Trullion: Alastor 2262 (12 page)

Lord Gensifer took the occasion to announce the schedule of forthcoming games, the first of which would take place two weeks hence at Saurkash Stadium, against the Voulash Gannets. A day or two later Zuranie came to watch the practice. Rain had fallen during the morning and a raw wind blew out of the south. The players were glum and peevish. Lord Gensifer ran up and down the field like a great bumbling insect, expostulating, wheedling, crying “Ki-yik-yik-yik!” to no effect. Huddling from the wind beside the pump-man’s hut, Zuranie watched the sluggish maneuvers with foreboding and despondency. At last she made a timid motion to Lord Gensifer. He jogged across the field. “Yes, sheirl?”

Zuranie spoke in a petulant voice: “Don’t call me sheirl; I don’t know why I ever thought I’d want to do this. Really! I could never never stand on that place, with all those people watching me. I think I would absolutely die. Please, Lord Gensifer, don’t be angry, but I simply can’t.”

Lord Gensifer raised his eyes to the scudding gray clouds, not far overhead. “My dear Zuranie! Of course you’ll be with us! We play the Voulash Gannets in two days! You’ll be famous and glorified!” Zuranie made a helpless motion. “I don’t want to be a famous sheirl; I don’t want all my clothes pulled off — ”

“That only happens to the losing sheirl,” Lord Gensifer pointed out. “Do you think the Gannets can beat us, with Tyran Lucho and Glinnes Hulden and me and Bump Candolf ranging the stations? We’ll sweep them back like chaff; we’ll tank them so often they’ll think they are fish!”

Zuranie was only partially reassured. She gave a tremulous sigh and said no more. Lord Gensifer, at last understanding that no useful purpose could be served by prolonging the practice, called a halt. “Same time tomorrow,” he told the team. “We’ve got to put snap into our lateral movement, especially in the back court. You guards, you’ve got to range the field! This is hussade, not a tea party for you and your toy animals. Tomorrow at the fourth chime.”

The Voulash Gannets were a young team lacking all reputation; the players seemed striplings. The Gannet captain was Denzel Warhound, a lanky tow-headed youth with the wise sly eyes of a mythical creature. The sheirl was a buxom round-faced girl with a flying mop of dark curls; in the pre-game march about the field she conducted herself with full-blooded enthusiasm, strutting, bouncing, waving her arms, and the Gannets loped along beside her, barely able to contain their nervous activity. By contrast, the Gorgons seemed stately and dour, with sheirl Zuranie a frail asthenic wraith. Her evident despair caused Lord Gensifer an exasperation he did not dare to express for fear of demoralizing her completely. “Brave girl; there’s a brave girl!” he declared as if consoling a sick animal. “It won’t be all that bad; you’ll see I’m right!” But Zuranie’s apprehensions were not dispelled.

Today the Gorgons wore their maroon and black uniforms for the first time. The helmets were especially dramatic, molded of a dull-rose metalloid, with black fleurettes for cheek-pieces. Black spikes bristled from the scalps; the eyeholes cunningly simulated the pupils of great staring eyes; the noses split to become black plush maws, from which hung lank red tongues. Some of the team thought the costume extravagant; a few disliked the flapping tongues; most were apathetic. The Gannets wore a brown uniform with an orange helmet, distinguished only by a crest of green feathers. Contrasting the mettlesome Gannets with the splendid but sluggish Gorgons, Glinnes felt impelled to discuss tactics with Lord Gensifer.

“Notice the Gannets if you will; they’re like colt kevals, full of vigor and nonsense. I’ve seen such teams before, and we can expect aggressive, even rash, play. Our job is to make them beat themselves. We’ll want to use our traps to cut off their forwards so that our guards and rovers can double on them. If we use our weight, we’ve got a chance to defeat them.”

Lord Gensifer raised his eyebrows in displeasure. “A chance to defeat them? What nonsense is this? We’ll sweep them up and down the field like a dog chasing chickens! We shouldn’t even be playing them except that we need the practice.”

“Still, I advise a careful game. Let them make the mistakes, or they might make capital of ours.”

“Bah, Glinnes; I believe you’re past your prime.”

“To the extent that I’m not playing for fun. I want to earn money, nine thousand ozols, to be exact, and I want to win.”

“Do you think your need is unique?” demanded Lord Gensifer in a voice thick with rage. “How do you think I financed the treasure-box? Bought the uniforms? Paid team expenses? I drained myself bloodless.”

“Very well,” said Glinnes. “You need money; I need money. So let’s win, by playing the game we’re best able to play.”

“We’ll win, never fear!” declared Lord Gensifer, once again bluff and hearty. “Do you think I’m a tyro? I know the game up one side and down the other. Now enough of this wailing; I declare, you’re as timid as Zuranie. Notice the crowd a good ten thousand people. That’ll add ozols to the booty!

Glinnes nodded gloomily. “If we win.” He noticed a man sitting alone in a box at the bottom of the Elite tier; Lute Casagave, with binoculars and camera. The gear was not unusual; many devotees of the game recorded the denuding of the sheirl in music and image. Notable collections of such events existed. Nonetheless Glinnes was surprised to find in Lute Casagave so lively an interest in hussade. He seemed not the type for frivolity. The field judge went to the microphone; the music dwindled away; a hush came over the crowd Sportfolk of Saurkash and Jolany Prefecture! Today a match between the gallant Voulash Gannets, and their sheirl Baroba Felice, and the indomitable Gorgons of Thammas Lord Gensifer, with the lovely sheirl Zuranie Delcargo! The teams pledge the inviolable dignity of their sheirls with all their valor and two treasures of fifteen hundred ozols. May the winners enjoy glory and the losers take pride in their fortitude and the tragic purity of their sheirl! Captains, approach!” Lord Gensifer and Denzel Warhound came forward. A toss of the coin gave first call to the Gorgons; open transmission for the Gorgons would be signalized by the green light, With the red light for the Gannets.

“The penalties will be called with rigor,” stated the field judge. “There must be neither kicking nor pulling. No verbal interchanges. I will not tolerate buff clinging. A blow must fall cleanly. The team on defense must utter no distracting sounds. I am experienced in these matters, as are the monitors; we will be vigilant. A player in the foul tank must clasp the hand of his rescuer; a desultory wave or gesture will not

Half of the gate receipts were customarily divided between the competing teams in the proportion of three parts to the winning team, one part to the losers.

be sufficient. Have you any questions? Very good, gentlemen. Dispose your forces and may the glory of your sheirls impel you both to noble feats. The green light to the Gorgons; the red light to the Gannets!”

The team deployed to their stations; the Trevanyi orchestra played traditional music as the captains conducted the sheirls to their respective pedestals. The music stopped. The captains went out to their hanges and now came that electric moment before the first flash of light. The spectators were silent; the players strained with tension; the sheirls stood eager and palpitant, each willing with all her heart’s intensity that the detested virgin at the other end of the field be the one to be bared and humiliated.

A gong! The signal lights flashed green. For twenty seconds the Gorgon captain might call plays, while the Gannets must act or react in silence. Lord Gensifer deployed the first phase of the Jet Stream Attack: a wedge-shaped driving tactic of strikes and wings up the middle, with rovers covering the side lanes. Lord Gensifer clearly had ignored Glinnes’ advice. Cursing under his breath, Glinnes moved forward; unopposed, he jumped the moat, as did left strike Savat. The Gannet forwards had all slid aside; now they leapt the moat to attack Sarkado, the Gorgons’ left rover. Glinnes met the Gannet left rover; the two feinted with buffs, prodded and pushed; the Gannet rover gave way. Glinnes’ instincts told him exactly when to turn to meet the rush of the Gannet right rover. Glinnes struck him across the neck while he was still off balance and toppled him into the tank. He struck water with a most satisfactory splash. Another splash: a Gannet guard had tanked Chust, the right wing. Lord Gensifer’s voice came sharp: “
Ki-yik-yik-yik!”
Thirteen-thirty! Go then, Glinnes; Lucho, watch the rover!
Yik ki-yik!”

The green light changed to red; now Denzel Warhound called signals and brought his hange to the moat. The middle guards jumped forward, two against Glinnes; he engaged them, hooked and thrust with such effect that they confused each other. Glinnes swung to Way 3, which was open to the pedestal, but the guards recovered; one ran to cover the mouth of Way 3. The center guards meanwhile swung behind Glinnes. He tanked one; Savat tanked the other; both turned to race for the Gannet pedestal, with only two guards left to desperate orders. A gong! Glinnes looked back to see a Cannet forward on the pedestal with Zuranie’s gold ring in his hand. Play halted; Lord Gensifer grudgingly paid ransom to Denzel Warhound.

The teams returned to their respective territories. Lord Gensifer spoke in irritation: “Execution: that’s the word! We’re falling over our own feet. They’re actually no match for us; they caught us by a fLute.” Glinnes restrained the old maxim:
In hussade no fLutes
. He said, “Let’s advance at them across the field, station by station; don’t let them get back to the guards!” For the Gannets had gained the pedestal by a simple feint and whirl past the inept Ramos.

Lord Gensifer ignored Glinnes. “The Jet Stream again, and this time let’s do it right! Rovers, guard the side alleys; wings, blast up the center behind the strikes. We won’t let these ninny-boys tank us again!”

The team deployed; the gong sounded and the green light gave the offensive to the Gorgons. Thirteen-thirty, ki-yiki cried Lord Gensifer. “Right at them all the way to the bellying.”

Again the Gannet forwards slid aside to allow Savat and Glinnes across the moat. This time, however, they swung behind Glinnes and, to his intense annoyance, tripped him. He might still have held his own except for the rover swinging in upon the trapeze to hurl him into the tank.

Glinnes above all else hated to be tanked; the process was cold and wet and injured his self-esteem. Disconsolately he waded back under the ways and squelched up the ladder to the Gorgons’ base area. He surfaced at an appropriate time, engaging a Gannet wing who already had worked his way almost to the pedestal. In a wet fury, Glinnes dazed him with thrusts and feints and toppled him head over heels into the tank.

Green light on. “Forty-five twelve,” cried Lord Gensifer.Glinnes groaned Lord Gensifer’s most complicated play, the Grenade, or double diagonal. No choice but to run the play; he would do his best. The forwards came together at the moat, and finding no opposition at the center bridge, sprang across in different directions, followed by the rovers. The single faint hope of success, thought Glinnes, was to drive upon the Gannet sheirl before the startled Gannets could reach Sheirl Zuranie. The Gannet guards shifted to hold the end of the way; two rovers were tanked, a Gannet and a Gorgon; and now Lord Gensifer ordered two guards across the moat, just as the light turned red.

Denzel Warhound stood by his hange, inviolate, grinning in total composure. He called his signals. Both Gorgon guards were intercepted and tanked. Glinnes, Savat, and the wings, recognizing disaster, raced back to guard the pedestal. Glinnes reached base area just in time to drive a Gannet forward back from the pedestal and into the tank; Lucho did the same to another, but almost the whole Gannet team was storming the base area. The tanked guards surfaced, wet and angry, and by dint of fury and superior weight bore the Gannets back.

Green light. Lord Gensifer’s call: “Forty-five twelve; we’ve got ’em now, lads; the way is clear! Go! go!”

Glinnes, furious over the call, disengaged and ran Lord Gensifer’s pattern along with the other forwards. The light but agile Gannet guards broke back and kept pace with them

A gong. By some miracle of stealth and agility (more likely by someone’s sheer ineptitude, thought Glinnes) one of the Gannet rovers had gained the pedestal and seized the gold ring at Zuranie’s waist.

With trembling fingers Lord Gensifer paid another ransom. In conference his voice was hoarse with emotion. “You men aren’t executing. We can’t win if everyone walks around like sleepwalkers! We’ve got to take the game to these fellows! Why, they’re hardly more than boys! This time let’s make the play go. Double diagonal again, and everyone do his duty!” The gong, the green light, Lord Gensifer’s encouraging “
Ki-yik
,” and the Gorgons deployed in Lord Gensifer’s double diagonal.

A double gong, signifying a foul. Lord Gensifer himself had clutched the buff of a Gannet rover and was consigned to the foul tank up at the back of the Gannet base, where he hunched in sullen fury. Glumes, the right forward, became acting captain.

The gong sounded, and the light was still green. Glinnes had no need to call a play. He gestured left and right; the wings and forwards advanced to the moat. The light went red. The Gannets, elated by their two-ring score, feinted at the left and sent two forwards across at the right sideway, with a rover leaping the moat. The rover and one of the wards were tanked; the other forward retreated, and Deenzel Warhound called back his attack until the tanked man returned to action. Green light. Lord Gensifer, made urgent gestures appealing for rescue; Glinnes studiously looked the other way. He pointed the rovers to the sideways, summoned the two middle guards forward. Red light. The Gannets massed on the left but forebore to cross the moat; the crafty Denzel Warhound preferred to bide his time until he could catch the Gorgons in disequilibrium.

Green light. Glinnes sent the Gorgon forward across the moat and brought the middle guards up to the center bridge a slow exertion of mass and pressure upon a faster but lighter team. Two Gorgon wings were tanked, and two Gannet strikes. The Gorgons had established a solid line on the Gannet side of the field, and all the while Lord Gensifer beckoned frantically for rescue. The Gorgons pressed slowly up the ways, using their weight and experience to advantage, compressing the Gannets into their base area. Three Gannets were tanked, one after the other, then two more. Then the gong sounded. Tyran Lucho had gained the pedestal, his hand on the gold ring. Grim and disapproving, Lord Gensifer came up from the foul tank and took ransom from the Gannet captain.