With Makeup Running Down My Face...

[Eliza Lacrimosa]

Somewhere, in the outer fringes of her mind, Eliza knew that she was unconscious. She didn?t mind, really. It was tranquil, rather like resting at the bottom of a placid lake.

After an indeterminable interval, Eliza felt herself beginning to waft up from the depths, floating airily towards consciousness. Like a swimmer rising out of a shallow pool, she rose and burst through the surface, greedily sucking in life by the lungful...

...And choked as sand rushed into her mouth, filling her throat with earth and dust. Eliza sat up, retching. The pine marten clutched her abdomen, coughing violently to dispel the abrasive grit. She gasped, inhaled, and began coughing again. A mixture of saliva and grainy sand dripped from her chin.

"Ylah!" Her head throbbing, Eliza wiped the filth away with the back of her manacled paw. Chains clinked softly.

The faint metallic jingle fostered a revelation in Eliza?s pain-fogged mind. The chains were broken. She was free.

The pine marten?s peripheral vision sighted a tarnished axe lying in the sand. It seemed awfully familiar...

Several fine threads of causality began gradually twisting themselves together in her head, eventually winding up as a rather vexing knot of realization.

Revel. I promised to give her a dress if she?d release me.

The stoat had evidently kept her end of the bargain, albeit with a side course of chilled revenge. Eliza massaged her pounding skull, fury burning the edges of her vision. That addle-brained slob! How dare she! 

It was galling enough that the wretch had struck a creature of her standing, but to cravenly hit one that was chained and helpless? Back home, the stoat?s hide would be lashed to dollrags.

By the Hellgates, if that shapeless toad dares to come waddling back here demanding a dress... 

She probably would, too. What good would it do her, anyway? Dresses were flimsy, useless things out here.

Eliza forlornly brushed some sand from her skirt. The once-green fabric was rough, stiffened by accumulated filth. The pine marten idly ran her claws along the hem, tracing the ragged after-effects of her trials by sand and seawater. Most of the edging had been positively savaged.

Perhaps she should just pawn it off to Revel, and be rid of it. Oh, imagine that... She stifled a wicked snicker as she pictured Revel attempting to squeeze her bulk into the dress. Absolute yards of fabric would have to be taken out at the waistline...

She shelved those thoughts for the time being, in favor of more pressing matters. For instance, leaving. She really ought to do that, now. It wouldn?t be long before the sentry spotted her mangled restraints and got inquisitive. 

Eliza?s eyes scanned the crumbling rim of the slave ditch. The oafish weasel, perhaps the only living beast less capable of sentry duty than Slug-guard, was nowhere to be seen. The pine marten also couldn?t help but notice a few jealous glares from the slave line.

Mindful of the unseen sentry, Eliza elected to take the axe along. She stooped and grasped the weapon, finding it a good deal heavier than she?d anticipated. Stumbling awkwardly, she managed to half-shove, half-toss it up out of the ditch.

She hesitated, listening to the trickle of disturbed sediment. No shouts of alarm were being raised, so, after a final glance about, Eliza gritted her teeth and scrambled up the sloping bank. She stumbled once or twice, hampered by her dragging skirts, but soon crested the ridge and scrambled into the sunshine.   

She sat awhile and smirked, basking in a wonderful sense of accomplishment. Let the pathetic rabble wallow in their trench of despair; she was free.

And she was free to go... where, exactly? If she stayed here, she would face beatings or death for trying to escape. And she could hardly leave, either. The hellish trek across the sands had nearly killed her; attempting to strike out on her own would be nothing short of suicide.

Eliza sighed, hauling herself upright. Freedom had turned out to be a rather hollow prospect. Her head began throbbing again, adding another layer to the misery.

The pine marten?s scarred face locked into an expression of grim determination. She had no idea where to go, or what to do, but the Hellgates would frost over before she?d let herself be locked up like a criminal again.   

Grunting, she attempted to lift the axe. How on earth did beasts like Slug-guard manage to fight with these? It was like hauling around her own personal tree trunk. 

The pine marten wandered the length of the slave ditch, trying to sort things out. She didn?t know where to go. None of the crummy little huts looked particularly hospitable. Besides, they?d probably been commandeered by the horrible searats and corsairs and things. 

Faint murmurings burbled up from the pit, interrupting her reverie. Eliza was about to dismiss this mundane chatter, when a word that sounded vaguely like "escape" caused her ear to prick up.

Dropping the axe, the pine marten padded closer to the ditch. As she did, Eliza noticed that the sand was crusted with a long streak of dried blood. The pine marten stepped over it, wrinkling her muzzle in disgust. Probably some pathetic slave had been carved up for sword practice.

In the trench, a brogue filled with bluster and rage was vociferously questioning the need to lend assistance to a "grea?-winded featherbag." A feminine voice which seemed quite low on patience replied something about how they "might never get a better opportunity." 

The brogue lapsed into a brief silence. "...Weel, then, Leftenan', how d?ye propose we goo about gettin? free o? these chains, eh? We?ll no' be ambushin? anybeastie 'til we get slip o?em."

Eliza cocked a brow. An ambush on the corsairs?  That sounds like a rather delicious prospect.

"I could get out," lamented the unmistakeable voice of Revel. "If I ?ad that axe, still."

"Aye! But ye dinnae have yer pansy li'dle axe, d'ye, vermin?"

"Sounds like you lot could use some assistance," Eliza found herself saying, radiating all of the false warmth she could muster. She sat casually on the edge of the pit, accidentally-on-purpose flicking some dirt at Revel.

A battle-scarred dormouse looked balefully up at her. "What do you want, marten?"

?The same thing that you want,? Eliza said, gesturing to her manacles. ?I?ve got a score to settle with these putrid corsairs, and I thought that we might be able to help each other. I set you free, you fight the corsairs. Everybeast wins.?

"I want my dress," Revel piped up.

"What d'ye ken o' fightin?, lassie?" snarled a burly squirrel.

Eliza tossed him a piteous smile. "I know you won?t be doing any without my help."

"I dinnae need help froom ye, vermin!" he spat.

"Captain," the dormouse grated, "We?ve made absolutely no headway on our own, and we are rapidly running out of time. I hate to say it, but if she wants to help, I suggest we let her."

"An? why shood we trust a vermin, eh, Bell? Tha? bloody rat turned oot t?be nae guid a'tal."

"Do you have a better alternative, Captain?"

Captain Claptrap glared daggers into the ground.

"Then it?s settled," said the Leftenant. "Now, marten, how exactly do you intend to help us?"

Eliza smiled brightly. "I?ve got an axe up here. We?ll slice through the chains, and then you can set about doing whatever it is that you plan on doing. Sound good?" 

Without bothering to wait for the Leftenant?s answer, Eliza turned tail and went to retrieve the axe. With a grunt, she hefted the cumbersome weapon.

"Oy!"

Eliza whirled, clutching the axe in what she hoped was a menacing fashion.

Curses. It was the blubbery guard, levelling a spear at her. Ale foam dripped from his whiskers as he yelled, "Drop that axe, wretch!"

"Fine," she glowered. The axe hit the sand as Eliza raised her paws in surrender. She couldn?t have fought him with it, anyway. It was difficult enough to hold on to the ruddy thing; swinging it with any accuracy was out of the question.

"?Ow?d you get outta that pit?" the guard snarled, taking a step forward. His spear point hovered a hairs-breadth from Eliza?s stomach.

"It?s a secret," she said flatly.  No point in wasting diplomacy on this fool.

"Oh, is that so?" He took another fateful step, completely unaware that he?d just entered slapping range.

"Yes," Eliza replied, and swung. Pent-up rage and a heavy manacle caromed off of the weasel?s face with a dull Thonk!

The weasel howled, clutching his jaw. Ignoring the pain flaring up her arm, Eliza planted a footpaw into the sentry?s fleshy belly, kicking him backwards into the ditch.

There were a few cries of alarm from the slaves, a rustling of chains, and then a horrid, rasping gurgle.

Eliza grasped her searing wrist, biting down on her lip. Hot tears of pain beaded in the corner of her eyes.

I have to go. More vermin will come, they'll wonder where he's gone... Eliza grasped the axe handle, wincing. Stumbling a bit, she clumsily dragged it down the bank.

The weasel lay in a broken heap in the sand, horrid red marks encircling his throat. Captain Claptrap hailed her sarcastically. "Oh, fine job with tha' guard, lassie! Only, next time, d'ye think ye could mebbe no' make enough noise t'wake Dark Fores'?"

Eliza was too sore and wrung out to craft a witty response. She tossed the axe down, and snatched up the fallen weasel?s spear. "Turn around."

"I'm no' trustin' me back t'ye, vermin!"

That was absolutely the last straw. "Listen to me, you brainless stump!" she hissed. "I?m not strong enough to swing that stupid axe. You?re the only one tied with rope instead of chains, so as luck would have it, you?re the only one I can actually get free. Once you?re loose, you can use the axe and swing it about with your great big lolloping muscles, and save the rest of them." 

"Fine," the Captain muttered darkly as he rolled to expose his bound paws. "But ye?ll regret cheekin? me like tha?, ah promise ye."

An eternity of tedious sawing later, the ungrateful squirrel was free. 

A fearsome light danced in Claptrap?s eyes as he seized the axe. "Hauld out tha? chain."

"Aren't you gonna cover 'em up again, to 'ide the sound?" Revel asked, looking to Eliza.

"Nae time fer that. We have t'move," said the squirrel. Schrring! The axehead connected, shearing the links.

Physical limitations and a severe need for haste prevented the fugitives from liberating each individual beast. Instead, the loud-mouthed Captain opted to cut the chains so that the slaves were divided into groups of three.

"Wait, wha' about th'beasts further down th'line?" enquired a young hare, scratching a ridiculously-proportioned ear.

The dormouse shook her head. "They're halfway to Dark Forest, Giddy. No sense dragging them along for this, they?d only bog us down."

"Burr!" a portly mole shivered as Claptrap cleaved his restraints. "You?m nearly chopped moi diggen claws off!" 

The hare chuckled. "Hah! We?ll use it t'chop those corsairs? claws off soon."

"Aye," the Leftenant nodded. "But we?ll need a lot more than one axe if we want to stand a chance. We have to find our weapons."

"I know where weapons is," Revel piped up. "Seen ?em in a ?ut."

Captain and Leftenant exchanged doubtful glances. 

No better options were forthcoming, so off they went. Revel?s guidance was addled at best, but the motely assortment eventually found themselves staring at a ramshackle hut.

"Are you sure this is it, stoat?" the Leftenant asked coolly.

Revel nodded. "There's lots of 'em in there."

"Oh, aye." Captain Claptrap said, pushing the door open. 

"Weapons" was definitely not the word Eliza would have used to describe the heap of rusting armaments. Half of the things looked like they'd snap off at the handle.

"My hammer?s not here," whined a squirrel, kicking sand listlessly.

"T'Hellgates with yer hammer, lassie!" thundered Claptrap. "Grab yerself a blade, 'less, o? course, ye fancy takin? on the vermin with yer bare paws!"

"Captain!" the Leftanent snapped. "This is a very bad time to be dressing down our allies, don't you think?"

The muscular squirrel looked as if he would burst with rage. "We dinnae have time fer this! We need t'head fer the caves!"

Eliza didn't like the sound of that. "Caves?"

The goofish hare seemed to mistake her disgust for confusion, and proceeded to explain the plan to her. There was a robin, who was leading Captain Matukhana and his guards willy-nilly about the cave, and they were going to show up, catch the vermin unawares, and save the day.

?'Course," the hare admonished, "We'll need t'be careful sneakin' o'er there. Cannae let th'vermin see us, or we're in deeper trouble than Matthias in th'Adder's hole."

Oh, they would be, wouldn't they? There were only sixteen of them, counting her. If anything went wrong, they'd be in rather a lot of trouble...

Like the first tendril of a dark creeping vine, a new idea was beginning to form in Eliza?s mind. One where the chances of her ending up as a corpse wouldn't be quite so high.

She could send the minions storming into the caves, waving rusty implements in their puny paws, and let them ambush Captain Brush-for-brains and his crew. With any luck, the element of surprise would give the revolting revolters an edge over the deplorable sea rubbish. And, of course, in the midst of such an awful brawl, who?d notice her sneaking quietly out the rear?

Once she?d allowed sufficient time for the battle to wind down, it would be a simple task to dart back to the Oasis and raise the alarm. She would claim that they had overwhelmed the guard, and, not trusting a vermin, left her behind, unconscious. She even had the bruised head to prove it.

After the pitiful resistance had been slaughtered by vermin reinforcements -- the ambushers themselves having been ambushed -- an ominous silence would descend upon the oasis.

With their exalted Captain dead, the vermin would dodder about aimlessly, giving Eliza a beautiful degree of freedom. In such dire times, who could possibly remember one bitten face? Who could possibly hold a grudge against the wonderfully heroic damsel who had risked her life to save their Captain from an ambush?

Without a proper leader to do the thinking, or slaves to do their dirty work, how would the middle-tier brigands survive? Such a horrid turn of events, combined with a few carefully-dropped hints, would surely be sufficient to convince the grog-swilling blaggards that their fortunes would be better served elsewhere. Indeed, they would probably jump at the opportunity to find a place where sandstorms and starvation were naught but unpleasant memories, and a clever pine marten could slip away and find passage home.

It would require a phenomenal amount of luck, but a chance was a chance, no matter how slim. It was, in a dark and treacherous way, so beautiful. So elegant.

Like a dance, she thought. A delightful dance of deceit.

Of course, choreographing such an elaborate betrayal would require a few contingencies.  No matter. Her mind was agile...

"You should grab yourself a blade, marten," the Leftenant interrupted, fishing a crooked dirk from the pile.

Eliza had no intention of actually fighting, but she picked up a small dagger, just to be on the safe side. She was examining it in the dim light, when there was a tug at her sleeve. 

"When do I get my dress?" Revel asked earnestly.

Never, said the voice in Eliza?s head. You can get fair payment from somebeast, or you can snigger like a ninny and bash them over the head. Not both.

She would have said it, too, if the Leftenant hadn?t been staring down that judicious nose at them.

Instead, Eliza put on a delightful veneer of a smile and gingerly patted Revel on the shoulder. "I?ll get it for you later, Revel."

The stoat nodded, and picked up a rusty cutlass. "Not too much later, I ?ope," she said with what could have been a meaningful smile.