What's Past is Prologue

[Tooley Bostay]

Tooley stared, tooth and jaw working hard upon his hat.

He wouldn't forget this. He couldn't.

Beneath him, Chak slept upon a shallow bed of leaves. The otter's chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of easy breathing. His roughened face was softer in sleep, almost looking peaceful. Content. Unbothered by the rat who now lay beneath the sand, never to see the light of day again.

"The world ain't fair, Tools," Daggle had sometimes said, his voice solemn and serious. Those were rare occasions, usually following a particularly raucous night of drinking which left the rat nursing his head for days. "It's as cruel a place as y'can imagine, with fangs like an adder an' a bite like a badger. It's got it out fer the lot o' us. Pirates, 'specially. Don't e'er forget that."

It never made much sense to Tooley. How could the world be so bad when it had the captain? And the ship? And Daggle? But the ship was gone. Daggle was gone. The captain... Tooley wasn't sure where the captain was. She was probably gone too.

Tooley pulled his hat from his mouth and regarded it. The fire in the small camp had fallen to mere embers by now, but the light was enough to see the new, large hole at the top of the hat. He looked once more at Chak.

Chak, who was still here. Chak, who still had his slaves. Chak, who was still breathing while others had fallen eternally still.

The world was truly a cruel place, and it was wrong. So very, very wrong. And there was nothing Tooley could do to fix it.

So he ran.

Ripping his gaze away from the otter, Tooley darted away from the camp. Thick vines and massive leaves scraped his legs as soon as he crossed the threshold from the beach into the dark jungle, but he kept running. The moonlight was choked out by the trees above, but he still kept running.

He didn't know how far he had run, or for how long, but something thin and wiry caught on his foot and brought him to an abrupt halt. Tooley yelped as he hit the jungle floor, enveloped under a mass of sinewy leaves and prickly stems. He came to a stop, chin digging into the soggy soil beneath the undergrowth.

Tooley rolled onto his back, coughing out dirt, gasping at the humid air, and clutching his throbbing footpaw. In-between breaths, he blinked and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Despite the lack of light, he saw that his foot seemed to look all right, and didn't twist awkwardly like Daggle's had. It wasn't a "frac-shure," at least.

After catching his breath, he tentatively tried to get back onto his feet. A swell of pain coursed up his leg and he fell back down onto his tail with a grimace. Rubbing at his backside tenderly, he gazed up at the world around him, then felt his breath catch.

The jungle was dark, and he could only make out vague shapes, but one thing was clear: he was lost.

He set his jaw. Anywhere was better than being near Chak. He licked at his parched lips, suddenly aware of just how thirsty he was and regretting not stopping for a drink of the cool, crisp water from the stream. He groaned, then tried to think of something to distract him.

Crue came to mind first. A smile crossed his lips as he thought of how she had helped him row, and how she had laughed with him, and been kind to him and Daggle. She was nice. The smile faded and he winced, a sudden pang of guilt upon realizing that he had left her with Chak. She didn't deserve that.

Tooley shook his head and tried to think of something else. He patted at his waistcoat where he knew a pocket was. His paw pressed flat. He was still for a moment, then reached inside and dug around the pocket. Empty.

It was gone.

His breathing quickened and Tooley got to his knees. He ran his paws blindly in the jungle undergrowth. Had he dropped it? How long ago? Was it still back at the camp? He was so sure he had brought it along, though. He felt his eyes start to water when he heard a crunching sound ahead of him.

Footsteps.

Tooley looked up, half-expecting to find Chak standing above him with killing paws waiting. Instead, he saw a pair of small, beady eyes glinting in the dark. It was a small beast, much smaller than an otter. Tooley thought it might be Minstrel, but the snout was too long.

"Tooley?" asked a feminine voice.

It was the little rat he'd met back on the beach.

"Why'd ye run off?"

He'd heard Crue say her name... Plonko, or Plank. No, Plink, that was it.

"An' why are ye on the ground?"

She would know the way back to the camp, wouldn't she?

Tooley hesitated, the smile that had been working its way onto his face fading away as a question popped into his head. Why was she here? He'd left when everyone was asleep. Did someone send her after him? He paused. She had been with him, hadn't she? With Chak. He recalled Daggle's strange warning just the day before, "These ain't yer friends. Don't ye trust no one, y'hear?"

Feeling his fur stand on-end, Tooley straightened up on his knees and looked at Plink cautiously. "Why are ye 'ere?"

Her shoulder bobbed in a shrug. "Saw ye goin' an'... I was just curious." She reached a paw out to him. "So, where we goin'?"

We? Tooley blinked at the strange rat. "I'm, err... leavin'." He ignored her paw and tried to put his weight onto his foot. He winced at a throb of pain, but found that he could ignore it. Stumbling onto his feet, he started past Plink, eyes scanning the dark undergrowth below.

"Figured out that much m'self. Where to?" Plink asked, and he heard her following behind him.

"Err, well," he began, then hesitated. He shouldn't tell her, but... then again, he didn't even know where he was going. Before he could stop himself, he found his mouth moving, "I dunno."

Plink was silent for a moment, then said, "Right! Strikin' out inta the unknown like a real pirate! How long ye been a pirate, anyway?"

His brow furrowed. "I dunno."

"How many ships ye been on?"

He chewed at his lip. "I dunno."

"Well, what do ye know, mate?"

Tooley felt her paw touch his arm, and he jerked away. "I ain't yer mate!" he snapped, and before he knew it he had spun around to face her. "I only had one mate, and yer otter pal killed 'im!"

Plink's beady eyes widened. She drew a short dirk from her coat and took a step back. "That otter ain't me pal," she spat.

"I don' care!" Tooley shouted. The heat of the jungle had suddenly become more oppressive. He could feel it burning within him, and it was a feeling he didn't like. "Jus'... jus' go an' leave me 'lone!"

A mixture of emotions crossed Plink's face, and Tooley couldn't identify them all before she whipped around and took several hasty steps away. She grunted, stumbling over something under the jungle foliage. She bent down and drew up something. Tooley couldn't see what it was, but he heard the coins jingle.

"'E-ey!" Tooley took a quick step forward, almost tripping as his foot struck the ground the wrong way. "Gi' that 'ere!"

Without a word, Plink turned and darted off. Tooley gasped and ran after her. The dense undergrowth slowed the small rat down, but Tooley's limp kept him at a constant distance from her. The chase was slow and meandering, with neither wanting to bump into a unseen tree.

Tooley saw Plink stop in front of a large tree trunk and glance at a briar patch that covered the right path. Before she could turn left and run, he kicked off with his good foot. He caught the edge of Plink's coat, and she shrieked as the two of them tumbled to the ground. He caught sight of Plink's dagger glinting as it flew from her grip. Plink shouted and bit at him as they rolled briefly. Then there was a snapping sound.

Dirt kicked up into Tooley's eyes as he felt something rough wrap tightly around him. The ground suddenly fell beneath him, and the world spun with a rush of wind. As soon as the movement stopped, Plink stopped struggling and pushed off of him, gaze wandering to look at the thick netting enveloping them.

Tooley caught sight of the tawny sack still in her grip, and he lashed a paw out. Plink yelped and drew back, causing Tooley to smack the sack. There was a sharp jingling sound as the sack fell, hit the netting below, and slipped through.

"No, no no no!" Tooley gasped, shoving a paw down. He felt the rough fabric brush his clawtip, but found no grip. He watched the sack disappear into the darkness below, a soft, metallic thump soon following.

"What was that for?" Plink shouted beside him. "Now we're trapped in some stupid net all because of your stupid bag of coins!"

He felt her sit down beside him in the net and huff out a breath. His gaze remained on the darkness below.

"I don't know why you're so sour," Plink grumbled. "It's just some money."

Tooley drew in a breath and blinked at his watering eyes. "But it's all I got left o' 'im..." he said softly.

There was a pause before Plink spoke, "That was your friend's?"

Tooley nodded.

There was another pause. "Oh..."

For a while, the only sound in the jungle was that of the chittering and buzzing of strange insects, and the constant groan of the vine net that shifted with their weight. Then Plink shifted and turned to face the net. She ran an appraising paw over it, then looked over her shoulder.

"This net ain't so tough. I'll bet we can bust outta here an' get yer bag back pretty easy."

Tooley blinked at her and the confident smile on her face. Maybe... maybe she wasn't too bad after all.

He felt a smile cross his lips, and he nodded. "Aye."

---

The net, as it turned out, was made of many different vines all woven together. Each was as thick as Tooley's arm, and twice as tough. Tooley and Plink both tried biting through the vines, but discovered that it was coated in something sticky and sour-tasting. Black spots had dotted Tooley's vision within seconds and the world began to spin wildly. He wasn't sure how long the world had spun, but when it finally cleared, neither he nor Plink wanted to try biting through again.

They settled for sitting back and trying to think of other ways out. Occasionally, one would perk up and suggest something, only to have the other instantly point out why it wouldn't work, leading them straight back into their respective thoughts. Multiple times, Plink stuck her paw into her undersized coat, but would only draw out an empty paw and look at it sourly. Tooley noticed her chew at her lip and look up accusingly at him, but whatever she had to say she kept to herself.

Hours must have passed, and eventually, both ran out of ideas.

Tooley grumbled and shifted his weight. Even for a limber, thin weasel, the net was cramped. Tooley once more stretched to try and stop the ache working upon his back. He found himself reminded of the brig, and felt homesick for the damp, dark cell. At least there he knew that he'd be let out eventually.

Plink, meanwhile, was hunkered down beside him, her legs propped up over his stomach while she had her arms folded at her chest. Her eyes hadn't stopped roaming the net, and every now and then she'd get up and try something new, only to sit back down again with a huff.

"Where'd you get that hat?"

Tooley opened his eyes and looked at Plink. She'd been mostly silent, only occasionally mumbling to herself aloud as she tried to work out a solution.

"Daggle says 'e gave it to me. T' 'elp me." He tapped a claw against a recently-added patch. "I ain't so good at memmerin' things."

She seemed confused, but nodded.

"What about yer coat?" Tooley asked, gesturing to the grey jacket she wore. It was well-worn, dingy thing, with frayed ends, ripped seams, and sleeves that seemed far too short for the rat.

She scraped her claws down the mis-matched buttons. "Found it," she said, then looked back up. "So, tell me more 'bout Daggle. How'd ye meet?"

Tooley squinted up at the netting. He tapped a claw against his arm as he tried to remember how Daggle had related it to him the times he himself had asked. "Err... well, we was both on th' Deep Riv--, no, Deep Water it was. Right ol' ship fer piratin'. Th' cap'n were a terrer, though. Killed a couple o' beasts jus' fer lookin' at 'im th' wrong way.

"Daggle an' me were deck'ands, an' we'd gone to port in..." his voice trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes and scratched at his head. "I... I don' know the name, but..." An image briefly flashed in his mind, and a smile crept across his face. "It were a pretty place, 'specially at night wit' th' stars all shinin'..." He shook his head. "A-any'ow, the cap'n sent us out ter get some grub, and we was walkin' down th' alley when five o' th' crew jumped out at us, swords drawn an' everythin'!

"Now, Daggle knew th' cap'n 'ad it out fer 'im, so 'e grabs up a broken lamppost and goes a swingin'!" Tooley batted a paw in the air as he spoke. "'E takes down 'em all down 'fore they could e'en lift their blades!"

Tooley looked at Plink, who had a funny expression on her face. "Don't you think he..." she paused, and her gaze fell down. She toyed with her paws, then said softly, "He sounds real brave, Tooley."

Tooley nodded, smiling widely. "Aye. Wish I could remem'er it fer meself. I'm sure it was amazin'!"

Plink nodded, then cocked her head to the side. "An' what then?"

Tooley scratched at his chin. "Well, 'e said that 'e knew th' cap'n wouldn't take nicely ter 'is crew bein' 'urt like that, an' that I couldn' go back either, so we looked fer another ship, and 'e found th' Silver Maiden." His smile faded. "T'were a good ship, that 'un..."

A silence fell over the two. Some buzzing insect landed on Tooley's ear. His ear twitched and it flew off. Then it returned. He smacked a paw to his head, then looked disappointed at the lack of buggy bits smothered against his paw. He craned his head to listen for the buzzing. What caught his attention wasn't an insect, though, unless insect's on the strange island had learned to sing.

"Oh Jolly Roger ... town,
wavin' a flag ...,
... ol' fright o' great renown,
Searchin' fer souls fer him t' drown!"

It was somewhere far off in the distance; a guttural voice that made a strange clacking noise occasionally. It was there, though, and that's what mattered.

Plink shuffled beside him. "Do ye hear that?"

"Aye," Tooley said, twisting around so that he could look out the net in the direction of the sound. He gripped a tough vine and pulled himself up to scan the darkness. "A-ahoy! Anyone out there?"

There was no response, nor any more singing. A stillness settled over the jungle, and Tooley's paws worked nervously across the rough net.

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind, and a massive, dark form latched onto a tree branch right in front of him. Tooley yelped and fell backwards against the net. The beast leaned in closer, and a pair of pale eyes as big as his paw focused in on him and Plink.

"Harrk," droned a dry, throaty voice, with a rigid, black beak shifting in the dark as the voice continued, "would ye look at what ole Maurick's found..."

Tooley winced at the bitter, hot breath of the beast - Maurick, apparently - and ducked his snout down.

"Fate be shinin' on me t'night, fate herself! Two liddle dirt-lubbers," Maurick continued. "Two, just fer me."

Tooley wasn't sure if it was the insects buzzing or the newcomer, but he swore he heard a chuckle follow those words. Maurick suddenly leaned away from the two. Tooley felt another gust of wind hit him, then heard shuffling up on the branch above them. Then he heard singing once again,

"Jolly Roger done found 'is mate,
who offers out 'is piece o' eight,
'Alas,' says Roger, 'tis too late,'
'Fer now this night, ye meet yer fate!'"

There was a snapping sound, and Tooley was suddenly falling. He had time to cry out before he felt his back slam into the ground, Plink crash into his stomach, and the netting fall on top of them both. His breath came out in a choking wheeze, and he clenched his teeth against the pain that coursed up his spine. Amidst the pain, he wondered if a beast could "frac-shure" their spine.

He heard something fluttering above him, then a pair of broad, thick talons slammed down into the jungle undergrowth beside him. Tooley coughed as mud and dried leaves were scattered and sent into his face. Through squinted eyes, he watched as the beast waddled several steps forward and stopped.

"And what's this?" Maurick scanned down at the ground. He flicked a talon forward, drawing something up from the ground that jingled. "Ha har! If it isn't a pretty penny fer me troubles, t' boot!"

Tooley felt his shivering jaw open. "T-that's mine!"

"Not anymore, it's not." Maurick chuckled. The talon disappeared into his dark shape and when it came back down, the bag was gone. Suddenly a claw slammed down on a sagging section of the net, prompting a squeak from Plink, who narrowly missed being crushed.

Tooley suddenly felt the net drag forward several paces. He reached outside the net to steady himself, wincing as something cut at his paw. He looked to see what it was, catching a faint glimmer of metal between two shafts of leaves. It was Plink's dirk. He felt the net move again, and he quickly reached out for the dirk, managing to secure it by its blade. Gingerly, he drew it in.

"Get us out!" Plink whispered urgently, cocking her head at a section of net beside her.

Tooley nodded, steadying the blade in his paw near a thick vine. He heard a ruffling sound, and Maurick's voice chimed in darkly, "Brace yerselves, dirt-lubbers."

There was a heavy blast of air, and Tooley once more felt the ground fall beneath him. He yelped and clenched his eyes shut as he saw the ground racing up to meet him again, but no crash or pain came this time. There was a steady whooshing above him, and slowly, he opened his eyes to see a dark mass of treetops below him.

Tooley scrambled wildly backwards, breathing heavily. He was in the air. Very, very high in the air.

"Savorin' the sights, are ye?" he heard Maurick say above him.

He looked up, and now in the moonlight could see that the beast was a large bird, feathers a dark green with blue tips upon his outstretched wings that carried them further and further into the sky. Tooley risked looking away from the bird.

There was a large mountain in the distance, its rocky sides contrasted by the soft, white glow of the moon. On the other side, Tooley made out what looked to be the edge of the beach, where Crue and the others were no doubt still sleeping. Briefly, he wondered if they knew he and Plink were gone, and if they cared.

Plink, meanwhile, was gripping the net tightly, her eyes wide. She briefly glanced at the knife still gripped in Tooley's paw, then shook her head quickly at him. He nodded in agreement.

"Ye pitiful wretches, I know yer type," Maurick began, his voice barely audible over the whooshing of his wings. "Pirates. Harrk! I've seen a thousand like ye come an' go.

"An' I know yer black hearts! Ye think I be lyin'?" Maurick chuckled lowly. "I was on the seas long before ye were born! An' long before that clever devil Blade be makin' his mark, too. Never trusted foxes, an' him least among 'em... dirty clever devils..."

Tooley felt Plink move beside him. "But... Captain Blade was a rat," she shouted up at the bird, a mixture of hesitance and pride in her voice.

"Hah harrk! Ye think so, do ye, missy? Ye think the beast who went around unitin' all the pirates could be a dimwitted rat? Nay, he be a fox an' don't ye doubt it." Maurick's tone grew dark. "Foxes... cunnin', backstabbin' beasts."

An awkward silence followed, and Plink risked speaking again, "W-where are ye takin' us?"

Maurick either didn't hear, or didn't care to respond. "I once sailed with a fox, called himself Wetfang. Cowardly liddle thing he'd have ye believe, but oh, that were a lie. A good, good lie.

Tooley noticed that Maurick's wings had stopped beating, and now they were coasting downwards. There was a small clearing of trees, and the largest seemed to be their destination. Notably, the small, weather-beaten hut that was built upon a particularly large branch.

"Wetfang kept 'is head down that way," Maurick continued, "an' he thought nobeast noticed him stealin' every bit o' loose coin on the ship, but ole Maurick did. Maurick sees everythin' that goes on."

Maurick dove sharply, cutting past a tree branch before swooping up. He released the net, and for a heart-pounding second, they were free-falling. Tooley felt his breath catch as he stared down at the darkness below him, which was suddenly replaced by a large platform of wood right below them.

Tooley and Plink tumbled hard upon the platform, the net wrapping over them several times before they finally came to a stop. Tooley groaned, pushing himself up onto his knees and looking around. They were in some sort of house, the inside dark and stale-smelling. Tooley shivered. He didn't like this place.

Maurick suddenly landed beside them.  The bird didn't even glance their way as he stalked off into the hut, wings folded close to his side.

"Har, but for all a fox be clever, a macaw be cleverer still," Maurick muttered, almost to himself. "We be livin' long past yer count o' seasons, long past, long enough t' see the truth in front of us when other beasts can't bear the sight. An' ye can bet I saw the truth o' Wetfang; he was a pirate, through an' through. An' every pirates's weakness be themself."

Plink smacked Tooley's arm and gestured outside of the net. He looked and saw that the knife had landed a little ways away from the net. He quickly reached out and snatched the dirk up. He glanced cautiously back at Maurick, who was shuffling through something in the back of the hut.

"I'll keep him distracted," Plink muttered, her tone urgent. "Hurry!"

Tooley nodded, bending to a segment of the vine and starting to saw away with the blade. The net was surprisingly tough, and he found that he had to shove his weight into the blade to even cut into the first layer of vine.

"So," he heard Plink say behind him, "what happened to Wetfang?"

The bird made a huffing, throaty sound before he started to speak, "We was headin' cross the sea one hot summer, when ole Thrushtail comes boundin' out of his chambers. He's missin' a compass that he got from his dear ole dam. Every beast starts laughin', but I got my eye sharp on one beast, an' Wetfang ain't laughin' with the rest. Then the captain's maps go missing the next morn. No beast is laughin' now. Then, he stole somethin' from me." His tone grew dangerous, and his throat made an odd rattling sound. "Somethin' real special."

Tooley's ear perked up, and he paused his cutting. Slowly, he focused back on the netting, but he made sure to twist his ear back to better hear the bird.

"Oh ho ho, he thought he could cross the whole world, but no beast crosses Maurick an' lives. I could o' done him in there, but that's what a regular pirate would o' done. I was smarter."  His voice lowered to a hushed whisper. "Day an' night, I waited. Soon, the crew forgot, then the captain, but I remembered. I remembered what it was he'd done, would o' clawed out me own heart rather'n forget it."

Daggle's bloated, dead-eyed stare flashed in Tooley's mind. He shut his eyes and shook his head, but the image remained.

"Wetfang grew slow. He stopped stealin', and then forgot that 'e ever had. An' then, when that flea-bitten scum least expected it, I reminded him." Maurick chuckled darkly. "Do ye know that a macaw's beak is sharper than any blade on the sea, missy? Y'shoulda heard the excuses come outta his sorry mouth, but there ain't no stoppin' retribution once it comes. I made 'im pay fer everythin' he ever took from me. Even took a few shots fer me mates' sake! Ha harrk!"

The bird's cackling laugh echoed through the hut. Tooley found himself gripping the dirk so tightly that it was cutting into his paw, but he didn't care. His mind was already back to that morning. Back to Daggle's wild thrashing and panic-stricken face, and the otter. The otter who had gripped Daggle's neck so tightly as he plunged the rat underneath the waves. The otter who hadn't cared in the slightest about Daggle's cries for mercy. The otter who'd killed his friend and got away with it.

The vine suddenly snapped loudly, breaking Tooley from his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder to see Plink give him a warning glare before she turned back to face Maurick. She said something, but he didn't hear what.

He drew the dirk up to his face, blinking at the sticky ooze from the vine that now coated the steel. He hesitated, catching a glimpse of his reflection upon the blade. He looked down at the next vine and his brow furrowed. Before he could hesitate further, he slammed the blade deep into the thick vine, all the way to the hilt. The blade had pierced through the skin of the vine easily, and more of the sticky ooze bled out from the cut as Tooley jerked the blade back and forth in hacking motions.

Daggle had been right. The world was a cruel place. But some things could be made right.