[Blood Bowl 02] - Dead Ball

by Matt Forbeck - (ebook by Undead)

  “I will make this right,” he said. “I will make sure Dirk knows you had nothing to do with it. I don’t know how to make up for what I did — best intentions aside — but there’s no reason for him to be mad at you. I’ll set him straight.”

  “You’d damn well better,” she said. She’d stopped crying now, but her voice was still raw. She opened her mouth to add something else, but it seemed — for the first time since Dunk had met her — she had nothing to say. She gave him a wan smile, then turned and left through the locker room’s back door.

  Dunk rubbed his face with his hands and turned around to get back to practice. Cavre stood in the doorway, watching him, an easy smile on his face.

  “You are having a difficult time, Mr. Hoffnung.”

  Dunk started to say something flippant, then just nodded and said, “Too true.”

  “This is a hard time for us all. The captain isn’t himself these days. The grip of the cup on him is strong. It gets stronger all the time. If we do not break this grip before the end of our season, I fear it may have him for all time.”

  “You don’t think it’s already too late? Didn’t he give the cup part of his soul?”

  Cavre nodded. “But the cup has yet to live up to its end of the bargain: to give the captain a Blood Bowl championship. There is still a chance, although it is small.”

  Dunk looked into Cavre’s deep, brown eyes. For a man as tough as the veteran was, they were soft and filled with hard-won wisdom.

  “I wondered which side you’d come down on,” Dunk said. “Pegleg’s or mine.”

  Cavre smiled at that, his teeth glaring white against his dark skin. “I’m on our side, Mr. Hoffnung, the Hackers. That includes us all.”

  “Does that mean I can count on your help.”

  The blitzer reached up under the right spaulder on his practice armour — the Hackers only used the spiked variety during official games — and withdrew a small pouch made of finely worked links of steel. He tossed it to Dunk, who snatched it from the air.

  “I thought you might find this entertaining if not useful,” he said. Then, before Dunk could open the pouch, he turned and trotted back onto the practice field.

  Dunk hefted the pouch in his hand. It felt heavier than he thought it should. He opened it and dumped the contents into his other hand.

  Out tumbled a miniature Hacker helmet, green and gold with the crossed blades forming the well-known Hacker H. Dunk smiled, thinking the team captain had made him a souvenir, a symbol that showed he would always be part of the team, a handy charm for good luck.

  Then the helmet moved in his hand.

  Dunk bobbled the helmet for a moment, but he managed to fight his first instinct: to drop the helmet on the floor and stomp it flat. If it had come from anyone other than Cavre, he might well have, but he trusted the veteran as much as he did anyone.

  He held the helmet carefully between his index finger and thumb to inspect it. Other than its size, it seemed an exact replica of a Bad Bay Hacker helmet, right down to the chinstrap, which was fastened and seemed to be holding something inside.

  Dunk turned the helmet around so he could peer in through the faceguard, and he saw a pair of tiny, eyes staring back at him out of a pale green face. The level of detail on the face stunned the thrower. How could anyone make something look so real? The face looked so lifelike, so real, so… familiar?

  Then Dunk placed the face. “Skragger?” he said.

  The face opened its mouth and snarled, in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, “You’re dead, Hoffnung! Dead!”

  Dunk froze, staring into the tiny eyes that shot daggers of hatred at him.

  “You hear me? Get my hands on you, you’re dead!” Even in a voice strung higher than that of a tiny child, the bile in the tone could not be mistaken.

  Dunk blinked at the shrunken face in his hand and then threw back his head and laughed. He laughed loud and long and in a way he didn’t think he had since he’d first laid eyes on the Far Albion Cup back in that damned camp in the cursed Sure Wood. Fat, happy tears rolled down his reddening cheeks until he realised he could barely breathe and had to sit down on the locker room floor. He coughed and hacked some air back into his lungs until he could start to laugh again, and he did.

  “Ah, Cavre,” he said as he stuffed the little helmet back into its pouch, which muffled the tiny voice until it fell silent. “I don’t know how anyone could top that.” He wiped his face dry as he pulled himself to his feet, and then shook his head as he trotted back out onto the practice field. “Hands,” he chuckled. “That’s priceless.”

  “I’m so glad you agreed to talk with me,” Dunk said.

  Spinne shut the door to her suite of rooms behind him as he entered. “A little voice in the back of my head tells me this is a bad idea, but I never did listen to that when it came to you.”

  Dunk smiled his thanks at her. She gestured for him to take an overstuffed chair in a sitting area near the room’s bay window, and he did. She sat down on a matching couch opposite him, a low, empty table between them.

  “Lästiges came to see me,” Dunk said. “She was pretty upset.”

  “So was I.” Spinne looked out the window. The sun shone bright over the rooftops of Altdorf, glinting off the spires of the Emperor’s castle in the distance.

  “But you’re not anymore?” Dunk tried to keep the hope in his heart from creeping into his voice.

  “I’ve had some time to reflect.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dunk said. “I just wanted to say that. I really am. I didn’t mean to — I don’t know. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

  Spinne nodded. “I get it. I understand what you were trying to do.” She shook her head. “You just picked one of the worst possible ways to do it.”

  Dunk started to speak, and then snorted softly. “I don’t want you to die on me. Every other team we’ve faced while we’ve had the Far Albion Cup has suffered seventy-five percent or more casualties. I couldn’t bear to watch that.”

  “Then don’t. Quit the Hackers. Leave it all behind.”

  “That’s not much of a solution — unless you leave the game too.”

  Spinne gave Dunk a thin-lipped smile. “I like playing Blood Bowl. How many other women do you know who can say that? I’m a bit of a freak, I’m afraid.” She looked out the window again. “It’s the only thing I’m really good at.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why I did it?”

  Spinne looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Why I made the deal with Gobbo? Why I tried to rig your game against you? Or don’t you care about any of that?”

  She smirked in a not unkind way. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

  “I love you,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Is that right?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  Spinne lowered her head. “Oh, I believe you, Dunk. I love you too. But for two people who love each other so much, we haven’t seen much of each other lately.”

  The conversation had taken a right angle from where Dunk had thought it was headed.

  “I — I guess you’re right about that, but after the massacre in that game in Magritta, Pegleg decided to take the team to Albion.”

  “And you decided to go along.”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though you knew it would mean we might not see each other for months on end.”

  Dunk sighed. “Spinne, we often go for weeks at a time without seeing each other. We live in different cities. We play games in different parts of the world. About the only time we can guarantee we’ll see each other is during one of the four major tournaments.”

  “Two of which, you missed this year.”

  “I couldn’t do anything about that,” Dunk said. “I was in Albion. We got stuck there longer than I’d hoped. I — I almost died trying to get us out of there.”

  “That’s your excuse? ‘I almost died’. That’s supposed to make me feel better.”

&nbs
p; Dunk groaned inwardly. “I’m just trying to tell you what happened and why.”

  Spinne nodded. Dunk could tell she was getting reading to say something big, so he kept quiet. When she spoke, she held her voice even and calm. When she looked at him, though, he could see her eyes were red and swollen from struggling to dam the flood of tears behind them.

  “I don’t know if we should be together anymore.”

  Dunk sat back in his chair, stunned. “What?”

  “I don’t know if we should be together anymore.”

  “I heard what you said. I meant, why?”

  “We’re not really together as it is, are we? We’ve seen each other only a handful of times in the past nine months.”

  “I write to you all the time.”

  “And I love your letters,” she said. “I really do, but they are cold comfort on a lonely night. I can’t curl up next to your letters.”

  “But—” For a moment, Dunk couldn’t think of anything with which to follow that up. “Are you just trying to get back at me for what happened in your last game?”

  Dunk hoped the answer would be yes. If so, maybe Spinne would change her mind when the season was over and she’d had a chance to calm down. Maybe all he needed to do was to stall, to get her to wait breaking it off with him a week or so more, until she had time to forgive him in her heart.

  “No,” she said, and Dunk’s heart cracked.

  “I’ve had some time to think about this,” she said. “At first, I wasn’t sure. I mean, I was angry with you, really angry, and that was hard to separate out from how I feel about you.

  “But I’ve been having these thoughts for a long time. When you didn’t make it to the Dungeonbowl, I understood. After all, the Grey Wizards went with the Reavers again, so your slot was gone. And you were still stuck in Albion.”

  “I heard about what happened in the Far Albion Cup Final just as we were getting ready to leave for the Chaos Cup. I thought maybe I’d finally see you then, but when you got back to Bad Bay, you just stayed there. Then I saw that Cabalvision special with you in bed with Lästiges, and I had all these horrible feelings toward you. I hated you then — at least as much as I could.”

  “But that was all innocent,” Dunk said. “You know that.”

  “Sure,” Spinne said, “but it didn’t change how I felt. In the end, I realised I wasn’t jealous of Lästiges so much because she’d been found in bed with you but because of how much time she’d got to spend with you. She was with your team throughout that entire trip of yours to Albion, and I didn’t get to see you once. Not once.”

  “But, Spinne,” Dunk said, “I’m back now — for good. All that stuff — going to Albion, disappearing for months at a time — that’s all over with now. It won’t happen again.”

  “You can’t know that,” Spinne said. “You could have said the same thing to me this time last year. Would it have made a difference in what you did?”

  Dunk swallowed hard as he considered the question. He knew, just looking at Spinne, that he had to be as honest as possible. She’d see straight through any lie he might tell, and not giving enough thought to the issue would be just as bad.

  “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’d like to think that I might have done things differently, but I didn’t expect things to work out that badly back then. I don’t suppose I would if the same situation came up again either.”

  Spinne gazed at him solemnly, and all Dunk could think about was how much he just wanted to lose himself in her blue-grey eyes and leave the rest of the world behind.

  “Thank you,” she said. “If you had lied or dissembled or…” She put her hand to her mouth to cut off a sob.

  “I think you should leave now,” she said.

  “Oh. Okay.” Dunk got up to go, unsure what he should do. He wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her, to comfort her, to tell her everything would be all right, but he couldn’t tell if that was what she would want. He took a tentative step toward her, and she turned away.

  “Just go,” she said, pointing at the door as she gazed out the window at the wide world beyond. Outside, a flock of white birds caught the rays of the evening sun flaring through their feathers.

  “Can I come to see you again?” he asked. “There’s a team dinner tonight, but I could—”

  “No. Never.”

  Dunk gaped at her as his heart crumbled into bright, sharp shards in his chest.

  “Good-bye, Dunk,” she said. She never took her eyes from the window.

  Dunk started to reach out to touch her strawberry-blonde hair, but then pulled his hand back. Without a word, he turned and left. He heard her begin to sob as he closed the door behind him.

  28

  “Nuffle’s codpiece,” Slick said as he poked Dunk in the shoulder. “I was afraid I’d find you like this.”

  Dunk tried to raise his head to respond to the halfling, but he only succeeded in turning his face to the side instead. He spotted his agent standing there, a stern look on his face, but sideways — and more than a little blurry — and the image made him laugh.

  “Hi, Slick!” Dunk said. “Glad you could make it! I’m a…” He fumbled for the right word for a moment, and then held up his hand with his thumb and index finger just a little bit apart. He tried to adjust them to the right distance apart, but they just kept moving about. Or were they? He decided to not worry about it any longer. “Weeeee bit drunk.”

  “Oh, really, son?” Slick said. “Is that why M’Grash here sent word for me in the middle of the night? I thought perhaps you might be hosting a surprise birthday party for me.”

  Dunk sat back in his chair and grinned as the world swam around him. “It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say so? Hey, bartender!” He swung his arm up to signal for another drink, but he lost track of it somewhere between where it started and where he wanted it to end. He looked down and saw Slick’s hand holding his arm down.

  “It’s not my—” Slick shook his head. “Never mind. I hear you’ve had a rough night.”

  “What do you mean?” Dunk said. “I’m having a great time. I’m just out here celebrating the Hackers’ success with my biggest friend and my smallest one.” He put his arm around M’Grash here.

  The ogre looked down at the halfling and shrugged as innocently as he could. “Dunkel drunkel.”

  “You got that right, big guy!” Dunk said, chucking M’Grash in the shoulder. “Living large and loving it!”

  “You’re breaking training, son,” Slick said. “If we get you back to your room soon, Pegleg might be none the wiser. I know an apothecary who has a hangover remedy that will keep you from wanting to commit ritual suicide tomorrow morning to end the pain. It’s expensive, but you can afford it.”

  “What do I care about Pegleg?” Dunk asked. “He’s gonna fire me right before the big game? His star thrower? Ha!”

  “Dunkel not happy,” M’Grash said, with a frown big enough to bring down the entire room. “He very sad.”

  “I can see that,” Slick said. “What in the Emperor’s name has he been drinking?” The halfling peered over the rim of Dunk’s stein.

  “Tastes great!” M’Grash said.

  “Less filling!” Dunk answered.

  “Now, you two, don’t start up with that!”

  Dunk and M’Grash laughed so hard they had to hold each other up for fear of falling off their stools. Then M’Grash started to tip over backward, and there was nothing that Dunk could do about it. They toppled over and landed hard in an area behind them that mysteriously had no tables in it.

  “All that’s holy!” Slick said, climbing up on the table so he could look down at the two friends tangled on the floor. “You two better be more careful. You’re going to kill someone.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” the barmaid said as she righted the steins that had fallen over along with Dunk and M’Grash. “After the first time, we got smart and moved the other tables away to give them some space.”

&n
bsp; Slick looked aghast. “How long have you two been at this?”

  Dunk glanced at M’Grash, the crash to the floor seeming to have sobered him up just a bit. “What day is this?” he asked.

  “Beerday!” M’Grash shouted in reply.

  “Beerday?” Slick said. “When’s beerday?”

  Dunk grinned at M’Grash, and the two answered in unison. “Every day is beerday!”

  Slick slapped a hand over his face and groaned.

  Dunk continued on. “A wise man once said… he…” The thrower stopped and turned about, looking all around him. “Hey,” he said, a note of true concern in his voice. “Where’d my little friend go?”

  “I’m right here,” Slick said, exasperated.

  “No.” Dunk stopped hunting for a moment to look at the halfling and giggle. “Not you. The little guy. M’Grash? Have you seen him?”

  “Uh-uh, Dunkel.” The ogre set his heavy stool — more of an iron-bound bench, really — back into position and recovered what was left of his drink. He threw back the dregs in one clean move, and smiled wide, showing his tusks all the way down to his teeth.

  Then he started to gag.

  M’Grash’s hands went to his neck as he coughed and hacked, searching for some way to clear his throat. Dunk swept around behind him and started to beat him on the back with a barstool. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

  On the fourth or fifth thunk, the ogre hacked hard, and something small and slimy came flying out of his throat to land on the table in front of him. Dunk scooted around from behind his friend to see what it was.

  There, lying in the centre of the table, lay Skragger’s shrunken head.

  “You bastards!” Skragger’s squeaky voice railed at Dunk and M’Grash. “Good thing I don’t breathe, or I’d be dead! Stuck in a beer and can’t damn drink!” He howled in despair.

  M’Grash kept coughing through it all. The barmaid brought him another keg-sized stein on a wheeled cart, and he snatched it up, draining half of it in a single draught.

  “Ha!” Skragger said. “Almost killed you, didn’t I? That woulda been worth it!”

  Dunk picked the shrunken head up by the sides of its helmet and peered into its eyes. “So,” he said, “what was it you said before, wise man?”