neetha Napew - The Time Of The Transferance

After breaking in the door the first intruder ran straight into Mudge’s short sword, which pierced the throat just beneath the chin and above the animal’s armor. Blood gushed in all directions as the second pangolin swung at Mudge, who somehow managed to dodge aside while the first fell on top of him. So involved was the intruder with the otter that he neglected to spot Jon-Tom on the other side of the room. The club end of Jon-Tom’s ramwood staff rectified this oversight while simultaneously putting out the invader’s lights.

“Thanks, mate!” The otter shoved the body of his assailant aside and bounded to his feet. Shouts mixed with an occasional scream filtered down from above. “Let’s up an’ at ‘em.”

After a discreet survey proved the hallway to be deserted, the otter led Jon-Tom toward the stairs at the far end.

“Hurry it up, mate.”

Jon-Tom was trying to run and step into his pants at the same time. “I’m coming as fast as I can, or do you expect me to fight without any pants?”

“Why not? Would you rather be embarrassed or dead?”

Wearing only his pants, a bare-chested, barefooted Jon-Tom followed his friend up the stairway. They emerged on deck in the midst of darkness, confusion and carnage.

Another ship had fastened itself to the portside hull. The ketch was old and beat-up but evidently seaworthy enough to tackle the much larger caramaran. It was also home to an astonishing variety of cutthroats and thugs, who continued to swarm over the gunwales onto the freighter.

Their plan was as simple as their intentions were obvious: wait until dark, then slip quietly aboard and exterminate the officers and crew in their bunks. Then they could sample cargo and passengers at their leisure. Unfortunately for them the alert aye-aye had died a hero’s death while sacrificing his life to raise the alarm. This had roused not only the crew but the passengers as well, most of whom knew their way around a weapon or two. As this was not Bel-Air or Brentwood, most of the citizens carried some form of personal defense. As a consequence the pirates found themselves badly outnumbered and being forced steadily back toward their ship.

A few had managed to secure some booty in those first frantic minutes before the ship’s complement had been aroused. They hurried back toward the ketch with their arms full of stolen goods. The deck was slippery with blood. The dangerous, uncertain footing was more to the pirates’ disadvantage than that of the defenders.

Jon-Tom watched the energetic Captain Magriff lead the counterattack, his crew silently and determinedly following the badger as they plunged into the pirates’ midst. With the aid of the passengers they were slowly overwhelming the attackers.

A few unlucky brigands were cut down as they tried to make it back to their ship. The survivors tossed what they’d been able to steal over the side, followed it down the lines and cut themselves free. Those on board the catamaran sent a stream of curses and insults in their wake.

Jon-Tom and Mudge listened as the ship’s officers argued with the captain. Several were for putting on additional sail and turning to pursue their fleeing assailants. Magriff would have none of that.

“Stow that spray, gentlebeings. We nay go chasin’ after phantoms this night. Listen to your heads for a minute instead o’ yer hearts. With a strong wind at our backs we might overtake ‘em, but the breeze tonight is light and out o’ the east instead o’ the north. Not only would we have to work a change in course, but in such a light wind a smaller boat could easily outmaneuver us. And they might have friends a-waitin’ for ‘em somewhere out on the dark sea. It would not make good sense to go a-chasin’ in pursuit o’ some wounded blackguards only to find ourselves confronted by two or three vessels o’ the criminal class. Our first responsibility be to our passengers and cargo. Remember that and belay any talk o’ wild pursuits.” He stepped up onto a capstan.

“Mister Poison, check the stores and see what we have lost. See to the below decks cargo as well. I’ll want a list of damages for insurance purposes. Mister Opoltin!” A tall, sinewy marten with blood on his muzzle snapped to attention. “You and Doctor Kesswith see to any injured. Passengers first, crew second, officers last.”

“Yes sir!” The marten vanished.

Two crew men arrived with the body of the dead aye-aye. The primate who had saved the ship was barely three and a half feet tall. His long tail lay curled stiffly over his back.

“Saved the ship and surely saved us,” murmured the captain. “A hero’s burial at sea as befits a good sailor, and company damages to his survivors. I’ll see to it.” The badger turned to his third mate. “Check with the doctor and let me know who else be hurt. You,” he snapped at another officer, “get a squad up here armed with mops and brooms. Buckets and scrubs, mister Seevar. Let’s get this mess cleaned up and this deck looking shipshape. Double the watch until further notice. We nay want to chance bein’ surprised again.”

Mudge was staring out across the ocean. His face was alive, his eyes shining. “That weren’t such a bad evenin’s entertainment, now were it?” The otter loved a good fight, provided the numbers were on his side. He looked back at his taller companion and frowned.

“Hey now, mate, you’ve been cut.”

Jon-Tom touched his left side. The small trickle of red was already drying up. “Just a scratch.”

The otter nevertheless inspected the shallow gash closely. “So it ‘tis.” He grinned up at the tall human. “Remember when our good friend Clothahump first brought you into this world and dumped you on top o’ me?”

“Sure, I remember. You tried to run me through, but you were too scared to strike a hard blow.”

“Wot, me scared o’ a bald scarecrow like you? I just saw no reason to kill when I could strike a warnin’ blow first.” The otter peered past him at the crowd still milling about on deck. Everyone was too excited to go back to sleep. “Wonder where Weegee is? Surely she wouldn’t ‘ave missed a good knockabout like this.”

“Maybe she slept through it.” He leaned on his staff, suddenly exhausted. The sleep he hadn’t enjoyed was starting to catch up with him. From the position of the moon it had to be around three or four in the morning. Nocturnal fights weren’t to his liking.

“She’ll be damned upset if she did.” Mudge darted down the nearest gangway, leaving Jon-Tom alone on deck as the passengers began to return to their cabins and the crew to bed or duty stations.

Except for the unlucky aye-aye who’d sounded the alarm, there were no fatalities among the ship’s complement. There were wounded, however, and dead pirates to be unceremoniously dumped overboard.

He started back toward his own bed only to find an anxious Mudge confronting him at the top of the stairs. “She ain’t in ‘er cabin, mate. I don’t suppose... ?”

Jon-Tom shook his head. “I haven’t seen her. She probably came up through the other hull. Don’t worry, Mudge. She’s on board. She has to be. Maybe she’s down in the galley having something to eat, or maybe she’s helping with the wounded.”

“That’d be like ‘er.” The otter pleaded gently. “Could you ‘elp me ‘ave a look-see, mate?-I’d be obliged. Wouldn’t be able to sleep until we found ‘er.”

“Of course.”

But Weegee wasn’t in the dining area, or was she helping to bind up the injuries the crew had suffered. Word was passed to the captain, who ordered an immediate search to ascertain passenger Weegee’s location. As time passed and one crew member after another reported negatively to the bridge, Mudge grew progressively more frantic.