Captain Whisker Blackpaw's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Smoke choked the cellar. Blackpaw dropped to the floor where the air still held. Flames climbed the canvas bales, and his catnip curled to ash in front of him. He had chased this cargo for two days. Now it was cooking to nothing, and Black Tom's laugh still hung above the barred hatch. Blackpaw had one thought left: smother the fire before it took the last of his prize. He grabbed the empty canvas from a burst bale and beat the flames. Sparks bit his paws. The fire spread faster than he could slap it down. Coughing, he kicked over a barrel in the corner. Water sloshed across the floor. Tom had left it for his own comfort, and now Blackpaw hurled it in swings against the burning stack. Steam hissed up thick and blinding. He threw the wet canvas over the worst of it and pressed down with his whole weight. The roar died to a smolder. Blackpaw lay panting in the black muck. Half the bales were gone. But four bundles at the bottom still held, damp and singed and whole. His cargo. He'd saved enough to matter. A thump sounded above. The bar scraped. The hatch cracked open, and grey daylight fell across the ruined bales. Blackpaw drew his blade, ready for Tom's grinning face. Instead a red head scarf poked through. Buccaneer Bob peered down, eyes wide at the smoke pouring out. Blackpaw's fur bristled. This was the traitor who'd sold him the door for a gold coin, then watched Tom lock it shut. "You," Blackpaw growled. "Come to see if I burned?" Bob flinched but didn't run. "Tom stiffed me," he said quick. "Paid me half of what he promised. Then he called me a fool in front of the whole crew." He spat. "I don't work for a captain who cheats his own men." "So you crawl to me." Blackpaw climbed the ladder, sword still out. "Give me one reason." Bob's ears pinned back. "Because I know where Tom sailed. And I want him drowned as bad as you do now." He glanced at the surviving bales below. "You saved some. Good. He thinks it's all ash. He thinks you're dead." Blackpaw hauled himself onto the sand and breathed clean air at last. Bob was shady, greedy, not to be trusted. But a spiteful man made a useful one. "Where," Blackpaw said. Bob pointed past the palms toward the water. Fresh catnip sprigs lay scattered in a loose green trail across the sand, dropped from a leaking bale. Beside them ran a line of black paw prints heading to the shore. Tom's own tracks. "He took the rest of his stash to sell," Bob said. "Follow the leaves. They'll lead you straight to his boat." Blackpaw sheathed his blade and stood. His enemy thought him ashes. That mistake would cost Tom everything. He looked down the trail and started walking.