The Island of Destiny by Cameron Stelzer Page B

they’ve risen for an early breakfast? He pictured Ruby and Horace tucking into one of Fred’s scrumptious berry pies, piping hot from the oven.
    Who doesn’t love pies? he thought sorrowfully. The words lingered in his mind. Whoooo doesn’t love pies …?
    With a strange calming clarity, a plan began forming in his head – a fusion of memories and half-truths. It didn’t involve arguing and it didn’t involve fighting; it involved playing along. Whisker refocused on the three owls and tried to contain his excitement.
    â€˜It’s such a shame, really,’ he began.
    â€˜What’s a shame?’ the mother owl asked suspiciously.
    â€˜It’s a shame you’ve only got one measly rat for breakfast, when you could be feasting on a delicious rat pie,’ Whisker replied.
    The owls turned their heads to each other in puzzlement.
    â€˜W-what’s rat pie?’ Houston asked, intrigued.
    â€˜What indeed!’ Whisker exclaimed. ‘Rat pie is the most scrumptious, mouth-watering and delicious dish you’ll ever taste. It’s succulent, juicy, tender and makes even the toughest of rat tails melt in your mouth.’ He paused and continued with a grin, ‘But being wise and worldly owls, I expect you already knew that.’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ the father owl hooted. ‘Of course we know about rat pie. Whoooo doesn’t? We adore the stuff … can’t get enough …’
    Whisker sighed. ‘It’s a terrible shame you won’t get to taste any today. As you know, rat pie is extremely easy to make, but unfortunately you’re missing a key ingredient.’
    The owls blinked in disappointment.
    â€˜Which ingredient exactly?’ the mother owl enquired. ‘I mean, I know them all of course, but there are so many variations toooo the recipe …’
    â€˜Endless variations,’ Whisker said, going along with her. ‘But to bring out the full flavour of the rat you’ll need a juicy brown onion.’
    â€˜An onion?’ she repeated.
    â€˜Why of course,’ Whisker exclaimed. ‘You can’t have rat pie without the onion. It would be an outrage!’
    The father owl flapped his wings in agitation.
    â€˜Owls doooo things according toooo tradition,’ he said sternly. ‘We have a respectable reputation toooo uphold. If we need an onion, we’ll get an onion.’
    Whisker tried not to smile.
    â€˜A wise decision,’ he concurred. ‘Onions make all the difference. I, err … did see some growing down near the river, if you’re interested, but I suspect the Hermit will pick them as soon as the sun comes up.’
    â€˜The Hermit!’ the father owl hooted in disgust. ‘We hate the Hermit.’
    â€˜We loathe him,’ Houston added.
    â€˜We despise him!’ the mother snapped. ‘Don’t get me started. He’s the rudest rat on the island. Whoooo does he think he is? Always running away and hiding under a rock whenever we try to catch him. Disgraceful!’
    The owls glared angrily at Whisker, expecting a response.
    â€˜Hear, hear,’ Whisker muttered awkwardly. ‘He’s an abomination. And he smells.’
    â€˜That settles it,’ the mother owl shrieked. ‘I’ll show him whoooo owns the onions!’ She beat her wings rapidly and her body rose into the air. ‘I’ll be back soooon, boys,’ she hooted, ‘with the biggest, tastiest onion on the island …’
    Her voice drifted away in the wind. The two remaining owls stared down at Whisker.
    â€˜A little tenderising never went astray,’ Houston hooted, prodding Whisker in the stomach with his talons.
    â€˜Speaking – of tenderising,’ Whisker spluttered between prods, ‘I almost – forgot – to mention – the gravy.’
    Houston removed his talon and tilted his head to one side. ‘Gravy?’
    Whisker clutched his chest and