back courteously as the second coin was tossed and called.
Once more the Doctor lost the toss and watched keenly while
a second Judoon lumbered up to the nutting pad, cheered
by a large number of the audience. He lifted his hammer in
acknowledgement. He was very definitely the favourite.
Again the Brazil was placed and a white-gloved
representative of the Visitors checked it. Again the huge
Judoon judged it with the naked eye, hefted his sledgehammer
and swung suddenly, expertly, and the nut fell into two
perfect halves.
Wild cheers again for the favourite.
When his turn came, the Doctor felt like a midget up against
giants. His only applause came from his team's immediate
supporters. His hammer felt like lead. For a moment he
hesitated, then adjusted his hands on the shaft while the
white-gloved nutter stepped forward. The Brazil was placed
and Bingo, representing the Gents, came to observe and then
accept the positioning. Now the Doctor stepped up, lifted
his hammer high over his head, shifted his feet a little in the
sand, and struck. There came a gasp from the audience and
for a moment he felt he had checked the blow too soon. Then,
in relief, he saw the two sides fall and heard his supporters
cheer. The first round was a draw.
Place. Swing. Crack. Place. Swing. Crack.
The Doctor's turn came round again. So far the cracksmen
were level. All were aiming for a clean round. The Doctor
was beginning to gain confidence but he knew he had to
be careful and marshal all the skill he had. The game had
already begun to slow. Characteristically, Judoon were
naturally competitive but tended to lose self-control if put
in a weak position. The Doctor knew that his best chance
was to draw ahead by even the smallest margin and use the
Judoon's natural impatience against them. So far he knew
he had been lucky. That luck would not hold much longer,
especially at Change of Nut, when the next of the four kinds
of competition nuts was brought into play.
Sadly, on his fourth swing, he proved this spectacularly.
The hammer came down on his first walnut. Somehow
he misjudged. The muscles of his upper left arm twitched
uncontrollably and the hammer descended with huge force
on the nut, smashing it to pieces and sending fragments
showering all over the place.
One of his opponents said something so rude in Judoon
that he spluttered and almost choked on his own grunting
laughter. This set the other Judoon guffawing, too, so that the
pair could hardly hang on to their hammers when, to their
astonishment, the Doctor said, in perfect Southern Judoon:
'Now, now, gentlemen, you would not wish such language
to be heard by your mothers, I hope! Assuming you know
who they are.'
Whereupon the first Judoon asserted that he would be
happy to use the Doctor's head for his next turn with the
hammer if that would make him feel any better, and the
second added that if his rival Judoon cared to knock it off he
would gladly give that head to the village children to use for
their next polo match.
And so on.
Until the Doctor asked him if his horn had come loose and
been lost amongst bits of shell because it had been so small
it was impossible to tell. This made the Judoon turn bright
brown. If there is one thing guaranteed to upset a member
of his great race it is a disparaging remark about his horn.
He offered that he would be more than willing to give the
Doctor an idea about the size of his horn by, in his own coarse
phrase, sticking it where the sun didn't shine. He followed
this remark with a noise vaguely reminiscent of a speedboat
running aground on mud, which the Doctor recognised
immediately as the Judoon version of what the English once
called a raspberry, the Americans knew as a Bronx cheer and
the mole people of Juno Major knew as a reverse-frrrrrrmp.
Eventually, the umpire stepped in and insisted all three
contestants shake hands like gentlemen and apologise, which
was done, not without a moment's hesitation on the part of
the two Judoon.
Both Judoon then embarrassed themselves considerably
by smashing their own nuts rather noisily and drawing some
loud laughter not only from the Doctor's supporters but from
their own. The Doctor saw that he now had the advantage.
Worse than being booed for making a fault, the Judoon feared
becoming the subject of amusement.
The next three games were won by the Doctor and then
each of the two Judoon, so that the Gentlemen were still one
game behind.
The final Change of Nut was to a pecan, the hardest
regulation nut to crack with a sledgehammer owing to the
relative softness of its shell. This would be the deciding
Change unless they came to a draw between two of the
players in which case a tie-breaker would be brought out,
the most difficult of all - a chestnut. By some miracle, as the
Doctor saw it, the Visitors' Judoon was eliminated. The final
was now between him and the Judoon from the Tourists.
The chestnut was brought out.
Place. Swing. Crack. Place. Swing. Crack.
Another chestnut.
Place. Swing. Crack. Place. Swing. Crack.
The Doctor was sweating visibly and both competitors
were flagging. Yet still no clear winner had been decided.
Place. Swing. Crack.
The Judoon was puffing and panting, frustrated that he
could not easily beat the Doctor. Muttering and fuming,
smelling noticeably of sweat salt, the Judoon took careful aim,
swung his hammer and - smashed the chestnut to pulp.
The play had taken all afternoon. To his own utter
amazement, the Doctor had squeaked into first place. The
next day would be the first of the equine events played by all
teams, involving the quintain, while the final event would be
the jousting. This would be followed by the broadswording
event. Only on the fourth day would the serious team game
begin and the first of several whackit matches be played, each
lasting at least three days. The Doctor was glad that there was
no other part of the tournament likely to rest entirely on his
shoulders, though, with untried substitutes, the Gentlemen
were bound to have a very hard time of it indeed.
That evening in the saloon bar of the Blue Barsoomian, the
Doctor was feted by team-mates who no longer wore the
air of a team which had already lost. Amy proposed a toast
which was seconded by Flapper and Hari.
'To the Doctor. Saving the day!'
The Doctor had never felt at once so pleased and so
burdened by responsibility. While the Gentlemen celebrated
the winning of their first round, he was already wondering
what strategy their captain, Bingo Lockesley, planned for
the whackit matches. And so far, in spite of his promises to
produce the missing Roogalator, Captain Abberley had not
&nbs
p; yet made his appearance.
Had he been lying about knowing where to find it? Did
Quelch have it? Quelch always liked to pretend he was a
major player when in fact he rarely was.
Or had he, the Doctor wondered, been completely
deceiving himself?
'So what do you think, Bingo? Will we get the Arrer
if we win?' He spoke to the Earl of Lockesley, but he was
looking hard at Mr Banning-Cannon. The Earthman seemed
startled.
'We're bound to win,' said Bingo, 'so we're bound to get
the Silver Arrow, Doctor.'
'I admire your confidence, sir.' Mr Banning-Cannon held
up a guilty shant. He had misjudged these lads. Spending so
much time in their company, he had developed something of
a liking for the Terraphiles. He would be taking some great
ideas home. Money in the bank, this trip. 'Can I get anyone
anything?'
'The Arrow will be ours. It will,' Bingo said. 'I know it.
Well win it. Do you know why, chaps?'
'Why, Bingo?' asked Amy, smiling at him. She had to love
his innocent confidence.
'Because it's so important to us,' he said. 'You need it,
don't you, Doctor? To straighten the multiverse out. That's
what you're doing for us.'
'I told you I admired your confidence,' broke in Mr
B-C, who was enjoying himself increasingly. 'Humans are
remarkable in that respect.'
Bingo was surprised. 'You speak as if you're not one of us.
But you are, aren't you?'
'Almost.' Mr B-C gestured with his glass and laughed
loudly. 'Half-human, anyway, according to my wife.' He
offered the decanter.
'Better not,' said Bingo. 'You know. Important game
tomorrow and all that. You want us to do what's right, don't
you? I can tell you're a decent chap at heart. One of us. You
want to see Mrs B-C present it to the winning team, eh, and
you want that team to be—'
Mrs Banning-Cannon's powerful voice rang out from
the private bar. 'All I want to find out is who stole my hat.
The authorities here are absolutely useless. I was in the
magistrate's office half the day! And could they offer so much
as a clue? They gave me nothing but lame excuses. They said
it was stolen outside their jurisdiction. I told him that all the
likely suspects were bound to be here. We left no one on the
ship did we? Except bots? I have learned a great deal about
the police forces of half the universes on this trip. Where's
my daring Doctor? He'll know what to do.'
The Doctor was heading for the door. 'Early night,' he
said. 'Big game tomorrow.'
'I think I'd better call it a day too,' said Amy and about half
the others there in chorus.
Mrs Banning-Cannon was left wondering why the pub
had suddenly emptied.
Chapter 23
The Rising Sun
FOR A TIME THE Tournament followed a leisurely predictable
course. Everywhere you looked were people in the formal
greens' which showed them to be professional Terraphile
Re-Enactors: Lincoln Green Sherlock hats, Lincoln Green
hooded capes, Lincoln Green doublets, hose and boots with
long toes which suited some of the competitors but did not,
for instance, do much for a Judoon.
The Doctor proved a good all-rounder, doing some sturdy
work at the various games allowing players to qualify for the
serious matches ahead. He was knocked off his centaur more
times than he might have liked at quintain, but he conducted
himself usefully in the jousting. Amy and Flapper were, they
both agreed, lucky to qualify, but they made it. Nano-tech
tabs had helped them enormously, but natural skill could
not be taught. Flapper, in fact, discovered a genetic talent for
Skipping the Landlord, and Amy was unpleasantly surprised
by how well she did at Hanging the Serf (a straw one these
days - real ones wriggled and cursed too much for a family
sport).
The beautiful deep blue of the sun spread its gorgeous
light across amber and rust-coloured hills. Apart from the
colours, Flynn might have been Old Old Earth, dreaming in
some perpetual summer.
The Doctor said nothing of his own discomforting thoughts,
remembering Edwardian England confident in her power to
spread peace and justice across the world at the very moment
before the first Great War began. He did his best to smile and
join in the fun. Everyone's attention was on the games. The
spectators were having a good time. Only someone who took
pleasure in spreading anxiety would possibly want to spoil
this mood. After all, he thought, forcing a grin and accepting
a pint in the Blue Barsoomian the day before the first whackit
match, this might be the last time they ever actually enjoyed
life again.
The choice of order of play went to the Tourists who
chose as first opponents the Visitors, believing they could
pretty easily defeat the Gentlemen if they first beat the other
team. They would be fresh for the first game. This gave the
Gentlemen little to do but practise and observe. Both their
rivals had Second Fifteens they could draw upon, though
the rules concerning this were a bit complicated, which gave
them a further advantage, and both were pretty much on top
form.
The players in their fresh 'greens', some dressed in green
armour consisting of leg, arm and body covering, huge
helmets with visors and shoulder pads, made their way from
the pavilion to the pitch. They looked magnificent outlined
against the pulsing disc of the sun.
The first day's play had a few surprises, however, when
J'n, a saurian who was the Visitors' second-best archer and
a useful whacker, was caught by an arrow shot by Je'I'me
Polucks, the famous half-Spooni known as the Battling Bow-
Wright because he had made his own equipment as a poor
boy in the infamous Jelly Ghetto on Ethel. Polucks took four
more targets that afternoon, establishing a sticky off hundred
which could not be regained in a hurry, though Argentino, the
Visitors' star, would do it if anyone could. In fact, Argentino
had been watching from the pavilion, and Amy could almost
hear him gearing himself up to get that supplemental and
change it in for spins. But meanwhile the spectators were
applauding on both sides.
After that things settled in to a good, calm thwick-slamp
of arrows being shot and arrows being whacked, with the
Visitors keeping their lead for the next day and into the
following morning until the captain decided to bring in
Argentino. No one could have guessed that Argentino's
mother had been a lab rat. He was tall, fit, personable, with a
shock of white-blond hair that would have let him model for
some great V-roles a few hundred years earlier, before public
taste changed. His diamond-sharp blue eyes and his wide,
honest features made him the darling of the lady spectators.
He was the player to watch.
Standin
g on the pavilion deck, Mickey Argentino casually
strung his bow, slipped his quiver over his back, and strolled
onto the pitch to wild applause. Sum'in, the Cairene Dodger,
was caught for 20 and Jill Jay managed to get to 29 before
the cunningly placed arrow was caught off-slate by Kali-Kali
rising into the air as if on winged feet, gracefully shooting
the arrow back and slipping it past the wotsit keeper into the
heart of the wotsit itself. Amy was sorry to see Jill be taken
off so quickly. They had become friendly, since Jill claimed
Scottish ancestry and wanted to hear anything Amy could
tell her about Mackintosh the Tea Maker and so on. Amy had
done her best not to bring Jill down too heavily on certain
facts, like haggis-warrens, which she couldn't fudge and
remain honest.
By now the Visitors had no advantage, but the Tourists still
needed a good hundred rounds to win. This was first-class
playing and, for another two hours until teatime, Argentino
kept up a steady and varied strategy, sinking one 380 after
another. When they broke, even the surliest Judoon on the
other team could not help but congratulate Mickey A.
After tea, Argentino strode in to shoot against Pilliom
Rekya, who was the best whacker left and a bit of a dark
horse. Pilliom whacked Argentino's first arrow to left far
point where O'Gruff caught it in a beautiful spinning lift,
returning it to Brown at the Visitors' end wotsit. Brown
attempted to slip it into the target with a millisecond to spare
before Argentino's startled gaze just as something flickered in
the early evening sunlight. From horizon to horizon the sky
glowed blood red, and they all felt the ground shift beneath
their feet.
The Doctor spoke quietly from behind Amy. 'I don't think
that was nature responding to a fine bit of playing. I'm afraid
that's Miggea getting ready to shift.' He paused, frowning.
'Oh! Oh, bother! I've just realised I might have made one
rather crucial miscalculation.
As umpires conferred, Argentino came off the Tournament
pitch, his expression one of quiet resolution, his already
unstrung bow over his shoulder. He saw the Doctor and
lifted his heavy eyebrows to show that he knew his luck had
turned. He didn't blame the sun any more than he would
blame the rain, which now began to pour from sudden black
clouds with tropical force. Besides which, he had scored
The Coming of the Teraphiles Page 28