The Trophy of Champions by Cameron Stelzer Page A

through their skin. Exposure to large amounts of salt, without access to water, can be fatal.’
    â€˜Salt,’ Whisker pondered. ‘Well, that’s an interesting discovery.’
    â€˜It’s not just interesting,’ Horace exclaimed, ‘it’s inspirational! Fred has a large barrel of salt in the ship’s pantry. If we sprinkle ourselves like we’re buckets of hot chips, we’ll be impenetrable.’
    â€˜But what about the poison?’ Athena asked. ‘The passage doesn’t list any preventative measures.’
    â€˜I’ve been thinking about that, Athena,’ Whisker said with a sly grin, ‘and I think I’ve got a solution. When the time comes, how would you feel about being our team’s official fashion consultant?’

    The glorious autumn afternoon of Day Five was the perfect time to showcase the Centenary Games’ most ‘graceful’ sport, Plank Diving. Every one of the thirty-six competitors had an opportunity to impress the judges by performing a routine of their choosing. The top four divers would then go into a grand final round.
    Unlike other diving competitions, a wide variety of conventional and unconventional techniques were permitted, including: handstands, somersaults, belly flops, bomb dives, face plants and side splats.
    â€˜You’re in with a good shot, Whisker,’ Horace said, as they walked towards the makeshift diving tower on the northern pier. ‘Your practice dives were close to perfect.’
    â€˜I’ve had a little more experience in the jumping department, that’s all,’ Whisker said humbly, recalling the many hours he’d spent on the circus trampoline and flying trapeze.
    â€˜Speaking of jumping,’ Horace whispered, ‘Papa watched some of the other teams practicing this morning. He thinks the toads are the team to beat.’
    â€˜That makes sense,’ Whisker said. ‘They were born in water and spend most of their lives leaping into ponds.’
    â€˜Yeah, but those under-sized swimming costumes will hardly win them any points for presentation,’ Horace shuddered, pointing his hook at six warty toads posing in front of a sketch artist.
    Whisker took one look at their hideous polka dot bikinis and hurried past.
    The diving tower was a square wooden structure with a set of stairs twisting up three sides and a bendy plank protruding from the fourth. The plank overhung the ocean to the south, allowing spectators to watch clearly from the nearby southern pier. The three tournament officials (a plump koala, a sleepy turtle and an old hare) sat at a table in front of the crowd with large piles of score cards.
    Many of the competitors were already milling around the tower when Whisker and Horace arrived. Through the rowdy taunts of, ‘Walk the plank, ye scurvy dog’ and, ‘I put the bomb in bomb dive, watch me explode!’ Whisker heard Siamese Sally and Cleopatra protesting to Baron Gustave about the validity of the event.
    â€˜â€¦ It should have been scrapped a century ago,’ Sally hissed. ‘Pirates spend all of their time on the water, not in it.’
    While the Cat Fish argued in vain, Whisker noticed Ruby walking over from the far side of the pier. In contrast to the slobbering riffraff around her, she was a sight for toad-scarred eyes. She wore a sleek, red swimming top and a pair of three-quarter black leggings with gold stripes. Her scarlet bandanna was gone, but her crimson eye patch remained firmly fastened across her face.
    Whisker suddenly realised how much he missed her. He knew she was only a few feet away, but the gulf between them felt more like a shark-infested ocean than a couple of deck boards. It didn’t help that they’d barely spoken in days. Even before the cup, Whisker was so preoccupied with his training that their conversations were few and far between. And when they had spoken, late at night, neither of them said