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.
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