Mean Henry gave his friend Lloyd a push, and Lloyd started coming in hard to check Edge. Instinctively, the Chips’ forward waited as he would have done back in Riverton, and at the last second, he tried to use his tuck play to pull Lloyd’s stick out of position so that he could slide the puck between the Stealer’s skates and be off.
Only it didn’t work!
Using his wrists, Edge had flicked the stick handle to tuck the puck, but the puck had just kept going! Lloyd picked it up in full flight. He faked a forehand shot that Swift went for, deked around her, and lofted a backhand between the sap buckets and into the snowbank.
It was 1–0 for the Stealers.
Mean Henry skated over, smirking at Edge and Isobel. Lucas nodded in his best friend’s direction, but all Edge did was give Nolan’s wave again.
Let Bond get the puck, Edge was thinking as strongly as he could, staring at his friend. She’ll know what to do with it.
If Edge’s special move wasn’t going to work, the Stanleys would need all the help they could get. That meant the Chips on the Stealers had to ditch the puck—grab it and not score with it. But Edge wasn’t sure Lucas could do that. If his best friend couldn’t even pass to Slapper in a practice, how would he stop himself from scoring in a game like this? Especially when the prize was the Stanley Cup!
It turned out that Edge was right.
Mean Henry won the next faceoff and sent the puck back to John O’Brien, who was deep in his own end.
Lucas, acting purely on instinct, saw his opening. With his feet moving in a blur, he took off straight up the ice, slamming his stick on the hard surface to get John O’Brien’s attention.
The small kid from Renfrew saw what was happening. He fired a hard pass that looped over several Stanleys’ sticks and landed perfectly on the blade of Lucas, who was now on a clear breakaway.
Edward’s shrill whistle was like a shot being fired!
FFFF-rrrrrrllllll!
Then the whistle came again!
FFFF-rrrrrrllllll!
Lucas could hear the others laughing. He stopped hard just as he reached Swift’s net. With snow spraying out in front of him, he turned to see what had happened.
“Illegal pass,” Edward sneered toward Lucas, wondering if he really had intended to score on their net. “No forward passing, lad.”
These were the rules they’d been told in the beginning: six skaters on the ice, instead of five—that extra was a rover who could play wherever he was needed. And no forward passing allowed. Ever.
Lucas looked at Edge and finally understood. He couldn’t be trusted—unless he gave up his obsession with scoring. Bond should be the one with the puck.
Luckily, John O’Brien had helped the Stanleys with that bad pass. Had he meant to? Edge wondered.
Lucas, of course, was thanking his lucky charm. If this underwear can make goals, maybe it can also prevent them?
Embarrassed and disappointed in himself, he gently kicked the puck toward centre for the next faceoff.
* * *
Gradually, the four Ice Chips adapted to the game as it was played by Isobel and her brothers. They stopped using forward passes and instead moved up the ice by having the puck carrier attract as many opposition checkers as possible—before dropping the puck back. The next player would then carry the puck as far as he or she could before dropping it again.
It was a game of two steps forward, one step back. Lucas couldn’t believe what an incredible difference something as simple as the forward pass could make. It would transform the game into something far more exciting.
But this game was still fun. And Lucas was finally learning to let go of the puck!
After that, each time Lucas got the black disk, he passed it to Bond, who then pretended to lose it in her skirt, trip over it, or accidentally send it flying off into a snowbank. Luckily for Lucas and Edge, the Chips’ defender was a far better actor than either of them.
Swift finally figured out how to do her adapted butterfly in her winter dress, and because she’d kept her own goalie stick (the one Isobel had offered her looked like the skinny ones for the outplayers), she’d been blocking shots left, right, and five-hole.
Soon, the score was 2–1 for the Stanleys, which had made Mean Henry’s face grow red like a tomato.
Edge and Isobel had each scored one of those goals. And Isobel was playing as though she loved every single detail of the game. Nothing was above her and nothing was beneath her. She was a team player, just like Edge. It made sense that they’d found a rhythm together, dropping the puck to each other whenever they got stuck.
Isobel had just dropped the puck to Edge when he glided into a far corner that barely had a skate mark on it. It was like ice that had just been flooded. Lucas was right behind him, pretending he was going to snatch the puck away, when Edge’s mouth suddenly dropped open.
There was a crack, then a splash.
And Edge was gone.
* * *
Swift couldn’t believe how easily the ice had given way—how quickly Edge had disappeared! This was not a glitch—not a leap. This was way, way worse!
Lucas stopped instantly, snow spraying, and made to back away from the hole Edge had just created. He heard the ice under his own feet make a strange sound—a sort of moan—and then felt it go rubbery, flex down, and . . .
SNAP!
In an instant, Lucas, too, was under water.
Swift came skating as fast as her clumsy cricket pads would allow, but all who were rushing to the scene were held back by Isobel.
Edward let out a huge, desperate whistle—and everyone stopped.
“Don’t go any closer!” he shouted. “That ice will never hold you!”
“LUCAS!! EDGE!!” Bond yelled, hoping to find out that her two friends had instead made a leap through time. Maybe Crunch did fiddle with Scratch? Maybe he’s called them home?
The Stanleys and the Stealers were staring in shock. There were two holes in the ice where, moments earlier, there had been two hockey players. All that remained now was the puck, sitting alone between them.
“Look!” shouted John O’Brien, his face suddenly brightening.
Edge surfaced first, gasping and floundering in the freezing water. Then came Lucas, who was yelling, “HHHHHELLLLPPPPPPPPP!”
Lucas felt like someone had run a cold spear through his heart and lungs. He was shouting, but he was also choking. His clothes weighed as much as an elephant. He tried grabbing the edge of the ice, but it broke off, making the hole even larger. He sputtered, choked, and went under again.
“They’re drowning!” shouted a desperate Bond.
“Let’s get them out of there!” yelled Swift, trying to skate toward the holes.
Isobel quickly grabbed her again. “No one skates there!” she commanded. “You have to spread your weight out so you don’t go through.”
Swift was stunned by Isobel’s cool. She was taking charge.
“You boys,” she said, pointing at Mean Henry and Thomas. “You get that fire going—and fast!”
The two Stealers looked terrified, but they quickly skated off in the direction of the unlit bonfire.
“Everyone else!” Isobel shouted. “Get down on the ice and crawl toward them in single file. Keep your sticks out in front of you. We’ll hold on to each other’s skates in case we get into trouble.”
Edward went down on his belly and began wiggling toward the holes where Edge and Lucas had broken through. He kept his stick out in front, tapping and testing the ice as he went. It held.
Arthur was right behind, holding on to one of his brother’s skates. Then Bond, then Swift.
Lucas surfaced again.
Isobel looked down at the other players on the ice. “Get your sticks to Arthur and Edward now! Move them up the line.”
Each player began handing his or her stick to the player in front, who then moved it along to the next person. Soon Edward had eight sticks beside him on the ice.
Arthur quickly
positioned four sticks into a square over each hole, and a moment later, Lucas and Edge were holding on to those sticks, rather than the ice. Nothing was breaking!
Edward reached over and grabbed Edge just above his wrists. The Chips’ forward was shaking hard and his lips were blue—bluer than Lucas’s, which is why Edward had gone for him first.
“Okay, everyone,” Isobel called, still directing. “Start dragging the line back.”
Slowly, almost like a sliver being pulled, Edge rose over the crossed sticks and, with a grunt, slipped onto more solid ice.
Then, with Edward’s help and a gasp for air—for warmth—Lucas did the same.
Chapter 13
“You’ve got to get those wet clothes off or you’ll DIE!” Isobel shouted as the players dragged the two frozen Ice Chips—now draped in the mean kids’ winter coats—toward the bonfire.
“We’re f-fr-freezing,” mumbled Edge, barely able to move his arms enough to hold the coat over his body.
“No tea. I hate tea,” Lucas stuttered, his teeth chattering, as he realized they were now beside the fishing shack.
The two mean kids—who still looked scared—had a fine fire going, the branches of the spruce trees snapping and sparking as they warmed the larger branches and sticks that had yet to catch. The flames were taller than a person, with sparks and smoke rising high into the sky.
“Get these boys some dry clothes!” Isobel shouted. The rest of the players looked in their bags and took off some of their extra layers. Soon, there was a small pile of clothes also being warmed by the fire.
“You need to change. Now,” Edward said with concern in his voice. “Get those padded pants off. They’re like sponges.”
Swift and Bond were at their friends’ sides, but they didn’t quite know how to help them. Luckily, the Stanley children did.
“We’ve got big buffalo blankets in the buggies, but that won’t be enough,” said Isobel, calmly but sternly. “We’ve told you, if you don’t get out of these wet clothes right now, you will freeze to death.”
Lucas’s heart was pounding and he was beginning to feel like he’d swallowed a dozen popsicles whole. He was freezing—from the inside out.
“I-I-I-I,” he sputtered, unable to speak. The Chips’ centre looked scared . . . and embarrassed. He was looking at the other Chips, his eyes pleading.
Swift immediately understood—so did Bond. The girls picked up some clothes from the pile and started leading their friends toward the ice-fishing shack a few metres away. They got the door opened just as Isobel arrived with the blankets.
“Edge and Lucas need a place to change—that’s away from the wind,” Bond lied, trying to sound sure of herself.
“They’d better make it fast—then come back to the fire,” Isobel said as the door closed behind them.
* * *
“Th-that was insane!” Lucas said when he finally got his voice back. He and Edge were alone in the ice shack, which was cold, but that time by the fire had already warmed them a little. Lucas’s wet Ice Chips jersey was now lying on the floor and he had on an oversized sweater that Arthur had given him.
“Yeah, that was awf-f-ful,” said Edge, shaking his head. “The w-worst!” He was trying to remember back to that time he’d gone skating on the canal with his family—a time when everything hadn’t been scary and horrible . . . and freezing!
Neither the Stanleys nor the Stealers had any idea what would become of this canal in the future—that it would be opened to the public as a tourist attraction, beginning in the 1970s. Or that the canal’s Winterlude festival would attract tens of thousands of daily visitors from around the world—people who’d come to marvel at the city’s ice sculptures, drink hot chocolates, and skate together.
“We should have t-tested the ice,” said Edge, thinking of how the modern canal would get checked every day for quality and thickness to make sure it was safe. “And we should have been more c-careful.”
Lucas nodded as he fumbled with the laces at the top of his icy padded pants. The two friends had both found dry pants in the clothing pile; all they had to do was remove their wet ones and slip them on.
“I’m—I can’t . . .” Edge started nervously. He reached for the laces on his own padded pants, but then he didn’t undo them.
“Thank goodness the girls b-brought us in here!” said Lucas, changing his pants as quickly as he could. He was horrified just thinking about what could have happened if Isobel had made them change outside, in front of everyone. He imagined himself standing there for all to see, with the flames from the fire rising behind him, dressed in only his green underwear with its orange stars—inside out and backwards!
Then he pictured the mean boys, Isobel, her brothers . . . everyone laughing at him!
“T-that was a c-close call,” said Edge as he picked up one of the blankets and looked around nervously. He didn’t want Lucas to see how embarrassed he was. He didn’t want his best friend to know why he was waiting to change.
“Of course, it’s probably our lucky und-d-derwear that saved us f-from f-freezing, right?” Lucas stuttered as he finished tying up his dry pants and started slipping on some warm socks.
Edge’s face was even more flushed than it had been in the icy water; he looked panicked, frozen.
“I, uh—” he said, swallowing hard. He didn’t want to lose his best friend, but he didn’t want to die of hypothermia either.
“What are you waiting for?!” Lucas asked, worried. Edge had a strange look on his face—almost like he was going to cry. Is he cold? Is he overheating? What is it?!
“Can you . . . please t-turn around?” Edge said with a small voice. His teeth were still chattering and his eyes were wet with tears.
Lucas already had his back turned when he finally figured it out.
“You never turned your underwear inside out!”
* * *
“We should at least tell her something,” Bond whispered to Swift as she stood by the fire, holding her hands out to warm them.
“We can’t,” Swift insisted, gently stepping on Bond’s toes to tell her to keep her voice down. “We can’t tell anyone about the future! What if they decide to change it?”
“We don’t know that’s how it works,” said Lucas with a sympathetic shrug.
He and Edge had rejoined the kids around the fire, and the mean boys had taken back their coats and run off without a word. Isobel and her friends had barely noticed—everyone was feeling toasty and warm, relieved that the danger was gone. Lucky underwear or no lucky underwear, the two Ice Chips had survived their terrifying fall through the ice.
Feeling the burn of the fire on his face, the Chips’ centre now found that he was thinking about Crunch—about Scratch’s glitches, the players’ strange little flip-flops through time, and the possibility that they’d never figure out time travel.
Crunch doesn’t even know there are two Stanley Cups! he thought. But the idea made his brain hurt.
“Look, I wouldn’t have the heart to tell Isobel that women’s hockey won’t grow at the same speed as men’s—would you?” Swift continued, her face looking a little sad. Luckily, the fire was crackling so loudly that Isobel couldn’t hear them.
“She’s so excited about the game,” said Edge, rubbing his hands together. “You can see how much she loves it—how much she wants to play.”
“But then we could tell her the rest of the story!” said Bond, still annoyed that they had to keep all the good news to themselves. “Women’s hockey will get better! And eventually, women will have their own leagues and their own awards. You know what I mean! The Clarkson Cup, and the—Isobel!” Bond swung her head toward the bonfire.
Isobel had been leaning down, placing a log on the other side of the fire, when she slipped on her long skirt—and fell!
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, getting up and dusting some soot off her hands. Luckily, she’d landed in an area where nothing was burning. The rocks were warm and had turned black w
ith soot from an earlier fire, but that was all. “It’s this silly dress,” she said, holding up a piece of her skirt and leaving a sooty handprint behind. “But I guess we’ve got to wear them!”
“You won’t always have to,” called Bond as Swift gave her a little punch from behind.
“Maybe you should invent a new sport where girls don’t wear long skirts,” Edward said loudly, laughing at his sister. “Like swim jumping or horseback juggling or—”
“Or something bizarre like Naismith Ball!” said Arthur, joining in. “All you need is a football and two peach baskets!”
Edge was the first to figure out what they meant. When British people said “football,” they meant soccer. And the peach baskets—it could only be . . .
This really is the beginning of everything! James Naismith—who grew up not far from here, in Almonte—had invented basketball in 1891!
“Have you tried this game?” Edge asked excited. The history of two sports in a single leap!
“No, but we met the man last year, just a few weeks after he invented it,” said Edward. “He was back in town to visit his aunt and uncle. He thinks his little basket game will take off—but of course, one can never be sure.”
“I think I’ll stick to hockey either way, thank you kindly,” said Isobel, giggling. She was trying to rub the handprint off her skirt but was only making it worse.
“You should stick with hockey—you’re good,” said a high-pitched voice, suddenly breaking into the conversation.
Outside the circle of warmth, Isobel turned to see John O’Brien, now with a knitted scarf folded in his arms.
“Hockey is a great game when it’s played fairly,” said the boy. “And it wasn’t fair for my cousins to steal your cup.”
The kid held the scarf out in front of him, and Isobel’s eyes immediately brightened. Lucas, who now had Swift’s purple track bag sitting at his feet, breathed a sigh of relief. The cup! With all the excitement, he’d almost forgotten about it.
The Ice Chips and the Stolen Cup Page 7
