The Widow Sabishane - Part V, Page 3

The dead men were heavy in his paws as Mr. Klemmens dragged their bodies to the edge of the ship and tossed them over.  The man with the green bandanna's belt full of grenades had fallen from his corpse and Mr. Klemmens had picked it up.  Turning the yellow belt over in his paws, he examined each of the eight grenades before tying it around his own waist.  Armed with explosives Mr. Klemmens drew his scimitar once again, keeping it out in front as he began to descend the dark stairwell before him, leaving the heavy metal door ajar just in case.

The stairwell was long and dark, pressing in around him as he walked.  Mr. Klemmens began to wonder if the stairwell would ever end, or if he would be wandering the dark passage forever when a thin stream of light finally reached his glowing eyes.  "At last." he muttered to himself.  Pushing his back against the left side of the stairwell, Mr. Klemmens descended the remaining stairs very slowly, his scimitar now in both hands and at the ready.  When he got to the bottom step he saw that no one was there, but it brought him no comfort. "An out of sight enemy makes for an out of sight threat.  I do not like this."  Mr. Klemmens sighed heavily.  The last step had brought him to a T.  His choices were not kindly labeled, like a nice hotel or a bottle of whiskey might be.  Left or right were his only options.

"Now what?" he said lamely.  Then, remembering what the Widow had said, Mr. Klemmens took in a deep breath and began to observe his surroundings solemnly.  To the right he heard deep muffled voices and what sounded like laughter.  He could smell roasted garlic and various spices wafting through the air on invisible waves of fragrance.  Down the left passage he could hear the hiss of cooling metal, the clang of hammers against steel, and the grunting of men working hard labor.  The smell of sulfur and sweat stung his nose as he wriggled his whiskers in disgust.  Suddenly, Mr. Klemmens could see everything as though it were laid out in front of him.  "The left path leads to a foundry for certain, and if I know anything at all, then that is where they're keeping the prisoners." he thought to himself.  "And to the right...A kitchen and a galley no doubt."  After a moment's consideration Mr. Klemmens decided the best thing to do would be to take the path to the right.  If there was a captain to this vessel there was a good chance he'd be far from the workers and closer to the kitchen at this time of night.  "I can go back for the prisoners" he reasoned, "but what's to stop the ship from coming after us if the captain still breathes?"  Mr. Klemmens pulled his sword up into a defensive position once more and headed down the hallway, towards the deep voices and mouth-watering aromas.

As the voices got louder and the scent of freshly prepared food grew stronger, Mr. Klemmens' movements became brief and calculated.   Finally he reached the end of the hallway, here it broke out into three more paths; straight, right, and left.  Without much deliberation he took the straight path, reasoning with himself that he had already been going in that direction and he did not want to lose track of how far he had come.  As Mr. Klemmens took his first step down the next passageway, a door flew open in front of him and a bevy of men's voices came pouring out in a cacophony of laughter and argument.  The nimble cat quickly stepped backward and hid himself around the corner of the three-way pass he had just come through.  Peeking out over the side, Mr. Klemmens gaped as a giant of a man came walking out of the galley and into the hall, laughing deeply at some unheard joke.

The bald man walked with his back hunched forward as he was too tall to stand up straight in the ship's narrow corridors.  The giant's shoulders were almost as broad as the hallway was wide, and each hand was as big as Mr. Klemmens himself.  The huge man wore a red V-neck blouse and tattered white pants; his belt was thick leather with a large buckle in the shape of a skull, or was it a skull?  Mr. Klemmens could not tell.  Tucked into the belt, as if it weighed nothing, was a huge hammer.  Its massive head was twice the size of his hands and Mr. Klemmens could scarcely believe that any other man could actually wield it.  The hulking mass stopped for a moment and Mr. Klemmens' grip tightened anxiously around the hilt of his scimitar.  The man's huge bald head rose into the air and his broad, flat nose inhaled deeply.  The muscles in Mr. Klemmens' arms began thrumming  with electricity and he could feel the fur on his back bristle.  But the mountainous man only snorted loudly, turned, and began to walk down the hall and away from Mr. Klemmens.  The Somali cat swallowed the lump that had found it's way into his throat as he let his heartbeat slow.  When the man was out of sight, he turned the corner and began walking back down the hallway, towards the open door of the ship's galley and the choir of men behind it.

The Widow Sabishane - Part V, Page 2

Mr. Klemmens cursed to himself, straining his eyes against the beating rain as he crept along the deck of the island-sized ship.  He had been skimming along the deck for some time, searching for an entrance that lead into the bowels of the ship but had not seen a single doorway or hatch since leaving the Widow.  Just as he was about to turn back, Mr. Klemmens' noticed the shadow of a small rectangular structure through the heavy downpour ahead.  Just a few yards away sat a small steel shelter with a heavy matching door.  Above the frame of the doorway pulsed a large red light.  Mr. Klemmens tilted his head sideways with curiosity before moving to investigate.   Suddenly, just as he reached out for the handle, there was a loud beep and the light at the top of the door flashed green.  Mr. Klemmens skittered across the deck on all fours and slammed himself against a stack of crates nearby, just barely out of sight.  The steel door swung open and two lank men stepped out of the dark entrance way.  He could see corrugated metal steps beneath their feet and a downward sloping handrail fastened to the wall.  "Bingo." said Mr. Klemmens, as the door was shut and the red light flickered back on.

The men were tall and rough looking.  One of them had a red bandanna with black paisleys tied around his head like a sweat band, his long, greasy black hair flowing out and over it like a fountain of crude oil; his face was a war-torn vista, full of pock marks the size of small craters and covered with dozens of thin little scars like a thick, fleshy, spiderweb.  The other man wore a pleated navy blue jacket with a green bandanna and white paisleys.  "Must be a uniform thing." joked the Somali cat.  He wore gold-rimmed spectacles and had a curly brown mustache with a devil's goatee.  Mr. Klemmens noticed that both of the  men were carrying weapons, the man in green carried a semi-automatic pistol tucked into a holster on his pants and the man in red had a variety of grenades attached to a gold colored scarf he wore as a belt with a short sword tucked into the back.  Mr. Klemmens carefully reached above him with both hands and silently unsheathed his scimitar from it's scabbard behind his head, bringing it down slowly and steadily until the blade floated in front of his face.

The men were talking in a language Mr. Klemmens could not understand as he sat behind the small stack of crates griping his sword, waiting patiently for an opportunity to strike.  After a few moments of idle chatter the man in red reached into his stain-spotted shirt and pulled out a flask.  As both men began to drink heavily from it, Mr. Klemmens climbed to the top of the crates, staying low as as possible while he watched the men carry on with one another.  After some time, when the flask was empty, the man in green mumbled drunkenly and walked to the side of the boat, leaning over the edge and groaning as he retched.  The man in red laughed loudly as he opened the door and leaned against it, keeping it ajar as he waited for his lackey to finish.  Mr. Klemmens saw his opportunity and took it.
 
Gripping the scimitar in both hands, the agile cat launched himself from the top of the crates at the man in red.  In a flash of fur and metal Mr. Klemmens flew through the air like a corkscrew, twisting his body and hissing loudly as he flew over the man in red.  The gaunt man's eyes bulged as time slowed to a halt.  Mr. Klemmens spun in the air above the man's head, bringing the scimitar down from above his right shoulder as the man fumbled with his keys, trying desperately to drop them in order to arm himself; but it was too late.  The man in red gaped as Mr. Klemmens  brought his sword down with with both paws, slicing through the man's upturned face and driving the blade down through his sputtering throat until the sharp blade bit deeply into his collar bone.  Mr. Klemmens landed softly behind him,  a spray of crimson blood speckled his face and stained his fur.  The man in the red bandanna's body stood with Mr. Klemmens still clutching the hilt of the scimitar buried deep within his neck.
 
The man in green wiped vomit from the corner of his mouth with a dirty sleeve as he turned back towards the entrance way.  Turning pale the instantly, the man retched again at the sight of his friend's body. Realizing what was about to happen the man began fumbling for his pistol drunkenly, his eyes still staring ahead in horror.  Mr. Klemmens steadied his grip on the scimitar and pushed the still-standing body of the dead man forward with his foot, unsheathing the sword it from it's fleshy scabbard and leaving the man's body to droop forward.  As he walked towards the man in green Mr. Klemmens unsheathed his second sword, the falchion, with his one free paw.  When it was loose he let both arms fall to his sides, the two sword blades dragging along the deck beside him while he walked.
 
The man in green's hands shook visibly as he fumbled with his gun, getting it stuck on the holster as he desperately tried to arm himself.  Mr. Klemmens brought the swords up high and crossed both blades in front of him like a large pair of scissors as he burst into a sprint.  Finally the man in green wrenched his gun with all his strength, pulling it loose.  But Mr. Klemmens had gotten close enough.  With a powerful thrust he leapt up into the air, flying like a guillotine towards the trembling man.  Lightening stuck, and as it ripped across the night sky Mr. Klemmens pushed the two sword handles towards each other, closing the blades around the man's neck.  The man in green's body wavered while a sickeningly  wet thud sounded at his feet.  A moment later, blood and rainwater swirled around and around as a brown-haired head with a curly mustache and a devil's goatee rolled across the deck.  Mr. Klemmens sheathed his swords without a word and set about gathering the bodies.