11. Gonna Be A Rumble

[Unga Underbite]

Unga scratched at her throbbing skull as she watched sailors loiter about the docked ship. "I don't know, Duff. This ain't my usual thing."

"That's why it's a favor, Unga," the weasel beside her grinned and clapped her shoulder. "An' your bein' here right now makes you a better friend than Snagwort, that's fer sure."

"That really ain't sayin' much. I tell ya what he did to me?" Duff made a noise of confirmation that Unga barely heard. "That no-good dirty cheat robbed me. Robbed me! After everything I did for him - it's disgraceful. Just shameful, low behavior."

"Yuh-huh. Oh- an' there's my cousin, now!"

Duff strode off toward a smiley stoat and Unga followed slowly, frowning again at the ship. She had never actually been on a ship, had no idea what she was expected to do on this one. Her head was thumping a mighty rhythm and the sun needled at her eyeballs and her stomach heaved just at the way the mast swayed against the sky.

It was her own fault, of course. She'd been fool enough to pass out at the bar again, and when Duff had burst in all aflutter asking if anybeast had seen Snagwort, she'd been fool enough to open her mouth. And now here she was, about to be a... a boater. A shipper. A ship shrew.

"Duff, I gotta ask..." Unga blinked up at the weasel and the stoat. "Are you two really cousins?"

"In spirit," Duff mumbled. The stoat flung an arm around his shoulders.

"Aye!" he cried a little too loudly for Unga's pulsing temples. His grin peeled off like a coat of cheap paint and he cast her a dubious look. Then he eyed Duff. "This is yer ringer? Thought you said you had a real bruiser. The boss wanted muscle, Duff."

"Don't you worry, Har. Unga's worth beasts twice her size in a tussle. And! She's a crackshot with that atalator."

"Atlatl," Unga corrected absently. She focused very hard on holding her paw steady as she stuck it out. "Unga Underbite, what kinda job is this exactly, Mister...?"

"Harlan." He shook her paw and glanced around the dock. "And it's, uh, deckhand. This here ship's an oiler. We harvest coincows off the beaches up north."

"Coincows," Unga repeated, having no clue at all what such a thing was. She waggled her eyebrows. "Money don't grow on trees, but it's gotta come from someplace, am I right?"

She gave her toothiest joke-grin, but the stoat only frowned at her, nonplussed.

"What in blue blazes is a coincow?"

Harlan led them up the gangplank and expounded on the nuances of the ship's purpose, going on about ferals and lowbeasts and some such. Unga nodded as if she knew what blubber or rendering or any of it meant. Her understanding was that this was a pirating vessel, and they would be stealing booty (code: blubber) off some kind of... possibly dim-witted victims.

It all put rather a sour feeling in her guts. She swallowed hard.

At length, she scratched her snout with her bottom teeth. "You sure you need me for this, Duffster? It really ain't my kinda-"

"We ain't goin' huntin', Unga," he hissed, bending down to put his muzzle closer to her ear. "It's a job. Get me? Kinda thing you do alla time. Just doin' it on a boat today."

"Oh!" Unga brightened.

"Just be ready to put the hurt on a beast when the time comes."

"Is that all? Aw Duff, you had me worried you were fixin' to drag me into some kinda long drawn-out voyage."

Duff shook his toothy head. Beside him, Harlan was staring down at the dock like somebeast had slammed his tail in a door. "Cap'n!"

Unga turned to watch as a thin marten began marching up the gang plank, his long stride and knotted brow seemingly crafted to repel nonsense.

"That the boss? Or the mark?" she asked out the side of her mouth. Duff hissed and elbowed her hard.

Harlan didn't look at her, but his smile was too sharp. "Who're yer friends, cap'n?"

The Captain had evidently outpaced his companions – a handful of beasts, Unga saw peripherally, some of whom had the measured ease of experienced fighters. Her eyes were fixed on the Captain, though.

"If you're loafin' about," he said, "the unload had best already be done."

"Ay, cap'n! Even gotcher a new cask of the rose stowed an' ready!"

The Captain looked right past Duff, but his eyes snagged on Unga and he stopped fully to inspect them both. He appeared more puzzled than suspicious.

"Greenie Harlan, who are these beasts you've brought aboard my ship?"

"New recruits, sir! Couple o' the old guard took their shares and went ashore, so I called up my cousin Duff, here, an'-"

Unga stuck out her paw. "Unga Underbite, Captain, pleasure shippin' with ya."

The marten frowned down at her perhaps-a-bit-too-friendly smile for a beat, then shook her paw. "Captain Novak. Work hard and we'll have no issue. Stow your weapons. You won't need 'em."

"Aye, Captain!" Unga saluted as he turned and took Duff's name and paw the same.

Novak marched off, barking out orders to make the ship ready for a journey upriver. Something about that didn't sit right with the crew – Unga saw their shared glances and head shakes, gritted teeth and spitting. Then, a grizzled fox started shouting orders and beasts leapt into motion all around, doing tasks that made little sense. Lots of rope action - tying and untying and heaving. Unga, a little wide-eyed, tucked her bandolier and atlatl in a locker Harlan pointed her toward.

It appeared she was becoming a ship shrew after all – at least for now. Until the time came.

Unga's misgivings faded to the back of her mind as she noticed the beasts coming up the plank. They were a mismatched lot. A marten in a heavily embroidered tunic came first and most confidently aboard – like he already knew where he was going. Right after him came a pair of young beasts; a scarred-up sable and a mouse with a pack about big enough for him to hide in. Right after them came a military hare if ever Unga saw one – he was a straight line from his eartips all the way down to his footpaws. The last two beasts to come aboard, a rugged mouse and a hooded vixen, had Unga grinning as if at old friends.

"Aw! I know you! Did yah get a chance to finish yer fight the other night? Tough luck gettin' kicked out the Crock when ya did. Happens to the best of us."

They squinted at her, digging deep. The vixen was the first to tip her snout up in a nod of recollection. "The singing..."

"Wait," the mouse eyed Unga more closely. "The cheering. You and your chums probably got Griselda's attention with all that racket."

"Technically, yeah, probably," Unga admitted with a little shrug. "I'll make it up to ya sometime-"

"Oy blabbermouth!"

Unga turned as if answering to a familiar nickname. The fox was stomping toward her, glowering. She could see now that his left paw was misshapen, an old injury held close against his ribs.

"Stir yore stump and get ta work!"

Unga waved an apologetic goodbye and made to do as the fox directed her – hauling up the plank with the help of a pair of brawny ferrets. Unga nearly dropped her end twice and then followed the ferrets to the next task, winding up the mooring lines. They weren't the friendliest beasts she'd ever met – mostly they just seemed to want to wind ropes and cast her suspicious glances – but Unga told them jokes until she got a snicker out of them. Unfortunately, her attention was so taken up with the acquisition of new friends that she failed to notice that her arms were too short for winding in the lines, and she ended up creating a giant tangle. The fox came down on her again, snarling. The ferrets rushed off to some other task.

"You better be worth what that weasel says," the fox growled, too low for anybeast else to hear. "'cuz all I'm seein' so far is a giant glarin' sign that you don't belong here."

"Well," Unga chuckled, "I'll confess I've never actually worked on a boat before-"

"Shut up. I ain't payin' ye to talk 'im to death."

Over the rat's shoulder, Unga saw the Captain standing at the far end of the ship, observing some far-off cloud. It was suddenly very clear who was the boss and who was the mark. The fox bared his teeth and stabbed a claw at the nearest hatch.

"Get to the galley. Keep outta sight 'til I need ya."

*

Unga scraped the flat shovel across the bottom of the stove one last time and deposited the ashes in the steel pail. "Cripes, has anybeast ever cleaned this thing out? Ya got enough ashes in here to make gruel for a week, Grubber."

Grubber (born Gritclaw but assumed the nickname when it became clear nobeast else was going to cook a decent meal on this tub) chortled in the narrow galley behind her. He'd been good company through the afternoon, keeping up a steady conversation. Unga had learned all sorts of salient facts about the ship and crew – and First Mate Murray, the fox who had chewed her ear before.

The more she learned, the more her unease about this whole venture grew.

There was a tumble of footfalls on the stairs and Duff appeared in the doorway. "We've stopped at a town, Unga. Murray says it's time ter move."

"Right..." Unga scrubbed ashes off her snout with her forearm. "Listen Duffster, I'm gettin' the sense that Murray ain't such a great fella. You sure this is a job you wanna be doin'?"

"Well, aye... a job's a job, ain't it?"

Unga sighed. It was the kind of thing Snagwort would say – the kind of thing a lot of beasts at the Crock would say, and Unga would gamely argue like it was any other drinking game. Presently, she rubbed her temple, and saved her breath.

"What job?" Grubber asked into the silence.

Duff quivered in the doorway. "Come on, Unga... I told Har I'd help 'im out. He allus looked out fer me when we were pups."

Unga climbed to her footpaws and absently picked up the pail as she followed Duff out the door and up the narrow stairs. "Don't you worry. I'll fix yer cousin right up."

Murray waited at the top of the stairs, a bulky shadow glazed in yellow lamp light. Harlan hovered beside him, his smirk half-lit.

"Time the two o' you went to work," the fox growled.

Unga saw Duff hesitate, so she shouldered past him and stepped easily on deck level with the fox – who towered over her regardless. Tucked in his belt, she noticed, were her atlatl and bandolier.

"Ya got somethin' for me there, friend?"

Murray fumbled the weapons from his belt one-pawed. Unga shoved the bucket of ashes into Harlan's gut and, as she resettled the bandolier where it belonged across her chest and hefted the familiar weight of the atlatl, took a moment to glance around.

Sure enough, they were tied at a whole new dock, this one built along the riverbank and lit with a few hanging lanterns. Small boats bobbed and clunked in the shadowy pylons and insects clouded round the yellow lights.

Several crewbeasts loitered in the dark near the deckhouse, a couple smoking pipes or fingering weapons and most of them casting surreptitious glances at the Captain's friends. The marten in the snazzy tunic stood facing the dock, while the hare sat at the front of the ship, scribbling in a little book by lantern light. The mouse and the vixen sat looking out over the river, passing a flask between them.

"Kill the hare first."

Unga frowned up at Murray. "Say what?"

"He's the biggest. He'll cause the most trouble when we take the ship."

"What, ya think the other three carry blades around just to have a shiny surface to admire themselves in?" Unga scratched her chin. "My money's on that mouse. She's got a look-"

"Just do it!"

Unga dropped her paw to her side and squared off toward him. "Now I'm tryin' to be a gentlebeast about this, but you're makin' it awful hard. Firstly, ya ain't paid me to do nothin'. This ain't a charity case. Second-" She jabbed the fox in the gut with her atlatl as he started to speak. "-I don't kill beasts just so some raggedy ole sea-slapper can steal a boat."

"-keep yer voice down," Murray growled, eyes flashing towards the other end of the ship. Unga rolled right over him, jabbed him in the belly harder.

"Third thing, where d'you get off turnin' traitor on yer ole comrade? Ya just sail with a beast fer twenty seasons an' then stab 'im in the back outta nowhere?"

"I gave my paw fer this rig!" Murray snarled, slapping at her atlatl and hitting only air. "It's mine! An' Stallworth gives it ter some rose-sniffer who ain't got the spine ter kill a feral? The lily-liver's got us up the river!" He threw his arms wide, glared at the sailors surrounding them. "Novak's bad fer business – everybeast here knows it!"

Some nodded. Some grunted. Some stood silent, waiting for a decisive moment. Across the deck, the passengers had turned their heads toward the disturbance.

Unga didn't notice any of that, though. She was thinking of Snagtooth, the flash of his knife, the sting of betrayal.

"I don't give a lick what everybeast here thinks. I know you ain't takin' this boat."

A cloud of choking ash pillowed over Unga, blinding her, burning deep in her throat and nostrils. She coughed and lurched to one side as the bucket clattered down where she had stood, but she couldn't evade the paw that grabbed the front of her vest, hefting her up until she kicked at empty air. She couldn't see – but she felt with her paw and her whiskers the fist that restrained her. She sank her teeth in until she tasted blood.

Her venom hit him like a punch. Murray gave a short shriek and dropped her, but Unga didn't let go. She bit him again on the forearm – twice in quick succession – then dodged back as he howled. Her eyes were streaming and her vision was blurry, but she was still clutching her atlatl. In a lightning-quick motion, she snatched a stone from the pouch on her hip, drew back, and shot at a shape she was fairly sure she recognized.

Harlan yelped and dropped his club as the stone struck his knuckles with bone-cracking force.

"Now," Unga coughed and spat bloody ashes. She already had another stone drawn back and ready. "Y'all can test me if you wanna. I got enough rocks for everybody – an' when I run outta those, I can start puttin' holes in ya instead."

Nobeast moved. Unga blinked hard and her vision cleared a little more. She could see Harlan's bewildered stare and the crew watching her, eyes glittering warily in the dark. She could see Duff still frozen on the stairs, peering between her and his cousin. And she could see Murray, clutching his twitching paw and panting.

"What'd you do ter me?"

"It'll wear off. Better you focus on gettin' yer tail off this ship. 'Cause if you don't-" Unga curled her lip so he could see her jagged red teeth. "-I'm'unna really hurtcha."

Murray didn't argue. His claws scrabbled against the deck, then down the ramp. As Unga turned to follow him with her eyes, she realized the four warriors had all come closer.

"What's all this then?" the hare asked, holding up his lantern and sounding like The Law. Probably, he had heard enough to know the situation already – but Unga was no snitch.

"Nothin' but a schemin' first mate. Right, fellas?" She cast the crewbeasts a sharp look and received a few nods and grunts of affirmation. Harlan agreed loudest of all.

"Would somebeast care to explain," the Captain demanded as he marched up the plank ahead of a few other beasts, "where First Mate Murray was off to in such-"

The scarred sable shoved past him and came toward Unga with unsettling speed. She stopped very close, staring. "You," she breathed. "You're the grey arrow."

"'Scuse you, but I think ya'll find I'm in my prime." Unga chuckled, a little nervous under scrutiny. Up close, the sable was even younger than she had originally thought, and the scar on her snout seemed deeper, more devastated. Unga passed the atlatl and stone into her left paw so she could offer her right – at which point she realized she was covered head-to-footpaw in pale grey ash.

"Oh," she laughed, "I get it. Grey arrow – heh!"

"Grey, like a stone." The sable plucked the rock from its perch in the atlatl's indentation and stared at it wonderingly, then at Unga. "Your weapons are strange, but you're a warrior."

"Mercenary." Somebeast made a choked noise, but Unga stuck out her paw and grinned. "Unga Underbite. Nice to meetcha."

"Mekai." The sable clasped her paw in both of hers. "Fate has brought us together. Will you help me?"

Unga stiffened as she felt the trap close around her paw. She had a powerful suspicion that she wasn't being offered a job so much as being asked another favor – only this time it was a favor for a stranger and it likely involved falling in with that motley crew and doing what warriors do. Killing, probably.

She could say no. It was on the tip of her tongue; a lesson well-learned after the day she'd had. But her better judgement failed her under Mekai's hope-damp eyes.

"Fate's gonna eventually take this ship back down the river, I guess. Time enough for ya to tell me what it is yer askin'."