“It doesn’t seem like that at all,” said Slick. His belief in the ogre’s story hadn’t wavered.
“All right,” Dunk said, “let’s check this out.”
Moments later, the five of them were out on the beach, staring at the ship. “How are we supposed to get back there without the dinghy?” Lästiges asked. “I’m not that good a swimmer.”
“But Dunk and I are,” said Dirk. He started stripping to his shorts. Dunk did the same.
“I’m coming too,” said Spinne.
Dunk shook his head. “We need you to stay behind with Lästiges. She can’t defend herself like you can.”
“Hey!” said Lästiges. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”
“Don’t forget me,” said Slick. “I’m a lousy swimmer.”
Spinne rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said to Dunk, “but hurry back.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss.
Right then, Dunk knew that, whatever he’d done last night and however he’d screwed it up this morning, he and Spinne would be all right.
Dunk and Dirk dived into the surf and crawled their way through the salty water to the Fanatic. It was a long and tiring haul, and more than once, Dunk thought that it would have been better to go back. Instead, he kept pushing on, neither Dirk nor him wanting to be the first to suggest giving up.
Dunk wondered where Edgar and M’Grash could have got to. As he and Dirk reached the ship, he spied Edgar standing at the bow, a branch raised to shade his eyes as he looked out over the deep blue sea to the mainland beyond the island. Of M’Grash, though, he saw no clue.
Dunk and Dirk finally made it to the rope ladder that they’d descended into the dinghy just the day before. Dunk pulled himself up it first with Dirk close behind.
As he clambered over the gunwale, Dunk spotted M’Grash sitting in the centre of the main deck, his knees curled tight to his chest, his back to the ladder. The massive ogre’s body shook with silent sobs.
“M’Grash,” Dunk called tentatively, “are you all right?”
The ogre looked up from where he’d buried his head in his arms. His face was red and puffy, and his arms were soaked with tears.
“All gone, Dunkel. All gone!”
Dunk scanned the deck as he approached the ogre and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. If there was anyone on the ship besides Dunk, Dirk, M’Grash, and Edgar, he was an excellent sneak.
The ship should have been bustling with activity. The crew should have been getting the rigging ready for the ship to start moving again. The Hackers, what was left of them, should have been training on the main deck. The fans should have been making drunken fools of themselves.
Instead, the deck stood empty, and the sails flagged in the faltering wind.
“What happened?” asked Dunk. He pointed to Dirk and then the hatch that led to the below decks. The man took off running.
Dirk went to the empty bridge. As he did, he stepped over a bunch of what looked to be red-tipped toothpicks. He stared around the boat. No one was there, not even the unlucky soul who’d been stuck in the crow’s nest.
The ship had been abandoned, and he and the others were alone.
“We can’t turn around and go home,” Dunk said.
“Why not?” asked Lästiges. “Is it because of your darling sister? If she wanted to see you so badly, she should have come to Altdorf or Bad Bay, or even Magritta, to see you. You and Dirk are superstars. It’s not as if you’re hard to find.”
“No,” Dunk said.
“Is it because you can’t leave the others behind? Anything that could take every one of them away and not leave a trace of a struggle isn’t something the seven of us could stand up against. It’s a lost cause. Hear me? Lost cause.”
“She’s got you there,” said Dirk. “We found dinner plates still sitting on the table in the mess, half filled with food. Anything that can pry the ship’s crew, much less the fans, away from food, we don’t stand a chance against.”
“No,” said Dunk, “it’s not any of that.”
“Then what?” Lästiges said. “It’s because it’s not the ‘heroic’ thing to do, running off with your tail between your legs? No one has to know. I’ll shut off my camra and destroy its memory.”
The camra squealed, but Lästiges backed the floating globe into a corner with a dirty look.
“No,” said Dunk, “it’s because seven people can’t sail a ship this size. We wouldn’t be able to keep her underway, no matter how badly we might want to go home.”
“Leave it to you to come up with whatever excuse you can find,” said Lästiges. “Leave it to your brother and me. We’ll be back in the Old World soon, and you’ll be warming the inside of a man-sized pot somewhere in the jungle.”
“You’re welcome to try and sail the ship back,” Spinne said, stepping into Lästiges’s face. “You’ll get just as far with the Fanatic as you have with your career: nowhere.”
“Hey, now,” said Dirk, “you can’t talk to my woman like that.”
“But she can do the same to my man?”
“That’s different,” said Dirk, “Dunk’s my brother, family. You can pick on family all you want.”
“Then I’ll pick on you. How about you learn how to pick a woman who’s not such a complete idiot?”
Dunk stepped in between Dirk and Spinne. “Stop it,” he said. “We don’t have the time to fight each other. We need to figure out what happened, and fast.”
“So you can sweep in and be the big hero, just like always?” said Lästiges.
“So we can keep the same thing from happening to us.”
Lästiges blanched and fell silent. “That couldn’t…” She turned away, and Dirk went to her, collecting her in his arms.
“Humans,” Edgar said to M’Grash. The treeman stood next to the ogre, the surf lapping at his roots and M’Grash’s feet. “I’ll never understand all their blather.”
The ogre looked up at the treeman and gave him an understanding nod. Slick chimed in with a deep sigh.
“You’d think someone had asked them to build a stadium with their bare hands,” the halfling said. “It’s not that tough. Just go to Mr. Doarke and explain what’s happened. He’ll have answers.”
“What if he’s behind it all?” asked Lästiges.
“You should stick to reporting the news rather than getting involved in it,” Slick said as kindly as he could. “Doarke couldn’t have been involved in this.” He raised a hand to cut her off. “Nor could have Jiminy or any of the Moral Reefers.”
“How can you be so sure?” Lästiges asked.
“We slept in Doarke’s mansion last night, all of us twisted with spirits. If he’d wanted to remove us, he could have done so while we slept, and none of us could have stopped him.”
That shut Lästiges up for the moment.
“You’re right,” said Dunk. “Let’s go talk to Doarke.”
When they reached the whitewashed mansion, Doarke and Tat II were standing on the front porch, waiting for them. “How can I help you, my friends?” Doarke wore a wide, toothy, yet relaxed grin.
“Our captain and his crew,” said Dunk, “they’re gone.”
Doarke pursed his lips at this. “Ah, how unfortunate. I never guessed that they would be so bold as to take on such a large and vital ship as yours.”
“You know who did this,” said Dirk.
“Allow me to explain.”
“No, boss,” Tat II said softly, “allow me to explain.”
“What was that last word?”
“Explain! Explain!” the little man shouted.
Dunk shrugged and gestured for Tat II to go ahead.
“My people, the pygmy halflings, they tired of losing the Tobazco Bowl every year.”
“You mean, tired of getting slaughtered playing in the tournament,” Jiminy said, joining the group on the mansion’s wide and lovely porch. He sat back in a wide, white, wicker chair and strummed his guitar. “Did your shrinky-dink people ever win
a game?”
“Never.”
“But they keep trying.”
“They do not give up easily.”
“Or learn lessons well.”
Tat II scoffed. “They managed to abduct the entire crew of a galleon. They’re doing something right.”
Jiminy played a few bars of “What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor?”
Tat II started to say something to the man, but Doarke stepped in to set things right. “I’m afraid your friends are all in vile danger. If you are to keep them alive, you should listen to what Tat II has to say. No one knows more about the pygmy halflings than he does.”
“He’s one of them,” Lästiges said. “How can we trust him?”
“He has been in my service since I saved his life over ten years ago. He has never once betrayed me. He bears no love for his people, as they would not have him.”
Tat II basked in Doarke’s praise and then spoke. “My people wish to increase their strength for the next game. To their way of thinking, the best way to do this is to devour their foes.”
“You mean metaphorically,” Dunk said, “right?”
Tat II shook his head. “No, literally.”
Dunk stopped cold. “They’re cannibals?”
“That’s such a harsh term. They prefer to be thought of as ‘not terribly picky eaters’.”
When Tat II saw Dunk staring at him, he continued, “Have you ever eaten man flesh? It’s awful. Stringy and fatty at the same time.” He noticed the revulsion growing on the humans’ faces and tried to make up for it in his own way. “At least the stuff we get around here. A Blood Bowl player from the Old World might be a lot tastier.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Spinne.
“Our people only believe in eating creatures they personally best in combat. We end up chewing on a lot of pineapple, coconuts too.”
Slick stepped forward, rubbing his belly. “Now listen to me, son. A lot of the people on your friends’ menu are friends of ours, so I have one question, and one question only. How can we stop this?”
Tat II smiled. Then he frowned. “I don’t know.”
Dunk leaned down and picked up the little man by the back of his collar. He held him dangling in front of him, his feet kicking like those of a hanged man. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“Please, Mr. Hoffnung,” said Doarke, “you are our guests. There is no reason to treat my associate so.”
“Where I come from, we don’t offer up our guests for somebody else’s dinner. We call that murder and betrayal, and we deal with it accordingly.”
Tat II stopped struggling, and his feet hung still. He forced a smile and spoke. “Why, they are on the Island of Sacrifices, of course. That’s where all of the pygmy halflings live, except for me.”
Dunk winced at the name of the place. He held Tat II closer to his face. “And where is that?” he asked.
“It’s the next island up the chain towards Amazon Island. After that there’s Tobazco, Xocibiki, and then Amazon Island in the mouth of the Amaxon River. Past that, you get to Lustria.”
Dunk put Tat II down gently on his feet. He stared past the little man at Doarke. “How can we get there?”
“A boat is the best way.” The suave man smiled nervously, his facade beginning to crack.
“We don’t have a boat,” Dunk said evenly.
Doarke clapped his hands, eager to finally have a problem he could solve. “We have a boat we will lend you. We can even send Tat II along as a guide.”
“We can’t trust him,” said Dirk.
Dunk considered this. Although Tat II didn’t seem like much of a threat, his people did. The Hackers, or those that remained free, had been taken without a fight, and Dunk would never have believed that possible if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
“You’re taking us,” he said to Doarke.
“Ah, but I cannot. I have too many duties here.”
“I’ll do it,” said Jiminy, a sparkle in his eye. “I’m always game for a little adventure.”
All eyes focused on the man with the guitar.
“What’s in it for you?” asked Slick.
“The story.” Jiminy’s grin grew wider. “What else is there?”
20
Doarke’s boat wasn’t much larger than the Fanatic’s dinghy. “She’s got a sail,” Jiminy said, pointing at the single mast, which stood bare, “but we’re heading into the wind and rough seas. Better to put our backs into it for such a short voyage.”
“Whose backs?” Dunk asked. Jiminy pointed to the four oars hanging from the side of the boat, and grinned.
Dunk, Spinne, Dirk and Lästiges sat in the middle, working the oars. Slick sat up front, along with Jiminy, who beat out a time for the rowers on the front of his guitar, and then used the rhythm to segue into a cheery song about boat drinks adorned with tiny umbrellas.
Edgar floated along behind the craft. M’Grash used him like a gigantic kickboard, propelling them both through the water.
The Island of Sacrifices seemed much like Columbo’s Island, save for the greeting party. Instead of Mr. Doarke, Tat II, and their band, a sole pygmy halfling with a tubby belly and bronzed skin stood on the shore, waiting for the boat to arrive. He wore a grass skirt that reached below his knees, and nothing else.
Edgar and M’Grash hit the beach first. The ogre helped tip the treeman upright again, and then went back to haul the boat clear onto dry land. The people inside had to hold on for their lives. Jiminy hadn’t been quite ready for the big tug, and he went tumbling off into the surf. He arose a moment later, holding the guitar aloft like a trophy, a bewildered crab hanging from the strings.
“That’s some arm you got there,” Jiminy said to M’Grash. “You can crew my boat any time.”
Seeing that the singer was all right, Dunk turned to the tiny halfling, who had stood silent and still as a statue through their arrival. He strode up to the pygmy halfling and knelt before him, crouching over farther to be able to face him eye to eye.
“I’m told you have our friends,” Dunk said, “the people from the big ship.”
The pygmy halfling nodded.
“We would like you to set them free.”
The pygmy halfling shook his head.
Dunk thrust his thumb over his shoulder at M’Grash. “Then give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have my friend dropkick you onto the next island.”
The pygmy halfling craned his neck back to stare up the full height of the ogre. He giggled nervously.
“Then you will never see your friends.”
“Have you already eaten them?”
The pygmy halfling pursed his lips. “We wanted to, but they are still sleeping. They taste better if they’re scared when they go into the pot.”
Dunk waved M’Grash over.
“What’s your name?” he asked the pygmy halfling.
“Big Richard.”
“Thanks for coming out to say hello, Richard,” Dunk said. “Goodbye.”
As the ogre reached down for the pygmy halfling, the little man squealed. “Wait! We don’t have to eat your friends. We don’t want to eat your friends.”
Dunk signalled for M’Grash to stop, but not until after the ogre had grabbed Big Richard by the scruff of his well-tanned neck.
“Explain,” Dunk said.
“We just want to live.”
Dunk squinted at Big Richard. He brought down his hand, and M’Grash set the little man down.
“Then you should start explaining yourself better,” said Dunk.
Big Richard stammered for a moment before finding his footing, and then began. “Every year, our chief insists on us playing in the Tobazco Bowl, and every year we get slaughtered.”
“What do you expect?” asked Dirk. “It would be like playing against a team of three-year-olds.”
“I don’t mean we get beat,” said Big Richard. “I mean we get slaughtered. We’re lucky if the other teams beat us into the turf and leave
us for dead. Then we might have a chance to survive. The Amazons are sometimes that kind.
“The lizardmen skin us and eat us, sometimes while we’re still kicking.”
“You mean they eat you alive?” asked Spinne, aghast.
“That too, but I meant during the opening kick-off. The only time our team managed to make it to half-time was against the Jaxonville Werejaguars.”
“Really?” said Lästiges. “They sound like a tough enough team.”
“They are. They just like to play with their food before they eat it. They wanted to make us last for the whole game, but they got hungry during halftime and finished the last of us off.”
“Why do you keep playing?” asked Edgar. “Watch the game from the bloody sidelines.”
“We’d like to, but our coach, Hoody Wayes, insists on putting up a team every year, even though we get killed. We have a lottery just before each tournament, and the ‘winners’ are compelled to join the team.”
“Compelled?”
“You play or have your still-beating heart torn from your chest on the Altar of Sacrifices.” He leaned in confidentially. “We’re big on sacrifices here, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Isn’t there any way out of it?” asked Dunk.
“One,” said Big Richard. “You just have to find someone else to take your place.”
“Ah,” Slick said, reaching out and patting the little halfling on the shoulder. “So that’s what this is all about.”
Big Richard nodded. “We figured who would be better to take our place than a world-champion team of Blood Bowl players?” He looked up at the others with wide, pleading eyes. “You’d survive for sure. You might even win.”
Dunk looked at the others. Dirk fidgeted on his feet. Spinne had clearly already made up her mind to play for the pygmy halflings. Lästiges shrugged. “I’m not playing for anyone,” she said.
“Let them bloody die,” Edgar said. “They’re rude little pests without a bloody whit of manners.”
Big Richard started to protest, but Dunk shut him up with a sharp gesture.
“You’re right,” Dunk said to the treeman. “It’s one thing to ask for help, but something else entirely to kidnap most of the team and hold them hostage.”
[Blood Bowl 04] - Rumble in the Jungle Page 15
