Threadbare ran.

It had taken time, precious minutes to get through the waymark checkpoint in Castle Cylvania. Even though he was one of the heroes of the kingdom, security was still important. He had been one of the people to put these measures into place, after all. It would have been hypocritical to bypass them.

But oh, it had taken everything he had to sit through the security checks, give the passwords, and submit to a brief search.

All he could do was wait, fidget, and burst through the doors at top speed the second they gave him the go-ahead.

He knew that something was off the second he got into the city. Alarm bells were going off in the distance, and the sound of faint screaming rang out from the direction of the square.

And under it all, a familiar ring of metal on metal, and distant, shouted skills. Fighting. Not show fighting, or any of the sanctioned dueling and show fights that the festival usually ran. This was the real thing. This was death on the line.

For a second he dared to hope that it was going well. That his allies and friends had things under control, and he would arrive to find the pirates captured, his friends alive and well, and his little girl completely safe.

BOOM.

A building fell over in the distance.

Smoke rose to the sky.

“Oh bother,” Threadbare muttered. It had been a nice dream. But there was no escaping violence this time, he reckoned.

So he chanted as he ran, bringing up the buffs he thought that might help the situation.

“Flex. Strong Pose. Deathsight. Guard Stance. Dazzling Entrance. Riposte. Harden. Keen Eye. Camouflage.”

His body moved of its own accord, as his physical buffs took hold. His perception sharpened, even as he faded from sight. And he felt boldness rise within him, as fighting instincts filled his heart, and he tilted his hat to just the right angle to catch the moonlight.

About a minute after that Threadbare passed the first wave of fleeing fairgoers.

Half a minute past that he outran the city guards, who were surging in to try and make some order in the chaos.

And twenty seconds later he found the carnage.

It was remarkably small, given the destruction. About a dozen forms lying in the remnants of the main stage seating.

The stage itself was the Cotton Tale, draped over with cloth and ropes and festival lights. But all that was being swiftly removed by her crew, who though bloodied and battered, had won the fight.

And Garon, poor Garon, shattered Garon lay mostly in pieces near the fallen tower at the edge of the square. The swathe of destruction from there to the ship told the story; multiple cannons full of canister shot, like great blunderbusses firing pellets the size of grapes, cutting down everything and anything in their way.

But as Threadbare padded past him, form faded and practically invisible thanks to his Camouflage, Garon stirred.

Just a bit. Threadbare stopped, then ran over to the bull-shaped helm, now twisted and mangled, with one horn gone. But his eyes still glowed red, deep in their empty metal hollows.

“Threadbare,” Garon whispered, so quietly it could be mistaken for the wind through the holes in his chestplate. “Kayin's waiting and watching. Whisper her when you want her to strike.”

Threadbare started to heal him, but paused with the words on his lips. He looked to the ship, saw the crew manning the guns, pointed straight at Garon. Any healing he did would be visible, and he had the feeling it wouldn't end well from there.

WIS+1

And then a flash of red caught his attention.

He looked up, and there was Celia, hanging upside down from the mast as two crewbunnies tied her into place.

Threadbare crept forward, sneaking for all he was worth...

AGL+1

Your Stealth skill is now level 37!

...creeping up to the edge of the ship.

From there, he could hear Anne barking orders. She was a loud sort on a good day, but now she was being extra-shouty.

“Get out of me hold you goblin-gutted gangly little gremlin!”

“Come down here and make me!”

“Oh you'd like that, would you! If I have to then I'll spread your entrails out while you're alive, so you can read your own future in'em! Spoilers: you'll be dead soon!”

“Maybe so, but you're not getting to your engines without dealing with us first! And by that time, your doom will be here! I've read it in the cards. If you wait, you lose.”

“Oh for the love of fluff! I was going to release you, you halven harlot! We treated you and yours well, even when you caught your lot a-spying! Why are you so dead set in getting your blood all over me clean decks?”

“Did you think it was an accident that you found us on that mountaintop? Did you think it was coincidence that we had all that treasure from our last dungeon run out in plain sight? Did it even cross your mind that maybe, just maybe we needed transportation to get where we needed to be when we needed to be there, carried by the very enemies we were trying to stop?”

Silence, then, and Threadbare finished clambering on board, racking up another Climb skill level on the way. He made his way slowly, carefully around one of the gunners, scurrying from coil of rope to concealing drop cloth, trying to find the best way to get up to Celia. It was crowded on deck, with thirty or forty crew... and one face he recognized. There was Jean Lafeet, at the bottom of the mast, staring up at Celia. Her face was wracked with guilt, and he read shame in her body language. Was she an accomplice? That was a horrible thought.

Anne spoke with chilling coldness.

“So you name me your enemy, then.”

“I...” the voice from the hold sounded uncertain. It was young, a teenager's or a girl's voice, Threadbare thought. “I'm sorry, but we have to stop you. The omen was clear. If the porcelain princess is taken from her kingdom, then all who draw breath within it shall perish.”

“Well. Good for me I don't plan on sticking around, then,” Anne said. She whirled, and pointed to the edge of the deck... and to the cannon lining it. “Janet! Turn the gun! Rotate ninety degrees to the underside and fire!”

Janet looked shocked.

“But captain, that'll—”

“Damnit, Janet! Did I stutter?”

“No captain!”

“You lot! Get down there and show our ungrateful guests the points of yer blades! Both hatches, double time now! Sort'em out me hearties!”

Threadbare moved further into the coil of rope he was hiding in, as the pirates rushed past him, yarring up a storm. Not all of them, but the deck was much clearer after that.

It was strange that Anne hadn't followed them down, so he stepped carefully, making his way toward the mast where Celia was bound. He had four slots left in his party, so once he was close enough he whispered “Distant Animus Rope. Invite Rope.”

Your Distant Animus skill is now level 6!

The rope twitched, and Threadbare checked Anne. She was oblivious, talking to one of her crewbunnies, the one who always wore heavy robes and a veil. What was his name? Stormanorm? That was it.

Celia, however, was less than oblivious. She looked frightened, and Threadbare sent her a quick whisper. “It's me! I'll have you loose soon, never fear.”

But instead of calming down she held onto the rope as best she could, keeping it from untying, and shouted “Anne! Captain Anne!”

“Aye, me captive?”

“So long as I'm surrendered you won't turn your cannons on Garon, right? You won't smash his soulstone?”

“I meant what I said, and said what I meant! He's safe as sofas unless you try to escape on me. I swear it by the code!” Then she pulled her cutlass, and leveled it at Janet. “Light the fuse and run to safety!”

“But captain, we'll blast a hole in our own ship!”

“DAMN IT JANET!”

“I mean aye-aye captain!” Janet lit the fuse.

From the hatches, the sounds of fighting rose, as an unfamiliar man bellowed “OH YEAH, TIME FOR THE SMACKDOWN! SIGNATURE MOVE! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”

But Threadbare paid it no mind. It would have to sort itself out, because he was already trying to find a solution that didn't end with any of his friends dead.

He had options, here. He had three more slots in his party, and his Call Golem skill would let him move any golem in his party instantly to his location.

His current location was bad, though. Garon could barely move. Pulling him up on deck would just give Anne another hostage.

Relocating to a safe place and calling Garon there might work... but the crew remaining on deck were about done with the ropes. Once the engine got going, they'd cast off for sure. But the fighting was fierce, down belowdeck.

BOOM!

Threadbare almost fell over, as the ship shook and boards went flying skyward.

“Get down there, Stormanorm!” Anne shouted. “Start the engine!”

She had shot a hole through her ship, yes. But she knew where to shoot to miss the important bits, and drill a passage straight down to the engine room without having to fight through the foes in the way first.

On her command the veiled beastkin leaped down into the smoke followed by half a dozen more crew, and Threadbare knew he was out of time.

Or was he? If he followed them, he could sabotage the engine, and then—

“There! They're right there! Go get them officers!”

Karen Mousewife's voice rose above the hubbub and as the smoke cleared from the edge of the square, Threadbare saw her charging forward, paws waving, oven mitts half off, leading a full squad of city guard toward the ship.

“I don't have time for this!” Anne yelled. “Man the port cannons! Blast them to bits!”

“No!” Celia screamed. “Karen! Run!”

Crew rushed to the guns, and Threadbare had had enough.

And thanks to Anne's little trick with her own cannon and friendly fire, he knew what he had to do.

Stepping forth from the shadows, he raised his paw and pointed.

“Distant Animus. Distant Animus. Distant Animus. Command Animi, destroy the cannon opposite you.”

Your Distant Animus skill is now level 7!

Your Distant Animus skill is now level 8!

Your Distant Animus skill is now level 9!

Your Command Animi skill is now level 44!

And one after another, before the crewbunnies could react, the cannon flipped over and fired, scything the deck with canister, and shredding the guns that were trained on Garon, the railing, a sizable chunk of the deck, and the poor beastkin that were in the way.

Anne whirled on him, as he felt his body twist, felt his Duelist skills do what they could to make him look imposing.

Tried and failed, as Anne pulled a pistol from her belt and blew a hole straight through him.

Threadbare looked down to the wound in his belly, and tapped his rod on the deck. “I'm sorry, but you're being very unwise. Surrender, and no harm will—”

The airship shuddered, and rose up into the air, guidelines tearing and lashing down like whips, skewing to the side, bodies and wounded crew crying out as they slid and fell, or grabbed onto ropes. Threadbare kept his footing, barely.

“Garon's out of danger!” Celia yelled down. “Cut me loose!”

With a thought, he undid the rope, then sent it coiling down toward Anne to keep her busy. It did... for all of a second before she slashed it to bits. Celia dropped to the deck, and knives flashed outward from her in a halo, thudding into the tilting side of it, making temporary pitons as she caught hold of one to keep from sliding down.

There was fury in her eyes now, fury that blazed as she watched Anne catch a rope and swing to the wheelhouse, then spin the wheel to right the ship.

“It's one thing to threaten me,” she said, stalking across the deck. “It's another to threaten my friends. Put us down right now, and we won't kick your ass.”

“You blathering buffoons!” Anne roared, leaving off the wheel and drawing her blades, as she matched Celia step for step, down the stairs and across the deck. “You damnable dolls and terrible teddies! Who do you think you're up against? You're up against Anne Bunny, the scourge of—”

And Threadbare whispered to the wind.

“Now, Kayin.”

The stern door flew open.

Anne whipped around, and her blade slashed, as fast as lightning.

But faster still was the tiny terror that dashed by, and carved her own blades through Anne's leg.

There was a pause.

Anne looked down.

And before she could collapse, she yelled “Cannon Fodder!”

One of the crewbunnies dangling on the edge of the deck screamed, as her leg flew off and blood fountained into the square below, painting a trail across the city as the airship rose and drifted, turning on its rudder without anyone to hold the wheel.

“Desu!” Kayin said, skidding to a stop next to Threadbare, who had used the opportunity to mend himself. “She's just a Bandit after all! Guess we'll have to carve through her whole crew to stop her.”

“No,” Celia said, gathering her knives in and standing on Threadbare's other side. “We just have to keep hitting her. Eventually she'll fall over.”

Anne looked down, shoulders heaving.

“I'm sorry, but please give up,” Threadbare told her. “We don't really want to do this. We just want to go home.”

Anne's hat dipped down to hide her face, and she leaned against the wall for support, shaking.

“Is she... crying?” Kayin asked.

“No,” Threadbare said, looking around at the remaining crew, who were pulling themselve to their feet and grabbing up whatever weapons they could reach. “She's laughing.”

“Oh me hearties. Oh me little toys,” Anne said, lifting her eyes heavenward. “You don't know. No reason you should. This is what I was seeking. This is what I wanted! One last job, to skill up my crew. One last test, to weed out the last of the weak, and make the next captain strong!”

Her golden grin was a terrible thing to behold. There was nothing of sanity of humor in it. “You're not a threat. You're a test. This is the most trouble I've ever had with a job, and oh, the levels we'll get from this!”

Kayin shook her head. “You're nuts, desu.”

“Aye, perhaps. But you're not the only one with a hidden ally. Gaston! Get her!”

And a thing exploded from one of the last remaining barrels, leaping out and on Kayin before she could react, claws tearing and buckteeth gnashing.

It was a horrible thing, a mix of man and rabbit and muscles, red of eye and white of fur, with a disproportionately wide torso and arms that were about as big around as the central mast.

Celia rushed to help her, knives whirling, but though the blades dug in and opened wounds, they sealed just as quickly as she made them.

“Forget it!” laughed Anne. “You don't stand a chance against a Lop Garou! And now, me beary friend...” she advanced, clashing her swords together, and her crew moved in with her. “let's settle this business in the proper way. With blood on the decks!”

More crew emerged from the hold as Threadbare watched, and he calculated his odds, found them bad. Giving ground he retreated from Anne... then caught her eyes shift toward Celia, and stopped. Given the opportunity, she'd grab Celia again.

And then came some unexpected screams, as a full line of crew toppled. The crew behind them hurried on to the next batch, milking their ambush for all it was worth.

“Mutiny?” Snarled Anne.

“No!” came that young voice again, as the illusion around the crew snapped and vanished, revealing a dog beastkin, an elderly muscled man in a cheap wizard's outfit, a dapper looking gentleman dressed as a ringmaster, and a pair of halven girls. It was the dark-haired halven who had spoken, and she fanned silvery metal cards in her hand as she glared at Anne. “Justice!”

Anne's face filled with fury...

...and the ship shuddered and abruptly stopped, and sent Threadbare flying toward the edge.