“Y-Your Majesty!” spluttered Nooth, doing his best to hide his alarm with a forced smile. He hastily hid the coin-chest, too, shoving it out of the queen’s sight. “This is an unexpected . . .”
A red-carpeted drawbridge swung down from the royal carriage and landed on Nooth’s foot.
“. . . pleasure,” he finished, through gritted teeth.
Queen Oofeefa swept grandly across the drawbridge, crushing Nooth’s toes beneath it.
“I thought I’d come to this caveman match myself,” said the queen. She pinched Nooth’s nose between her finger and thumb. “To have a little nose around,” she told him, smiling sweetly.
Two men came trotting across the drawbridge after the queen, squashing Nooth’s foot some more. They were enclosed in a mobile wooden booth equipped with the latest voice-boosting gadgetry. These were Queen Oofeefa’s royal commentators, Bryan-with-a-y and Brian-with-an-i.
“And you have to say, Brian,” observed the former as they passed the grimacing Nooth, “Real Bronzio’s manager is really on the back foot!”
“Terrible start for the lad, Bryan,” agreed Brian-with-an-i. “I put it down to pre-match nerves.”
Queen Oofeefa made herself comfortable in Nooth’s usual place of honor. All around the great soccer stadium, people were taking their seats. The stands were packed. The vast crowd gave a mighty roar as a grand fanfare heralded the start of the main event.
“Right . . . well . . .” said Nooth, “Let’s start the fun, shall we?” His main concern now was to distract the queen from spotting his hastily hidden schnookels.
He moved to the front of the balcony to begin the pre-match ceremony.
“Bring out the Stone Age captain!” he commanded.
Dug stood waiting in the mouth of the players’ tunnel. A shove from his burly Bronze guards sent him stumbling into the arena. He walked miserably out onto the field, to his doom.
“WHO CHALLENGES THE CHAMPIONS?” demanded Nooth pompously.
Dug took a deep breath. He stepped forward to pick up the ceremonial spear of the Challenger. This was the moment of truth. If he went through with the deal he had reluctantly agreed to with Nooth, there could be no turning back. It would mean a life of slavery for him, but it would save the rest of the Tribe from sharing his fate. Nooth had promised to leave them in peace, as long as Dug played his part. What choice did he have?
He raised the Challenger’s spear high . . .
. . . then let the hand holding it drop limply to his side.
“NOT ME!” he yelled.
There were murmurs of surprise all around the stadium.
“I FORFEIT THE MATCH AND VOLUNTEER MYSELF FOR THE MINES!” declared Dug, as Nooth had instructed.
Up in his box, Lord Nooth made an exaggerated show of shock and astonishment.
The buzz of the crowd quickly turned into a loud chorus of boos and jeers. This was not what the fans had paid good bronze to see.
Queen Oofeefa shared her people’s angry frustration. She had come a long way for this match. She was not used to being disappointed. She glared frostily at Nooth.
“Have the cavemen caved?” she said, scowling.
“So it seems. How very disappointing!” said Nooth, doing his best to look like he meant it. He was not in the least bit disappointed. This was exactly how he had planned for things to go. The match was off, but the schnookels were in. He didn’t care about the match. It was the money that mattered.
“Everyone go home! There’s no match!” he shouted from the balcony, then lowered his voice to speak slyly to the nearest of his guards. “Tell the staff—no refunds.”
As Dug listened to the crowd’s angry jeering, and saw Nooth smirking triumphantly down at him, he had never felt more alone. The knowledge that he would never see the Tribe again, not even his best pal Hognob, was hard to bear. He hung his head in misery.
A moment later, however, a loud yell of surprise made him look up. The cry had come from Nooth’s assistant, Dino. He was staring at the sky, pointing in amazement. Dug followed Dino’s wide-eyed gaze.
What he saw made his own jaw drop, his heart soar, and the ceremonial spear slip from his hand.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GAME ON!
“Fowl!” yelled Dino, jabbing a finger at the sky. He blew a blast—phweeeeeep!—on his referee’s whistle to get everyone’s attention. “FOWL!”
Lord Nooth scowled at his overexcited assistant. “What do you mean, ‘foul?’” he snapped. “No one’s even playing, you silly slaphead!”
“No . . . FOWL!” repeated Dino, pointing sky-ward with even more urgency.
As his puzzled boss lifted his gaze, the rest of the crowd looked up, too.
A giant fowl, a monster-sized duck, was circling in the clear sky above. Several figures were perched on its feathered back. Nine of them were dressed in red-and-white soccer uniforms. The tenth, who appeared to be piloting the huge bird, was an elderly fellow in a green goalkeeper’s shirt.
“Well, Bryan,” announced Brian-with-an-i over the commentary system. “It looks like the Stone Age team has just flown in.”
“Yes, Brian,” agreed Bryan-with-a-y. “They’re definitely looking good in the air!”
The giant duck began its landing approach. As it came swooping down toward the arena, Nooth watched, dumbstruck.
Queen Oofeefa fixed him with a withering look. She was running out of patience. Her Royal Highness did not like surprises.
“So . . .” she said frostily, “It seems there is a match after all!” She raised a royal eyebrow.
“Oh, happy day,” replied Nooth, with another forced smile. Then he let out a shriek of horror as—Splat! The low-flying duck deposited a large quantity of sticky white poop right on his bald head.
Down on the field, Dug watched in open-mouthed amazement as the duck settled on the grass. His friends hastily dismounted and came striding over to join him. Hognob’s enthusiastic greeting nearly bowled him over.
“Planning on starting without us, Dug?” asked Bobnar, grinning at Dug’s stunned expression.
Dug’s first reaction to his friends’ surprise arrival was pure delight. As his mind turned, however, his spirits sank once more. The Tribe thought they were ready to face Real Bronzio. They hadn’t seen the paintings Nooth had shown him. They didn’t know the awful truth.
“Chief, we can’t play this game!” Dug told Bobnar desperately. If they did, the entire Tribe would surely end up down in Nooth’s horrible mine.
“What?” said Bobnar, still smiling. “Because of a few old cave paintings?”
For a second time, Dug looked gobsmacked.
“So . . . you know about those terrible pictures?” he said.
The Tribe had Hognob to thank for that. The moment Dug had left the Valley mine to face his lonely fate, Hognob had hurried back to the Badlands camp to find Bobnar. He had made the baffled old chief accompany him back to the painted cavern. Seeing the pictures there, Bobnar had easily guessed what Dug’s reaction to them had been. The chief had rallied the Tribe as quickly as possible to go to their friend’s aid. Thanks to their daring duck-flight, they had made it to Bronze City in time to face their mighty opponents, together.
“You’re right, Dug,” said Bobnar. “Those pictures are terrible. I can draw better than that!” He laid a reassuring hand on Dug’s shoulder. “But that’s all they are. Pictures.” He gestured to the rest of the Tribe. “It’s this group that counts,” he said earnestly. “And you’ve given them hope, Dug.”
There was a steely look on Bobnar’s white-whiskered face as he turned to address the others.
“Let’s go and paint our own story!” he cried. “For the Valley!”
The Tribe responded with an enthusiastic roar of team spirit . . .
. . . which died out rather abruptly as the mighty giants of Real Bronzio fell into line opposite them. The likes of Jurgund, the team captain, and his rugged teammates were not intimidated by Stone Age bravado. They leered men
acingly at the Tribe.
“Actually,” muttered Bobnar, having second thoughts, “they do look pretty tough.”
Up in his box, Nooth had managed to wipe most of the duck poop from his head. He was seething. He no longer cared that his plan to have Dug forfeit the match had backfired. All he wanted now was to see the cavemen humiliated. And why settle for one slave for his mine when he could have a whole tribe? He had, after all, always intended to go back on his deal.
Nooth reached for a nearby lever and gave it a yank. Out on the field, a soccer ball rose through the centre spot trapdoor.
“Very well, caveman!” Nooth snarled down at Dug. “It’s your funeral!”
With a nod, he signaled to Dino to get the match underway.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BRILLIANT BRONZIO
Dug stood beside the center spot, with the ball at his feet and his heart in his mouth. His anxious teammates were firing questions at him.
“What’s the plan, Dug?”
“Are we sticking to our positions?”
“What formation, Dug?”
“Errrrm . . . I . . . err . . .” stammered Dug, flustered.
Goona had told the Tribe they could win this match. They just had to believe they could. But right now, as he looked anxiously from one grim-faced Real Bronzio player to the next, Dug was finding that tough. Their opponents looked ready and eager for battle.
Jurgund, their captain, glared scornfully at Dug. “Let’s get this done,” he growled.
Dino blew a shrill blast on his referee’s whistle. An official flipped the huge sand-timer mounted on the stadium’s giant scoreboard. There was a swell of noise from the excited crowd.
Dug kicked off with a short pass to Gravelle, who looked as nervous as he was. Gravelle controlled the ball clumsily, and . . .
“Huh?”
. . . had it stolen from her, in a flash, by Lightning Hammer. The Bronzio midfielder had moved with breathtaking speed to make the tackle.
Hammer set off upfield, toward the Tribe’s goal. Dug sprinted after him, desperate to win the ball back. But Hammer was too fast. He played a perfectly weighted pass to Jurgund, who was making an attacking run, his golden hair streaming. Jurgund collected the pass expertly and used a smooth trick move to breeze past Thongo.
“Everyone get back!” yelled Dug.
Goona sprinted up beside him. “Don’t we need someone up front?” she asked. “For the counter attack?”
“It’s too risky!” Dug insisted.
The scrambling Stone Age players did their best to intercept Jurgund’s weaving run, and failed. Jurgund dribbled into the penalty box, took the ball effortlessly past the last man, Asbo, and fired in a superb shot.
Bobnar made a brave attempt at a save, but the ball curled past his outstretched fingertips, into the back of the net.
The crowd went wild.
Their triumphant roar drowned out the phweeeep! of Dino’s whistle. Goalscorer Jurgund soaked up the adoration of the fans as his celebrating teammates came running to smother him with hugs and kisses.
One of the scoring officials cranked a handle to make the scoreboard read 1 to 0. Hardly any sand had trickled through the match timer, and Real Bronzio was already a goal up.
“Ohhhh . . . my word, Bryan!” declared Brian-with-an-i. “Real Bronzio really caught their opponents napping!”
The Tribe looked at one another, awestruck. The speed and ease with which their opponents had opened the scoring had left them shaken.
It was only a matter of minutes before Real Bronzio scored again.
And again.
“Goal number three!” announced Brian-with-an-i, chirpily. “Let’s see the replay . . .”
Down in the arena, a small-scale replica of the field, mounted on a cart, was swiftly trundled out into the center circle. It was manned by the Action Replayers—a troupe of puppeteers. Using puppet versions of the players, they set about staging a slow-motion reenactment of the goal.
By now, the home fans were in a jubilant mood. The cavemen were getting well and truly thumped. Up in his private box, Nooth looked on in smug delight, wondering why he had ever been in the least bit worried about the match. Queen Oofeefa was having a grand old time, too, tooting away enthusiastically on a vuvuzela.
The desperate Tribe looked to their captain.
“Help us!” they pleaded.
But Dug was lost in his own panic and despair at how badly things were going. He could find no words of instruction or inspiration.
It was the fourth goal that seemed to seal the Tribe’s fate.
It came in the closing seconds of the first half. This time the glory went to Lightning Hammer. After a dazzling solo run, he let loose a fearsome shot. Bobnar somehow got his body behind it, only to be driven into the back of his net so hard that the entire goal collapsed on top of him, knocking him out cold.
Dino blew a single whistle blast to award the goal, then three more to signal it was half-time. As the scoreboard was updated to a humiliating 4 to 0, Dug and his downhearted teammates hurried to the aid of their injured chief.
Up in Nooth’s box, Bryan-with-a-y summed up the first half.
“I’ll tell you what, Brian, the Stone Age team is in total disarray!”
No one was enjoying the Tribe’s humiliation more than Lord Nooth. He was getting rather carried away.
“That’s why you’re going down!” he jeered, wagging the giant finger of his foam hand in time with his chant. “That’s why you’re going down . . . the mine!”
The mood of the Tribe, as they skulked off down the tunnel for the break, was very different to that in Nooth’s box. They had to carry Bobnar to the changing room on a stretcher. He lay still, eyes closed, moaning weakly. Dug knelt anxiously over him. The others looked on with gloomy faces.
“This is all my fault . . .” muttered Dug miserably, as he mopped the old chief’s brow with a sponge. He saw Bobnar’s eyelids flicker open. “Chief?”
“Dug . . .” croaked Bobnar, with effort. His eyes were bleary, his voice weak. “Promise me, when this is all over . . . when we get back to the Valley, we’ll go hunting . . . like the good old days . . .”
Dug had a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes as he replied.
“I promise, Chief. We’ll go rabbit hunting.”
Bobnar’s eyes widened. He grasped Dug’s arm, struggling to sit up.
“No, Dug! Not rabbit hunting! Mammoth hunting!” he insisted. “I was wrong to . . . we should be . . . mammoth hunting . . .”
He fell back, and lay still.
“Chief?” cried Dug, fearing the worst. “Chief!”
The others’ faces filled with sadness.
A moment later, to their enormous relief, Bobnar began to snore.
“I think he’s worn out,” said Gravelle.
“Well,” said Treebor, “he is nearly thirty-two!”
Magma looked puzzled. “What did he mean?” she asked, frowning. “About mammoth hunting?”
Dug had no wish to discuss his ambitious idea. It seemed to him that his ideas only caused trouble. “He’s a bit confused, that’s all,” he told Gravelle.
“No,” snapped a voice behind him. “He’s not!”
The Tribe turned. Goona was standing with her hands on her hips, and a feisty look on her face.
“He’s not confused at all,” she said. “He’s spot on.” She began to pace up and down, fixing her stern glare on each of her teammates in turn. “That’s your problem. You’re acting like rabbit-hunters out there!” Reaching Dug, she jabbed a finger at him. “Especially you!”
Dug felt a stab of shame.
“You’ve stopped believing,” said Goona to Dug accusingly. “And if you don’t believe, how do you expect them to?”
Dug knew, in his heart, that his Bronze Age friend was right.
“The only way to beat giants is to think big,” insisted Goona. “Think like—”
“Like mammoth hunters . . .” murmured Dug
. His sense of self-belief and purpose came flooding back. He stepped forward to stand beside Goona, and turned to face the others. Determination shone in his eyes once more.
“Goona’s right,” he told his friends. “This Tribe’s done playing safe!”
Out in the arena, a fanfare marked the end of the interval.
It was time for the second half of the match.
Time to go hunt mammoths.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE TRIBE, UNITED
Once again, the Bronze and Stone Age teams faced off in the seconds before kick-off. This time, Dug held Jurgund’s fierce glare with his own steady, steely gaze. The Tribe, he was determined, were about to show Real Bronzio just what cavemen could do.
“Looks like a change in tactics for the cavemen,” observed Brian-with-an-i. “They’re pushing every-one forward.”
The most important change Dug had made was in his own attitude. His anxiety and indecision were gone. He was once more his old, bold self—full of purpose, energy, and confidence.
“We can still do this!” Dug told his teammates with conviction. “We can bring down a mammoth!”
As he gave out instructions, making full use of Goona’s advice, the rest of the Tribe quickly took on his determined mood.
At the sound of Dino’s whistle, Real Bronzio kicked off . . .
. . . and the Tribe surged forward to press for the ball.
Jurgund dribbled expertly toward the timid Treebor. With a slick side-step, he went past him . . .
. . . and found, to his surprise, that he no longer had the ball. Treebor, for once, had stood his ground and tackled the Bronzio captain. He quickly hit a long pass into the path of Asbo, who was sprinting upfield along the wing.
Asbo wove past one player, then another, using the skills he had learned dodging Badlands geysers. He sent a looping cross into the Real Bronzio box.
The Bronzio goalkeeper, Hugelgraber, had seen no action whatsoever in the first half of the match, and wasn’t expecting to be called upon in the second. As Grubup came charging onto the end of Asbo’s cross, he caught the keeper napping.
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