“The best part of it,” Kur said in Dunk’s ear, “the very best part, is that I know you had nothing to do with all those murders.” He started to snigger. “Did you, ‘killer’?”
It was then that Dunk realised that the entire stadium had gone dead quiet. He looked out at the Reavers and saw Dirk and Spinne staring back at him, their jaws gone slack. Everyone else on the stage was gaping at something above the end zone.
Dunk glanced in that direction and breathed a smile. “Care to repeat that for me again?” he said to Kur. “I don’t think the people in the cheap seats quite heard you.”
Dunk felt Kur turn his head to see what the rookie meant. Dunk knew that the sight of the two of them displayed on the jumbo wall looming over the end zone would stun the injured thrower for a moment. That was when he made his move.
Dunk took a half step away from Kur and then spun back, slamming a spiked elbow pad into the man’s face. The unarmoured Kur never had a chance. The spike took him right between the eyes and plunged straight into his brain. He was dead before Dunk could shake his wide-eyed corpse off his arm.
The crowd went nuts.
Dunk looked up and saw a floating golden ball looking straight at him. He smiled at it as Lästiges stepped up toward him.
“That’s quite a revelation, Dunk,” the reporter said to him, a broad smile on her crimson-painted lips. “I suppose this puts the facts about your case in a new light.”
Dunk glanced behind him and saw Blaque and Whyte hauling Kur’s body away.
“I hope so, Lästiges,” Dunk said breathing a massive sigh of relief. “I just want to say thanks to everyone, to my coach Pegleg, to my agent Slick, to the rest of the Hackers, and to all the fans for all their support. It’s been a hell of a year.”
“Is this a retirement speech?” Lästiges asked, mock concern marring her smooth brow.
Dunk shook his head. “Pretty much the opposite, actually. Dunk Hoffnung is here to stay!” he roared up at the crowd, and the crowed roared back. “I love this game!”
Later, in the Hackers’ locker room, after everyone else had left, Dunk gave Slick a massive hug that threatened to squish the halfling. “You,” he said, “are the best agent ever!”
Slick gave a little bow after he extricated himself from Dunk’s grasp. “What have I been telling you since we met?”
“All those interviews kept us here forever,” Dunk said as he slammed his locker shut. “We need to hustle if we’re going to make the team dinner.”
“You don’t think they’ll all want to hang you for losing the game?” Slick asked.
“We played the best we could,” Dunk said. “We shouldn’t have even been in that game. We wouldn’t have been without the Black Jerseys rigging it. The Reavers were the better team.”
“And there’s always next year,” Slick added.
“There’s always next year,” Dunk agreed, smiling in spite of himself. “I tell you, losing never felt so good.”
“It palls pretty quickly, kid. Take it from me.”
Dunk and Slick turned to see the Gobbo slither in from the tunnel to the Hackers’ dugout. The creature wore a murderous frown.
“You cost me today, kid,” the Gobbo said, waving a fat finger at Dunk.
“I thought you got what you wanted,” Dunk said evenly. “The Hackers lost.”
“Sure,” the Gobbo said, throwing his hands in the air. “Today was a good day for me, but with Kur blabbing on Cabalvision about the Black Jerseys, I’m ruined! I’ll never be able to use them again!”
“You double-crossed me,” Dunk said. “Suck it up.”
“Come on, kid,” the Gobbo said, “you don’t think I was serious about that, do you? A little joke among friends.”
“Not funny.”
“Well, if we’re not friends anymore, I suppose it’s only fair that I tell the GWs all about your ogre friend’s killings. Or I could tell the Colleges of Magic about how he destroyed their dungeon. Wizards don’t appreciate things like that the way you and I do.” The stunted creature stood staring defiantly at Dunk and Slick, confident he’d played the last, winning card.
Dunk stalked toward the Gobbo and thrust a thick finger into the creature’s soft chest. “You breathe a word about M’Grash to anyone, try to destroy me or any of my friends, including my brother and I’ll crucify you.”
The Gobbo sneered up at the Blood Bowl player. “How do you think you’re going to do that?”
“There are still a lot of Black Jerseys out there,” Dunk said as he leaned over to growl into the Gobbo’s pitted face. “If they learn you rigged the Blood Bowl to cut them out of the winnings, there won’t be a place in the Old World you can hide.”
“You wouldn’t,” the Gobbo started, then caught himself mid-sentence. He snorted angrily as he glared into Dunk’s unforgiving eyes. “Yes. Yes, you would.”
“Get out of here,” Dunk said. “If I so much as smell you again, I’ll beat you into a puddle.”
The Gobbo gasped, offended by the threat but he turned and skulked off towards the tunnel again. As he reached the exit, he looked back and said, “You owe me, kid. You owe me big. And Gunther the Gobbo always collects his debts!”
37
“Did you see the look on his face?” Dirk asked. “Just before you killed him? When he looked up at the Cabalvision and saw what everyone else in the stadium was watching. Priceless!”
Dunk shook his head and smiled sidelong at Spinne, who sat there at a private table in the Skinned Cat with them and Slick as they held their own celebration of the day’s events. “I’ll have to look for it on the commemorative recording,” he said wistfully.
“Be sure you get it on Daemonic Visual Display,” Dirk said. “I picked up a player this year, and the DVDs are just amazing.”
Spinne put her arm around Dunk and gave him a hug. “You did great today,” she said. “I was impressed.”
“Look who’s talking,” Dunk said. “That catch you made to finish off the game? Incredible. I’ll watch that part of the recording over and over.”
“You should watch how I got rid of the ball,” Dirk said, waving a half-eaten turkey leg at his brother. “You might finally learn something about how the game is played.”
“Next year, Dirk,” Dunk said between hearty swallows of his Killer Genuine Draft. “Next year. Assuming the Hackers are willing to take me back.”
“And why wouldn’t they?” Slick asked, his concern exaggerated by the vast quantities of Teinekin Beer he’d already consumed. “We have a contract, for one.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Dunk said, “I missed about a quarter of the season. On top of that, Coach nearly killed me during half-time for trying to throw the game.”
“Tish-tosh,” Slick said. “Pegleg saw how you played your heart out in the second half. That quick score you made when you got back onto the field had the entire team cheering for you, even the scrubs.”
“Really?” Dunk said, slightly amazed. He raised his stein for a quick toast. “I guess there’s hope.”
“Besides which, aside from any meetings in the Majors, of course, I think I can help Pegleg arrange for a few grudge matches between Hackers and Reavers next year,” Slick said. “But they’ll only really work if you two Hoffnungs are on the teams. We’ll negotiate the Cabalvision rights separately and rake in a fortune. Who wouldn’t want to see it?”
The laughter from the four friends ended abruptly as the door to their private room smashed inward off its hinges. They spun about in their chairs to see Skragger framed there in the doorway, crushing the throat of the hapless serving girl who’d tried to stop him. He dropped the girl’s lifeless body to the floor and stepped into the room.
“Blew deal,” the black orc growled as he pointed a crooked finger at Dirk. “Broke record. Gotta pay.”
Dunk, Dirk, and Spinne leapt up from the table while Slick scooted under it. Dunk glanced around the room and saw that it was a dead end but for a single window that look
ed down over a forty-foot drop. He wasn’t quite ready to try that, yet.
Dunk flipped over the table, placing it between Skragger and the rest. Slick squeaked like a mouse as he found himself exposed. He scrambled around to one edge of the overturned table to get a better view.
“There are three of us,” Dirk said nervously. “We can take him, right?”
Skragger strode forward and kicked the table into splinters with a single blow. Slick skittered back against a wall and then made a dive for the now-open door.
“Maybe not,” Spinne said, “but we’ll go down fighting.” As she spoke, she stepped up and levelled a bone-crushing roundhouse kick to Skragger’s chest.
Skragger took two steps back from the force of the blow and smiled, showing all his tusks and broken, rotten, vicious teeth. Spinne grabbed her broken toes and hopped around, yelling, “Ow! Ow! Ow!”
Dunk stepped up, ready to take on the black orc, but his brother breezed by him and slammed into Skragger like a blitzer taking down a thrower who’d held on to the ball too long. Skragger grunted as Dirk’s pumping legs drove him backward into the wall next to the door.
Once they’d come to a stop, Skragger balled his fists together and brought them down on Dirk’s back like a warhammer on an anvil. Dirk collapsed at Skragger’s feet, and the black orc kicked him aside with a steel-booted toe to the ribs.
Dunk glanced back at the window and gauged his chances. A fall from the window would likely mean a broken leg at least, probably worse. At the moment, though, it seemed like staying in the room with Skragger would be certain death. Though if he jumped, he’d be abandoning Dirk and Spinne to the black orc’s non-existent mercies. Looking at his brother and then at Spinne as she hobbled over next to him, he realised he couldn’t do it.
“Your turn,” Spinne said to him.
“Can I pass on that?” Dunk said as he watched Skragger crack his neck and knuckles to prepare for his next challenger.
“It’s you or me,” Spinne said, looking at her damaged foot.
“Since you put it that way,” Dunk said. He leaned over and gave Spinne a tender kiss on her soft, sweet lips. “Wish me luck.”
“Awwww,” Skragger said. “Saying goodbye? Don’t. All be in hell tonight!”
Dunk strode up to Skragger and feinted left. The black orc went for it, and Dunk pulled back and levelled his best right hook into the creature’s jaw, putting everything he had into it.
Dunk felt a tusk break against his fist, but before Skragger could spit it out, he hit him again, this time a hammering blow to the belly. The black orc bent over double, and Dunk smashed his right into him once again.
Dunk pounded at Skragger mercilessly, keeping the black orc on defence the entire time. As he rained blow after blow into the murderous veteran, Spinne cheered him on. Her voice put new energy into his arms, and he brutalised the orc until the skin peeled from his bloodied knuckles and he felt like he might never be able to raise his arms again.
Dunk staggered backwards, exhausted, straight into Spinne’s arms. She propped him up as best she could with her injured foot.
“How’m I doing?” Dunk panted.
“Looked good from here,” Spinne said. Then she gasped as the blood-covered Skragger stretched himself back up to his full height and favoured her with an evil smile.
“Finished?” Skragger asked Dunk. It was all Dunk could do to just goggle at the creature. The black orc growled as he stepped forward. “Will be, soon.”
Spinne let Dunk slide to the ground, then stepped between him and the black orc. “Come get some,” she said to him.
Skragger growled and lashed out at the catcher. She ducked beneath his blow and then came up and popped him in the throat. He stumbled back, coughing hard and clutching at his throat.
Spinne stepped in for the kill, and the black orc’s clawed hand reached out and snagged her around the neck. Keeping her at arm’s length, he pulled her up off her feet and began to squeeze the life from her. She tried desperately to pull his fingers from her throat as her legs kicked feebly beneath her, but it was like trying to pull apart an iron band.
Dunk knew he had to do something or Spinne would be dead in seconds. He glanced over at Dirk and saw that his brother was rousing but would be far too late. Throwing caution to the wind, he vaulted up onto his haunches and charged straight at Skragger’s legs.
Dunk hit the black orc right in the knees and heard one of the joints crack. Skragger howled in pain and hurled Spinne against the far wall, where she narrowly avoided spilling out through the high window.
The black orc’s leg gave way, and he slammed down atop Dunk, crushing the air from him. With another howl no less bloodthirsty than the last, Skragger pulled Dunk from under him and wrapped both hands around the rookies’ throat.
“Dead!” the orc snarled. “Now!”
The world around Dunk seemed to pull away from him as if he was looking at it down a long, dark tunnel. He knew that in a moment the light at its end would flicker and go out forever.
“Put that man down!” a voice demanded from the doorway.
Dunk felt the grip on his throat slacken, and the world became bright again. He gulped for air as he turned to see who had come to his rescue.
There, framed in the doorway, stood Slick, backed up by Pegleg and Cavre. Dunk could see the rest of his team-mates peering over their coach’s shoulder as he levelled his legendary hook at the black orc.
“You have two choices, Mr. Skragger,” Pegleg snarled as he stepped into the room, the rest of the Hackers following him into the cramped space. “You can try to take us all on, in which case I’ll gut you with my hook while the others hold you down.”
“Or?” Skragger said as he let Dunk slip to the ground and stood to face the wrath of a full Blood Bowl team.
“You can take the easy way out,” Pegleg said, nodding at the window.
Skragger nodded as he considered the scowling faces of the players facing him. Then he noticed Dunk tapping him on the leg.
“Take them on,” Dunk croaked as he glared into the black orc’s shaking eyes. “I want to see you get torn apart.”
“Not today,” Skragger sneered. He turned and sprinted three long steps toward the window. He dove through it as if he was stretching out to reach his last end zone and then disappeared over the edge. He didn’t scream, but a moment after he left the room there was a sickening splat.
Cavre came over to help Dunk to his feet while Pegleg did the same for Spinne. Slick directed Karsten and Henrik in getting Dirk steady again. M’Grash watched the whole thing from the doorway, too large to join the others in the smallish room.
“I thought we might have lost you there, Dunk,” Cavre said. “When Slick told us Skragger was trying to kill you, I thought we’d never get here in time.”
“Yes,” Pegleg said, a hint of admiration colouring his voice. “You did well in keeping the orc busy until we could get here. Many would have given up before then.”
“I… I didn’t know you were coming at all,” Dunk said.
“Come now, son,” Slick said, “you didn’t think I’d just run off to let you die.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Spinne said, now sitting on a chair that Gigia had shoved under her.
“You were the last people I expected to see come through that door,” Dunk said, stretching his back as Guillermo checked him for a concussion.
“And why would that be, Mr. Hoffnung?” Pegleg said. “You’re a Hacker, and the Hackers back their own.”
“Really?” Dunk said to the coach. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me any more.”
Pegleg smiled warmly. “We can always use someone with your talents and love of the game. Besides which, we only have just over two months before the start of the Spike! Magazine Tournament.”
Dunk shook his head as he came over to put his arm around Spinne. He smiled at Slick and Dirk and then up at Pegleg as he said, “It never ends, does it?”
“It never does,
Dunk.” Pegleg flashed the rookie a broad, gold-toothed grin under his yellow tricorn hat. “And that’s the best part.”
Scanning, formatting and basic
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