Pairs of Pumpkins #09: A Heroine Again

A long breath of relief escaped her muzzle as all was still and her body was not broken from the incredible descent. She had made it to Behemoth and her upside-down view had all eyes of the crew on her. Her appearance was secondary to her presence on the ship at all. She was upside down and ass up, her knees around her face and her chest at her chin, crumpled against the railing, after falling seemingly from the heavens. The sailors were frozen, dumbfounded by her sudden appearance. She had survived. There was work to do.

Portia scrambled to stand and heard cheering from above, forgetting for a moment she'd had an audience up there as well. No matter. She scanned for the pier where the attack was happening. From down here, it was quite a bit of distance, a swim half as far as she'd dropped. Her muscle started toward the edge, to jump, but she stopped herself:

The book.

A hand-written ledger of Zarron's experiments and sales, slung behind her, unsealed in a leather sling. It was the only connection she had to find her children. A book not likely to survive the swim.

"LOAD THAT BALLISTA!" she barked to a cluster of dumbfounded sailors, stationed at one of the many, impressive armaments. They exchanged looks amongst themselves before she started to run toward them. "A WOMAN IS BEING ATTACKED ON THE PIER. LOAD THAT FUCKING BALLISTA!" The second time, the crew bucked and responded. Two handsome, white-uniformed sailors, a zebra and a muskrat manned the crank with appropriate urgency, drawing back the enormous crossbow.

Portia ran for the nearest, loose spool of rope while scanning for the ballista's ammunition. She grabbed the end of a line and the furniture-sized spool began spinning, likely intended for the same boarding maneuver she had in mind. She fetched a javelin-sized bolt next, which already had an eyelet cut in its back end, like some massive sewing needle but with fletching for stability in flight. It was easy to tie, for the time she'd spent on sailing ships and the knot was secure by the time they had cocked the ballista.

She ran over and tossed them the bolt to load. They obliged while she took to the handles of the gigantic crossbow and used her whole body and strength to aim at a pile of shipping crates. They were substantial enough to survive the shot but short enough to draw a downward grade from the height of the ship's deck to the level of the pier. She didn't come all this way to wind up stuck, halfway over the water then dragged out to sea.

The sailors loaded the bolt with a regimented efficiency then looked at her and the aim she was drawing. "It'll arc different from a crossbow but not as much as you expect. Aim higher!" The zebra barked before rushing to help, the muskrat immediately along her other side. Together, they aimed the giant crossbow with practice and ease. "Perfect!"

Portia reached out and squeezed the trigger until it snapped in a violent creak of bending wood, threatening to shatter with unleashed tension. Thick timbers settled just as fast with the javelin still whistling mid-air. It planted halfway across the delta into the stacked crates, knocking several adjacent ones over in the impact. The shot was perfect.

"Ha!"

She took a split-second of celebration, kissing the zebra's cheek, then the muskrat's, and she saw them both blush at the moment before moving on from them.

A loose line was drawn now between ship and shore, demonstrating its speed more than anything previously. There wasn't much time and she ran for it, leaping from deck to taffrail and taffrail to rope, using her tomahawk as a zip line again, this time much more predictably, except for the massive, moving pivot of a battleship, now behind her.

Portia saw the details of the fight as she closed in, across the water. It was a group of armed thugs, six in total of various species, surrounding an alpaca woman, clutching her child. They were clearly taunting and toying with her, making it all the more ominous. Robbers had plenty of time to mug her and run away. If these six weren't slavers, their intent was no less despicable. She was outnumbered and couldn't afford to pull any punches. They knew the risks when they decided to be predators.

The crashing ballista impact grabbed their attention but none of them saw her coming down the line. She was almost over the deck of the pier when she drew the dagger lashed to her breastplate and hurled it at the closest of the six, a gopher she caught right at the spine. He collapsed forward, clutching the wound and grabbed the attention of the other five, right as Portia fell into a graceful breakfall, letting go of the tomahawk, which bounced nearby.

"What the fuck!?" one of the five remaining balked at the interruption while Portia scrambled to her feet and fetched her dropped weapon.

"You've got three seconds to convince me you're not slavers or rapists," she growled, rushing the outside line of their broken circle.

"Sanna?!" Another one barked in disbelief but whatever that meant was irrelevant. The remaining five were gearing up for a fight to the death. This was no misunderstanding.

The movement of Behemoth ripped a pile of crates off the dock and into the water after the slack line sprung taught. It made an explosive distraction, phasing them and not her. She fetched the second tomahawk from her back. The nearest of them was a bison, thick and towering with a cocky grin as the vixen rushed with weapons brandished.

She wound herself up with a full twist, and he changed stance to counter, before a quick shift from the fox turned a swing into a surprised throw. One tomahawk left her hand with less than ten feet between them and buried in his chest, freezing him in a shocked posture. He was halfway to the ground when she was close enough to grab her weapon and let his weight free it.

Four of them remained, weapons drawn and ready for her, but they hadn't had time to reposition themselves from their broken circle, which left them lined up in a curve before her. The next was the second biggest of them: a ragged-looking, one-eyed lion who had drawn a two-handed sword and tossed aside the scabbard. Portia hadn't slowed down and she raised the tomahawk in a high chop. He wound back his sword at the same level of her neck.

The lion roared as he swung, hurling the massive blade forward. The big weapon was so heavy, he was nearly in slow-motion, and she dropped into a feet-first slide, her overhand swing connecting hard with his chest and dragging down as she slid right between his legs and scurried back to her feet. Mercifully, these weren't the kinds of thugs who wore real armor. A new burning sensation on her thigh reminded her she should probably switch to leather pants from a skirt if she wanted to slide around on wooden piers often.

She was moving fast but the next two had come shoulder to shoulder, a pair of mangy coyotes with short swords, one female and one male, one left-handed and the other right. If they weren't twins they could have been but one looked furious and the other, terrified.

Side-hand, she lobbed a tomahawk and it flew straight into the males' thigh closest to his twin, causing his weight to buckle into her as he started to fall with a scream. It didn't knock the other over but made some distraction. Still, she wound up her short sword and Portia, her other tomahawk and they both swung as they collided.

The vixen wasn't intending to connect with her weapon, only knock her opponent's aside before she barreled into her with all her weight and momentum, sending them both to the ground, with her on top. Sliding to a stop, she palm-struck the coyote's muzzle forcefully, banging it into the deck before scrambling up toward the last one: a lithe, scarred, orange and white cat, tinted beige with dirt and filth, and grey with age. He wore leather armor and was open-handed, brandishing only his claws and a psychotic smile.

"I know you, Portia Pridemoon. Someone said you were in town. I used to run with the Scarlet Sash."

She gave the coyote a hard kick to confirm her unconsciousness then stepped clear of the wounded one, fetching her second tomahawk. "Those losers are still around? How'd that work out for you?" She paced towards him.

"I learned enough about business to start my own."

"The business of attacking mothers and children sounds like something they'd teach."

"This world gives nothing. You have to take it." He started sideways and her, the other way, the two circling each other.

"Well I just took out your whole gang. So why aren't you running for your life?"

"Desperate, unskilled thugs are plentiful in these parts. The glory of tearing apart a do-gooder heroine is rare indeed. Killing you will make me a legend."

"Okay but first you have to kill me." The circle tightened and Portia swung first with a spin of her body, which the cat ducked under with ease, popping up to rake across the easy target of her breastplate with his claws. Her second swing was at his legs. He jumped high and tucked, clear of it and knocking her nose with his knee.

She twisted and threw her own knee out and up, striking his kidneys on his way back to the ground, hard enough to knock him aside. He landed and clawed again at her well-protected chest.

She tumbled back in a somersault to regain some distance and swing again, this time right at his middle. He pulled his belly back quickly, enough that only the top of her blade grazed the armor. She carried her momentum in another spin, feeling claws against her armor's back before she threw her foot out in a kick, catching him in the stomach and sending him flying on his back.

With a grunt, she lunged forward and chopped down, burying a tomahawk in the pier between his legs where his torso had been a moment before. He was fast. She chopped with the other tomahawk, higher at his chest, but he rolled aside, out of the way.

Both axes were stuck in the deck now. They were too slow for this fight. She drew a backup dagger from her boot while he sprung to his feet. There was still enough time to catch him off balance. She jumped high and lunged over him, throwing arms around his neck then crashing down on top of him with her full and impressive weight.

He squirmed and clawed furiously, finding only leather armor at first while she stabbed blindly at anything she could reach before his grip seized her wrist. With her other arm around him, she dug her boots into the pier, using her strong thighs to push on top of him fully, until they were face to face. With a deft squirm, he freed one hand enough to grab her neck. She felt the claws break flesh before she snapped her fangs down on his arm, biting down hard and shaking about her head. She could feel veins, then tendons failing beneath skin, a flood of iron in her mouth.

His other hand came up to try to pry her teeth away and with hers freed, she sank the dagger to the hilt under his breastplate.

Mewling, mortal cries acknowledged the blow and his fight weakened, but he kept thrashing. She let go of the dagger and brought herself over it, using her body weight to hold it in while she snatched his arm and held it until his strength left him. Some distant cheers followed as she stood. Looking back to Behemoth, she could see the sailors had lined up along the deck, watching the whole scene. The mountains and walls of stacked crates hid from view of the boardwalk itself.

Behind her, the sound of crunching gore shook her pause. The alpaca and her son! She twirled around and to her feet, her jaw and cleavage bathed in the bandit's blood while her throat and nose dripped with her own. Had she come all this way for them to be killed? No. They were fine.

The coyote with a wounded leg had one of Portia's tomahawks in his head and the puffy-haired, alpaca woman standing over him. She had set down her son, who stood with his back turned and his eyes covered, obedient to some unseen order.

The female coyote showed a similar wound. She'd finished them both off.

"Was that necessary?"

"Do bloody noses reform predators?" The woman was trembling. Killing was new for her.

"I suppose not," Portia said with a shrug, walking to the other weapon and grabbing it. She approached the woman, offering an open hand.

The alpaca's gaze was sharp, under a cotton-like puff of hair that obscured her forehead and most of her eyes. "Low Town is small. They knew where I worked. They'd come looking for us with more of their gang and they'd find us." She handed over the tomahawk and Portia wiped away the blood on the coyote's body, before stowing them both.

"Okay. We shouldn't stick around here. I don't have time for City Watch trials and I assume they're paid off down here."

"Safe assumption."

"Do you two have somewhere to go?"

"We don't. Not anymore. We thought we were booking passage out of Stusport, so we gave up our accommodations," The alpaca squatted at the side of the coyote and grabbed his coin purse, then the one from his twin. "This is yours if you want it."

Portia shook her head. "Take it. Come on, let's go."

The alpaca scooped up her son and followed but when Portia glanced back, she found her making a quick detour to loot the others. "I said, come on!"

"We need the money," she snapped back but ran to catch up.

Portia led her in a jog, not expecting her to be able to keep pace as she carried what must be a boy of five or ten. It was another reminder she hadn't the slightest clue about children but this alpaca woman was able to move fast while she carried her own.

They both ran down the dockside, avoiding major streets, avenues and thoroughfares. She'd had time enough to learn the area in her first few days in Stusport and led them to a dark, back alley bar in the International District run by an old, chow chow bartender from a far away land she'd been to once. He had discreetly acknowledged he knew of her from a village she'd helped when she was there. There, she'd apparently saved one of his kin, and he'd be covering her meal and drinks. He would help them. She ushered them in first, then followed and closed the door.

"Sorry lady, no kids... oh. Miss Pridemoon. Welcome back. Did you find what you were looking for?"

She sighed. "Hello, Zhang. Yes and no. Long story. Look, we're in some trouble. Can we hide here for a bit?"

"Whatever you need. Lock the door behind you. Who is your friend? Are you hungry?"

"I'm Varda, this is Bernhard, and we're both famished," the alpaca blurted out and helped herself to a seat at the bar, then placed her shaggy, still-silent son on the stool next to her. Getting a closer look at them in the dim light of the sparsely-windowed tavern, her fur was visibly downy and light, like clouds escaping from under her clothes but his was thicker and curly, almost oily.

"Just a drink for me. Mead. And something strong and cheap to clean this," Portia pointed to the claw marks on her arm and her throat as she walked to a stool. Zhang nodded and set to work.

Portia turned to face Varda and her son. "So, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Trying to get out. Night shifts in dockside bars pays better than anything else a farm girl can do in the city."

Portia raised a brow.

"I don't know why everyone assumes whoring is where women without formal trades all wind up. It's not easy or safe and doesn't actually pay very well."

Portia nodded. Leaving the brothel with Marina, she carried a small fortune but her silken-furred daughter was far from the average whore. "Fair enough."

Zhang returned to hand Portia a wet rag, reeking of alcohol. She put it to her neck first and winched at the sting.

"Peak employment down here for unskilled people is running contraband for the gangs but that's more dangerous still. I'm a damn good barmaid, and I was making money, fast and safe."

"Not enough that you don't need to loot bodies."

Varda squinted. "It doesn't go to charity if I leave it for the City Watchmen to take. Like I said, we're trying to leave. It seems what I had saved was the 'rob me' price. I must be able to pay the real price. More so, now."

Portia put the rag to the claw trails on her arm. "Okay, so you worked the bars of Low Town to save money and leave."

"Right. I worked at 'The Flopping Fish', every busy night since the month of Aenarmoon. Along the way to Stusport, I worked other taverns and inns, so I had some experience. I'm a fast learner, a good flirt and I make friends with people who can protect us. Thankfully the owner of The Fish saw the value in taking care of us because not all the employers down here do. He didn't want me to go, saying you can't trust the people offering passage. He was right, but we can't stay here forever. We have to get to the Central Isles."

"That's a long way from here. Why?"

"Bernhard is a smart boy, and he needs a specialty school. The only one that can help him is there."

"Pardon my interruption," Zhang said, bringing a tray with two chalices, two bowls of stew and a mug for the boy. "All the best silk and spice traders come through my place and most of them sail at least as far as the Central Islands. I know those Captains. One was in here earlier, drunk and complaining about this whole Behemoth celebration messing up the launch schedules. Perhaps he has room for one more? Since I'm closed for a bit, perhaps I go find him?"

Portia looked to Varda, then Bernhard, their expressions perked and eager. "We'd be in your debt, Zhang."

"Nonsense. I'm in yours, but this Captain will need payment for room and board. It is a long journey. What was the 'rob me' price?"

Varda paused for a moment. "Forty gold."

Zhang nodded. "That is very cheap for such a journey. I will do what I can. Lock the door behind me and open it for no one else. Help yourselves to the tap but please, stay out of the kitchen." He grabbed a bag and ducked under the bar, giving a small bow on his way out.

Portia locked the door then walked over to a bar stool, skipping a seat between her and Varda, her chest needing the room where other patrons might leave their elbows. The alpaca barely noticed, staring into her stew as she ate. After a few bites, she spoke. "I've never killed anyone before. I did the right thing, didn't I?"

Portia sighed and shrugged. "Who's to say? On one hand, they were defenseless. It wasn't a fair fight. On the other hand, they started an unfair fight. And fairness isn't worth much if it gets you killed. If you live and work down here, you're right: they'd come looking for payback. The law doesn't seem to serve much justice in Low Town and I won't be here to help you next time. I don't know if it was the right thing but it was probably the best thing for you and your son."

Varda nodded and took another spoonful of stew.

"You're cold-blooded to think that way. You'd do well as an adventurer," Portia added with a chuckle, but she laughed alone and not for long. With another sigh, her attention moved from Varda to Bernhard. He was staring at her with big, black, innocent eyes. She stared back at him with her eyes wide and neither looked away while Varda finished her bite, unaware. Finally, she chuckled and averted her eyes. Bernhard's little face lit up. "Sorry. I'm terrible with kids."

"I must say, Miss Pridemoon. I hoped to never need rescuing but I'm grateful it was you. I heard about you when I worked in Brummel for a couple of weeks."

"Brummel? I haven't been to Brummel in years. And you can call me Portia."

"Too bad. The statue they made for you is really nice."

"Statue?"

"Mmmhmmm. Right in the Town Square. The scale of it is a little..." Varda's eyes flitted to the vixen's legendary, leather-armored chest, mashed against the edge of the bar. "...off. If they'd made it true-to-life, I don't think anyone who hadn't seen you would believe it. Future generations would just assume the sculptor was a pervert."