2

When Salome came back out five minutes later, she was still barefoot but wearing a strapless red dress. She'd also taken a moment to dry her hair and apply some black lipstick. Drake noticed that her toenails were also painted black. It didn't give him any sort of advantage, but there you go. "I've been thinking."

Drake, who'd been struggling to fit his broad chest between two iron bars, stopped struggling and sat back with a huff. "What?"

Salome was looking around the area outside of her and Zetta's tents. Looking himself, Drake noticed that his other lackeys had dumped their booty here: weapons, tanks, drills, even a large ornate horsehair sofa (but where were his faithful lackeys?)

"You can't be King Drake," Salome explained. "Zetta told me King Drake's a lion."

Drake was nonplussed. "I'm a lion."

Salome frowned. "Don't lie to me."

"I never lie!"

"Oh please. You look more like a hamster than anything else."

"Hamster?" Drake expostulated. "I'll have you know that no hamster has muscles like these!" And he took a moment to flex the rippling, furry muscles in his chest, his arms and his thighs.

Salome looked at him blankly. "A hamster on steroids."

"Wha-? No! Look -look at this tail! This is a proud, leonine tale -it's long and skinny and has a puff-puff on the end! No hamster has a tail like this!"

Salome put her head to one side in thought. "But gerbils do," she said after a moment.

"WHA?"

"All right, we've established that you're a King-Drake-Impersonating-Gerbil who has set out to rob Lord Zetta blind," Salome said, crossing her arms and striding around the cage. "The question is, why?"

"I am not a gerbil!"

Salome nodded. "That's exactly what an impostor would say." She stopped by the wheelbarrow. After a moment, she reached down and withdrew an item. She narrowed her eyes coldly at her prisoner. "You were going to steal my Zetta plushie?"

"Eh-" said the gerbil. Then he snarled. "You shut up!"

"I couldn't possibly. I have the upper hand. I would be neglecting my obligations."

"Ha! Upper hand? I know all about you."

Salome widened her eyes and smiled. "How flattering."

Drake gritted his teeth.

Taking her Zetta plushie, Salome sauntered over to the horsehair sofa and lay down across it, propping the plushie on one of the pillows and stretching her arm languidly along one hip. She then gave Drake her full attention. "What about me?"

"What about you? Hah! There isn't much to you!"

"There isn't?"

"What's to talk about? You're just some little human pet Zetta's set up in a love-nest."

Salome snorted.

Drake bristled. "Did you snort?"

"No." She waved her hand. "Go on. I'm in a love-nest. And what am I doing there?"

"Eh..."

After waiting a moment, Salome tried again. "All right, I'm a pet then. Zetta's taught me how to catch a frisbee in my teeth, right? Or does he just have me balance doggie treats on my nose?" She sat up suddenly, looking past Drake. "Speaking of which..."

"Humph!" Drake folded his muscular arms. "Don't ask me to explain why Zetta keeps you around. I'm sure you know well enough!"

"But I don't," Salome replied, getting up from the couch. "You're the one who knows everything about me."

"Listen up!" Drake shouted. "Let me out of here you little -HEY! Where are you going this time? Come back, damn you-"

oOoOoOoOo

Salome came back after five minutes with a plate containing a large sticky bun with a side of black grapes and a cup of Echidna's milk. She stretched out on the sofa again, propping herself up on one elbow. "I haven't eaten yet," she explained, taking a large gooey bite out of the bun.

Neither had Drake, but that wasn't important. He'd sat down on the floor of his cage, his knees to his chest, his tail curled around his toes. He stared at Salome as only one of the truly miffed can. "What are you doing here anyway? My soldiers were supposed to empty the camp."

Salome sipped her milk. "I didn't hear them attack. I was in the shower, of course."

"Well -don't you think you should go help Lord Zetta's forces?"

"No," Salome replied easily. "They'll be fine. Besides, I'm rather enjoying having nothing to do this morning." She put a grape between her teeth and bisected it with a soft popping sound.

Drake clamped his arms around his knees to muffle his growling innards. "Well, how hunky-dory. And where would Lord Zetta be?"

"He and his personal platoon are further south, I think. We've been trying for weeks to steal the Onyx of Devastation from this local shrine. It's worshipped by a tribe of cannibal zombies."

"Such a shame you didn't go with him."

Salome smiled good-naturedly. "I'm still recovering from yesterday's battle. I was... a little overeager with my Mana. Zetta insisted I sit the morning out."

"Hmph." Drake glared balefully around the clearing. "But you took the time to install a Mana-nulling cage."

Salome ate another grape. "No, we always have at least one above the entrance of every tent. It makes us feel secure."

"Whoop-de-do."

There was a large rumbling.

"Was that your stomach?"

"Eh..." said Drake weakly.

Salome sat upright, frowning. "Maybe I should feed my pet gerbil."

"I AM NOT A GERBIL!"

"Well, if you're not my pet gerbil, I don't need to feed you."

After a mighty struggle, Drake swallowed his pride (not that it eased the hunger pangs). "What ...sort of sound does a gerbil make?"

Salome didn't even hesitate. "Meep meep."

Drake cleared his throat. "Meep. Meep."

"Ah!" Salome exclaimed, sounding delightfully surprised. "It is a gerbil!" She stood up, holding the plate of food in her hands. More than half of the sticky bun was still there as well as several grapes. "Is it an intelligent gerbil?"

Drake unclenched his throat. "Oh, yes. Meep. Ahhrm, meep."

Salome stepped up to the bars of the cage. Drake leapt to his feet. He would've liked to throttle her, but even his wrists were too thick to pass through the bars. A pity his tail wasn't prehensile.

"Can the gerbil do tricks?"

Drake gritted his teeth. "Of course." He stood on one foot.

Salome frowned. "That's not a very good trick."

"Wait -uh...um..." Rearranging himself a bit, Drake managed a handstand.

"Hmm," Salome said consideringly. "Can you pat your head and rub your stomach now?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, then I'll just have to teach you a new trick." She snapped her fingers. "On your feet."

The gerbil got to his feet.

Salome pulled a wodge of sticky bun free. "Now, lean forward and tilt your chin up."

Drake did so, bringing him closer to the plate. Salome's slim hand reached through the bars...

...and placed the wodge on his nose.

"Don't move."

"Eh-"

"No speaking! If you spill the food, you don't get any."

Drake's nostrils flared, breathing in the cinnamony dough and the sugary frosting.

"Now, a grape..." Salome went on.

What was she thinking? He'd never be able to balance a grape! She was setting him up for failure, the hussy-

Five minutes later, a battle-happy Lord Zetta strode into his empty camp and wondered what the heck was up. He stomped across the mud to the center and only stopped when he saw that one of the Mana-nulling cages had been deployed. And-

Drake had really amazed himself. Not even he, with his rather exalted view of self, could've imagined that he was able to balance six grapes and ten cinnamon bun wodges all on his nose. Salome had simply run out of food and was carefully levitating her Nixie cup of Echidna's milk to the top of the food tower when she heard the stomps.

Of course Salome whirled. Of course all the milk went splashing all over Drake. Of course he dropped the food. Of course he was marginally happy, because now all the food was HIS.

Zetta frowned in puzzlement at the caged lion. "What's up?"

"I found him this morning," Salome replied, crossing over to him, "in my tent, and-"

Zetta shook his head. Firmly. "Absolutely not, Salome."

"Zetta-"

"No. You already have too many pets as it is. There are those two sentient scrub brushes -and the orange dragon -and the wolverines-"

Salome wound her arms around her Overlord's waist and looked up at him beseechingly. Meaning, her eyes went all wide and pretty.

Zetta concentrated on Stern Thoughts. "No," he said again.

Salome decided to let it go (after all, she still had the wolverines). She kissed Zetta's cheek. "How did it go?"

"Well...my professor discovered twenty-three new species of flesh-eating trees."

Salome frowned. "Is that good news or bad?"

"It depends on whether or not I can manage to recruit a few and how quickly they reproduce. Anyway, did you find the-"

"TERRIBLE SHALL BE MY WRATH," a voice roared from the cage, "IF YOU DON'T FREE ME AT ONCE!"

Zetta's eyes widened and narrowed sharply as he stared over Salome's shoulder at the cage. "You didn't tell me it could talk."

Salome also regarded the cage and its milky occupant. "It's not very clever, but yes, it can talk."

The milky occupant had made a fist out of its right paw, and that paw was shaking with rage. "I tell you, Zetta -This is it! Provoke me further, and I won't answer for the devastating consequences!"

Zetta's eyes rounded. "Magog," he said, pleasure creeping into his voice. "It's Drake the Third."

Salome glared at him. "What? You told me he was a lion."

"Uh...Isn't he a lion?"

"Of course I'm a lion!" Drake thundered, glad this was finally going to be cleared up.

"Oh please," Salome replied. "You're a lion like tofu is a food."

"Tofu?" Drake repeated.

"Well," Zetta amended, stepping past Salome towards the cage, "maybe I was wrong about his species. But that's definitely King Drake." He came to a halt not three feet from his rival Overlord, arms crossed over his chest, long black cape unfurling behind him. "So, King Dreck, what brings you to my camp?"

Drake considered his options. "I came here to lend you my assistance in your quest for the Onyx of Devastation. I arrived here with men and provisions, but your little hussy trapped me in this cage and has been torturing me for the last hour!"

Zetta glanced sidelong at Salome. She put a hand on her hip. "I found him in my room, going through my clothes."

Zetta whirled on Drake, rage blazing in his eyes. "What the hell? What do you think you're up to, you sad excuse for a bastard?"

Drake gritted his teeth with pure loathing. "I wasn't -there wasn't anything perverse about-"

"He was stealing from us," Salome went on.

"What'd he take?" Zetta growled. Salome thumbed in the direction of the wheelbarrow. Zetta strode over. "Hmph. Would you look at this? He got all of your personal arsenal -spellbooks, daggers... He got your poison gas...Dart gun...He got-" Zetta's voice abruptly cut off. His eyes went wide as he withdrew an item from the wheelbarrow.

Zetta was a demon Overlord. Evil and depravity were his areas of expertise. The idea that a rival had come to steal his provisions came as no surprise. As a powerful demon, he'd be insulted by anything less. He expected maligning and malfeasance on a daily basis, but this...This was the work of absolute malevolence and corruption.

Zetta turned slowly in Drake's direction, the shimmery red towel in his hand. "Why," he breathed, "did you steal her nightgown?"

Salome gasped.

Drake examined the rungs on his cage. Nice. Strong. Sturdy. If he bashed his forehead against them quick, he'd probably go unconscious.

Salome glared at Drake out of narrowed eyes. "I didn't notice the nightgown."

Zetta dropped the nightgown and stalked back to his prisoner. "So. I'm going to have a lot of fun figuring out what to do with you."

"Oh?" Drake drew himself up. "Are you?"

"Oh yeah. I've been hard at work devising new torture chambers."

"Have you?"

Zetta leaned his elbows against the cage, smiling maliciously at Drake over his crossed arms. "Oh yeah. Tell me, Drake. Have you ever tried to relax in a living room that was completely upholstered in porcupine hide?"

Before Drake could conjure up a dazzling comeback, a short, sap-eyed medic named Sam came sloshing through the mud towards them. "Lord Zetta!"

Reluctantly, Zetta pulled his attention around. "What?"

"The cannibals are marching on the camp! They've crossed the Purple River!"

Zetta considered this. The cannibals had fewer than two miles to go. Glancing around, Zetta decided that his depleted garrison would have a pretty slim chance of defending the camp. However, an ambush in the swamp...

"Right," Zetta said decisively, pushing off the cage and striding towards Sam and Salome. He addressed the former. "Tell Q to have the troops ready at the Split Rock-"

"Er...Overlord, the Split Ruck sonk in the mank."

"What?"

Sam collected himself. "The Split Rock sank in the muck."

"Oh." With an effort, Zetta thought a bit harder. "Fine. Tell Q to prepare in the Thorn Grove." (Don't ask what a Thorn Grove was doing in the middle of a swamp.) "Tell her we'll be there shortly." Sam bowed quickly (so low that he actually nose-dived into the mud), then he spun around and was dashing off to report to Q, the leader of Zetta's personal platoon.

"Can I come?" Salome asked.

Zetta eyed her. "How you feel?"

She smiled. "I think I'd feel better if I sucked all of Drake's Mana."

Zetta grinned. "That'll come later. Here, I brought you back something from the last battle." From somewhere (probably a different dimension), Zetta withdrew a yard-long syringe. Its push end was adorned by a gleeful horned skull.

Salome's eyes rounded appreciatively as she took it from him. "I haven't gotten much use out of syringes yet."

"Exactly. I want to see what you can do with this. Go find something in the pharmacy to fill it with." Master and pupil smiled conspiratorally at each other, then Salome strode off for the pharmacy tent. In another moment, Zetta had turned and was stalking off in the opposite direction.

"Hey-!" said Drake. "Hey!"