The Trophy of Champions by Cameron Stelzer

Author:Cameron Stelzer [Stelzer, Cameron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Rats – Juvenile fiction, Pirates – Juvenile fiction
ISBN: 9780994248633
Publisher: Daydream Press
Published: 2015-01-20T16:00:00+00:00

The Fox with No Name

Whisker found himself standing in the centre of an empty stone corridor. High, windowless walls rose above him, disappearing into the blackness in both directions. There was no sign of the fox.

Where did he go? he thought, scanning the passage for movement.

‘HEY!’ he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He waited for a reply, but all he could hear was the stomping of feet and the crashing of cymbals as the restaurant band continued to play.

Unsure which way he should turn, Whisker raised his nose and sniffed the air. A faint scent of musky cologne lingered in the passage. Sensing the smell was stronger to his right, he set off in that direction. Staying close to one wall, he used his whiskers to guide him along the corridor until he reached a wooden door.

He fumbled in the darkness until he located a cold metal handle and gave it a sharp twist. There was a soft click as the latch released and a thick, oak door swung outwards, filling the passage with blinding white light. Whisker shielded his eyes with the back of his paw and staggered forward.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, he realised he was standing on a first floor balcony, facing a sunlit courtyard. A grass-covered square was surrounded by walls on all sides and filled with fish-shaped topiary trees and an enormous stone fountain. Water squirted from the mouths of three giant fish in the centre of the fountain and splashed into a boat-shaped pool at its base. The balcony ran the entire perimeter of the courtyard and was accessed by a door at either end. A number of glass-paned windows hung open along each wall.

Over the soft gurgling sounds of the fountain, Whisker heard muffled voices coming from a window to his left. Hoping the voices would lead him to the fox, he pricked up his ears and listened carefully.

‘… Business as usual then?’ asked a thin, raspy voice.

‘Aye,’ replied a younger, quivering voice, ‘but we’re running short on workers and production’s ramping up. You wouldn’t happen to –?’

‘No,’ snapped the first voice. ‘That was never part of the deal. If you can’t meet the deadline then –’

‘We’ll meet the deadline,’ interrupted a third voice, deep and confident. ‘I can assure you that more workers are being recruited as we speak.’

‘Good,’ hissed the first voice. ‘At least you have things under control.’

‘Always,’ said the deep voice. ‘Now, if we’re done talking, I’d like to get this game underway.’

Whisker heard the shuffle of chairs, the creak of a door and the tinkle of coins. Seizing his opportunity, he lowered himself onto his stomach and slithered closer. He reached a black marble statue of a mink, perched to the right of the window and, using the shiny statue as his cover, raised his head and peered inside.

Illuminated by a small candle chandelier, Whisker made out the dimly-lit interior of an elegant wall-papered room. A round table stood in its centre, covered by a layer of green felt.

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