[Blood Bowl 03] - Death Match

by Matt Forbeck - (ebook by Undead)

  The ball landed in the middle of the foredeck. Dunk had expected it to bounce or maybe roll a bit, perhaps to knock some of the daemons into the sea. Instead, it smashed right through the decking, tearing through it as if it were little more than paper.

  Dunk wondered for a moment just how far down the ball might go. Where would it stop? Then a geyser of seawater gushed up through the hole it had created.

  Pegleg cackled with glee as the snake-daemons scrambled about the deck, looking desperately for some way to seal the hole. Then a second ball crashed down among them. This one caught a snake-daemon square in the back as it fell, and it dragged the creature down into the new hole it made before it could even hiss in protest.

  A third ball smashed down a moment later, and the ship’s nose started to tilt forward as she took on water. The snake-daemons started leaping over the ship’s rail and paddling for the shore. Unfortunately for them, the snakes didn’t make particularly good swimmers, and they made poor progress against the outgoing tide.

  The monstrous masthead on the Seas of Hate let loose a horrendous hiss as it reached for the Sea Chariot. The viper’s head on one of its arms smashed down in front of Dunk and Pegleg, sinking its fangs into the gunwale’s wood. Pegleg pulled Dunk back from the railing and turned him to watch M’Grash’s response.

  The ogre wrapped his hands around the cannonball this time and stood sideways to the Seas of Hate. Then he kicked up his front leg as he brought the ball over his head. He transferred the cannonball into one hand as he thrust his front leg forward. Dunk could see the ball glowing white in an outline around his hand.

  M’Grash hurled the cannonball forward with all his might, and it left his hand as if fired from a real cannon. It shot straight towards the living masthead and smashed into its chest. Then it exploded in a blast of noise, heat, and light.

  Bits of the snake-daemon masthead went everywhere. Some of them landed on the deck next to Dunk. He kicked one with his foot and saw that it was nothing more than splinters of badly scorched wood.

  The rest of the snake-daemons gaped in astonishment at the large hole where their masthead had once been. The only thing left was the one snake arm still attached to the Sea Chariot. It held on to where the shoulder had been on the Seas of Hate, stretched taut almost to the point of snapping.

  The snake-daemons pitched themselves over the side of the ship and swam desperately for the shore. Some of them tried to climb up onto the Sea Chariot, but a well-aimed crossbow bolt through the cranium of the first two or three put their ambitions to rest. Dunk glanced back and saw Cavre grin at him from the back railing of the bridge as he loaded his crossbow once more.

  Over the hissing of the creatures in the water, Dunk heard a chorus of pathetic wails rise up. At first, he couldn’t tell from where they came. Then he figured it out.

  “The prisoners!” Dunk grabbed Pegleg by the shoulders. “The people rowing that ship, they’re all chained to it. They’ll go down with it!”

  Pegleg grimaced. “They would have all died under those daemons’ tender mercies anyhow. It’s a small price to pay to rid the seas of the taint of those bastards.”

  Dunk cursed. He couldn’t just let all those people die. He stared over at the Sea of Hate, and then did the only thing he could think of. He leapt upon the masthead’s remaining arm.

  18

  Now that the masthead lived no more, the arm had become a plank of well carved wood. With the ship’s nose already starting to sink, Dunk could slide down the plank, right to the deck of the Seas of Hate—and he did.

  Once Dunk reached the ship, he pulled himself up over the gunwale and onto the main deck. There, in the open hold below, he saw a few dozen bruised and battered men straining desperately against their shackles. None had managed to free themselves yet.

  “The keys!” Dunk shouted down at the prisoners. “Where are the keys?”

  A few of the slaves stood up and pointed at the rhythm-keeper’s drum at the edge of the deck overlooking the hold. Dunk dashed over to it and found a single rusty key hanging from a vicious hook. He snatched it up and dived into the hold below.

  Insane with panic, the water already sloshing around their ankles, the men grabbed at Dunk and tried to take the key from him. After he smashed the first few attempts down with his free fist, they held up their iron-cuffed wrists instead and pleaded with him to let them go.

  Dunk worked that key into every lock he could find. In, twist, out. In, twist, out. In, twist, out.

  A few of the freed muttered their thanks to the thrower, but most scrambled free and dived over the gunwale without a word. Dunk could hardly blame them. The water was rising fast.

  Just as Dunk reached the final row of oarsmen, something in the front of the ship gave way, and the sea came rushing into the hold. In, twist, out. In, twist, out. In, twist, out.

  Dunk thought he just might make it, but the last prisoner refused to show Dunk his shackles. Instead, he snarled at the thrower and tried to bite him. Dunk considered knocking the man out and then freeing him, but the hold chose that moment to slip beneath the waves.

  The water hit Dunk in the back and shoved him up and free. He reached for the shackled madman, but his grip slipped away. As he bobbed on the surface for an instant, he looked down and saw the man struggling with his irons, the air bubbling from his lungs.

  Dunk grabbed a good breath and then dived down towards the man. He wasn’t going to let this poor soul drown if he could help it. The more people he could rescue from daemons of any kind, the better, and if he had to risk his own life to do it, then so be it.

  When Dunk reached the man, his impending death by drowning seemed to have washed his madness away. He presented his shackles and waited for Dunk to work the key into the lock.

  Once the man was free, he kicked away towards the surface. Dunk made to follow him, but found that the sleeve of his shirt had caught on the man’s irons. Before he could separate himself, one of the last escapee’s desperate kicks caught Dunk in the side of the head.

  Stunned, Dunk hung there in the water for a moment. As his head started to clear, he heard a loud, horrible creaking noise, and the irons dragged him deeper into the water. The entire ship was going down.

  Dunk wanted to curse, but he saved his breath, as he had precious little of it left. He tried to tear himself away from the irons again, but with his feet now dragging along above him he couldn’t find the leverage.

  The world around Dunk began to spin and close in around the edges, and he felt his consciousness leaving him. Looking up through the water, he saw the sunlight above getting further and further away. Then something huge splashed into the water next to him, knocking the last of the air out of his lungs.

  Dunk thought for sure that he was dead. Then he felt his sleeve tear loose from his shirt at the shoulder, and a strong hand yanked him up towards the light.

  The next thing Dunk knew he was flat on his back, stretched out on M’Grash’s torso, with Spinne shoving on his chest and belly, forcing the water from him. He sat up, coughing and spluttering, choking fresh air back into his lungs. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Then he saw that M’Grash was lying in the open sea, floating on his back to give Spinne a surface to work on Dunk.

  “Thanks,” Dunk croaked, both at M’Grash and Spinne. A cheer went up from the deck of the Sea Chariot and from the newly freed men swimming around them in the water.

  Spinne pulled Dunk to her and held him tight. Although he’d nearly drowned, she was the one who was shivering.

  “You’re the bravest, most amazing man I’ve ever known,” she whispered in his ear. “And if you ever do something like that again, I’ll kill you myself.”

  The rest of the trip to Bad Bay wasn’t nearly so eventful. Pegleg ordered the freed slaves to be brought onto the ship, and the Hackers deposited them safely in Valhallaholic, a resort town founded by the Estalians to cater to the frequent Norscan raiding parties that always seemed to wander a bit off track aft
er spending too much time pillaging. The ex-prisoners treated Dunk like a conquering hero the entire time they were on the ship, and many of them wept for him when they had to leave.

  Once the Hackers arrived at Valhallaholic, Pegleg declared an evening of shore leave for them all. They swarmed into the port town, right behind the refugees.

  “I need a drink,” Slick said as he, Spinne, and Dunk strolled into the town. M’Grash had stayed behind with Pegleg to guard the ship. Now over his fear of water, Pegleg seemed never to want to leave the Sea Chariot again. In fact, he’d threatened to hold practices on the main deck — or at least on a beach right next to the boat so he could call out instructions from the crow’s nest during scrimmages.

  “I think we all do,” Spinne said, holding Dunk’s arm. Ever since she and M’Grash had pulled him from the sinking Seas of Death, she’d clung to his side. Dunk knew he’d scared her badly — he’d scared himself — but he didn’t see what he could do to make it up to her. Perhaps an evening hanging out in a tavern over a few cold drinks would be the best thing for everyone.

  “Wait,” Dunk said, as he scanned the street, looking for a sign of a welcoming inn. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Someone who looked exactly like Gunther the Gobbo had poked his nose out from between two buildings and was peering up and down the street.

  “Is that the Gobbo?” Spinne asked, squinting at the figure standing half in the shadows.

  “It couldn’t be,” said Slick. “What would he be doing here?”

  Then the figure turned towards the trio and spotted them. Even from this far away, Dunk could see Gunther go white. Then he turned and scurried back down the alley from which he’d come.

  Dunk took off at a sprint, chasing after the figure. “Hold it!” he shouted after the Gobbo as he finally reached the mouth of the blind alley. Two doors let out into it. Both of them must have been locked, as Gunther was hanging from the latch of one of them, trying to open it with all of his might.

  “Hello, Gunther,” Dunk said as Spinne came pounding into the alley behind him. He could hear Slick’s tiny feet padding slowly after her as well.

  The clammy-faced bookie let go of the locked door’s latch and turned to show Dunk what he probably thought was his best, crooked-toothed grin. “Hey there, kid. What brings you to this backwater hole?”

  Dunk squinted at Gunther. “Something tells me you already know.”

  The greasy bookie laughed nervously. “No,” he said in false surprise. “Don’t tell me that I somehow stumbled upon the Hackers’ new secret training camp.”

  Spinne snorted. “Try again,” she said with a growl.

  “Did Pegleg decide to treat the whole team to a holiday here? You really should try the mead and the mulled wine. They’re excellent.”

  Slick entered the alley, sweating and puffing for breath. “It is you,” he said, “you petty little bastard. You sold us out to those pirates.”

  “Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gunther said, holding his hands up. His beady eyes darted all over the place, trying to spot some way out of this. “If a bunch of daemons happen to find you out in the middle of the ocean and attack you, how am I supposed to be responsible for that?”

  “Who said they were daemons?” asked Dunk.

  Gunther froze. “It’s, um, a figure of speech?” he said weakly.

  Dunk and Spinne stalked towards the Gobbo, with Slick bringing up the rear.

  “I’ll scream,” Gunther said. “They don’t look kindly on killers in this town.”

  “How about scum who cut deals with daemons?” asked Dunk. “We’d be happy to explain everything.”

  “If you’re lucky, they’ll just kill you on the spot,” said Spinne. “I hear the Norscans like to spit-roast anyone caught trafficking with such creatures.”

  “That’s a nasty way to die,” Slick said. “Takes forever, I hear. On a windy day like this, out near the sea, there’s no chance that you’ll choke on the smoke before the fire reaches you. Your legs will probably burn to a crisp before the fire reaches your vitals.”

  “I’ll bet they’d hear you screaming in Altdorf,” said Dunk.

  “All right!” Gunther said, nearly sobbing, his eyes wide in terror. “I did it. I did it.” He looked up at them as he started to whimper. “What are you going to do with me?”

  * * * * *

  “That was you?” Gunther said to Pegleg as he clapped his warty hand over his pimply forehead. The bookie sat on the deck of the Sea Chariot, too stunned to get back on his feet. “I had no idea.”

  “You weren’t supposed to.”

  “But you were dressed up as a Chaos All-Stars fan, all in leather and spikes — and with a chainsaw in place of your hook!” Gunther gaped at the coach, and Dunk, M’Grash, Spinne, and Slick each took a half step away from the ex-pirate.

  “It’s called a disguise, Mr. Gobbo. It’s not very effective if you can see right through it.”

  “But-but-but…” Gunther just couldn’t wrap his head around something. “Why? Why would you sell out your whole team — including yourself — to me?”

  “All part of a personal self-improvement project,” Pegleg said with a smile.

  “What?”

  Dunk shook his head. “You came here expecting to get some evidence of my death, didn’t you?”

  “Hey, you can’t prove that.”

  Dunk leaned over, almost putting his nose in Gunther’s face. “This isn’t a court of law. I don’t need proof. I know what you did. I just want to know why?”

  “He asked me to!” Gunther said, stabbing a fat finger at Pegleg.

  “So?”

  “He told me that I’d get a share of the reward on your head.” Gunther glared at Pegleg. “You lied to me.”

  “And you set up a deal with a boat of daemons to kill a couple of dozen people,” Slick said.

  Gunther shut his trap and swallowed hard. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Nothing,” Pegleg said.

  “Nothing?” everyone else in the room said.

  The captain grinned. “Why would we want to do anything to harm the Hackers’ newest employee?”

  Dunk rubbed his eyes. Everything about this confused him.

  “That’s right,” Pegleg said, leaning over the Gobbo. “You work for me now. Secretly and off the books.”

  “But I’m a bookie, not a Blood Bowl player! I don’t have the ability or the skills. And I bleed easily.”

  M’Grash nodded at that. “He sure does.”

  “You’re not our latest player,” Pegleg said. “You’re our first scout.”

  “No way,” Gunther said. “Uh-uh. No way, no how, no time.” He folded his arms across his chest as if that settled the matter.

  “You act as if you had a choice in the matter,” Pegleg said. “There’s a reason I chose you to act as my go-between with the daemons, you know. After your work with the Black Jerseys went public, you’ve been in shallow waters. Do you think anyone would do business with you ever again if they knew you’d tried to wipe out an entire Blood Bowl champion-calibre team with the help of your daemon friends?”

  “Hey,” Gunther said, “they got over me fixing games, didn’t they?”

  “On some level, people admired that. It took smarts, organisation, and a bit of vision to pull that off. Trucking with daemons, that just takes a complete lack of morals or ethics.”

  Gunther sighed deeply, and looked Pegleg in the eyes. “All right,” he said. “I work for you.”

  Dunk stared at the Gobbo and then at Pegleg. “You planned this from the start, didn’t you coach?” he asked.

  The ex-pirate just smiled. “You win games by concocting a plan and then executing it to the letter. We hit this plan perfectly.”

  “So we just let him go now?”

  Pegleg nodded. “He’s agreed to work for us, but in secret. The less he’s seen with us, the better.”

  “I’ll be leaving right now then,” Gunther
said. “I’ll send my reports to you in Bad Bay.”

  Dunk reached out and put a hand on Gunther’s shoulder. “I have one last question for you,” he said. “That night that Zauberer put that price on my head, how did you know where to find me? You’re no friend of Sparky’s.”

  “Did he tell you that? He would. Just because he owes me a little money, he goes and disowns me like that.”

  Dunk just glared at the bookie.

  “All right,” Gunther said. “It was Zauberer. He told me where to find you.”

  Dunk couldn’t believe it. “Why would he do that?” he asked. “That was right after he put that price on my head.”

  “He said it had something to do with forcing you into the hands of your enemies, forcing you to trust people who would later betray you.” The bookie shot Pegleg a dirty look. “I suppose you’d know something about that.”

  The ex-pirate smiled down at Gunther. “Just admit you were well played and move on,” he said.

  “So you’ve been in contact with Zauberer?” Dunk asked.

  Gunther started to nod, and then shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “It’s one thing to act as your team scout and pass you information. It’s something else entirely to ask me to cross a wizard like that. I won’t do it. He’d kill me in a heartbeat.”

  “What makes you think we won’t?”

  Gunther snorted. “I’ve seen you play, kid. You don’t have that instinct.”

  “What about M’Grash?” Dunk asked. The ogre made a good show of cracking his knuckles.

  “Don’t, kid,” Gunther said, his voice quavering. “Just don’t.”

  Dunk frowned. “I still don’t get it though. How did Zauberer know where to find me? And how did he know about the tunnel coming out of the Bad Water?”

  “Who knows,” Gunther said with a shrug. “Wizards work in mysterious ways.”

  “You could say the same about Blood Bowl coaches.”

  19