Rumbuggery

Rum The Dog

Evil is debatable.

Where evil is prescribed to one course of action by one fellow, another will undoubtedly prescribe upon it an act of necessity; of meaning or good will. Those men and women deemed evil by one party are heroes to another.

Lord Frieza was nobody's hero. Lord Frieza was well aware of what he was. And frankly he wouldn't have it any other way. Good individuals, he had observed, were ruled by a set of lofty truths and socially prescribed morals, which were notorious for getting in the way of business, important red-tape matters and the tricky assassination of family members, particularly those next in line for the throne. When it came down to it, morals and truths were merely fancy fictions dressed up in an insipid and overly constricting cravat.

Lord Frieza was perfectly content with what he was. He might have called himself happy, had he the stomach for happiness. He enjoyed his own thin, frosty smile, but could not abide evidence of happiness on his subjects' faces. Happy people, he thought, were tediously dull, for happy people lived purely for the present with no thought or care for meticulous scheming and planning for a future in which his royal profile was stamped on every doubloon from Scrum to UnLundun. Frieza often had these few happy individuals shot on sight.

He stepped over the recumbent body of one such previously happy subject, beckoning with a slight nod of his pale head for Zarbon to fall into step.

"Our guests are settled then?"

"Yes, My Lord. I had Cui direct them to their chambers after dinner. But I must confess…" Zarbon stopped himself.

Frieza turned his small red eyes towards him. "Yes?"

"Nothing, my Lord. A mere slip of the tongue." Zarbon had learned that voicing your own opinions around Lord Frieza very quickly got you fired. Usually out of a canon. Still, Zarbon could not stop his upper lip from curling in distaste at the thought of the Ginyu pirates and their infamous Captain.

Frieza chuckled. "My dear man, if you have one fault it is your complete incapability of lying for social purposes. Naturally, as my Royal Advisor, I value your wise counsel. Come. Enlighten me with your hitherto unsurpassed wisdom."

Zarbon swallowed thickly. The last Royal Advisor to advise Frieza was currently decomposing in a lapis-encrusted sarcophagi in the hallway. Still, refusing a thinly disguised order from the Lord was about as clever as kicking a beehive and sticking around to see what would happen next.

"I simply…" he paused to choose his wording carefully, "…distrust our guests."

Frieza chuckled unpleasantly. "Of course you do. They're pirates, not priests."

Zarbon shook his head. "But my Lord, the Captain Ginyu is no mere pirate. Once you overlook the man's garish style and vile moustache-" he paused to give a full body shudder of revulsion at the memory, "-even I must admit his character is impressive. Across the Dragon Seas he's known as the Dread Pirate Ginyu. Further research led me to some interesting information regarding his personal history, which appears to span more years than I would have thought possible. He is no mere rogue born into poverty. He is an educated man from a family of great repute-"

"Oh do cease your pretentious poppycock, Zarbon, you're as dry as an old woman's purse." Frieza yawned delicately. "I'm well aware of Ginyu's history, more specifically his connections. Indeed, it is due to Ginyu's reputation that I chose him for our little problem regarding the Ambassador. After all, King Vegeta would never choose ordinary pirates to do his hypothetical dirty work, would he?" He lowered his voice. "We must be shrewd, Zarbon, if we are to succeed. Besides, it is terribly déclassé to judge a man by his moustache - even one as animated as Captain Ginyu's. Bad form, you know."

Zarbon inclined his head, but in his heart of hearts he believed his Lord's plan relied too heavily on a misplaced assumption of Captain Ginyu and his crew. Zarbon was a good judge of character and something about Ginyu's eyes told him the Captain had seen things few ordinary people had seen. There was a reason every sailor in every corner of every sea knew his name. The Dread Pirate Ginyu was no pushover.

oOo

"You smell a scam, Captain?" Burter enquired, as they sat around their allocated shared quarters in the manor house, all feeling comfortably bloated after the grand supper they had all but inhaled.

Captain Ginyu was pacing as he so often did when lost in deep thought, a cloud of thick tobacco smoke drifting around his horned head. Finally, he paused at the window, his back to the crew.

"Captain?" Guldo prompted.

"This isn't a job opportunity," Ginyu muttered. "It's an order. Zarbon made that clear as day. He's got the dirt on us. If we refuse Frieza's damned request it'll be the Ring for all of us." He grimaced, stubbed his cigarette out and added, "If we're lucky."

The Ginyus exchanged a look that was less uneasy, more disappointed. They hadn't had a slap-up meal like the one the Frieza had dished out in many years and frankly it was nice eating something that didn't taste like the bottom of a fish tank or tried to take a bite out of you before you could take a bite out of it (Recoome wasn't much of a ship cook and tended to like his meat rare to living, but he had a fragile disposition when it came to his cooking and his shipmates simply did not have the heart to tell him it wasn't socially acceptable to have a conversation with your meal, particularly while you were digesting it). The sweet wine had tasted nothing like the grog they were used to drinking; a liquid you could clean spoons with and was very effective at swabbing the deck. There were beds in their chambers too, stuffed with feathers of all things, soft and cushy – such a pleasant change from their moth-eaten hammocks and mattresses stuffed with whatever material they could find (mostly seaweed), aboard The Merry Milk-dud. And somehow the general reek of Scrum had not infiltrated the alabaster walls of Lord Frieza's grand residence. The air was fresh and fragrant, and smelled faintly of honeysuckle. There wasn't even a trace of manure in the air.

They had only lived a few hours in the lap of luxury, but that was more than enough to turn the heads of each member of the crew from their ship.

Not the Captain though, they each thought grimly. He was married to the sea. Probably literally. He was rather handsome in his own way, after all, once you got past the dynamic facial hair. Mermaids and water nymphs were always offering to put out for him.

Suddenly, Ginyu turned sharply towards Jeice, grabbing the younger man by the collar of his grubby shirt and yanking him up to eye level.

"YOU! BOY!"

Jeice gulped. "Aye Cap'n!"

"I've got a job for you, you spineless sycophantic cuttlefish," Ginyu flattered. "Tomorrow morning I want you to head into town and find that damned old dog from The Tilted Wiglast night. I want to know what he's heard on the streets with those ears of his, got it? We need all the dirt we can dig up."

Jeice nodded fervently. "You c'n count on me, Cap'n."

Ginyu snorted doubtfully and turned to the rest of his crew. "Meanwhile, the rest of you keep constant vigilance while I do some digging of my own around this sea-forsaken pit of landlubbering scalliwags. Watch that Saiyan like a hawk. If my hunch is right, her end will be ours. Savy?"

"Aye, Captain!" the Ginyus chorused.

"And Jeice!" Ginyu pressed one large finger into Jeice's face, glaring hard. "If you embarrass me one more time like you did in front of that hoity-toity Princess, your good for nothing red arse will be dancing with figs! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"Yes Cap'n!" Jeice saluted. "Everythin' but the dancing with figs part."

Ginyu deposited the younger man onto the floor and stormed towards the door, pausing only once in what he hoped would be a dramatic and inspiring pose, looked each crew member in the eye and whispered menacingly, "Constant. Vigilance."

He closed the door behind him softly so that only the walls in the near vicinity shook with the resulting tremor.

Burter gave a sigh. "You know he means business when he gets melodramatic."

"The Captain knows what he's doing," Guldo sniffed pointedly, pulling on his red and white striped pyjamas and nightcap.

"Easy fer you to say. Least you ain't playing errand boy," Jeice grumbled sullenly, plonking his chin down on his hand. "You lot get to spend all day tomorrow babysitting in the lap o' luxury while ah've gotta hunt down some dodgy old dog down the alehouse."

Guldo smirked nastily. "Hmm, yes. The Little Red Riding Hood analogy isn't lost on us, Jeice."

"Ah piss off, yeh div," grumbled Jeice, with an added rude gesture. "You've got some bloody cheek callin' melittle, fella. Isn't there like a height requirement fer piracy?"

"Oh shut up!" Guldo snapped. "Just because you're bitter about making an ass of yourself in front of that Ambassador doesn't mean you can go around-" but Guldo's sentence was cut short by Jeice's fist connecting with his jaw with a sound like a bat hitting a watermelon, and soon they were all fighting, a couple more of Recoome's teeth scattering across the polished floor, all except Burter who watched the action with the bored air of someone who witnessed this sort of thing on a daily occurrence. Casually, he reached across to his bed stand and picked up an old, worn book entitled, Fayrees an' Faybles fer Pyrates.

Then he cleared his voice.

The others stopped what they were doing and gave Burter a collective blank stare.

"Do you want your bedtime story or not?" he asked, drumming his blue fingers on the cover of his book with a no-nonsense look. Immediately, the three pirates shuffled to attention and nodded expectantly. "Good. This one's called Snow White and the Seven Pirates who Ran her through and Plundered her Gold."

"Arrrr!" the Ginyus cheered.

oOo

Ginyu crept amongst the great stacks of crates and barrels by the docks. Creeping was hard for a man of his size. Ginyu cut a very impressive figure, his infamous silhouette gracing wanted posters all around the globe. However, there was little need for his sneaking. Leaving the manor house had been easy and this worried him. Frieza had given Ginyu and his crew free reign, which meant only one thing – even if they did manage to somehow secure their ship, the chances of getting out of Scrum and fleeing The Crooked Nook altogether were slim. Lord Frieza would hunt them down until they had served the real purpose for which he had hired them (and that undoubtedly had bugger all to do with protecting the Ambassador).

Ginyu did not plan to let this knowledge hinder him, of course. He had a reputation to live up to and no one, particularly no spoiled genocidal member of the gentry, was going to tell him what to do. What did he care if Frieza killed another royal, hornswoggled Queen Dodoria, and sashayed his way to his throne? That's what royalty did. You had a higher chance of surviving into old age as a pirate than you did as royalty in most parts of the world. But Ginyu certainly wasn't going to allow his own neck to be wrung for the sake of a political squabble.

He peered at the ship bobbing gently on the rippling black waves in the harbour, her beautiful bronze propellers shining in the light of the full moon. The Merry Milk-dud. Ginyu felt a pang in his chest. He knew Frieza would have some of his men stationed on the ship by now. The thought of the Lord's slimy henchmen crawling all over the deck made his blood boil. He had spent too much time and effort stealing that ship and carefully hand-picking each member of his crew to let it all be swiped out from beneath his feet in one day. Burter, his First Mate, was the fastest man with a throwing knife you'd ever seen (or seen too late, as it were). Recoome could crush a small elephant in one fist, which had come in very handy the day their ship was attacked by the dreaded aquatic pachyderm-serpent in the Wild Sea. Guldo's sharp eyesight made him perfect for spotting enemies and victims from the crow's nest, and Jeice…

Ginyu frowned. To be honest, he had never quite figured out why he had let the snot-nosed, scraggly punk of a kid onto his ship in the first place. In fact, he didn't remember ever agreeing to make him an official crew member. He had met the kid when Jeice had been a clumsy boy of thirteen who attracted danger like a lightning rod. Now Jeice was twenty-two and still knew as much about sailing as a fish does about riding a horse.

There was movement on his ship. He squinted his eyes and recognised the tell-tale armoured uniforms of Frieza's men, and took in a sharp breath. There were at least twenty of them guarding the ship. There was no way he was escaping tonight. Ginyu cursed silently and resolved to find another way.

oOo

Morning came all too suddenly with a very rude awakening from Zarbon followed by a very strained breakfast with Lady Bra, stiff with tension and suspicion. She was seated at the head of the table, bodice, frills and supercilious expression intact. To their surprise, and surely forgoing normal protocol, the Ginyus were welcomed around the breakfast table, or so claimed Mr Zarbon, at Frieza's behest.

Lord Frieza himself was no where to be found, having taken an early dirigible that morning to accompany King Kold's body back to the mainland. In his place, Zarbon took the seat by the Ambassador's side and apologised for his master's absence. Then he inquired after Ginyu, who was himself absent having not returned to the manor the previous night.

"The good Captain will not be joining us for breakfast then, I gather?" he inquired, taking a delicate sip of tea, though the look in his eyes said he knew perfectly well 'the good Captain' was nowhere in residence.

Burter shook his head politely. "The Captain always takes a morning stroll at this time," he lied. "Says it keeps his mind sharp."

"Thank goodness for small miracles," Bra commented lightly, pushing around her poached swan's eggs with her fork. "I should rather limit my acquaintance with that repulsive man to as little time as possible."

Jeice glared at her across his plate piled high with bacon and beans. He didn't like anyone speaking ill of the Captain, especially some jumped-up little rich girl. She was a looker, no doubt about that, but her holier than thou attitude was getting older than Recoome's toothbrush. And it wasn't like she was the only attractive one around the table; Jeice knew he could hold his own with his roguish good looks and luxuriously long snowy hair. He drew himself up with an inward grin at his own self-congratulatory assessment. He even flattered himself to think she might be developing a small crush of her own when he caught her gaze and held it for what he believed were a few of the most intimate seconds either of them would ever experience in their entire lives.

Then she frowned and said, "Your hair is in your beans, by the way. I thought you should know," and instantly decided he hated her.

The Ambassador's two ladies in waiting broke into giggles beside her, joined by the none-too subtle sniggering from Guldo and Recoome. Jeice felt his face turn from red to scarlet as he tried to casually pull his mane of white hair out of the orange gloop on his plate.

"Yeah, well that's where it's s'posed to go. Beans are good fer split ends," he responded mulishly, earning him an exasperated roll of blue eyes. It was only after breakfast that Jeice realised, horror of horrors, that he'd only added insult to injury by admitting to having split ends.

When they returned to their chambers, Ginyu had still not returned.

"Where do you think he's gone?" asked Recoome. "Think he's gone and dun a runner?"

Guldo gasped. "Recoome! How can you possibly think that of our illustrious leader?"

"Don't sweat it little man," Recoome patted his head. "Just thinkin' out loud."

"Well don't," Guldo snapped and pushed his hand away. "It's hazardous for your health. Leave thinking to the experts."

Jeice rolled his eyes moodily. "Shut your porthole, Guldo. Give it a rest."

"Guldo's right though," said Burter. "The Captain would never do a runner on us."

"So what do we do?" asked Recoome.

Burter shrugged. "Do what we're here to do. Watch over the Ambassador. Maybe we can sniff around for information too, give us an idea of what we're dealing with." He turned to Jeice. "You go and find that old coot, Rum, like the Captain said last night. If something has happened to him, chances are Rum'll probably know about it."

Jeice gave a shrug and grinned. "Fair enough. I'm dyin' for a bevvie anyway." After this morning's embarrassment he was actually glad to have the chance to escape the manor house - not to mention the Saiyan Ambassador's hair-trigger temper.

"But what if Zarbon notices he isn't here?" Guldo pointed out.

Recoome snorted, then leaned in conspiratorially. "That ain't gonna happen. Poor bastard can't take his eyes off that monkey girl. You see the way he was lookin' at her?" He waggled his hairless eyebrows to a disturbing effect. "I figured Mr Z was deep in old Davies' locker, if you get my drift lads, but I'm bettin' my incisors those two've got a thing goin' on."

"I wouldn't bet your incisors, mate," Jeice patted him on the arm. "We can't keep replacin' your teeth with bits of stuff we find on the floor."

They'd been lucky so far. Lost teeth were easy to come by in Scrum, but last night they'd had to make do with bits of broken glass, a crooked nail, and some unidentifiable thing Recoome had found lodged between his toes.

"They do look made for one another, don't they? Like tragic lovers," said Guldo wistfully, adding, "Now Zarbon; there'sa true gentlemen, all right."

Recoome nodded. "You get a whiff of his hair?"

"Did I ever!" Guldo gave a dreamy sort of sigh. "I wonder how he gets it so smooth and shiny? It's nice to meet a gentleman who practises good hair maintenance. Unlike somepeople I know." His four eyes cast Jeice a long appraising look.

That was all Jeice could take. No one insulted the hair. Now he knew precisely why he had taken such an instant dislike to Zarbon.

"No self-respectin' bloke should smell of roses and springtime dew!" he bellowed in their faces, then stormed out the door and slammed it behind him in a very good imitation of the Captain.

There was a thoughtful pause. Then Burter said, "I thought he smelled more like a soft summer breeze, personally."

"Naw," Recoome disputed, "that was more the rich opulent essence of ruby Jasmine and lotus flower."

The others gawked at him.

Recoome had the grace to blush.

oOo

If there was one thing Jeice knew he excelled at, it was sneaking. Years of pick-pocketing had left him with excellent references to prove it. After all, he'd been trained by the greatest pirate captain ever to navigate the sea air. He flung the door of the servant's entrance open with a crash and stealthily stomped out into the back alley behind Lord Frieza's residence.

The servant's alleyway gave way to a maze of muddy streets, stone walls, and scabby, judgemental cats. Scrum never slept (this was because people were afraid the moment they closed their eyes they would wake up with a knife in their back). The memory of the grand manor's clean-swept marble floors and fragrant halls was quickly overwhelmed by the city's ever present haze of thick yellowish smog. He took a deep breath and grinned to himself.

"Proper lush."

It surprised him how much he had missed the sounds of the city lulling him to sleep at night. The swanky high life might have been fun for a bit, but now that he was back on Scrum's streets again, Jeice was struck by just how much he did not want to return there. There were just too many rules and politics, and frills, and forks. Really, why all the forks? That was like having a different stabbing knife for each one of his victims.

Early morning shoppers and vendors were already up and about, gossiping with the fishermen and the traders around the dockside. The conspiracy theorists were having a field day with the mysterious circumstances surrounding King Kold's death (one of the popular rumours going around claimed Queen Dodoria had strangled him with her garter). Through a narrow gap between two crooked houses, Jeice could see the sprawling disembarkation dirigible green before Frieza's manor, now empty save for a few soldiers dotted about. Fleetingly, he wondered where Frieza had taken the old man's corpse.

Morning passed and it seemed to Jeice that everyone in Scrum had an opinion on King Kold's death. But no one, it seemed, had ever heard of an information broker called Rum.

Struck with the spirit of investigation, Jeice skulked around the winding streets and alehouses, finally entering the market square at the heart of the town shortly after noon. The square was a large cobbled area situated beside the clock tower; a rickety old building teetering on the edge of the docks. Its centermost point was marked by a fountain embossed with Queen Dodoria's unfortunate visage. Grubby canvas stalls stood shoulder to shoulder, boasting a healthy selection of deep-fried un-thinkables and cursed items. Dubious looking steam-powered weaponry hung from every rack and hanger. Jeice eyed a clockwork-combustor pistol longingly before grudgingly selecting something that looked like a battered lizard on a stick from an adjoining ramen stall. He took a seat at the stand and chewed enthusiastically, while trying in vain to picture the werewolf fromThe Tilted Wig.

Something about the old dog had set his instincts on edge last night. Rum's eyes had been too sharp, too youthful, too...lingery. And he'd smiled too much. The Captain hated people who smiled too much, including Jeice (this was likely because Jeice had a terrible poker face. He had lost the ship's entire stash of boiled hams last year to Captain Bojack when he'd broadcast a brilliant hand to the table by grinning his head off and whispering loudly to Burter, "Blimey, that's a proper good hand, like! We'll have a right good bevvie tonight!"). But he couldn't very well go around every pub in Scrum asking people if they'd seen a hairy old werewolf who smiled a lot and smelled like wet dog. Well, he could. In fact, that's exactly what he had been doing up until this point. But it wasn't getting him anywhere, other than a bit drunk.

He propped his chin on the stall and mulled over the ramen on offer. It was the kind of ramen scholars would mull over - not eat, of course, but simply to ponder how it was that such a dish managed to look and smell so unappetising it made your stomach want to crawl away with its intestine between its legs. Jeice didn't consider himself a food connoisseur at any stretch - he liked his food served battered, deep-fried and served in a bun - but even he had to wonder what kind of foul creature could stomach rancid noodles.

He found his answer sitting beside him at the stand. A young woman with a stocky, angular frame, silver hair cut unfashionably short, and dressed most scandalously in a pair of men's boiler pants, was slurping her ramen and discussing the universe with the vendor as only another equally as appalling could fully appreciate.

Jeice caught the wag of her tail and suddenly realised why Rum had seemed so very familiar last night.

The werewolf beside him, who had gone by the name of Rum the night before, had not yet noticed Jeice. She was caught up in an animated conversation with the vendor; a familiar old witch with hair an eye-watering shade of violet and a pointed hat on her crown. Everyone knew old Baba, the All-Seeing Crone. She was a fortune-teller of sorts who extended her talents to anyone with a bag of gold, but it seemed her mystic powers of the universe didn't extend to culinary matters.

He leaned in to eavesdrop on the conversation. The werewolf girl was complaining around great mouthfuls of rotten noodle broth.

"And I was like, honestly, what's the big deal? So I lost Major Satan's delivery of Viagra in the Spinach Wastes. If you ask me the old man should lay down his testies anyway. I probably saved him a cardiac arrest, but do I get a thank you? No! I get half the bounty hunters from here to UnLundun on my tail," she grumbled with a slurp, then gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "Luckily for me they all came down with a sudden contagious spate of combustion."

The witch smiled darkly, baring wrinkled gums and fewer teeth than Recoome.

"Dem's the breaks."

The werewolf nodded sadly. "Aye. Kids today. They all wanna be bounty hunters," she sighed. "I blame pop culture, personally. Anyway, it serves the army right for hiring me for important missions. I'm far too unfit and undisciplined. Look, it says so right here in my brochure." She pushed a flier towards the witch. "You can keep that, by the way. There's a senior citizen discount."

Baba glowered. "What are you implying?"

The girl waved her hands guiltily. "Nothing! Nothing."

"Hey Baba," Jeice interrupted, brightly. "I've got a joke for you. What's smelly, rude, flea-ridden, fights too much, drinks too much, wears the wrong sized bra and probably has a hangover right now?"

The werewolf whirled about on her stool beside him. There was a long pause as she stared at Jeice, wide-eyed and with a string of noodles hanging limply from her mouth. The fortune-teller Baba looked entirely nonplussed at the exchange, her ancient face as wrinkled as a prune and just as non-committal. She lifted the lid on her stone bowl pot to pour something oily black into the broth simmering away, and for a moment the only sound between the three of them was a violent hissing and spitting as the contents came into contact with direct sunlight.

Jeice nodded at the werewolf, raised a hand and smiled, all teeth and not nicely. "Yo."

The werewolf turned her back to him and for a moment Jeice thought she might try to run. Instead she appeared to be struggling with something in a leather satchel hanging off her belt. When she turned back around to face him again it was with a hastily reapplied beard and crooked nose.

"Oh hello again, lad!" she croaked enthusiastically. "Me old eyes couldna' see you clearly there."

Jeice shot her a deadpan look. "Saku, I know it's you." He pointed. "Your name's on the brochure."

She raised a hand to one ear. "What's that sonny?"

He reached forward to pinch one of her furry ears. "Quit messin' around!"

"Ow!Fine. Ger'off!" She removed the beard and nose with a reluctant pout. Saku Ookami fancied herself a bit of a master of disguise, and the old sea dawg 'Rum' was one of her favourite characters to perform. Ah well, it had been fun to play one on the Ginyus for a while. "Kch. Well, I see you've seen through my cunning disguise. Colour me impressed," she drawled, importantly. "You might have learned a thing or two since I saw you last, shorty."

"Leave off, I've grown two inches since then." If you counted his hair (which Jeice did) he now reached an impressive 158cm. "Listen, I don't know what yer up to, luv, but the Cap'n still hasn't forgotten you vandalising all his wanted posters like that. Ah'd keep out of his way for another decade or two. Y'know how he can hold a grudge."

Saku chortled, reminiscing: one thousand and one wanted posters littered across towns from Scrum to the mainland had boasted Captain Ginyu with two exceptionally phallic looking horns. "Ha, yeah. Classic." She paused, sniffing the air with a small frown. "Why do you smell of beans?"

Jeice slumped over the stand, face drawn and green eyes watering. "Don't even ask!" he moaned pathetically, clearly wanting to complain about his dreadful breakfast experience.

Saku didn't give him the chance. She had known the pirate for years and he always did have a flair for the dramatic. She idly wondered why Jeice had never gone in for the theatrics. It was probably for the best, however. He didn't handle criticism well and you really had to have a thick skin to tread the boards.

"So," Saku began, "I take it you're here to interrogate me, eh? The good Captain Ginyu wants to know what I've got on Kold, so he's sent you crawling after me to pilfer my strictly confidential information." She stuck her chest out proudly and laughed. It wasn't at all ladylike. More of a guffaw. But then, Jeice supposed she had been literally raised by wolves. "Well it's about time he recognised me for my possession of extensive skills," she prattled on, "and, dare I say, intoxicating cocktail of attributes."

"Attributes, huh?" Jeice eyed her chest with a disappointed pout. "Wish they'd extend to your physical bits. I mean what are you, an A cup? That's just pathe-OW!" He rubbed his skull tenderly where the werewolf's elbow had connected with a crunch. "...Sorry."

"Apology accepted." She returned to slurping her noodles. "Word on the street is you and your buddies have been banged up at Frieza's place. How the hell did you get out of there on your own?"

"Cause we've not been banged up." He gave her a cheeky wink. "We've been hired. Movin' up the chain, we are. Mingling with high society! Fine dining, cushy rooms, proper loos, polite chat." He slouched. "I hate it."

She snorted. "Too many rules?"

"Too many forks," he said imploringly. "I dunno why Frieza wants us. Says he doesn't want that Saiyan wench getting her throat slit on his watch. Guess it would make him look bad or something, hell if I care. We're supposed to be her shiny new bodyguards."

Saku cocked an eyebrow. "Fine job you're doing."

Jeice gave an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. "Frieza doesn't seem to care much, s'long as a couple of us are about the place. We're probably fer show more than anythin'."

"Probably..." She looked doubtful. "Look, I think we need to-"

She cut herself short suddenly. A movement had caught the corner of her eye. Someone had been watching them, but before she could register who that someone was, they had slipped easily into the crowd. She scanned the heads of shoppers quickly. No one. That was worrying. To hide in plain sight was a skill set a level above your average soldier in these parts.

She stood, plastering an easy smile on her face, and clapped a hand down on her friend's shoulder. "Look mate, this isn't the best place to talk. Let's head back to mine."

Jeice cocked an eyebrow and shot her a smirk. She drew him a mildly disgusted look.

"Not that kind of talk."

Jeice shrugged. "Hey, don't knock it 'til yeh've tried it, luv."

Saku bent across the stall towards Baba, speaking in low tones. "Did you do the weather reading for tomorrow yet? Remember, it's gotta be accurate."

A small dark smile twitched on the witch's lips. "My readings are always one hundred percent accurate," she whispered sinisterly. "And they come with a free yoghurt."

Saku nodded and plonked a small bag of gold in front of the old woman. "Always a pleasure."

Jeice watched with idle curiosity as the two women bent their heads together in hushed whispers, Saku nodding her head vigorously every now and then. Obviously Baba belonged to some Magic Guild, Jeice thought warily. He gave an impatient huff and began to prod at the bowl of noodle broth with his pistol, only to have his hand slapped away.

Finally, Saku stood, looking all too pleased with herself as she downed the cold remnants of her broth in one unladylike slurp. He frowned. Jeice knew he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer – in fact he was probably a spoon – but his instincts were finely tuned to dodgy deals. He knew when someone was up to something. Knowing when someone was up to something was practically his middle name (actually it was Rupert, but no one needed to know that).

"Cheers, Baba," said Saku, with a disconcerting toothy grin that was all too wolfish for his comfort. "That's all I needed to know."

Baba passed her a small leather purse across her ramen stand, then drew them a long appraising look each. She smiled. It wasn't pleasant. Suddenly Jeice found Saku's smile all mildness and sugar in comparison.

"Be careful of what you're getting into, Ookami," said the witch. "There's evil in the air. Murder afoot. Something very nasty in the streets…"

"Yeah, I think ah trod on it earlier," he muttered, then leaned in to whisper in Saku's ear, "Can we go now? Your barmy nan's creepin' me out."

They bid their goodbyes and took off through the market square, Saku making sure to steer them into the thickest part of the throng. The shadow wasn't the only one adept at hiding in plain sight.

She looked at him askance. "You know you're being followed, right?"

Jeice shot her a gormless look of surprise. Well that answers that, then, she thought grimly. Trust Jeice to lead a spy all the way into town. That was your typical Ginyu for you; stealthy as tanks the lot of them. To his credit, he just about managed to restrain himself from looking about like a mad bee was attacking. He set his jaw in a grim line and nodded brusquely.

"All right. There's a pawn shop up the road here - 'Dirty Fred's Load of Crape'." It was commonly believed in Scrum that adding an 'e' to the end of a word gave your establishment a touch of class. "It has a private exit we can use to get to the rooftops." He flashed her a grin. "Bit o' height'll give us an advantage."

"Good thinking," she agreed, reflecting his toothy smile with a toothier one of her own, as they cut about a string of stalls and slipped into a side street leading off the market. "Oh, and by the way?"

"Yeah?"

Her fist connected with his nose with a satisfyingly wet thwacksound.

"Your punchline sucked."

oOo