Archibald Lox and the Vote of Alignment Page 7

  “Have you ever played grop?”

  She frowns at the unexpected question. “Of course.”

  “Great. Get ready to show me the ropes.”

  Inez stares at me, bewildered. Then she sees the Merged captain hurrying towards us and her expression clears. “This could backfire spectacularly. They might wonder what a pair of amateurs are doing in the middle of such a fiercely contested game.”

  “Then we’d better convince them we’re not amateurs,” I laugh.

  “What are you two up to?” Kurtis scowls.

  Before either of us can answer, the Merged captain is on the sideline, calling for volunteers to take the place of the wounded birds. Inez and I raise our hands and he beckons us forward without even pretending to consider anyone else.

  Kurtis gawps at us with disbelief and I can’t resist shooting a wink his way. “I bet you didn’t see this one coming,” I smirk.

  Then, as the unraveller drifts by, Inez and I step out of the crowd and head for the players who are gathered around Cal. Seconds later, we’re being introduced to our teammates and I’m getting ready to take part in my first ever grop match.

  16

  THE PLAYERS DON’T EXACTLY welcome us into their ranks. They’ve turned the game on its head and were hungry to push on and win. We’ve thrown their plans into disarray, robbing them of two of their birds.

  “What’s this about?” one of the blockers grunts, glaring at us.

  “Mary and Archibald are my friends,” Cal says quietly. “Killers are in the crowd, hunting for them.”

  “How’s that my problem?” the blocker grumbles, but backs down when the others turn on him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just angry because I wanted to win.”

  “I still think we can,” Cal says. “In fact, it’s important to look like this is a piece of chicanery. Everyone knows our birds weren’t injured. They’ll think we faked it to replace them with better players. We have to make it look like that’s the case, and if we pull it off, we can make it work in our favour.”

  Cal quickly explains his strategy. We’re going to bring on extra players and play in a way that makes it seem as if they’re trying to manoeuvre Inez and me into shooting positions. He’ll assign a blocker to each of us, and they’ll tell us where and when to run, making it look as if we know what we’re doing.

  “At the same time,” Cal says, “we’ll secretly try to find Jonah, our real bird. If he can score a few points, it will look like it was a ruse and they’ll stop marking Mary and Archibald, at which point we can pick them out. If one of them scores, it will look like a double ruse. The SubMerged will start marking them again, at which point we’ll get the grop to Jonah and...” He twirls his finger round.

  “Alright,” the captain shrugs. “You hauled us back into the game, so we’ll follow your lead. I’ll fetch the others.”

  While the captain is summoning his troops, Cal asks one of the blockers – a sturdy woman – to team with Inez, then asks the gruff blocker who was complaining about us to watch over me.

  “You’d better not be as useless as you look,” the blocker growls.

  “It’s worse than you think,” I wince. “I hadn’t even seen a game of grop before today.”

  The blocker groans, then laughs. “At least you’re honest. My name’s Frank.”

  “Archie.”

  “I thought it was Archibald.”

  “Archie will do.”

  “Alright, Archie, do you know the first rule of grop?”

  “No,” I tell him, expecting a withering glance.

  Instead Frank smiles and says, “Try not to get killed.” As I blanch, he gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Run the way I indicate when I tap on your left or right shoulder, kick or punch anyone who gets in your way, and show no fear.”

  “Ok,” I wheeze.

  “You’ll be fine,” he says unconvincingly. “If you end up with the grop, pass it quickly, or take a shot if a chucker scoops you up and points you at a tree.”

  Before Frank can offer any more advice, the gropmeister whistles and the SubMerged captain hurls the grop into the air.

  “GROP!” the crowd roars, and it sounds a lot louder and more bone-juddering out here than it did on the sidelines.

  Then the SubMerged players are barrelling towards us like a herd of bulls and, although it must surely only be my imagination, I feel like every single one of them is making a beeline for me.

  17

  WE ARROW UP THE PITCH in a tight pack. Before we collide, Frank taps my left shoulder and I break that way, steering clear of the players who are clashing in a frenzied ruckus. On the other side, Inez’s blocker leads her right.

  A couple of SubMerged players held back to track our runs. Frank taps my right shoulder, then my left, then my right. After a moment of confusion I guess that he wants me to jink right, left, right. I try that and he grunts approvingly.

  I’ve no idea what’s happening in the ruckus, if the SubMerged still control the grop or which side they might be trying to play it down. All I’m concerned about is keeping my head where it is and my ribs intact. As big as the players looked from the sidelines, they look a whole lot bigger out here on the pitch.

  “We’ve intercepted the grop!” Frank blasts. “Forward, fast as you can!”

  I race ahead without thinking. The SubMerged blocker looms in front of me, growing larger by the split-second. I want to veer round him, but Frank hasn’t tapped me and I don’t think he’ll be too happy if I start making my own plans.

  As the blocker becomes a towering wall dead ahead, I gulp, narrow my eyes and brace myself for the mother of all collisions. But then Frank darts in front of me and hurls himself at the alarmed blocker. They go down in a tangle of limbs and I hear bones snap, though I’ve no idea if they’re Frank’s or his opponent’s.

  “Run like the wind, Archie!” Frank howls, and I don’t need to be told twice.

  I pound along, heart thumping, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. I hear the roars of the crowd, the encouragement of the Merged and the distracting catcalls of the SubMerged. I glance round, looking for the grop. I have visions of Cal throwing it to me, a chucker materialising out of nowhere, taking careful aim as I’m launched, scoring with my first ever shot, hitting the ground an instant hero.

  Instead, I spot two bulky blockers steaming towards me. I have just enough time to whimper, then they slam into me and I’m knocked flying into the crowd.

  As spectators shuffle backwards, some of them groaning from where I slammed into them, I lie on the grass, staring at the sky, feeling like I’ll never be able to breathe again. There’s a delighted roar, but I’ve no idea who they’re cheering.

  Moments later Cal is by my side, hauling me to my feet, checking for broken bones. I almost throw up with pain.

  “That was a brilliant piece of deception, Archibald,” he booms.

  “De-shep-shun?” I mumble, wondering if my teeth have been knocked out of my mouth.

  “Beautiful,” he insists. “You drew two of them away from the pack. Mary took another on her side. That left the way clear for Jonah to break through the middle and score.” He nudges a fan and says, “His name is Archibald. Spread the word.”

  The fan laughs and starts chanting my name, and soon it sounds like every Merged in the ground is shouting, “Ar-chi-bald! Ar-chi-bald!”

  I’m not sure why they’re applauding me. All I did was get hammered. But I can tell that I’m expected to react, so I raise a hand – the whole right side of my upper body explodes with pain – and wave tenderly.

  The roar that greets my timid gesture fills me with pride and energy. I still don’t understand how I contributed to our score, and I’m dreading the next play, but it would take a humbler guy than me not to puff up with that support behind him.

  I turn and wave to the people on the other side of the pitch, then trot gingerly towards our end, where the rest of the team is gathering.

  The SubMerged hold onto th
e grop in the next phase of play and score. Inez and I don’t get too involved in the defensive work, but we’re each set the task of tracking a bird. Normally we would have been sent to the sidelines, but Cal let the captain know that we have to stay on the field of play.

  We lose the grop as we surge forward from the restart and are back on the defensive almost immediately. I want to look more active, so I stray closer to the ruckus. It’s carnage in there, players punching and kicking each other, ripping at flesh, gouging eyes. Almost everyone is a mess of cuts, scratches and bruises. The medics will patch them up later, but they must be smarting in the meantime.

  A bird slips free of the chaos and hurtles towards me. Frank is wrestling with a SubMerged blocker. He bellows at me to stop the bird. The girl tries to shimmy round, but I snag her arm and slow her down. She breaks free in the end, but Inez has streaked across and dives at the girl, driving her to the ground.

  The grop rolls from the bird’s hands and I instinctively snatch for it. A blocker is hurrying towards me. I hold my nerve, look for a player of my own, then release the grop to Jonah, who tears off with it.

  The incoming blocker tries to readjust to go after Jonah, but momentum carries him forward. Seeing a chance for a sly tackle, I stick out a leg and trip him up. He collapses in a bellowing heap, and I get an even bigger cheer than when I was hurled into the crowd.

  Jonah makes it past the ruckus, but is then brought down by a covering blocker, who shatters the grop, resulting in a penalty to us. Frank claps my back as we’re regrouping. “That was a nice piece of work.”

  “Thanks,” I grin.

  “Are you sure you haven’t played this before?” he jokes.

  “Less of it,” I growl, “or I’ll trip you up next.”

  Frank laughs and leads me over to where the captain is issuing orders. We’re too far out for a shot, so we focus on making up ground. Inez and I are deployed on the wings again.

  The grop isn’t thrown to a bird, the pack instead pushing forward, so I don’t get tackled, which is a relief — I’m not sure my bones could withstand another shock. Play breaks down deep in the SubMerged half and we score with a soar.

  The advantage seesaws back and forth over the next few points, each team scoring in turn. Things are incredibly tight and you can sense the tension in the crowd. No one knows how this is going to play out.

  Cal could be forgiven for forgetting about Inez and me, but during our next huddle he raises the point with the captain. “We’ve relied too much on Jonah. Their blockers have ignored Archibald and Mary the last couple of plays. Let’s use that to slip them into scoring positions.”

  “Can you score if we set you up?” the captain asks us.

  “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.

  “I can,” Inez says.

  “Alright,” the captain nods. “We’ll make Mary the surprise element of our next move. Archibald will stick close to Jonah. We’ll even take Mary’s blocker away, to make it seem like we’re focusing everything on the other birds. Mary will hopefully slip up the wing unnoticed and we’ll send Sean-Patrick after her to act as chucker.”

  Sean-Patrick is a dark-haired, roving blocker. He looks at Inez uncertainly, not sure if he can throw her.

  “Don’t worry,” she smiles, “I’m lighter than I look and I can leap like a gazelle.”

  The captain issues more instructions, then play resumes. I follow Jonah, with Frank and another blocker shadowing us. The SubMerged buy it and four of them launch themselves at Jonah and our blockers, but pay no attention to me.

  “Now, Archie!” Frank yells as he disappears beneath his opponents.

  I tear up the wing, dancing past the lunge of a rearguard blocker. Suddenly I’m in open space, racing for the tree in the nearest corner. I turn and wave my hands over my head, screaming for the grop. I know it won’t be passed to me – I spy Inez and Sean-Patrick out of the corner of my eye, jogging along the far sideline – but I want the SubMerged to think I’m calling for it.

  My ploy works. A pair of blockers streak after me as one of our throwers pretends to aim. He has his right arm behind his back, as if protecting the grop.

  One of the blockers who’s stomping towards me looks for a chucker. I see his eyes widen when he doesn’t spot one. “It’s a scam!” he bellows. “Tackle the girl!”

  But his warning comes too late. As the fake thrower shows his hand and laughs, the real thrower sends the grop flying high and long to where Inez and Sean-Patrick are clear of everyone, with the tree right in front of them.

  Sean-Patrick catches the grop and passes it to Inez. She starts towards him at a graceful gallop, laughing at the stranded SubMerged players. I drift across, wanting to celebrate with her when she scores.

  Inez leaps into the air, the grop clutched to her chest, red hair flying wildly around her. Sean-Patrick propels her forward, pushing her higher. She flies up... up... her right hand slides out and back, and for a moment I fear she’s going to lose her grip on the grop. But Inez knows what she’s doing, and before the grop falls, she hurls it forward. It slams into the whorl and explodes.

  “Yes!” I roar with the crowd. I’m still jogging towards her, and Inez is still in the air, though falling swiftly. I can see her smile from here, wide and triumphant.

  She hits the ground and rolls into the crowd. The people part around her, laughing and joking. I’m laughing too. I’ll tease her about that bumpy landing later.

  Inez sits up, shaking her head, still smiling, but grimacing a little too.

  “Here,” a man says. “Let me help you up.”

  My smile freezes. The man is one of the unravellers.

  “Mary, no!” I scream.

  But I’m too late. Before Inez can act, the unraveller grabs her hand and hauls her to her feet. By the time she’s upright, she’s already started to change. The red locks are shrinking and darkening. Her skin ripples and regains its normal colour, and her real face swims into view. People around her murmur with surprise.

  The unraveller faces the alley and yells, “I’ve found another one! Is she yours?”

  Across the way, Orlan Stiletto and Argate Axe focus on the revealed Inez and their faces light up. Orlan slips his knife from its sheath. Argate reaches behind his back and frees his axe. The killers share a short, vicious, hungry glance.

  Then they advance.

  18

  THE CROWD PARTS AHEAD of the killers, and the noise dies away to silence. Everyone has forgotten about grop. There’s a new, deadlier game in motion, and they’re watching with a mixture of horror (the Merged) and ghoulish glee (the SubMerged).

  Inez backs away from the grinning unraveller, and I fall in beside her. “Stick with me,” she whispers, “and stay calm.”

  “What are we going to do?” I croak.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “You might have to make a break for freedom by yourself.”

  “No,” I say instantly. “I won’t desert you.”

  “If there’s no hope for either of us, you’d be a fool to die with me,” she counters.

  I gulp. I want to fight with her to the bitter end, but I can’t say for certain how I’ll react if she yells at me to run.

  Orlan and Argate are loping towards us. Orlan tests the tip of his long, narrow knife with a finger. Argate swings his axe left and right.

  “Hold on!” someone shouts and I spot our captain storming towards the intruders. Several members of the team trail him, looking outraged.

  Argate calls to the captain, “Stay out of this. It isn’t your business.”

  “When you force your way onto my pitch,” the captain snarls in reply, “in the middle of my match, you make it my business.”

  There are angry shouts of support from people in the crowd, and some of the Merged supporters sweep forward to back up the captain and his team.

  “Here!” a woman in one of the houses behind us shouts. I glance over my shoulder and she beckons me. “I’ll let you out the front and shut the windo
w on those two.”

  I turn with excitement to Inez but her gaze hasn’t flickered. She’s still staring at Orlan. The hope that was forming inside me fades when I catch her expression.

  The captain plants himself in front of the advancing pair, as if to block an opponent during a grop move. “I don’t know how you behave in your realm,” he begins heatedly, “but while you’re in Cornan, we expect you to –”

  Orlan and Argate come within range, and before the captain gets any further, Orlan drives his Stiletto deep into the stunned player’s chest. A gasp runs through the crowd as the captain stiffens. Those who were advancing stop in their tracks. Then, with everyone gawping, Argate swings his axe and lops off the captain’s head.

  Screams ring out. Even some of the SubMerged look stunned. Kurtis has stepped onto the pitch and is white with shock.

  I watch sickly as the captain’s body falls and dissolves. Every molecule in him crumbles, and within seconds he’s a mushy, shapeless pulp. Particles of light rise into the air like glittering dust, then slowly disperse and flicker out.

  Orlan and Argate have stopped, as has Inez, so I stop too. We’re close to the buildings behind us. Everyone in that part of the ground has backed away. We could race for the window where the woman called to us, but I sense this isn’t the time for sudden movements.

  “I’m Argate Axe,” the dark-skinned killer shouts, “and this is Orlan Stiletto.”

  “We’ve slaughtered thousands in our time,” Orlan says as he uses a cloth to wipe his knife clean, “razed kingdoms to the ground and eradicated entire bloodlines.”

  “We fought beside Old Man Reap,” Argate booms, “and came for many of your kind back in the day.”

  “And now we’ve come for her,” Orlan murmurs, pointing at Inez.

  “We’ll kill anyone who tries to help her,” Argate says.

  Orlan’s gaze shifts to me and his brow crinkles. “I’ve seen you before, boy, but I don’t remember where.”

  Argate’s eyes widen. “The bridge in the Born. He was the one you thought could see us.”