Word Count: 197
Summary: "With a rope." Mattes waits for the opportune moment.
"Mattes!" Clary shouted, ducking as a chair flew over her head where she had been standing moments earlier. "Damn you sarden loobies," she screeched at the Rats she had cornered in the old workhouse by the docks.
"Matthias Tunstall, you get your sarden bum down here NOW!"
No familiar solid footsteps came in her direction, and Clary was forced to throw up her baton again, blocking the wooden stave that one of the Rats had found lying around. Her foot curled up to strike him solidly in the gut, throwing him back against his partner, and she abandoned them to turn and swing at the third before he could run forward.
Clary's words were cut off as the sound of rustling fabric came from above her head, drawing her attention up just as a black shape dropped from the rafters. She hit the floor as Mattes, clinging to a rope, swung over her and slammed heels-first into the last Rat.
"You called?" Mattes asked gallantly, releasing the rope and offering her a hand up.
"Never," she gasped, catching her breath and unsure of whether or not to laugh at her partner, "do that again."