| "Batchelor(ette)
Party(ing)"
by M. Mitchell Marmel & E.O. Costello © 2010 by M. Mitchell Marmel and E.O. Costello Willow Fawnsworthy, Reggie Buckhorn, Franklin Stagg, Orrin Brush, and Leslie duCleds, © Eric Costello Rosie Baumgartner, Inocenta duCleds (nee de Ciervos) Marryin’ Sam and Lulubelle Mae Brunswick © M. Mitchell Marmel Ranua Milikonu, Lisa Fallingwater, and Brenda and Covina Johnson © Walter D. Reimer Katie MacArran and Heloise the Huntress © J. T. Urie Chapter Eight
I jammed my RINS baseball cap a bit more firmly on my head so the wind wouldn’t blow it into the harbor. As it was, it was a nice warm night – “soft” weather I heard someone call it once. The speedboat was a rich man’s toy that we had confiscated a year earlier. Seemed he wanted to try smuggling just for the sport of it. I hope he has fun quarrying rock up in Tillamook for the next two years. Builds muscles and character. It was a nice boat though, and even with six furs aboard it didn’t seem to strain the engines. “There it is!” the lookout yelped, and he swept the searchlight over the stern of the yacht as Dick throttled the boat’s engine back. “Hmm, the ‘Happy Trails’ out of Singapore.” I folded up the list I had in my paw and shoved it into a pocket. “I wonder what’s wrong.” The yacht, a sleek craft a hundred feet long, was moving entirely at the whim of the tides and the warm May breeze. The lights were on, and . . . “Music?” “Sounds like jazz,” Marten offered with a smile. “Guess there’s a party going on.” “Well, party or not, we need to get aboard and stop it before it hits something. Take us in closer.” The yacht’s boarding ladder was down, which made it easy to tie the speedboat fast to the ladder. I almost drew my pistol, but decided against it. I had to know what was going on first. Dick saw me starting up the ladder and asked, “Are you sure you want to go first, sir?” Luckily it was dark, so no one could see me blushing. “It’s in the Rules.” The weasel nodded as several of the team members chuckled softly. “Sorry, sir. Just asking.” I crept up the ladder and stepped onto the main deck. Hmm. No sign of anyone, but the music was louder and coming from inside. The rest of the team was at my back and I walked aft to a large, glassed-in cabin. “It’s a party, all right,” I said. “Not a man in sight, either . . .” My ears stood up on end. I hadn’t seen some of what was going on in there outside of ‘fertility rituals’ that some enterprising girls concoct for tourists. One sailor craned past me and remarked, “Hmm! An all-girl party, hah? Pity we got th’ duty tonight, eh Ensign?” “Yeah, it’s a damn shame.” Well, what did you want me to do? Disagree with him? “Mr. Marten, take three with you and search the ship. I need to know if there’s any crew, and why this ship’s drifting.” “Yes, sir.” The weasel selected his team and the quartet moved forward. I squared my shoulders and said, “Okay, we go in and try to find out what’s going on.” The others nodded, trying hard not to smile. ***
I was just starting my next set when the door of the cabin opened. The mouthpiece just hung on my lip as the rest of the musicians stopped, and everyone (who wasn’t otherwise occupied or unconscious) turned to look. Yummy. Three guys, all canine. The one with the ensign’s stripe on his jumpsuit spoke with a Spontoonie accent. “I’m Ensign Milikonu of the Naval Syndicate. I need to talk to this ship’s captain, please.” ***
The cry was largely unanimous. “OOOH! SAILORS!” One of the girls, a hyena, squealed, “It’s a MAY-UN!” Another yelled back, “We can SEE that, Lena!” And things started to get out of paw. Fast. Or into paw. Faster. Into *paws*, that is. This was NOT covered in training. ***
Oy. If anything, the party (what I can recall of it after the Navy showed up) was getting even more enthusiastic. I was feeling pretty numb by this point. So were some of the guys, I should imagine. At least I was still moving about under my own steam, unlike one poor guy, a wirehair terrier who looked vaguely familiar, who was tied to a chair and surrounded by five completely naked femmes, dancing around him and whooping in Red-Indian fashion. Lucky guy. I saw Willow curled up between two chairs and I started across the deck to wake her up or move her to a stateroom (didn’t need to have any of the other girls pounce on her – it’d make for embarrassing revelations come the dawn) when the deck suddenly pitched hard to one side. I didn’t think I was *that* drunk. The deck stayed tilted, which caused bottles, glasses and the occasional sleeping woman to slide into a heap. A lot of the still-aware girls who managed to stay on their feet started laughing and applauding. I suppose a pirate sub could have torpedoed us and they’d still think it was great fun. I picked myself up and asked the obvious. “What the yiff was that?” ***
I recall waking up when I was thrown out of bed. Then I realized it wasn’t a bed, but two chairs shoved together. And there was a dead yak perched on my tongue. The party was still going on, though, so I curled up and went back to sleep. As I drifted off I could hear whistles, which almost drowned out Grace’s tut-tutting. ***
Inocenta hear the whistles, and they come from outside the boat. Inocenta go out on the deckie and see furs climbing the stairs. Inocenta no know who they are. But the party cannot have the crashers. No! Is not proper. ***
“Hark!” I couldn’t believe my eyes. Inocenta stood at the top of the gangway with a pile of cast-off shoes, yelling in Spanish and heaving shoes at whoever was coming up the stairs.  Inocenta du Cleds valiantly defends the ship against the boarders. Art by Seth C. Triggs - http://www.bibp.com/ I thought she’d only throw a few pairs, but tonight, she threw them all. There were voices and shouts, and more whistles before a trio of furs in Constabulary uniforms managed to get past the shoes and swarm Cupcake du Cleds. There went our first line of defense against party crashers. ***
“Constabulary! You’re all under arrest!” “Sarge, most of ‘em are sound asleep, or out like lights.” A disgusted sigh. “Fine. Carry ‘em down the gangway and pitch ‘em in the water – see if that sobers any of ‘em up.” I squinted as I picked myself up and headed out of the stateroom. There was a guy standing by the rail. Damn. The deck’s still tilted, and I just want to head in that direction. There was a splash, and I reached where the guy was standing. “Everyone into the pool!” I shouted, grabbed the surprised constable and pitched him over the rail. Seemed the thing to do at the time. An Ambassadress has to be a vixen of action at all times. ***
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” Aw, Mummy, c’mon . . . I don’ wanna go to school today . . . The paw shaking me awake was insistent, and I opened my eyes to see a mel in Constabulary uniform standing over me. “Good morning, Miss Fawnsworthy,” he said politely. “I’m afraid you’re under arrest.” “Okay,” I said, and went back to sleep. ***
“Mother-Compassionate assist. Release you quickly, Ensign,” one of the constables said. Of course, he and the others laughed even as they cut through the collection of ropes, belts and women’s underwear that had me tied to the chair. “To be amusing as fur-rot,” I said in Spontoonie. I figured I’d apologize to him later. It *was* embarrassing as hell. A close second was the feel of pawcuffs on my wrists and the constable telling me that I and my whole crew were under arrest. ***
I was being escorted down the gangway (as Ambassador, I had the right to go first) and some wiseacre was popping flashbulbs in my face. I kept my eyes closed until I could recognize her – Missy Aha, from the Elele. Oh, hell. “No pictures!” I said, and I lunged, grabbing at her camera. She dodged, I caught her tail, and we both went splat in the mud. I think we wrestled around in the mud for a few moments before the Constabulary stopped gawking and whistling and got us separated. There were a few other flashbulbs going off, and at one point as I got to all fours I became aware of something. Something sobering. “Where’s my underwear?” I asked no one in particular. next |