4

"No. I didn't see enough wincing, Salome!"

"Zetta, they're zombies. How much can zombies wince?"

One of the MacAbre zombies happened to pass just then. Without even looking, Zetta stabbed it clear to the hilt of his sword. The zombie grimaced, gurgled, and toppled over. "That's how a zombie can wince. And that's what I want to see." He relieved Salome of her syringe and examined it. "A bigger needle, that'll do it. These twelve-inchers just aren't enough."

Zetta gave the camp a cursory glance. When he, Salome, his private platoon and the newly-converted MacAbre Clan had arrived, it was still empty. This, to Zetta's mind, wasn't just Sucky and Inconvenient. It wasn't even just Not Good. This went all the way to Disconcerting and Downright Irritating. It could only mean one of two things:

a) His army, still out in the swamp, had been wasted by Drake's soldiers.

b) His army had shellacked Drake's troops and was now attempting to make a break for it.

Well, whichever was the problem, they both had the same remedy. Zetta whipped around. "Q!"

The professor strode towards him, her combat boots splashing in the mud. Zetta didn't spare any words. "Find out what's happened to the other units. If their asses are getting baked, help them out. If they're beating feet out of here, bake their asses."

Q smiled, happy that both instructions shared a singularly appealing turn of phrase. Within minutes, Zetta's unit had left. Zetta turned to the MacAbre Clan. "Find something useful to do. I've got a prisoner to entertain."

oOoOoOoOo

Drake, much bored by this hour, was lapping up the rest of his spilled milk when Zetta and Salome rejoined him at the Mana-nulling cage. He quickly got his tongue back into his mouth and stood up. "Aha," he said cheerily. "You're back! Had your fun, didn't you? Oh, it does my heart good to see you little ones enjoying yourselves. Now then, why don't you let Uncle Drake out and let him show you some new fighting moves?"

Zetta and Salome looked at each other.

"Come now, Zetta," Drake chided. "Aren't you always harping about how you're going to be the strongest Overlord? Ahhrm, you won't get far if you ignore the wisdom of your elders."

Zetta cleared his throat. "Salome. Rule number 67904: any tips that come from your enemy aren't worth taking."

Salome pursed her lips. "What about when he's monologuing? You know, when he's about to kill you, but he first takes the time to tell you why he's doing all these evil things."

"True. But that usually doesn't involve him being in a cage."

With a superfeline effort, Drake maintained his bracing demeanor. "Why, Zetta... You've come so far, haven't you? I am proud. Sometimes, I even think of you as the son I still don't have. Oh, how I remember when you were a toddler, your mummy would bring you to the Overlord conventions and-"

Zetta cleared his throat even harder. "Now then, I believe I was telling you about the new torture chambers I've designed-"

"No, wait," Salome interrupted. "Let him go on. What was Zetta like as a child, Drake?"

"Wait a minute," Zetta said, hair beginning to spark.

"Oh," Drake chuckled. "Not much different. Only with a smaller vocabulary."

"If you want to live to have a real son," Zetta suggested, drawing his sword, "you should-"

"He had a bit of a lisp, though," Drake recalled. "And he used to pronounce his ls as ys."

Fire danced across Zetta's sword. "You really want to piss me off, house cat?"

Drake roared with laughter. "Funny you should use that particular phrase. I remember one time you were sitting in Babylon's lap, and you-"

WHAM!

Drake blinked. Stared once. Stared twice. And then he really, really laughed.

Zetta and Salome cast about in bewilderment, withdrew their weapons.

"Magog!" Zetta swore.

A Mana-nulling cage had dropped around the two of them.

oOoOoOoOo

"Two-hunred twenny-fo... two-hunred twenny-fife... two-hunred twenny -siss..."

With that, Pepe, who had been counting Zetta's collection of blowdarts (in designer colors), toppled over, exhausted. In a short moment, his snoring joined that of Moncharmin, curled up under Zetta's coverlet, and Apollo, sprawled on Zetta's beanbag chair wearing Zetta's favorite clementine-colored pajamas. Thus, they were lulled into contented slumber, completely oblivious to the outraged shouts and raucous laughter emanating from outside.

oOoOoOoOo

Zetta and Salome wheeled around their small confines, fruitlessly scrabbling for a way out when they weren't bumping into each other. The third time, Zetta's ear poked Salome in the eye, and both were forced to calm down for a moment while Salome sorted herself out. By then, Drake had collapsed, thoroughly worn out with guffawing, only able to weakly hold his quivering stomach and emit the occasional snicker.

Zetta, after ascertaining that he hadn't blinded his apprentice, rounded on the Gerbil Overlord. "You! How the hell did a nimrod like you deploy the cage? There isn't any remote control! And you can't use any Mana!"

Drake hiccuped and wiped his streaming eyes. "Oh -ho! I -only wish!"

"You mean you didn't?" Zetta's hair blazed with outrage. Salome yelped with pain. Zetta apologized, then started to pace, as much as the cage would let him. Meaning that he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "If you didn't rig the cage...who did?"

"I'll take the highroad, and ye'll take the low road, and I'll get the onyx before ye!" a decidedly un-Scottish voice sang. Zetta and Salome whirled in perfect synchrony, which was the only thing that saved them from another collision. Snivly MacAbre waved three cheery fingers from the other side of the bars. "I tell you, those controls are very easy to figure out."

"You bastard!"

Snivly shook his head ruefully. "Is that the best you can do? Impugn my parents' good names? Come now, I thought a real Overlord would have something clever up his sleeve."

"This Overlord," Zetta promised, "is going to have all ten fingers around your neck!"

The zombie chief laughed, dislodging several teeth. He spoke as he bent and fished them out of the swamp muck. "I somehow doubt that, seeing as you're stuck in a cage, and I have access to your martial resources." He carefully screwed each tooth back into his gums.

Zetta slammed his fists against the rungs of the cage which, in its own way, was passably impressive. It didn't do him any good.

Snivly chuckled. "What's wrong with you? Most demons would be jumping for joy to be locked in a small cage with a curvy blonde." He studied Zetta a moment. "You're not a eunuch, are you?"

Salome had backed as far away from Zetta as was humanly possible, afraid that, any moment now, her beloved master would spontaneously combust. Zetta's hair was a roaring bonfire at this point, and the wind vortex that usually followed him had escalated into a small tornado, whipping his cape every which-way. He was literally shedding sparks and small puffs of brimstone as he attempted to break the bars with his teeth.

"That's some cheek," Snivly was saying. "What I'd call hubris. Thinking you could convert us into helping you steal our Onyx of Devastation. I don't think so. The nerve. Maybe if you'd had some theme music, I would've considered it, but...no, absolutely not. By the way, will you be wanting me to make an appointment with your dentist? I don't believe I see a hellephone in there."

Drake cleared his throat. "Hey there, my good zombie friend." Snivly raised an eyebrow. "I'm well-acquainted with Zetta's camp by now. Perhaps you'd like some assistance finding the best weapons?"

"Damn you, Drake," Zetta seethed. "Damn you to heaven and back!"

Drake looked shocked. "Zetta! I can't believe it! I'd rather see you dead at my feet than using such dreadful language."

Snivly chuckled again. "Well, the way things are going, you probably will see him dead at your feet. But no, I don't have any use for a talking wombat. Now then, this is quite a big camp, so I'll have to take a bit of time looking it over. See you in a bit."

"Wombat?" Drake repeated, outraged.

"Come back here, you walking heap of flea-bitten bones!" Zetta roared.

But, with a last swirl of his kilt, Snivly MacAbre was gone.

Zetta stood, breathing hard, staring at the rungs of his cage. He was remembering the first time he'd seen them -new, fresh off the assembly line. "Quality, top of the line Mana-nulling iron," his scientists had told him. "And coated with anti-rust protection. These would hold Overlord Baal himself."

"Shut up!" Salome shouted at Drake who, having got over the wombat remark, was jiggling with suppressed laughter. "You aren't in a better position."

Drake tittered. "I don't know...I have leg room."

"Pity you won't have legs for very long," Zetta remarked, not turning.

Salome took a half-shuffle towards Zetta as the only pretense of speaking to him privately. "There's really no escape function?"

"Of course not," Zetta growled.

"And where's the mechanism?"

"Back behind my tent." Zetta took a deep breath. "Damn. I should have hacked those zombies into stew meat."

Salome stared at her feet, thinking. "Well... then all we can do is wait for the army to get back."

Zetta glowered.

Salome touched his arm. "Q can handle it."

"It's not that," Zetta groused. "This is not a position vassals should see their Overlord in!"

Salome shrugged. "Then we'll just kill them once they free us."

"If they free us," Zetta retorted. He bared his teeth. "I don't know. There are some pretty loose cannons in my ranks. Extremists who want salaries, of all things, and insurance for their families. I may have to do some bargaining."

"And then we kill them," Salome repeated.

Zetta turned to her. "Not that easy. I don't think you and I are strong enough to take down the entire MacAbre Clan."

Uncertainty flickered in Salome's eyes. "Maybe not..."

Drake cleared his throat. "Well, Zetta, hope may not be lost...if you play your cards right."

Zetta turned back to the bars, exhaling in frustration. "Dammit! If only he hadn't nabbed both of us!"

Drake cleared his throat again. "I can help you, Zetta. I can save both you and your little chica there. Come now, is any number of material goods worth as much as your lives? I don't think so."

"And he'll be able to attack us from the outside," Zetta went on, his voice rising with tension. "I don't think we have a single way to defend ourselves."

Salome bit her lower lip, trying hard to remain calm. "Maybe if we...played dead?"

Drake reached under his crown, fished out a throat lozenge, and cleared his throat one more time. "Yes, Zetta, your salvation is at hand! All it takes is one little magic word-"

"Silence!" Zetta roared. "What the hell sort of plan do you have?"

"Uh..." Drake tapped one bootied-foot for a moment, then smiled. "It's a secret. You'll have to say please first."

Zetta turned away from his rival Overlord with disgust. He kicked the side of the cage, then slid into a sitting position, his knees practically under his chin. Trying not to show any of her own despair, Salome joined him. After a moment, she slipped both arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, silently saying that she would stay with him no matter what happened.

The tender gesture did not have the desired effect, as Zetta vented his frustration by swearing for ten minutes straight, referring not only to King Drake and Snivly MacAbre, but to the manufacturers of Mana-nulling cages, the Creator of swamps, The One, the Onyx of Devastation, zombies who didn't realize that everyone wanted them to stay in their graves, upstart Overlords who didn't mind their own business, Overlord Baal, and plaid. When a clap of thunder broke overhead and rain began to splash the sides of the cages, splattering the occupants with mud, Zetta decided it was about time to shut up.