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Salty and Barny were standing on the bar, whiskey dribbling around their bare feet (sometime in the course of the evening, they'd managed to lose their shoes and most of their clothing bar their underwear), and singing unintelligible sea shanties that no one else knew but seemed to involve a lot of shouting, "Me hearties!" and throwing bottles at Troy. Quarty lay stretched out on top of a table, with a stupid grin all over his handsome blue face, as if he didn't care that he was slowly sliding into a vertical position - albeit an upside-down one. Casanova was toasted enough to bawl his eyes out at Chris Rea's "Lady in Red" and announce to Celeb and Tux that all he wanted was "a meaningful relationship". And at at least one instance in the evening, Slugger was heard to confide in Molder that having him for a brother-in-law would be a magnificent honour, and if Skully didn't agree then she was an ignorant female (or words to that effect) and he'd have to have words with her.
As if all this raucous male intoxication were not enough, the women of Quacker County were gathered in another corner, sipping red wine and champagne, and affecting to despise the men for their lack of self-control. Yet when even Doc Lacey and Bridget grew agreeable, and Joan of Arc started making sense, everyone agreed that the party was just getting started and began knocking back double shots.
All this alcohol-fuelled debauchery meant that the younger generation had been left unattended for the evening. Well, Howie was technically supposed to be in charge, but a few Dews and Howie was anybody's. So the fat little whale sat on the beach, slugging Dew with Owie and Mowie and singing at the top of his squeaky little whalem voice, while the children of Quacker County indulged in some of their favourite activities. Dibbles and Nibbles attacked Shang's identical twin sister in the mistaken belief that it was Shang himself; while the real Shang took Poseidon off for some snugglebumming round the back of the Mansion. Natasha was using Norman as a trampoline and bellowing incomprehensible rubbish in perfect Russian. Lucky and Elizabeth had disappeared off somewhere, and the rest amused themselves by playing with matches and running around with pens in their mouths.
All except for Mac and Marty who, being the good little kids that they are, had eaten all the candy and gone to bed early feeling sick. After throwing up once, Marty was exhausted and promptly went to sleep, but Mac lay awake, listening to the distant noise of grown adults falling over each other and seaponies bitchslapping those babies stupid enough to try to go midnight skinnydipping.
Man, was it ever hot! Mac swiped his brow. His throat felt as parched as if he had just swallowed a cactus with sunburn. He twisted and tossed, getting so tangled up in the sheet that he eventually toppled out of bed looking like a Christmas present that FedEx had put through the mangler. Rising awkwardly he shook the sheet off and decided to go downstairs and get a drink. Maybe Howie had missed a few cans.
As Mac left the room, outside, in a tree opposite the bedroom window, a pair of binoculars flashed in the moonlight, and in the bushes below tiny bright eyes peered out of the darkness.
Poseidon and Shang were getting more comfortable together in the shrubbery when Poseidon suddenly pulled back.
"What's that?" she hissed.
"What's what?" asked Shang, a little irritably, because he had been moving in for a kiss and had bumped his nose into Poseidon's ear instead.
"Shh, listen!" Poseidon told him. They both listened. They heard the wind sigh in the trees. They heard the sea whisper along the beach. They heard Salty belch.
"It was your imagination," Shang said. "Now, no talk - let's snuggle!"
Poseidon pushed him away. "I'm telling you, I heard something. There!" she squeaked, pointing. "Didcha see, didcha see??"
"See what?" asked Shang, following her finger which led straight to a large shrub.
"It moved."
Shang was just about to say that if Poseidon didn't want to snuggle she could just say so, when the bush gave a mighty shake and the words died on his lips. In fact, he couldn't speak at all, except in strangled squeaks which, if they meant anything, meant something only to whales, and even then probably all they meant was, "Chicken soup! Chicken soup!" Which wasn't very appropriate given the danger the two pubes found themselves in.
A quick wallop round the head, and Poseidon and Shang lay stretched unconscious on the ground. Feet pounded around them; there was some hasty whispering, and something silver was dropped on the ground. More whispering, and then the feet scurried off towards the Mansion, leaving the pube-lovers behind.
Mac, meanwhile, blissfully unaware of the sinister goings-on around him, was busy crawling into the back of the mega-refridgerator, looking hopefully for any Dew that Howie hadn't got his grubby little flippers on. He pushed impatiently past half-eaten chicken carcasses, bowls of chocolate pudding, a whole bottle of Sunny D which Royal Blue had bought on a whim one day and no one had ever touched, and a frosty pair of socks which Salty had put there on one of those rare occasions when he was sober. All that could be seen of him was two little blue feet, waving wildly in the air.
A door closed somewhere in the Mansion and Mac paused. Now who could that be? Mac was pretty sure Quarty and Royal Blue would not be back all night - and probably most of the next day. The rest of Quarty's spawn were running riot in the streets.
"Marty?" he hissed. "That you?"
There was a sound of scuffling in the hallway.
"Marty?" Mac repeated suspiciously.
Silence. Mac listened, frowning, for a few minutes; then shrugged his shoulders as best he could (being wedged between sixpacks of beer at the time) and continued his exploration of the fridge.
Behind him and unseen, the kitchen door creaked open and dozens of sharp little eyes crowded together to look through the crack. Softly - softly - feet pattered across the tile floor. Quick, furtive little whispers hissed back and forth: "Is that him?" "Yeah, that's the one." "Who's got the rope?" "You sure about this?"
There was an almighty crash in the back of the refrigerator, and some muffled and inappropriate-for-baby-ponies language which froze the intruders in their footsteps. Mac had upturned an entire angelfood cake all over himself.
"Awwww, Mom's gonna kill me!" Mac moaned to himself, trying to scrape icing and cake out of his hair. The creamy filling slithered down his neck and over his pyjamas, and jam clogged his ears. There was still no Mountain Dew in sight.
Then Mac felt something brushing against his foot. He squealed - for he was ticklish in that area - and heard cries of alarm (muffled, due to the jam in his ears). Mac frowned and tried his best to turn and look behind him. With angelfood cake gunging up his eyes, and being almost at the back of the fridge this wasn't easy.
Something round and pink wobbled into view.
"Marty!" began Mac in annoyance. "Whaddya think you're - -AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
For Mac had felt hands grab his ankles and give a sudden, massive PULL. Left-over salad, key lime pie and Quarty's beer were knocked everywhere. Mac got lettuce down the front of his pajamas, pie over his tail and beer in his mane, to add to the cake already there. The bottle of Sunny D burst open when he hit it, and some of the foul orange fluid actually ended up in Mac's mouth, making him gag.
Mac came out of the fridge like the cork out of Salty's bottle and, being covered in various forms of squashed and gloopy foodstuffs, shot across the kitchen floor, scattering bodies as he went. He banged into the workunit and sat up, a little dazed. Through cake and pie and dribbling liquids of various sorts, he saw strange shapes moving. He swiped his eyes with the back of his hands, then stared in big-eyed baby terror as he realized what kind of terrible evil he was facing.
He opened his mouth. "HEY!!! - -"
BOINK! Mac slumped back against the workunit, knocked out cold. He didn't stir as his still blue form was bound with rope and bundled into a sack which smelled strongly of potatoes. The sack was lifted up with quite a struggle and the intruders stumbled about, unbalanced by the weight of one spoiled precocious brat. But eventually they managed to leave the mansion, bumping into tables and smashing one of Royal Blue's favourite lamps on the way out. Like dragon-dancers drunk at a Chinese New Year parade, they meandered their way through the garden and disappeared into the night, while the whale-song arose out at sea and Salty's belching echoed across the Waterway.
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