Chapter 5: Neck Made of Plasticine

Abzel was starting to think that Welking had forgotten which way east was. For the past few days, they had been going southeast, but he seemed to be oblivious to this. He continued on, propelled by his unnatural drive, far from his stated course.

And really, why should she bother correcting him? It wasn't like she had anything special planned; she'd ditched her crew and packed plenty of food, so she was fine with going wherever the stoat took her.

Right now, the stoat was taking her through a rather beautiful forest clearing. A dirt path crossed the center, worn down by countless footpaws over generations. On either side, the grass was the greenest green she'd ever laid eyes on; dwarf pansies, barely up to her waist, grew in small bunches all over the place. At the edge of the clearing, massive oak trees grew over the clearing, casting their shadow over the large black knight treading down the path from the south. Overhead, the sky was a rich shade of blue, the kind of cheery color that makes anybeast happy. Wow, today really was a wonderful-

Abzel stopped, backtracked two sentences, and screamed. Being a beast of very little courage, she immediately ducked behind Welking (who, unwisely, was standing in the middle of the path), and peeked out one trembling eye. That was him! The black warrior from the beach, the one that freed the slaves! He found out about her, and he was coming back to finish the job! AAAAAHH!

Welking, meanwhile, was quite oblivious. All he saw was a rather tall beast in angular black armor, with a reasonably sized sword for such a creature slung over his back. So the beast likes defending himself; nothing to be afraid of. Abzel started pummeling his back and shouting at him to do something, don't just stand there, do anything, PLEASE, but he held his ground with forceful indifference.

At this point, the knight had come to a halt in front of them. Abzel chanced another look, screamed again, and dashed off into the forest. Welking looked up at the knight, who was inspecting him intensely.

Abzel cowered behind a bush and watched fearfully as the knight raised a fist and punched Welking in the side of the snout. He fell to the ground, one paw clutching his once again ruined muzzle. Absently, the knight reached up and grabbed the hilt of his sword, then drew it with a sound of scraping metal. He raised it into the air, and-

-promptly received two metal boots to the face, as a second black knight barreled into him. The first stumbled to the ground and dropped his sword, as the second, already back on his feet, moved between Welking and the first knight.

Now that the action had lulled a bit, Abzel had a chance to look at the two in detail. Both appeared to be about the same height, and had about the same shade of armor. Moreover (ooh, she liked that word!), both suits of armor had a similar aesthetic to them, like the same smith had crafted them. The one that had attacked Welking, however, had a slightly more angular design to his armor, with a bit of discoloration at the edges. She would call this one 'Edgy'. The other one, with the rounded pauldrons, she'd call 'Short Round'.

No wait, he wasn't really short. Ah, drat, the name was stuck in her head now. Oh well.

As Edgy struggled back to his feet, Short Round shouted, "Rogue tower unit, shut down!"

Edgy responded with a strange sound that sounded vaguely like some cross between crunching leaves and a flute. Had Abzel been born in another time, she would have called the sound 'whirring'.

Short Round repeated the phrase, a bit louder and more clearly enunciated. "Rogue tower unit! Shut down!"

Edgy threw back another strange noise, this one practically bleeding with aggression, and threw a punch at Short Round's helmet. Short Round caught the fist in his paw, and twisted outward. With his other paw, he lunged forward, and grabbed Edgy around the neck. With a fair bit of assistance from his leg, he shoved Edgy away from Welking.

Edgy hit the ground again, but this time was much quicker about getting to his feet. This time, he'd picked up his sword, and with his momentum from reaching his feet he swung the blade in a wide arc for Short Round's shoulder. Short Round parried it expertly with his own wrist, then grabbed the blade with both paws and levered it sideways. Edgy completely lost his grip, and the sword was tossed aside. Edgy was quick to recover; he immediately aimed a punch at Short Round's helmet, and…

And…

And Abzel completely lost her pacing because of how freaking AWESOME that was! Short Round grabbed his arm, twisting it at the elbow, and sent his own elbow down into Edgy's neck, forcing him to the ground. In a voice that would have sounded 'through gritted teeth' if it weren't so echoey, Short Round stated, "Pseudo, disengage see are vee see connections. Attempting manual shutdown..." Then he wrenched Edgy's head down further, and forced it clean off.

Edgy crumpled to the ground, all traces of life gone. Short Round picked up the severed helmet and stared into the visor, disappointment evident even through his own black mask. He shook his head slowly, and set the helmet down next to its body. Then, turning to look directly at Abzel, he said, "You, in the bush. It's safe to come out."

Abzel inched her way out cautiously. Short Round knelt next to Welking and said, "Are you alright?"

Welking uncovered his slightly bloodied snout and muttered, "I dink so."

Abzel gasped. Not because Welking had survived the blow with only a nosebleed, but because she had seen his snout absolutely wrecked by Edgy's blow. His jaw had been knocked off! Hellgates, there it was, rotting in the grass in front of her! But here he was, sporting a brand spanking new jaw, like nothing had happened at all!

"You should come with me," Short Round stated, in a voice that conveyed much of the same feeling that Abzel felt. Notably, though, he was much more calm about it.

He stood up and walked over to Edgy's body. He knelt down and lifted the corpse with what looked to be relative ease, and hoisted it over one shoulder. Then he bent down to pick up the head, but stopped when the body began to slide off his shoulder. "Er…" He straightened and readjusted the body, then pointed at the head and looked at Abzel. "Can you pick that up?"

Abzel nodded, and picked up the head. Surprisingly, it turned out to be quite light; a quick look inside showed why. It was empty; no head in sight. Abzel looked back where the body had lain. No head there either! She searched around the clearing, but the head was nowhere in sight. She looked back at the helmet, bewildered, and then realized that there wasn't even a bloodstain. The head was just… gone!

The sun dawned on a bustling port town, as Mako's iceberg came in to dock. The great mass slid in between massive pirate galleons and little fishing boats, and slowed to a stop as a rack of icicles grew out of its side to form a boarding ramp.

Mako stepped off onto the pier, and started walking inland. Smack followed shortly behind him, having eschewed the steps in favor of gravity. "Ow," he muttered, clutching his bruised nose.

"You won't find sympathy from me," Mako replied.

Smack looked away. "Don't want none."

"Don't want any." The faintest hint of a smirk crossed Mako's features. Smack glared at him; he looked back at the fox with a featureless expression. "I have an urgent message for Her Majesty. If you wish to return to Mossflower with me, wait for my return at the Disgraced Legionnaire." He pointed to a dockside tavern, with a faded sign displaying an oddly plumed helmet. With that, he vanished again, fading into the scenery.

And who could blame him, really? In a town like this, the second in command openly marching about on the streets would cause no small amount of distress to the populace. Since disguise was out of the question as well, traveling through the shadows and across the rooftops was the best way for Mako to get anywhere.

Presently, he was before the throne. He bent down on one knee and began his report: "My queen, I bring news."

Gelida lifted her chin from her paw and raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Redwall Abbey has refused our request for one of their cooks, owing to rumors about our island from Ripfang's crew."

Gelida chuckled. "Ah yes, those twits. Did you happen across them, by any chance?"

"Yes, I found them camped on the beach where I docked. There were signs of a battle; the camp was ransacked, and the oarslaves' tent appeared to be missing."

"I see the freedom fighters in Mossflower are still active. Tell me, was it Salamandastron, or Redwall?"

"Neither, my queen."

Gelida straightened up in her throne. "I figured you wouldn't come back before completing your task if there weren't something of interest. Go on."

Mako cleared his throat. "It would appear one of our old friends has returned, my queen. One of the crew that greeted me reported a black knight as their attacker."

Gelida leaned forward and bridged her claws, a sly smirk on her face. "Oh?"

"When I arrived at Redwall, the otter I communicated with confirmed my suspicions. Charlemagne is active in Mossflower again."

"My, my," Gelida mused, "he hasn't been out in the sunlight in centuries. Well, this changes things. When you return to Redwall, kidnap the cook; however-and this is important-leave a trail for Charlie. Make sure he knows who's responsible, so he'll be convinced to come here."

"Yes, my queen." Mako rose and walked out of the throne room, fading into the shadows as he went.

The tavern was about the cleanest establishment Smack had ever seen. Every table had been polished to a shine, and the floors were free, or at least almost free, of the litter and loose hairs most other taverns were plagued with. He was beginning to regret not coming ashore when he was here last time.

Across the table from him, a clearly inebriated mouse sloshed around her mug and babbled on about some tale about her crewmates: "Aaaaannnnn THEN there wuzz Kankenn he wuzz, wuzz like, did exploshionsh annnn-and Balla'sh onna, onna main mast annnn annn she'sh yellin' attim annn she *hic* she throwsh a, throwsh, ummm… A SHPOON I GOT IT, throwsh a shpoon attim like THISH! *hic*"

That last hiccup saved Smack from some pretty nasty lacerations, as it threw off the mouse's aim and caused her knife to sink into the headboard behind him. Unfazed by the fact that she nearly stuck him in the eye, she immediately continued with her painfully loud story. "Annnner shpoon *hic* shpoon goesh and hitshhim, RIGH BETWEENNA EYESH, annnden he'sh lying onna deck annnnholdin ish fashe, annn annn she'sh all like, 'Cleen uppda messh you big baby,' ann he jus' oh thanksh." Her rambling was brought to a sudden halt by one of the barmaids refilling her mug. She guzzled about half of the mug, then slammed it into the table and sighed contentedly.

Somewhere on the other side of the tavern, a heated debate broke out between two rats and a rather buff mole. The mouse continued heedlessly, already on to another topic entirely. "Yanno, *hic*, yanno shometimesh I wonder why there ain't more moushe piratesh. Immmean, werra warlike shpechiesh, *hic*. Immmean, there'sh thish one moushe a lonnnng time ago what called himshelf Niiiimm, Numblue, Nimballlooo, shomething like that, THE SHLAYER. Yoooknow what dat meansh? Shlay, shee, it'sh got, like, dat thing widda wordsh, etimiligy errr shomeshuch, that makesh it mean SHLAUGHTER, orrrreven BUTCHER! That'sh, *hic*, that'sh like, really bad, buddddey, *hic*, call da piratesh da bagguysh. Immmean, *hic*, why diddey, *hic*, wouddey gonna call 'emshelvesh *hic* widdallla *hic* GAAADDDAMMM DARAFRAMMMM, *hic*, GANNA LEMME BLEEDIN' TALK, *hic* JIBBERING, *hic*, WHEEZING LIL, *hic*, LIL LUNGBEATER SHADDDAFAGGAP LEMME *hic* LET ME TALK SHUT UP OVER THERE!" By now, the argument across the bar had built up to an all-out fight. She swiped her mug off the table and flung it; it sailed across the room in a perfect arc, hit the mole in the temple, and knocked him out.

"Razzafrazzing little..." The mouse began grumbling incoherently as she slipped off her bench and marched across the room. As she neared the fight, she grabbed a mug off a nearby table, then grappled up one rat's back and slammed the mug across his skull.

The other rat, whom the first had been fighting alongside the mole, backed up and held up his paws. "Look, lady, I don't want any OHOHOOOOOOHHH!" he screamed as the mouse socked him in the tenders. He crumpled to the floor, cradling his injured pride, while the mouse stood over him, lecturing him in an incoherent, drunken rant at least thirty decibels too loud.

Someone else slipped into her seat across from Smack. "I see you've met Amity. We'd kick her out, but we'd lose our best fight-stopper."

"I can see that," Smack muttered, as he idly watched Amity chewing out the poor rat all but physically. Then he turned to the newcomer… woah.

He'd heard of these beasts last time he was here. In terms of face and fur, they resembled bats; however, the two could hardly be mistaken for each other. Whereas bats were small beasts practically overshadowed by their own wings, these creatures stood easily as tall as foxes. Their bodies were lean and muscular, with wide shoulders and straight spines. Their heels were flat against the ground, and their toeclaws curled to wicked points. In addition to their toned arms, which extended down to their thighs, they had massive sets of leathery wings on their backs, that despite all odds actually succeeded in giving them sustained flight.

From the rumors Smack had heard, these beasts had randomly showed up a few seasons back, and decided to build a tavern on Sampetra. They had made an agreement with Gelida, which granted them with an establishment in the city for their tavern and a portion of trade profits for the island, in exchange for offering free room and board to all visitors. Since then, they had provided their services to anyone who came through the doors, and reaped the profits of the shipping trade in the region.

Smack realized he was staring when the newcomer introduced himself. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Myriad; I own the place."

He held out his long-fingered paw; Smack took it for a tentative shake. "I'm Smack," he replied.

"TRAITOR!" came a distinctly inebriated shout from across the tavern. Smack turned just in time to see a bowl of beetroot soup flying toward his face, and then the impact knocked him out.

If Amity's too drunk to understand, sorry. It pained me to write such corrupted English, but I couldn't get that squeaky drunk voice out of my head. Anyone who needs a translation, go ahead and tell me in a review or PM.

EDIT: Seems my author's notes cut out the last paragraph when I put this up.

EDIT2: Removed psychotic giant ninja death knight from fight scene, cleaned up dialogue and descriptions. The move Short Round is using after the edit is loosely based off a move in Eskrima, which is capable of breaking the spine if performed with enough force. A little bit more reasonable than whatever I was thinking when I wrote this last year. Also changed the title, because the song I chose made no sense in the context of the story.