Dunk gulped at that, but he didn’t have much time to think about it. The whistle went off, and the game was on.
“Wait,” Pegleg said, holding up his hook for a moment. Then he snapped it down. “Go!”
Dunk stepped on the pad. For a moment, he was somewhere else, someplace horrible and twisted, both dark and light at the same time. He drew in a breath to scream, but before he could start the Hackers’ end zone room appeared around him.
Dunk bit his tongue, then dashed off down the corridor leading out of the room. He could see M’Grash lumbering along in front of him. The ogre’s job was to protect the Hackers’ end zone, which Dunk thought he might be able to do just by sitting down in the hallway. As the rookie raced past he clapped the ogre on the leg. This made him feel tiny, which — he realised then — must be how Slick always felt around him.
In the first room after the corridor; Dunk spotted the telltale glow of a teleporter pad. He raced over and stepped on it, closing his eyes as he did. He felt the hot wind of that other place on his skin for a moment, and when the cool dank air of the dungeon replaced it, he opened his eyes. He thought he’d heard screams while in between pads, but he couldn’t be sure those hadn’t been from somewhere in the dungeon instead.
Dunk found himself standing on a rickety rope bridge strung over a bottomless chasm. His hands lashed out to grab on to the guide ropes and steady himself before he cascaded over the edge and into oblivion. As he did, he looked up and saw the Impaler — a thick-muscled, pale-skinned man dressed in the Champs’ black uniform — standing at the bridge’s far end, the razor-sharp tips of his spiked gauntlet poised over one of the bridge’s four main ropes.
“Velcome,” the vampire said in a Kislevite accent, his eyes glowing red with bloodlust as he bared his fangs in an evil smile. “And goot-bye.” He brought his fist down, and the spikes slashed through one of the ropes Dunk held.
Dunk felt himself starting to fall, so he released the severed rope and started forward. He had to get to the end of the bridge before the vampire completed its lethal work.
The Impaler swung his other fist at the guide rope, and Dunk was forced to let that loose too or allow it to pull him into the abyss. He realised he would never make it to the end of the bridge before the vampire brought it down, and he glanced around desperately for some other means of escape.
Dunk’s eyes fell on the teleporter pad behind him. If he could just reach it, he had a chance. He whipped about and raced back toward the pad. As he did, he heard the Impaler’s steel-clad fist fall again and sever one of the bridge’s two base ropes with a sickening chop.
Dunk dove for the glowing circle in the middle of the bridge, even as he felt the bridge’s wooden planks start to give way beneath him. The toe of his boot found purchase in the gap between two boards, and he launched forward as hard as his legs would push him. Just as the planks spun away beneath him, he stretched out and slapped the pad with his open hand, and he was somewhere else.
Dunk felt himself falling, falling, falling, and when he arrived in another room elsewhere in the dungeon he hit the ground hard. Only his armour prevented him from cracking a rib or worse. He scrambled to his feet and smelled first rather than saw the Champs’ mummy — the back of his jersey read Ramen-Tut — opening the chest on the other side of the room.
The scent of ancient must and disease made Dunks eyes itch, and he flinched involuntarily as the creature flung open the chest Dunk opened his eyes again when he realised there hadn’t been a big boom, and he saw Ramen-Tut triumphantly pulling the ball from the open chest.
Dunk dug in his feet to charge at the mummy, but before he could, Kur raced past him, yelling, “Get out of the way, punk! He’s mine!”
Determined to not let Kur hog all the glory, Dunk chased after the man, straight at the mummy. Ramen-Tut turned, the ball in his spindly, gauze-wrapped arms, and hissed at the two oncoming Hackers. Green gases erupted from the mummy’s faceguard, but if Kur wasn’t going to back down then neither was Dunk.
The two Hackers slammed into Ramen-Tut at once. Dunk was surprised how light the creature was, but he supposed having all of your internal organs removed would do that to you. He and Kur knocked the mummy back into the chest and piled on him, trying to strip away the ball.
“Urrr!” the mummy groaned as the Hackers laid into him. Then the groan transformed into a desert-dry scream.
One moment Dunk was wrestling with a rotting mummy, trying to keep down his breakfast, and the next he found himself holding a loose bundle of bandages filled with nothing more than dust. Surprised, he inhaled a double lungful of the stuff and got it caked in his eyes.
Dunk stumbled back, hacking up whatever was left of Ramen-Tut from his chest while he wiped the ancient grit from his eyes. As he did, he nearly stepped on the football. Still coughing, he reached down and picked it up, then tucked it into his arms.
“Give me that ball, punk!” Kur snarled.
Dunk spun about to see Kur standing before him with his hands reaching out to him. “Now!” The starting thrower said.
Dunk hesitated, and the impatient Kur lowered his shoulder and charged at him. More from reflex than anything else, Dunk dodged to the left, and Kur sailed straight past him.
“Nooo!” Kur shouted.
Dunk spun around to see that he was alone. The teleport pad pulsed softly where Kur had once been. The rookie couldn’t help but grin as he turned to run from the room.
A moment later, Dunk dashed back into the room with three Champions of Death on his tail: a rattling skeleton and a pair of rotting zombies that smelled worse than a pile of dead skunks. The teleport pads had disoriented him, and he had no idea what direction he was supposed to even be headed in. He decided to take his chance with the teleporter pad again instead of trying to figure it out. They were supposed to toss people around the dungeon at random, so with luck he wouldn’t end up wherever Kur had gone.
Dunk kept his eyes open this time as he flashed into the space between spots in his reality. In the spinning, swirling unreality, he thought he saw something translucent stretching and moaning at him, and he felt insubstantial fingers tugging softly at the ball. Then the world spun out from under him, and he felt himself falling.
The ball still tucked under one arm, Dunk lashed out with his free hand. His fingers found purchase between two boards in a long series of them hanging strapped between two parallel ropes, nearly wrenching his arm from its socket.
Dunk’s legs spun out wildly beneath him as he stared down into an all-too familiar abyss. He looked up and realised he was hanging from planks in the rope bridge the Impaler had cut from under him.
Gritting his teeth, Dunk pulled himself up with his aching arm and reached up high above him with the other, stretching for the teleporter pad glowing from the planks overhead. He slapped the ball into the light and then he was gone again.
When Dunk snapped back into reality, an ear-splitting roar nearly stopped his heart. It was a moment before he realised someone was shouting his name. “Dunkel, Dunkel, Dunkel!” it said. “Dunkel has the ball!”
Dunk leapt to his feet and saw M’Grash standing in one of the room’s two doorways, jumping up and down with glee like a schoolgirl spotting a pony. Dunk would have smiled at that were it not for the vampire in the skull-emblazoned armour and helmet darting at him.
“This time, I’ll have the ball and your life!” The Impaler promised.
With no time to react, Dunk did the first thing that occurred to him after so many hours of practice. He threw the ball.
The ball sailed wide past the oncoming vampire, bounced off the far wall, and landed neatly in M’Grash’s outstretched arms. The ogre stared at it for a second as if it was his brain that had suddenly slipped out of his head.
The vampire knocked Dunk flat, then turned and smacked his lips at M’Grash. “Fantastic!” He said. “I’ve just super-sized my next meal.”
The ogre looked up from the ball at the vampire and froze. Still on his back, Dunk
shouted at him. “M’Grash! Throw it back!”
The ogre stomped forward and shoved the Impaler aside. The vampire slammed into a nearby wall and crumpled into a heap. Then M’Grash scooped up Dunk in his free arm and kept moving.
When M’Grash stepped on the teleport pad, the room around them vanished, and the ogre nearly crushed Dunk in terror. After they reappeared in a well-lit hallway, M’Grash set Dunk down with a sheepish, “Sorry,” and handed him the ball.
Staring ahead, Dunk spotted the Champs’ end zone straight before them. Without a word, he charged straight for it, M’Grash hot on his tail. As they emerged into the end zone’s room, though, a black armoured ghoul stabbed forth from a hidden corner and grabbed at M’Grash, its flesh-clotted teeth searching for a gap in the ogre’s armour. It found it and bit deep.
Only steps from the end zone, Dunk turned around and drove his spiked elbow pad straight into the ghoul’s helmet. It punched through with a satisfying pop and stabbed into the cavity where the cannibal’s hunger-rotted brain rattled around.
Dunk wrenched his arm free, and the creature fell limp. M’Grash tore the ghoul off his bicep, taking a bit of his muscle with it. “Thanks, Dunkel,” he said. “Best friend! Now score!”
M’Grash scooped Dunk up again and carried him into the end zone where he set the rookie down, the ball still cradled in his arms. From somewhere, Dunk heard a whistle blew, and he knew that in the observation theatre the crowd was going wild. He thrust the ball over his head — checking first for angry foes looking to get in a last cheap shot — and grinned.
24
“Rookie!” Kur shouted as he hurled his helmet at Dunk once they were all back in the Hackers’ dugout. “You’re dead!”
M’Grash caught the helmet before it could hit Dunk, then glared at Kur as he crushed it in his bare hand. “Leave Dunkel alone!” the ogre said.
“That’s enough, Mr. Ritternacht,” Pegleg said, his voice filled with more menace than M’Grash could manage with his worst hangover. “Thanks to Mr. Hoffnung’s efforts, we have another mark in our win column.”
“That was my score!” Kur said, stabbing his finger at Dunk. “If you ever take my ball from me again—”
M’Grash stepped between the two men and glowered down at the starting thrower.
“You’ll what?” Slick asked in his most innocent voice, which wasn’t very.
Kur ignored the halfling and arched his neck around M’Grash’s bulk to scowl at Dunk. “I’ll teach you to respect your betters, punk. Your friends won’t be able to protect you.”
“Mr. Ritternacht!” Pegleg said. “Come into the coach’s office with me!”
“But coach!”
“Now!”
Kur curled his lip, then spat at M’Grash as he turned and followed Pegleg out of the room.
Slick walked along an empty bench to slap Dunk on the back. “It’s all right, son,” he said. “Kur’s just jealous.”
Dunk hung his head. Moments before, he had been flying high, thrilled at the Hackers’ win, but Kur had dragged him back to earth and promised to bury him beneath it. “It’s fine,” he said. “Let’s just go.”
Dunk opened the door to the Reavers’ room in the Halls of Mercy, the place where the sick and injured were cared for in Barak-Varr. The healers in charge of the place always opened an extra wing during the Dungeonbowl tournament. The wing had many large private rooms in it so that team members could convalesce with each other while not having to share space with players from other teams.
Dirk and Spinne were alone in the room, each in a bed on opposite sides of the room. Spinne’s bed lay near a beautifully carved, wide and open window in the room that looked out over the gulf far below, and the afternoon light spilled in on her, bathing her in its golden glow. When Dunk entered, she turned to see who it was and smiled.
Dirk’s bed was tucked back nearer the door, out of the light. He was sleeping when Dunk entered, but as quiet as Dunk strove to be. Dirk awoke as his brother stepped into the room.
“How are you?” Dunk asked, reaching out to put his hand on Dirk’s unbandaged shoulder.
Dirk gave Dunk a weak smile. “I’ve been better,” he said. “First some guy knocks me through a window the night before a big game, and then — in the middle of the game — the whole damn mountain drops on my head.”
“Sounds like a rough week.”
“Just part of a rough life.”
“You’re a Blood Bowl player,” Dunk said. “You thought it would be easy?”
Dirk just smiled. Then he looked over at Spinne, who watched them from where she reclined in the sun. “I think she got the worst of it. They already let out Schembekler and Karr.”
“I’m all right,” Spinne said wanly. She smiled at Dunk as he came over to stand next to her. She reached out and took his hand and held it in her lap.
“I’ve been thinking,” Dirk called over from his bed. “You can have her.”
Spinne gasped in horror.
“I mean, look at her,” Dirk continued. “Talk about damaged goods.”
Spinne tore a pillow from her bed and hurled it at Dirk. It bounced off his upraised arms.
“Hey,” he said, “I’m an injured man.”
“You’ll get a permanent disability if you keep talking like that.”
“Look,” Dunk said. “Spinne and I, we had a lot of fun, but you’re my brother. We can’t let a woman come between us.” He carefully avoided looking at Spinne as he spoke, but he braced for a punch at the same time. It never came.
“What?” Spinne said. “You’ve let everything else come between you over the years. Why not…?”
“Why not what?” Dunk asked.
“Fine!” Spinne said angrily. “Have it the way you like. Or not, as the case may be. We can’t be together anyhow. You’re a player.”
“I was before.”
“You hadn’t signed your contract yet.”
“Ah.” Dunk’s heart sank. He was torn between what he felt developing between himself and Spinne and his loyalty to his brother. “Well, I suppose I didn’t speak to Dirk for three years. I could go a little longer.”
“Hey!” Dirk said. He reached out for a chamber pot and tossed it over at Dunk. It missed the rookie and skittered under the bed.
“Ow!” someone said.
“I didn’t even hit you!” Dirk complained.
“That wasn’t me,” Dunk said, his wide, round eyes locked with Spinne’s. She shrugged at him, confused, and he dropped to the floor as if Pegleg had screamed for a hundred push-ups.
Staring under the bed, Dunk found himself eye to eye with Schlechter Zauberer. The wizard squeaked in terror and tried to stab the prone rookie with a thin knife that looked to Dunk like an oversized letter opener.
Dunk deflected the feeble attack and grabbed the wizard by the wrist and squeezed until he dropped the knife. He then hauled the pathetic creature bodily out from under the bed, with Zauberer whimpering the entire time.
“I didn’t hurt anyone,” the wizard said.
When Spinne saw Zauberer, a short scream escaped her before she could stifle it. Dirk just stared at the thin man in the oversized robes.
“Who is that?” he asked.
Dunk hauled his prisoner to his feet. “His name is Zauberer, and he’s a wizard who trucks with daemons.”
“You know him?” Spinne asked, edging away toward the far side of her bed.
“I caught him rummaging through my coach’s tent during a game in Magritta. He had a gargoyle with him then.”
Dirk got half out of his bed to peer underneath his mattress. He popped back up immediately and shook his head. “Nothing there, at least.”
Dunk shook Zauberer by the collar. “What were you doing under there?”
“Spying on us, I’ll bet,” said Spinne. “Which team are you working for? Did the Chaos All-Stars send you? Or the Dwarf Giants?”
“No!” the wizard protested, his feet barely touching the ground. “It was not
hing like that.”
“So you’re just some kind of twisted fan then, hoping to get a good look at Spinne’s rack?”
“Hey!” the catcher said.
“No! Really!” Zauberer said. “I didn’t mean to be here this long. I snuck in, and then the woman here woke up, and I was trapped. I thought I’d wait for them to fall asleep before I left.”
“And then I came in, and we found you?” Dunk asked, letting the wizard’s heels touch the ground again.
Zauberer nodded as he shrugged his robes back into place. “And now I’ll be going,” he said evenly.
Dunk tightened his grip on the wizard’s collar. “What were you doing here?”
Zauberer pressed his lips together and refused to talk.
“Just throw him out the window,” Dirk said. “Problem solved.”
Dunk goggled at his brother. “I’m not going to kill him in cold blood.”
“It’s not cold blood. You found him here. He surprised you. He tried to escape.”
Zauberer pulled against Dunk’s grasp, but the rookie just hauled the wizard in. “He’s not going anywhere, and he’s not much of a threat to us.”
Dirk nodded. “He is a bit of a scarecrow.”
“Didn’t he try to stab you?” Spinne said. “I thought I heard a knife hit the floor.” She glared at the wizard, “Did you try to stab him?”
Dunk wasn’t sure she wasn’t laughing at the man.
Zauberer hung his head. “Yes, I did,” he said. “I deserve death.”
Dunk stared at the wizard as if he’d just announced that he wanted to show them his mutant third arm. “Are you mad?” he asked.
Zauberer shuddered. “You don’t understand. I’m not in the kind of position where I’m allowed to fail. I’d rather die. The alternative is worse.”
Dunk almost relaxed his grip, but he tightened it again when he felt the wizard try to pull away. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Give him what he wants,” Dirk said, sitting up in his bed. “He’s happy, we’re happy. What’s the harm?”
“He’d be dead!”
Dirk stood up and hobbled over to the wizard and his brother. He stretched to his full height when he reached Zauberer, so he could look down at the pathetic man. He glared into the sneak’s eyes for a moment then said. “He’s lying.”
[Blood Bowl 01] - Blood Bowl Page 19