A Three Hour Tour (2/2)

Stormanorm descended down into the cargo hold that was the third deck, ears twitching through the holes in his hood as he pondered.

They wandered through the simple doorway, no corridor here, because the third deck was a large, open hold. Most surfaces were metal, the thin, light, strong metal of the true ship that the wooden planks covered over. Crates and boxes and barrels, scrawled and stamped with letters and numbers from alphabets familiar and strange filled a good third of the hold. Some were strapped down, but others were scattered about, and a few were cracked open with unknown liquids and powders combining into a rather disturbing looking mess on the floor.

Experimenting, Threadbare turned on his Scents and Sensibility skill, and found it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Spicy, yes, but the hold was large and the air flow was good, so it wasn't overwhelming. And there were a few smells he hadn't smelled before, which was always a plus.

Your Scents and Sensibility skill is now level 26!

“Who goes?” Came a sharp, familiar voice.

“It's me and the Princess.”

Harey Karey stepped out from behind a stack of crates, a musket cradled in her arms. Now that he had time to examine her and see the rest of the crew, he thought her rather short as rabbit beastkin went. A mere five and a half feet, more or less. She had short, curly hair that was tied off with a blue bandanna that matched her jacket, a set of thick spectacles that magnified her green eyes, and mostly-black fur, broken up with a few white splotches. She had three pistols tucked into her jacket pockets, a small saber by her side, and a sour frown on her face.

“Do YE be here to try and swipe some plunder? Because that would make the third time somebunny has 'accidentally' wandered down this way a-lookin' for the Captain, or somesuch lie.”

“There's what, twelve crew left on the ship, half of them out scouting, and they're trying this?” Stormanorm raised an eyebrow. “Well, nobody ever went broke betting on a pirate's greed.”

“They're mainly after the rum, I'm thinking,” Karey sighed, hopping up to sit on a crate, setting the musket next to her. Stormanorm sat on the side without the gun, and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her ears interlaced with his, then twitched to the side to rest on her bandanna.

It was oddly intimate, and Threadbare smiled to see it. What good friends they were!

Something in the way the illusions altered his face must have caught her eye, because Karey scowled at him. “Don't go thinking we're mateys, princess. This be brotherly and sisterly affection, 'tis all.”

“I'm the one person on the ship she doesn't have to worry about,” Stormanorm said. “Two if you count... no, no, just the one. She does have to worry about Mom. A lot.”

“As should ye,” Karey's glare relaxed, but her eyes scrutinized Threadbare carefully. “Cap'n meant every word on how she'd kill ye if ye caused too much fuss. She expects a little fuss, but her tolerance for shenanigans be a bit low in the water.”

“I understood Captain Anne's message,” Threadbare told her. “Right now I just want to help everyone get through this alive.”

“We'll see if ye meant that. Actions, words, and all that.” Karey closed her eyes, and fell silent for a moment.

In the silence, Threadbare could hear muffled voices from further back in the hold. “I think you might have some more visitors.”

“Mmm?” Karey's ears fluttered. “Nay. It be that Jean woman, and her abomination.”

Threadbare hadn't heard a thing while her ears were fluttering. The hearing on these pirates was impressive, and the ship, all things considered, wasn't that large. When the engines were turned off, sound carried.

Threadbare knew he'd have to be very, very careful, not only with what he said, but when and where he said it. This was a very dangerous game he was attempting.

“You can talk to her if you want,” Stormanorm said. “Maybe seeing you will loosen her lips a bit.”

Karey shot him a look, but her face was inscrutable when she turned back to Threadbare.

“I'll do that,” Threadbare decided. “Thank you.”

“We'll be here if you need anything,” he said, then shifted to give Karey more shoulder room to rest.

Threadbare left the two to their comfort, padding back past a few rows of crates.

There, in a hollow surrounded by cargo nets, lashed ropes, and chains affixed to the ceiling and floor, was the Cotton Tale's brig.

It wasn't much to look at. Just a sturdy iron cage, about big enough for two adult humans. The chains secured it in midair, about two feet off the ground.

Inside the cage was an albino bunny beastkin, lying on the floor. Her red eyes were narrowed to slits, and her ears were limp. This was Jean Lafeet; actress, swordswoman, and apparently, spy.

Outside the cage sat a tall, thin human man, wearing a patched shirt. The lower part of his face was stubbly with gray, and his receding hairline didn't cover his long ears, ears that seemed higher on his head than any human's should.

The ears were the mark of the Lop Garou, a thankfully rare breed of lycanthrope. Mostly known for running away and raiding gardens during the night of the full moon, but the man, whose name was Gaston, had evidently turned his talents and goals toward capturing Threadbare's little girl.

Threadbare caught the last of the conversation as he approached.

“And for what, eh? Some little undead girl? A cold little doll with no way to give you the love your body desires? You'll be dead in a decade or two, and where will she be, eh? Sitting there, slowly going mad in her ceramic shell. Hell, maybe your death will be what pushes her over the edge. Maybe you'll be the cause of the very thing you're worried about.”

Jean's eyes snapped open, and focused on Threadbare. She sat up, groaning a bit at the pain.

“Oh, that's what finally got your attention?” Gaston sneered. “That's what gets you angry at me? Good! At least it shocks you out of your endless self-pity! Go on, take a swing at me through the bars. I can take it, and it'll make you feel better.”

“I don't think she can quite reach you,” Threadbare said, and felt a small, somewhat mean pleasure in the way that Gaston jumped up and whirled around.

“Celia,” Jean whispered, then coughed. Her fur was scraped and abraded, and her clothes still torn from her nearly-fatal and very short-lived duel with Anne Bunny.

Threadbare looked to Gaston, who glared back. “She sounds thirsty,” he told the Lop Garou. “Have they been giving her water?”

“She hasn't been drinking,” Gaston snorted, pointing at a spilled cup, and a small puddle to the side of the cage.

“To be fair,” Jean said, and cleared her throat. “They did not provide me with a chamber pot, and I did not wish to make a mess. There is no privacy in this cage anyway.”

“Tch.” Gaston looked away. “I will go find you one. Here is your alone time with your pretty little princess. Go, discuss in what privacy exists on this rattletrap boat.”

“Technically it's a ship,” Threadbare told him. But the lop garou merely shook his head and left.

Jean clutched the bars, and looked down at Threadbare. At that angle, he could see that her eyes were focused above his head. She was tracking the illusion's face, he thought.

“Are you well?” she asked.

“I haven't been harmed.”

“No, I mean...” Jean paused. “You know. What we talked about.”

Threadbare didn't know what she'd talked about with Celia. He thought fast. “I'm not certain we should discuss that here, but for the moment I'm well.”

“Good. I was worried.” Jean sagged back into the cage, pulling her hands down into her lap.

“You should probably worry more about yourself,” Threadbare said, pacing around the cage, and glancing back toward where Karey and Stormanorm were sitting, and doubtless listening.

Jean raised her hands, and let them fall. “I am going nowhere. They will not harm me. I am no threat. I never truly was, I see this now.”

“I appreciate that you tried. But for now our path is with this crew,” Threadbare said. “They let me roam around free. Do you think they'll let you out of the cage if I ask them?”

“Well there be a difference between captives and traitors,” Captain Anne said from directly behind Threadbare.

Unlike the lop garou, Threadbare managed to keep himself from jumping into the air in surprise. But he couldn't help a twitch, and he turned around quickly to see her gold-toothed grin smiling down on him.

“Been enjoying yer little tour o' me ship?” Anne asked.

“It's been interesting,” Threadbare said. And about done, too. The only deck left was the last one, and that was the engine room at the bottom of the vessel.

“Good, I hope ye like what ye see. Because the scouting party is back, and they've found what we're lookin' for. So we'll need yer help for this next part, Lady Cecelia...”