“Kur Ritternacht, starting thrower for the Bad Bay Hackers,” Dunk announced brightly to the Orcs assembled around the room, who stared first at Kur, who was still lying on their banquet table, and then him. Dunk pointed to the red Deff Skwadd jersey he wore. Then, before he backed out of the room and closed the doors behind him, he called out, “Consider him a gift from a fan!”
The screams and pleas for pity that emanated from Da Deff Skwadd’s year-end dinner followed Dunk all the way out to the street. He tried to stop himself from smiling but failed utterly.
The next morning, Slick and Dunk reported for the game at the Hackers’ locker room as if nothing had happened. Dunk wore another set of monk’s robes to the stadium, and Slick used his personal pass to walk him straight past the tight security.
Once inside the locker room, Dunk held back near the exit and Slick walked straight up to Pegleg. The coach didn’t wait for the halfling to speak before laying into him. He snagged Slick’s shoulder with his hand and said, “What kind of stunt was that your boy pulled last night, Mr. Fullbelly? It’s less than an hour before the biggest game in this team’s history, and I don’t have a single thrower to show for it!”
Pegleg held up his hook, which had a deflated football impaled on the end of it. “I even thought of playing the position myself,” he said, “but I’m just not equipped for it!”
“Calm yourself, Pegleg,” Slick said smoothly. “Don’t fear. I have the solution for you right here.”
The halfling motioned to Dunk, who drew back his hood again and strode up to Pegleg. “Ready and reporting for duty, coach,” he said.
“Dunkel!” M’Grash cheered. Everyone else in the room simply gaped at the rookie as if he were some sort of ghost.
Pegleg frowned and narrowed his eyes at the thrower. “You had this in mind all along, didn’t you, Mr. Hoffnung?”
Dunk started to nod proudly, but Pegleg cut him short, brandishing his football-blunted hook at him. “I should gut you right here!” he shouted.
M’Grash stepped forward and covered Pegleg’s hook and ball with a monstrous hand. “Don’t!” he growled. Then he grinned broadly at Dunk. “My friend!”
Dunk winked at the ogre then stared coldly back at his coach. “If you’d rather I leave,” he started.
At that moment, the door to the locker room slammed open, and Blaque and Whyte stormed in, their wands out and crackling. “Hold it right there!” Blaque shouted at Dunk.
“It’s the Game Wizards,” Slick said in a not terribly convincing tone. “Thank Nuffle you’re here!”
The halfling walked over to Dunk and took him by the hand. “Come with me, son,” he said as he led Dunk over to stand in front of the two GWs, who stood there panting for breath.
“You’ve led us on a merry chase,” Blaque said to Dunk between deep breaths. “But it ends here.”
“That it does, my friends,” Slick said as he presented Dunk to the pair. “I’m pleased to finally hand over this dangerous threat to you.”
Blaque shot Slick a curious look. “The Game Wizards thank you,” he said slowly. “Now, what’s your game?”
“No game,” Slick said. “I just want to make sure that you know that it was Slick Fullbelly who placed Dunk Hoffnung in your hands, right in front of all these wonderful witnesses.”
“You sawed-off bastard,” Dunk growled. “I thought I could count on you!”
“You can mull that over all you like, son,” Slick said with a self-satisfied grin, “while I count every crown in that bounty.”
Blaque looked to Whyte. The elf just shrugged at him and put his hand on Dunk’s shoulder.
“Now wait just a minute,” Pegleg said, his voice coated with menace. “Where do you two think you’re going with my thrower?”
“We’re taking him back to headquarters for now. We’ll schedule a disciplinary hearing after that,” Blaque said. “You’ll be invited to testify on his behalf.”
“Once you get him to wherever you’re taking him,” Pegleg said, “he’ll only be good for playing for the Champions of Death, I’m sure. I need him now!”
Whyte stopped binding Dunk’s hands behind his back with a length of thin rope.
“What happened to Kur?” Blaque said, glancing around the locker room for the veteran.
Pegleg glared at Dunk for an instant before answering. “He took a wrong turn somewhere last night and fell into the wrong hands. He won’t be playing for some time, maybe months, and I need a thrower today!”
“Let me play,” Dunk said to the GWs. “Let me play one last time before you take me away.”
Unsure about all this, Blaque turned to Whyte. “Now that we finally have our hands on this fugitive, does it make sense at all to let him go?”
The elf shook his head slowly. “I just can’t see it.”
“I’ll turn myself back over to you right after the game,” Dunk said. “You have my word on it.”
Blaque burst into laughter at that. Whyte just stood there stoically until his partner finished.
“You want us to take the word of a Blood Bowl player?” Blaque finally said. “You are a rookie.”
“A rookie who’s been bringing in some top ratings!” a voice thundered from the locker room’s entrance. All heads turned to see an angular man in the bright blue robes of a Wolf Sports wizard stroll in through the doorway, his close-cropped white hair swept back in a tight widow’s peak. The smug look on his face told people he thought he owned the place. The phalanx of weapon-bristling bodyguards who surrounded him only emphasised the attitude.
“Ruprect Murdark!” Slick blurted as everyone else in the locker room gasped. “My, what a coincidence that the owner of the Wolf Sports network would grace us with a visit right now.”
The wizard favoured Slick with an arrogant wink. “A true mystery that,” he said, “but that will have to wait for later! Right now, I’m more concerned with that young man’s fate!”
Blaque and Whyte lined up on either side of Dunk and grabbed him by his elbows. “We were just bringing him in, Mr. Murdark,” Blaque said eagerly.
“You’re not taking him anywhere!” the wizard pronounced. His spotless and stylish robes swirled about him as he spoke. “Think of the ratings!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Blaque said. “I don’t believe I understand your meaning.”
“I said, ‘think of the ratings’. Dunk Hoffnung, player on the run, returns to the game for one last match, in the Blood Bowl itself!” Murdark held up his fingers in a wide circle, as if framing a crystal ball.
“The ratings will go through the roof! I only wish I had more time to publicise it! This is high drama! Blood Bowl at its best!”
“But sir…” Dunk felt the Game Wizards’ grips tighten on him as if he might be torn from their grasp at any moment.
“No buts,” Murdark said. “That man plays today! Let him go, or I’ll fire you both on the spot!” Sparks of energy crackled between the wizard’s fingers as he spoke, the electric arcs dancing wildly in his eyes. “And that will be the least of your troubles!”
Blaque turned as pale as Whyte. The dwarf gaped at Murdark for a moment, then glanced over at the elf, his eyes pleading for some kind of advice. Whyte had none to give.
The dwarf grimaced as he looked up at Dunk and said, “All right. One last game.”
“Don’t get your robes in a bunch!” Murdark said with a smug smile. “You can arrest him again right after the game! No better way to cap a Blood Bowl tournament than a public execution!”
Dunk shot a frightened look at Slick. The halfling shrugged at him with a nervous smile. “That’s entertainment,” he said.
34
“Blood Bowl fans of all ages,” Bob’s voice said, ringing out over Emperor Stadium, “welcome to the ninety-eighth Blood Bowl!”
The roar shook the stadium to its roots and gave Dunk reason to wonder if a sufficiently loud noise could actually stop a beating heart. Standing in the dugout, he stared out at the stands before him and held his b
reath. This was the sort of adulation and attention reserved only for kings and emperors, and only rarely then. Dragon slayers never rated this.
To start the game, Jim and Bob announced the names of each of the players on both teams as they trotted out to the centre of the freshly re-laid Astrogranite field, waving at the crowd and absorbing the raw power of all that intense, nearly tangible emotion focused on them. The announcers got through all of the names on both of the team lists, and Dunk found himself standing in the Hackers’ dugout alone. For a moment, he feared that Blaque and Whyte had changed their minds and would snatch him up there on the spot. Then he heard Bob’s voice again.
“Last but certainly not least, we have the Hackers’ starting thrower: Kuuuuurrr—”
“Hold it, Bob,” Jim’s voice said. “We have a last-minute substitution here. It’s — Nuffle’s spiked balls! In as the Hackers’ starting thrower: Dunkel Hoffnung!”
The crowd went insane. Dunk kept his head down and trotted out to the middle of the field where the rest of his team was waiting for him. As he did, he saw Dirk and Spinne standing with the Reavers on the other side of the referee holding the game coin in the middle of the field. They stared at him with open mouths.
“Talk about the comeback of the year!” Bob’s voice said.
Dunk raised his hand to acknowledge the crowd’s exultant roar of approval. As he did, he knew that he’d play this game until the day he died. There was simply no better place for him to be.
The Hackers won the coin toss, and Cavre informed the ref that the team would receive the ball. When the two teams met to shake hands before heading to their own ends of the field, Dirk and Spinne grabbed Dunk.
“What are you doing here?” Dirk demanded. “The GWs will haul you in for sure.”
“They already have,” Dunk said. “I’m just here to do a job.”
“What could that possibly be?” Spinne asked.
Dunk discovered that he enjoyed the note of concern in her voice. “If I help the Hackers lose the game, the Gobbo will pin all the killings on Zauberer instead. I’ll be a free man.”
Dirk and Spinne glanced at each other, looks of horror painted on their faces.
“Can I count on your help?” Dunk asked.
Dirk grimaced. “Normally, sure, but…”
“What is it?”
Spinne spoke up. “Skragger has promised to kill you, Dirk, and everyone else in your family if the Reavers win, especially if Dirk scores three more touchdowns and breaks Skragger’s record.”
Dunk grabbed Dirk by his shoulder pad. “He knows where the rest of our family is?”
“He claims to,” Dirk said. “I’m not willing to risk it.”
The whistle blew to start the game. “What’s the worse fate?” Dunk asked. “Death or prison?”
Dirk frowned before he answered. “You brought it on yourself, Dunk.”
Dirk turned and trotted down to the Reavers’ end of the field. Spinne looked after him in shock for a moment, then turned and gave Dunk a quick kiss. “I’ll talk to him,” she said. “Wish me luck.”
Dunk nodded at her as she took off running. “I hope you kick our asses.”
“Did you see that, Bob?” Jim’s voice said.
“I sure did, Jim! It looks like the rivalry between two of the players down there might be more than just friendly! Let’s see that again!”
Dunk looked up at the massive image displayed on the wall over the end zone and saw Spinne kiss him. The crowed hooted like mad as Dunk strapped on his helmet to hide how much he was blushing.
Moments later, the kick-off sailed down the field toward the Hackers. Cavre fielded the ball and then pitched it over to Dunk.
Dunk fell in step behind M’Grash, who bowled over a pair of Reavers trying to get past him. Then Dunk stepped back and hurled the ball downfield.
The throw sailed wide over the head of Gigia Mardretti and landed in Spinne’s outstretched hands instead.
“Wow!” Bob’s voice said. “It looks like Hoffnung has just given his girlfriend an early birthday present! You don’t see turnovers that clean every day!”
Before Jim’s voice could respond, Gigia charged into Spinne and knocked her flat. The ball rolled from her grasp, and the Hackers’ catcher scooped it up. Another Reaver hit her before she could go another step and the ball game rolled on.
Within minutes the Hackers had scored their first touchdown as Andreas Waltheim ran the ball into the end zone. Dirk should have been able to bring him down, but he seemed to have tripped when trying to tackle the Hacker blitzer.
After the next kick-off, Dirk got the ball and hurled it down the field straight toward Dunk. He caught the ball and ran towards M’Grash again. This time, he flipped the ball to the ogre and shouted, “Cavre’s open. Throw it!”
To Dunk’s knowledge, the ogre had never thrown the ball before in his life. Dunk was sure that M’Grash had plenty of strength for the job, but that wasn’t all there was to throwing the football. He watched as the ogre slung back his arm and then fired it down the field toward the distant Cavre.
A Reaver blitzer dashed over and got in front of the ball. It hit him like a warhammer and knocked him flat, but he kept a hold of it, perhaps because of how it had dented his armour. A nearby Reaver lineman garnered the ball up from his fallen friend and raced it back toward the end zone.
Dunk saw M’Grash heading for the lineman and waved the ogre off. “I got him!” he shouted as he ran toward the ball carrier. The lineman hung out a stiff arm which Dunk promptly collided with and moments later the Reavers’ had their own first touchdown.
By half-time, the Reavers had a 3 to 2 lead over the Hackers. As Dunk and the rest of the players filed into their locker room, Pegleg grabbed the thrower with his hook and pulled him aside.
Out of earshot of the rest of the team, alone in the tunnel, Pegleg shoved his hook into Dunk’s face and said, “What in Nuffle’s sacred rules are you doing out there?”
Dunk decided to play dumb. “I don’t know, coach. I guess I’m still a bit slow from so many weeks off. It’s coming back to me though. I’ll make it up in the second half.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it, Mr. Hoffnung,” Pegleg hissed. “You’re moving around just fine out there. Too well, in fact, for how rotten you’re playing. Answer me this,” he said. “Are you trying to lose this game?”
Dunk hesitated. He wanted to come clean about what he was doing. Maybe the coach could even help him out. He knew that Pegleg wanted to win the game, but perhaps he could see that a loss would be in the Hackers’ long-term interests. After all, it would ensure that both Dunk and M’Grash would be able to keep playing for the team. Otherwise, the Hackers would be gutted.
Dunk looked Pegleg straight in the eye and said, “Yes.”
Pegleg backhanded Dunk with the blunt side of his hook, knocking the thrower to the ground. “Are you out of your damned mind?” he raged at the rookie.
“But coach!” Dunk said, cowering before the man’s wrath. “Let me explain.”
“There is nothing to explain!” Pegleg roared. “You have betrayed the trust of every member of this team.”
“But—” Dunk ducked under another swipe from the coach’s hook, this time with the sharpened end.
“But nothing! I can only assume, Mr. Hoffnung, that someone got to you somehow. This is not the man I’ve watched develop into one of the most promising Blood Bowl players I’ve ever seen. This is not the man who’s gone from a dilettante to a dedicated leader.”
Pegleg leaned over Dunk and shook his hook at him. “I don’t know what they promised you, Mr. Hoffnung. Money, women. Maybe they threatened your life. None of that matters now because you’re life ends here!”
Before Pegleg could slash Dunk’s neck open with his hook, Dunk lashed out and knocked the coach’s legs from under him.
“This is about my life, M’Grash’s life, and the fate of this team,” Dunk grunted as he leapt on top of the c
oach and pinned him to the ground. “If we lose this game, Gunther the Gobbo will provide us with a patsy to pin all those murders on.”
“If you really killed all those people, Mr. Hoffnung, then good riddance to you!” Pegleg snarled as he struggled to pry his hook free from Dunk’s grasp.
“I didn’t do it,” Dunk said. “It was M’Grash!”
Pegleg stopped wrestling against Dunk for a moment. The look in his eyes was tired but still defiant. “So,” he said, “you’re telling me that Mr. Gobbo will provide you and M’Grash, two of my best players, with a clean slate should you lose the game for him?”
Dunk nodded. “It’s all part of the Black Jerseys conspiracy of his. He sets the odds the way he likes and then forces the game to go the way that earns him the most money.”
“Of course he does, Mr. Hoffnung.”
Dunk nearly let go of the coach, but he remembered the man’s vicious hook just in time to keep from being gutted. “You know about this?”
“I read, Mr. Hoffnung, and I’ve been coaching this team for a long time.” Pegleg squinted up at Dunk. “You know what the most stunning thing about this year has been?”
“Getting to play in the Blood Bowl.”
“Certainly, but more than that. It’s that I know this isn’t our year. We didn’t get here on our own. Someone arranged for it.”
“The Gobbo,” Dunk said, exasperated that Pegleg wasn’t getting it.
“No, Mr. Hoffnung,” Pegleg said softly. “It was me.”
This time Dunk did let go of the coach. He leapt backward before Pegleg could renew his attack, but the coach’s hook didn’t twitch as he scrambled up against the wall.
“I am part of the Black Jerseys, Mr. Hoffnung,” Pegleg said as he sat up and placed his back against the tunnel’s opposite wall. “I persuaded Mr. Gobbo to make us the champions this year. I promised him half of our purses all the way through the tournament in exchange for his help.”
“You… you were behind it?” Dunk couldn’t even believe the words as they left his lips.
Pegleg nodded slowly. “And now you tell me that I’ve been double-crossed.” He doffed his yellow tricorn. The wig attached to it came off too, and he sat there with his grey stubble showing.
[Blood Bowl 01] - Blood Bowl Page 27
