“Beer is proof the gods love us and want us to be happy!”
“Right,” a new voice said, “and hangovers are proof they hate us and want us to wish we were dead.”
Dunk’s head snapped around, and his eyes struggled to focus on the speaker. “Funny,” he said, dropping Skragger’s head in the middle of the table, “that sounded just like my old teacher.”
The man standing before Dunk was shorter than him and slighter of frame. He wore his silver hair cropped short over sparkling, grey eyes. His cloak was the same drab colour as the stone walls of the buildings in Altdorf’s ancient quarters. He shook his head as he looked at Dunk, a mixture of disapproval and understanding blended in his face.
“Lehrer?” Dunk said, unsure his drunkenness wasn’t leading him astray.
“Hey, kid.” The man’s raspy voice made Dunk feel like a child again, and he felt aware of how silly he’d been acting. “I’d ask you how you’re doing, but it seems pretty clear.”
“Sit down,” Dunk said, signalling the barmaid to bring them each a drink. “Stay a while.”
“I don’t have long,” Lehrer said, even as he took the offered seat. “The Guterfiends will miss me if I’m gone for too long.”
“Who?” Slick asked. “What’s this all about?”
Dunk, far more sober now, pointed at Lehrer and said. “This man was in charge of security at my family’s estates since before I can remember. He taught me everything I know about fighting, with weapons and without.”
Dunk put a hand on Slick’s shoulder and his other on M’Grash’s arm. “This is Slick Fullbelly — my agent — and M’Grash K’Thragsh, one of my best friends. And that,” he pointed to the miniature helmet in the centre of the table, “I believe you may already know.”
“Is that…?” Lehrer leaned over to peer in through the tiny helmet’s faceplate. “Skragger?”
“Help me, you bastard!” Skragger squeaked.
Lehrer gaped at Dunk and his friends. “How? Did one of you manage this?”
Dunk shook his head. “It was Cavre. Something he learned how to do during his childhood in the Southlands. He says his father was some kind of witch doctor.”
“You lead an interesting life,” Lehrer said, staring at the thing inside the little helmet.
“You don’t know the half of it,” said Slick.
Lehrer grunted at this. “Sadly, I don’t have the time to sit here and catch up the way I probably should. The Guterfiends — who now occupy Dunk’s family home and who cover my wages each week — have apparently decided to give up on their little vendetta against Dunk here. At least, for now.”
“Why’s that?” Dunk asked, hoping he didn’t sound as drunk as he still was.
“After you knocked Skragger’s head off, they went nuts. Would have been ready to burn down half the town if they could’ve guaranteed you’d be in it. They hadn’t said anything to me or anyone else on the old staff up till that point, but they were hopping mad and started screaming how much they wanted you dead.”
“So why don’t I have a dozen assassins chasing me through town?”
“Wiser heads prevailed. Someone who knows you well convinced them that targeting a Blood Bowl player during the week before the final game wasn’t such a bright idea. Said you would all be on high alert, and there was no way a killer could get through such tight security.” He looked around the Skinned Cat and then back at the drunk Dunk. “Sorry to see I was so wrong.”
“What happens after the game?” Slick asked.
Lehrer nodded at Dunk. “The Guterfiends declare open season on him. This time around, they might just put a price on his head and let all comers take a shot at it. Hiring the best guy for the job didn’t work out so well for them last time.” He looked down at Skragger’s head. “Did it?”
Skragger cut loose with a string of curses so evocative that they made Dunk blush. Unperturbed, Lehrer reached over and picked up the head, then dropped it into his beer, where it sank to the bottom, the liquid instantly muffling the creature’s complaints.
Then Dirk walked in. He strode through the front door of the bar as if he owned the place. The regulars in the crowd hailed him, shouting, “Dirk!” in unison. He waved back at them all, not cracking a smile, despite the adoration in the room. When his roving eyes found Dunk, though, he made straight for him.
“Spinne told me she broke it off with you. I thought I might find you here,” Dirk said, looking around the room and then down at Dunk with a hint of disgust. “And maybe like this.”
Dunk waved at his brothers — all three of them.
Dirk scanned the faces of the others at the table. When his gaze lighted on Lehrer, who sat looking straight ahead, stone-faced as ever, his face fell into a sneer. “But I never thought I’d find you with him.”
“Hey,” Dunk said, his head clearing again as he picked up on the implied threat of violence in his brother’s voice. “Aren’t you happy to see an old friend?”
“Friend?” Dirk said, his eyes wide in disbelief. He looked down at Lehrer and bared his teeth as he took a half a step back. “You can’t be that drunk, can you?”
“Hey,” Dunk said, getting a little offended himself now. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know who this is? He’s one of the good guys.” Then he pointed at Dirk. “You, I’m not so sure about. I try to save your life—”
“By trying to arrange for my team to lose in the semi-finals!”
“—and do I see any gratitude? A word of thanks? Maybe my methods were bad—”
“Try ‘the worst ever’.”
“—but my heart was in the right place.” He shook his head which started to swim again at the movement. “All I wanted was to keep you and Spinne safe, and what do I get for that? My girlfriend dumps me, and my brother won’t talk to me!”
“I’m talking to you now,” Dirk said, barely containing his anger. For a moment, Dunk wondered if his brother might launch himself across the table at him.
“So,” Dunk said, mustering every ounce of seriousness he had in him, “what do you have to say?”
Dirk glanced down at Lehrer and edged away from him again before stabbing a finger at Dunk. “You are an idiot! This is the same kind of crap you used to pull when we were growing up. ‘Dirk’s too young. I need to protect him’.”
Dunk started to protest, but Dirk cut him off.
“I’m not finished.” He grimaced and took a deep breath before starting again.
“I’m not a kid any more. I was never that much younger than you. I’m a Blood Bowl star with more seasons under my helmet than you.” He leaned over the table and stabbed his finger into its surface to punctuate every word. “I don’t need your help.”
Dunk looked into his brother’s eyes and saw how badly he’d hurt him. The two had grown closer over the past two years than they had been since they were children racing around the ramparts of the family keep. Until then, Dunk hadn’t realised how much he’d missed that, the connection, and the sense of brotherhood that nothing could sever.
And now he’d done something that seemed like it might cut that bond forever.
“Look,” Dunk said. “I was only trying to help. I tried to warn you and Spinne about the Far Albion Cup. Damn it, I’ve been trying to warn Pegleg too, and nobody seems to want to listen. But this isn’t some kind of game. We’re not playing knights and orcs back in the keep anymore. It’s deadly and real.
“If you had just listened to me—”
“Maybe if you’d stop telling me what to do—”
“Maybe if you didn’t need it so badly—”
“That’s it!” Dirk roared, stepping back. “It’s bad enough that you colluded with the Gobbo to harm my team. That I can forgive. Other teams do it all the damn time. Why shouldn’t you, no matter how ‘noble’ your reasons?”
“See,” Dunk said, “that’s all I was trying to say.”
“But to come in here and see you sitting at a table with him…” Dirk glared
over at Lehrer, who still stared off into space, ignoring him. “That’s just beyond the pale.”
Dunk narrowed his eyes at Dirk. “What are you talking about?” He glanced at Lehrer, then back at Dirk. “That’s our teacher, our mentor. One of our oldest friends. He was best friends with our parents since before we were born.”
“And now he works for our family’s most hated enemies, the Guterfiends,” Dirk said. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”
Dunk stared at his brother. “So do most of the old staff. What else could they do? In case you don’t recall, our parents abandoned the place. All those people needed to eat, Lehrer included.”
Dirk cocked his head at Dunk. “You don’t find it the least bit odd that the Guterfiends would keep on our ‘loyal family friend’ in any capacity? Much less putting him in charge of their security?”
Dunk couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “He just came here to warn me about how the Guterfiends plan to put a price on my head after the Blood Bowl finals. They paid Skragger to try to kill me in the semis.”
Dirk stared at Dunk. “And who do you think hired Skragger in the first place?”
Dunk’s eyes snapped toward Lehrer, but the man had already bolted from his seat and started sprinting for the door.
“Stop him!” Dirk shouted.
Dunk stood up to take after Lehrer. He wanted an explanation for all of this as much as anyone. His legs wobbled beneath him as he did, but he refused to let that stop him.
M’Grash overturned the table as he stood up and started after Lehrer. Only a step later, though, he tripped over the chair that Dirk had left behind as he raced ahead of them.
As the ogre stumbled toward the door, he flailed his arms wildly to try to regain his balance. When it became clear this wouldn’t work, M’Grash leaped for the door instead.
Getting in and out of the Skinned Cat had always been a challenge for M’Grash. Despite how much he liked the place, which always surprised Dunk, it wasn’t built for ogres. The chairs were too small — he’d broken three before the innkeeper had supplied him with a wide bench instead — the tables too fragile, and the steins too small. He’d taken to ordering his drinks by the cask and prying one end off with a battered nail.
So, when M’Grash’s off-balance bulk smashed into the door that he’d had to so carefully navigate in the past, he didn’t fit through it smoothly. In fact, he didn’t fit through it at all. He only got his head and shoulders through the frame before he became stuck.
As the ogre howled in pain and frustration, Dunk clambered over his back to see what had happened to Lehrer and Dirk. When he reached the street, though, by sliding down over M’Grash’s massive head, they had already disappeared.
Dunk cursed as he peered down both directions on the long street, which wound like a snake through the worst part of Altdorf. He couldn’t even tell which way they’d gone.
In his frustration, Dunk roared up at the distant sky. “How can this day get any worse?”
Then a small strange voice came from behind. “Dunkel help?”
Dunk turned to see M’Grash struggling to free himself from the doorway. The ogre had landed hard enough to wedge himself in good, though, and at such angle that he couldn’t find the kind of leverage he needed to force himself free.
“Don’t worry!” Slick called from inside the tavern. Dunk could just see his eyes peering over the top of the fallen ogre. “I’ve already got an order placed for every bit of butter they have in the place.”
The halfling cocked his head and grimaced as he evaluated M’Grash’s plight once again. “I might have to ask for every bit of cooking oil and rendered fat too.”
Dunk groaned, then reached out and patted the whimpering M’Grash on the top of his head.
29
“And there’s the kick-off to start the championship final in this year’s Blood Bowl Open!” Bob’s voice echoed out over the stadium, barely audible over the cheers of the crowd.
Dunk raced down the field with three goals in mind. Winning the game came last, he realised, which he felt odd about. Before that, he wanted to survive the game. He’d never been one of those “team first” players, and if there was ever a sport meant for people to watch out for themselves Blood Bowl was it.
In last year’s game, he hadn’t felt that way at all. Back then, he’d cared about everyone on the team, with one exception: Kur Ritternacht. Given that Kur had wanted to kill him, Dunk couldn’t see how he should feel bad about that.
This time around, though, he only gave a damn about M’Grash, Edgar, Simon, Guillermo, and Cavre. The rest could all go back to rotting in whatever hell they’d come from, as far as Dunk was concerned. He was pretty sure the new players felt the same about him, if they gave him any thought at all.
Dunk slammed into the first Reaver he saw, knocking him to the ground. The thrower had learned a lot in the two seasons he’d been playing the game. Things like, “Hit lower than the other guy,” stuck with you once you’d been trampled a few dozen times.
“The Hackers are in rare form tonight!” Jim said. “They’ve become a truly brutal team. Most of the credit has to go to team coach Captain Pegleg Haken. Can this really be the same team the Chaos All-Stars tore to pieces nine months ago?”
“Not really,” Bob said. “Only five players survived that rout. Even though they all started the game tonight, there’s more fresh blood on the Hackers’ side of the field than old.”
“That, and their new team wizard, of course. He’s been in the Hackers’ dugout since day one of their return. His wand and a little item known as the Far Albion Cup seem to have turned the Hackers’ fortunes right around. Perhaps our roving reporter can tell us something more about it. Lästiges?”
Dunk spun out of the grasp of one Reaver and straight into another. He hammered at his foe twice with his fists, and then rammed the crown of his spiked helmet at the man. The Reaver let go of Dunk’s spaulder then, and the thrower ran back into the thick of the game again. As he did, he saw Lästiges’ face appear on the Jumboball. She stood next to Pegleg and Olsen in the Hackers’ dugout, the Far Albion Cup itself on display behind them.
“Thanks, Jim! I’m down here with Captain Haken and his team wizard, the legendary Olsen Merlin. What can you gentlemen tell us about the Far Albion Cup and the effect it’s had on the team?”
“Bugger off,” Olsen said. “We’re working here.”
Pegleg stepped between the wizard and the camra, a nervous yet charming smile on his face. “What my esteemed colleague means to say, Miss Weibchen, is that the cup is more of a symbol of what our team has gone through over the past season rather than any kind of an object of raw, magical power. Our players have become fond of it and look on it as a mascot more than anything else.”
“So this cup is your team mascot?”
“Well, yes, I suppose it is.” Pegleg’s smile widened, becoming both more charming and more nervous.
“I think that says more about their off-field antics than I ever could.” Lästiges gave the camra a savage smile, while Pegleg blustered in the background. “Back to you, Jim!”
Dunk smiled behind his faceguard as he jinked to the right, dodging past a Reaver intent on slamming him into the Astrogranite. He spotted Dirk upfield from him, the ball tucked under his arm as he scrambled away from M’Grash.
Dunk hadn’t talked to Dirk since his younger brother had chased Lehrer from the Skinned Cat. When Bob had called Dirk’s name out while introducing the Reavers before the start of the game, Dunk had sighed with relief. At least Dirk was all right, although Dunk still wondered about Lehrer. Was he really the traitor Dirk said he was? After the game ended, he knew that he had to find out, even if it meant digging through the darker parts of his family’s history.
Dunk charged towards where he thought Dirk would end up if he managed to elude M’Grash. Sure enough, his brother burst out of the pile-up in the middle of the field and swung right, looking downfield for a target. As Dunk closed
in on him, he cocked his arm back to throw.
Dunk lowered his shoulder and smashed into Dirk’s middle. As he did, he knew that Dirk would get the pass off, but Dunk wanted to make him pay. Also, he thought if he tackled Dirk that might get the new Hackers to leave him alone and go after other prey.
“What an amazing throw!” Jim said. “As Hoffnung takes him down, Heldmann hurls the ball downfield in a perfect spiral. Schönheit reaches out for it under double coverage and pulls it down! She stiff-arms Schmidt and races into the end zone. Touchdown, Reavers!”
“First blood,” Dirk shouted over the roar of the crowd. “So much for your damned cup.”
“What an amazing play!” Bob said. “The Reavers state their case to be crowned champions by picking up a quick score.”
“But they seem to have bought their point with blood,” Jim said. “I count one, two, three Reaver casualties on the field already, and they don’t look like they’re getting up.”
“What about Hoffnung and Heldmann? The two brothers seem to have taken each other out. If so, that would be an anticlimactic end to their sibling rivalry!”
“Dunk?”
“Yeah, Dirk.”
“You can get off me now.”
“Oh, right!”
Dunk scrambled to his feet, and the crowd saw that he and Dirk were all right. He stuck out his hand at Dirk, and his brother took it.
“Brothers forever,” Dunk said.
Dirk grinned despite himself.
The fans roared in approval.
Some of those roars, though, soon turned to screams.
“It seems something’s happening in the cheap seats on the south side of the stadium,” Jim said. “Most times the fans are happy to watch the action unfold on the field, but it looks like that might not have been enough for that crew. But, wow, I don’t think I’ve seen that much blood spilled in the bleachers since, well, when was your last birthday party, Bob?”
“I stopped celebrating them decades ago, but even in my youngest years the festivities never looked much like that. What’s going on over there?”
[Blood Bowl 02] - Dead Ball Page 28
