A very convincing counter-argument,’ Whiskers conceded. ‘Very well, my name is Captain Whiskers. I bid you welcome aboard the Dread Lock. Make yourselves feel at home, and… all hail… Gazpacho?’

The guards seemed aghast, but the prince merely laughed. His locks danced back and forth with this chuckle, a most absurd sight indeed. After all, how many otters had long, blonde hair? He looked, quite appropriately, odder than most.

‘How cute,’ he chided, tilting his head to the side. ‘Now then, might we talk with mummy and daddy, please? We need to speak like adults, and I’m afraid you just can’t keep up.’

A rare look of seriousness crossed Whiskers’ face.

‘My parents are no longer with us, sir. Now please, if you could get to the point?’

Gustavo’s mouth twitched slightly. Rarely had he seen such insolence, and he was taken aback by it. Despite this, he tried his best to keep his cool. He was very image-conscious.

‘We’re in pursuit of a dangerous bulldog, and we’ve been informed that he was headed in this direction. Tell us, boy, have you seen him?’

Whiskers paused for a long, tense moment, looking down at the floor. From his hiding place, Latimer held his breath and squeezed his fists tightly. At last, Whiskers looked back up.

‘Yes.’

A murmur arose from the mob. Gustavo flicked his wrist a few times to quiet them, and then leant over and placed his hand on Whiskers’ shoulder, a smirk forming on his face.

‘Excellent. And where is he now?’

Whiskers pointed to reveal the location of their target.

‘Heading south on the cart of a travelling merchant,’ Whiskers said quickly. ‘He jumped on it and hurled the poor driver off, snapping the reins like a madman and shouting, “they’ll never catch me! For I am the ginger-coloured man!”’

In a stupor, the posse peeled off up the stairs, shoving each other out of the way in an effort to impress the prince with their loyalty. Gustavo remained, his eyes closed as though he was deep in thought.

‘You’ve done a sublime thing on this day, child,’ he said finally. ‘For assisting the beloved prince of Vaskelle, you will be remembered for a long time.’

‘I do not doubt it, sir,’ Whiskers replied apprehensively. ‘I do not doubt it at all.’

Gustavo turned and walked up the stairs. He flicked his hair one more time, if only just to draw attention to it, and said smugly, ‘your sweet little soul will always be welcome in this kingdom.’

Once the prince had gone, Whiskers and Latimer set sail. Alas, they were never welcomed in Vaskelle again. On the plus side, however, the skirmish became the stuff of legend, and the prince gained the hilarious nickname of ‘Glass-Jaw Gus’. For this, it was most definitely worth it.

Latimer chuckled again, reminiscing about the kerfuffle. Indeed, he had been doing his best to repay the captain ever since.

‘You’re a good man, Captain Whiskers,’ he said quietly, perhaps the first compliment he had ever paid to the young feline. It was no coincidence that Whiskers was not awake to hear it.

*

There he sat.

King Whiskers, atop a mountain of fruit, surrounded by his grateful minions. His lengthy, flowing purple robe flapped in the wind as he waved.

He hadn’t thought about what he’d say at this moment; the people’s hero, a godlike figure of respect and intrigue, and newly minted monarch. But he knew that, once he started speaking, he would simply express the exact words they needed to hear. And so he began.

‘My people,’ his booming voice rang. ‘Nay, my friends. You have struggled long enough. The bounty before you may not repair the damage of your years of hardship. But it will ensure that your children, and your children’s children, and your children’s children’s children, and your children’s children’s children’s children’s… children’s… umm… whichever generation it may be, they will never go hungry again!’

His subjects began throwing fruit in the air. And they chanted: ‘Eat! Eat! Eat! Eat! Eat!’

He would do anything to appease them. Slowly, deliberately, he raised an apple to his mouth. He winked at a particularly attractive young lady before sinking his teeth into the bright red fruit. It was the juiciest, most succulent apple he had ever tasted. He closed his eyes to fully appreciate the flavour, rolling it back and forth in his mouth with this extravagant chew.

But suddenly, a scream cut through the air. A piercing shriek that made Whiskers shudder. He peeked under one eyelid, and saw some icky pink thing poking out of the apple.

Ugh! Had he just bitten into a worm-infested fruit? He watched on in horror as it grew bigger and bigger, until it gave way to reveal its furry black end. What on earth was it attached to? He dropped the apple, and watched it roll down the pile. To his disgust, the other fruits were writhing about, each with their own pink squirming thing emerging. The shaking and twitching of the fruits grew to a crescendo, when finally, they were no more than cores and peels. Cores, peels and rats.

Hundreds of wretched lower rats gnawed the remains of the food. Whiskers looked to his subjects for help, reaching out to the pretty lady who had caught his eye. When their hands had almost met, she vanished into a puff of smoke. Like dominos, the people began to disappear in waves. When the last one had gone with a doleful cry, Whiskers was left alone with the hundreds of rats.

One sat on his shoulder, and he shuddered as it stared at him. He shooed it away, yet no sooner had it left when another appeared on his head. He flung it aside, but he was fighting a losing battle, with more rats climbing up his robe and dancing upon his crown.

‘You can’t trust a rat,’ one whispered into his ear. Another chimed in with the same, and then another, and before long, all of the rats sang this little song in unison. A song of distrust, and a song sorely in need of a baritone to break up its deafening falsetto.

Can’t trust a rat!

Can’t trust a rat!

Can’t trust a rat!

Can’t trust a rat!

Can’t wake him like that!

Wake him like that!

Wake him like that!

The rat nipped Whiskers on the ear sharply, and he let out a wail. He panted heavily, his head darting back and forth, but it seemed the rats were gone. So was the fruit, and alas, his grand purple cape. He blinked furiously as he tried to gain his bearings. He was in the luxurious bed, and it was morning. Latimer held his ear between his thumb and forefinger, while the servants were watching on in shock.

‘See?’ Latimer said. ‘I told you that would do the trick.’

*

Captain Whiskers yawned loudly and quite obnoxiously. Though Latimer gave him a stern look, he was unyielding. He couldn’t fathom why they had risen at such a dreadfully early hour, and worse still, had been taken on an excursion to see the sights of Terocca.

‘Here is the clock tower,’ the peculiarly named Mr. Melky proclaimed proudly. ‘It tells the time for the whole town.’

‘What a novel concept,’ Whiskers muttered lazily.

And so it went on like this, each site more mundane than the last, but the servants treated them like they were rare and special. Every single destination featured something that could be found in any township across the globe, until they were taken off into the woods.

‘Finally, something a little different,’ Whiskers said in relief. His guides led him through the smattering of bare trees, swatting twisted branches aside, and stopped when they arrived at a swamp. Bugs flitted about lazily, and a small toad hopped off a rock and swam towards a dark cave.

‘And what exactly are we looking at now?’ Whiskers said suspiciously.

‘Why, it’s the town’s water supply, of course,’ Mr. Johns said matter-of-factly. He leant over and scooped the swamp water into a jug, offering it to Whiskers.

‘I’m afraid I’m… not a huge admirer of bog drinks,’ Whiskers said in disgust.

‘Oh, curse my ignorance,’ Mr. Johns pouted, pouring the liquid out. ‘I should have suspected you’d be fonder of the brown.’

The badger carefully wiped the jug clean, before jogging over to the cave, squatting down, and thrusting his hand into a muddy puddle. He pranced back, a huge smile across his face, and held the jug before Whiskers.

Whiskers took it in both hands and looked at Latimer for help. The bulldog merely gave a nod. It was no use. Whiskers swallowed his dignity, as well as the brown ooze in one gulp. He belched loudly. The toad flew from his mouth and swam into the depths of the swamp.

‘That’s the best brown I’ve had all week,’ Whiskers offered. The servants were, of course, delighted.

‘We’d best be getting back to town,’ Mr. Melky said as he acknowledged a pocket watch. With that, he had become the true hero.

‘Oh! Is that the hour?’ Mr. Johns said with a gasp. ‘Quite. Off to the town square for the big presentation!’

Thank goodness for that. No more brown or green concoctions, plus a lovely presentation for Whiskers to enjoy. Perhaps another charming puppet show, if he was lucky?

They walked back to Terocca (with some haste, Latimer noticed) and made their way to the centre of town, where the festivities had been held yesterday. The hustle and bustle was absent, though, replaced by a group of dull-looking older gentlemen who were all snappily dressed and discussing amongst themselves.

Whiskers was pushed up onto the podium, and froze as all of the eyes turned onto him. He stood there for a few seconds that felt like minutes, and watched as the old men began to speak in hushed tones to one another.

‘When is he going to do it?’

That was the overlying theme. Do what, Whiskers wondered. Dance? He was, admittedly, a very poor dancer. He always felt slighted by how, whenever he had finally mastered the newest moves, they had become dated and obsolete. Dancing was for fools, he thought. Fools who liked to wriggle! …Were these old men fond of wriggling, though?

‘Thank you for coming, my esteemed colleagues,’ Mayor Flinders declared as she stepped onto the podium. ‘We shan’t dally with pleasantries. If any amongst you have any queries, you’d best air them now.’

The old men whispered things back and forth, and, after seeming to gather information from each individual amongst them, one spoke.

‘How will we carry the fruit around the township?’ he asked curiously, straightening his monocle.

‘An appropriate question, and one with a simple solution,’ Flinders replied. ‘However, it can only be answered through action. Wouldn’t you say so, champion?’

She turned to look at Whiskers.

‘I… suppose so, yes,’ Whiskers said unsurely. ‘Action is typically the best form of communication. Many a disagreement I’ve solved through a swift kick into someone’s rear…’

‘That settles it,’ Flinders said suddenly, interrupting the tirade. ‘The champion of the new cloud shall commence the ritual of the summoning… now!’

If anyone in the group hadn’t been looking at Whiskers before, they absolutely were now. The old men below, Flinders to his left, Latimer and the servants off to the side, each watching on in anticipation.

‘The ritual of the summoning,’ Whiskers repeated. ‘Do you suppose I could do that… later on in the week?’

‘No! Get on with it,’ the old men shouted, suddenly filled with vitriol.

‘Very well,’ Whiskers said, straightening his coat. ‘By the power vested in me… For your enjoyment, for the good of the town, and for the bemusement of my comrade… I shall summon!’

His hands shot to the air, and his brow furrowed as he looked up to the heavens. His whole body began to shake, and his breathing turned quick and erratic. They all watched on in silent awe as a roar emerged from Whiskers’ throat. Clouds formed above, and the sky turned dark.

His shout was mighty and lengthy. And it lasted through the wait, which was growing stranger with each passing second. Until at last Whiskers was out of breath. He hunched over, gasping for air. Angry complaints rang out from the old men, who had risen from their seats during the curious display.

‘What exactly was that supposed to be?’ Latimer asked in disgust.

‘Well, they were so convinced I was going to bring rain, I had rather begun to believe it myself,’ Whiskers replied miserably.

‘You said he would bring rain, Flinders,’ one of the men, a stag who was wearing two top hats amongst his horns, stuttered in exasperation. ‘Fruit was supposed to fall from the sky amongst the precious drops of rain!’

‘I see neither rain nor fruit,’ another added, a hedgehog who turned wildly to address his colleagues. As he did, those behind him recoiled in fear.

‘You promised us rainfall, and a bounty of fruit, Flinders! And we demand answers!’

‘SILENCE!’ Flinders hissed. Her words cut through the crowd like a knife, commanding complete attention. It made the hairs on Whiskers’ neck stand on end.

The mayor paced back and forth.

‘We had always known this would be a possibility,’ she said calmly. ‘Remember, the prophecies spoke of three potential scenarios. Obviously, we had all hoped the first would be correct; that the champion would immediately bring us that which we required. The second scenario, quite specifically, stressed that if we remained patient, the answer would present itself.’

‘And the third scenario?’ Whiskers asked nervously. Flinders strode across the stage, her head bobbing up and down with each step, until her eyes were locked right with Whiskers’.

‘…Is that you are a thief. And if you’re not dealt with, you’ll burgle us of all we hold dear.’

The mayor snapped her finger-like feathers, and Whiskers only now noted several badge-toting burly fellows had surreptitiously surrounded them.

‘And you must forgive me, my good friend, but that is a risk that we are not willing to take.’

The guards apprehended Whiskers and Latimer, dragging them off to a place that had been omitted from their tour.