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  Foul Play – Andy Hall

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  A Black Library Publication

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  Foul Play

  by Andy Hall

  There was a knock at the door. The thief stopped rooting through the owner’s breeks drawer and waited, hoping the visitor would go away. Why had they come to the house anyway? Didn’t everyone know that Gerald Frost-thumbs would be at work? The CabalVision weatherman was a ratings hit with his mid-day weather forecasts. Of course, it helped being a weather-mage, if you could not only predict the weather but ensure it happened that way too, but the viewers didn’t seem to mind.

  The knock came again, louder than the first one. The thief tip-toed down the stairs of the empty house in time to see the door rock in its frame. It visibly lurched once more as a third burst of knocks came even louder; someone was losing patience. The thief approached the door – he now knew who was knocking. The bosses had come to visit. His hand hovered over the latch.

  ‘Are you in dere, Sulk?’ spoke a deep, cruel voice from the other side of the door.

  ‘Yes,’ replied the thief.

  ‘Den open up.’

  He hesitated and thought about running… Turning around, sprinting into the back room and out of the window he’d jimmied open to gain ingress in the first place. He thought about it, but didn’t.

  ‘Open up,’ said the voice from beyond, threat creeping into its tone. Sulk lifted the latch and opened the door to see two ogres in ill-fitting suits and shades. One, the closest, had his arm half-risen.

  ‘Took yoo long enough,’ the ogre said. ‘I wuz about to remove the zoggin’ thing off itz hinges. Right, let’z go see yer handywork.’ The ogres barged through, forcing Sulk against the wall. He closed the door and followed after a couple of recuperating breaths. He wasn’t looking forward to the next few minutes. The Kobassi Brothers were not just any old gangsters: they were the gangsters, running the toughest firm in Altdorf. This job – the one they’d seemingly come to personally inspect – was low-level. He was in the midst of stealing some incriminating evidence the gangsters could then use against Mr Frost-Thumbs for leverage.

  ‘Found anyfing yet?’ asked one of the Kobassis.

  ‘Not yet, I was in the middle of looking when you knocked–’

  ‘Checked the undies drawer? They always keep the real kooky stuff hidden in their smalls.’

  ‘I have, nothing’s come up yet…’ answered Sulk. He was wary. Coming here, now, during the robbery, was close to the ogres getting their hands dirty. And these days, the Kobassis only got their hands dirty when dealing with ‘grasserz’. They despised gobby gits, tattlers, informers and stoolies more than anything else. Sulk knew this all too well. He’d not worked for the Kobassis that long since leaving the Marauders, but had already witnessed what the brothers did to anyone who talked to the Watch. It had involved a barrel and troll vomit; lots and lots of troll vomit…

  Sulk couldn’t help thinking that someone must have set him up. Another enforcer perhaps, jealous of how quickly he had come to the attention of the brothers since leaving the leagues? Bald Shrew had it in for him, he knew that.

  ‘Alright,’ said a Kobassi nonchalantly. The ogre picked up the jimmy bar Sulk had carelessly left on the dining room table after gaining entry. Sulk prepared to plead his innocence, even though he knew it would do him no good. If the brothers were here it was because they’d already made up their minds he was guilty.

  ‘Wrap this up. We got another job for ya. One more pressin’ dan dis.’

  Confused, Sulk continued to stare, waiting for the other boot to drop, waiting for the iron bar to be used on him.

  ‘Let’z talk about Blood Bowl,’ said the other Kobassi.

  The thief was confused by the sudden change of subject. ‘What about it?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, you used to play da game, didn’t ya? Or was we not correctly informed?’ A low growl came into the ogre’s voice, the barest whisper of threat.

  ‘No, you’re right, I did. I was with the Marauders, a lineman – before injury forced me out and I had to look for other… er… career opportunities.’

  ‘The Marauders, didn’t they have trouble wiv dere mascot recently? Lost a goat, or was it swiped? Wot was itz name?’

  ‘Janet,’ said Sulk. ‘Janet the goat. They were going to kill it, because someone on FaceTome started a rumour that it was a beastman in disguise. Well, not even in disguise, just a gor on all fours.’

  One of the Kobassis broke into a rare smile.

  ‘Anyway, yoo left the humie team, and here you are,’ said the Kobassi. ‘Yoo’ll do.’

  ‘I’m not sure what this is about... still.’

  ‘Then yoo better keep up, ’cos the only thing I dislike more than grasserz iz repeating meself. Dere’s a match on in two days’ time at the Oldbowl. The Gouged Eye are playin’ the Dwarf Giants. The Eye are out of form. Expectation iz da stunties’ll win it easy–’

  Sulk tried to stifle out a laugh that broke the ogre’s flow. He gave Sulk a deathly stare.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Sulk. ‘It’s just the Giants are all short, bearded psychos, more interested in testing out their latest weaponry on the field than actually playing Blood Bowl. And they despise greenskins. They’ll win alright and then some. I feel bad for the sorry git stuck ref’ing that game.’

  ‘Da only fing I dislike more than grasserz and repeating meself is being interrupted...’ growled the Kobassi. Sulk gestured respectfully that the ogre should continue. ‘Everyone expects the dwarfs are goin’ to win. So we’ve gone and put a massive bet on the Gouged Eye beatin’ ’em.’

  Both ogres smiled at each other, clearly pleased with a cunning plan that didn’t actually seem that cunning. Sulk suddenly felt he should have run instead of answering the door. He saw himself as a mouse by a trap, knowing he shouldn’t eat the cheese, but strangely compelled to do it all the same.

  ‘But what happens if the Giants win? Like everybody thinks they will.’

  ‘Then we’d lose a ton of money, and a lot of status, and our enemies would swoop in. They’ve already started betting against us. But if our flutter pays off, well, we’re gonna be stronger than ever. Dat’s why yoo’re gonna ensure the stunties don’t win.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We got loads of minions and enforcers on our staff... but only one that used to play Blood Bowl. Dat’s yoo. We gonna put you in zebra togs and yoo’ll be da ref for da match. We got contacts in da NAF. Dey’ll have yoo sworn in and match-ready in no time.’

  ‘But-but I was a player, not a ref.’

  ‘It’z close enough. I gotta say, you’re sounding awfully reluctant about dis opportunity. Fink about it as a promotion,’ said one Kobassi.

  ‘Fink about what happens if you say no,’ said the other Kobassi.

  ‘Well, I’ve always wanted to blow one of them whistles,’ said Sulk with mock enthusiasm.

  ‘Dat’s better. Right, we got places to be. Seems news of our wager is spreadin’ already. Dere’s a few chancers betting the other way. Bless ’em. We’re off to see some bookies, make sure da odds stay in our favour. And I’m starvin’. Hungry game dis business!’ The Kobassi gently but firmly gave Sulk a ‘friendly’ slap on the cheeks with a mighty ham-sized hand and headed out of the weather-mage’s house.

  ‘We’ll be in touch,’ said his brother as he bent to get back through the front door. Then he turned to face Sulk. ‘Just throw some stuff on the floor and smash a few plates. Make it look like a botched robbery, The Watch have promised us they w
on’t come investigating for another hour or two.’

  Sulk was left on his own in the big empty house. He tapped his pocket to check that the small book of suggestive images he had found in the sock drawer was still there. If the Kobassis didn’t want to blackmail Gerald Frost-thumbs, it was something he could do freelance, once all this Blood Bowl malarkey was over.

  ‘At least they didn’t punish me for being a grass,’ mused Sulk aloud, which was mildly fortunate, because he was. In fact, he was the worse type of grass going.

  Sulk lived on the top floor of a particularly wretched tenement deep in Altdorf’s notorious slums, known as the Stinkend, due to their proximity to the Reiksport. He entered his squalid two-room garret the worse for wear, numb from the day’s events. The first thing he did was to peek in the smaller room, where he was greeted by Janet’s welcoming bleat. He gave the stolen mascot a reassuring stroke. Let folk like Bald Shrew think he was in it for the greed, that was easier for them to understand and made sure they didn’t come snooping about. If they knew he was harbouring an innocent creature… well, that was dangerous, that was leverage.

  Sulk stumbled into the room that served as his sleeping quarters and kitchen. He wasn’t normally a big drinker, but had stored away a bottle of Bloodweiser Champion’s Brew in the tallest cupboard. He searched for a tankard amongst the debris of pots and pans that scattered the small kitchen area. He found one, opened the bottle, poured the beer in and drank it down in one long drag. It was warm, but surprisingly good, and went straight to his head. He didn’t intend on getting drunk but he thought he was well within his rights to get a little tipsy considering his current predicament. If Sulk knew how much worse it was about to get, he’d have stayed far more sober.

  As he blundered towards his sleeping pallet, a shadowy figure wearing a black cloak emerged from the far corner. Sulk staggered back, grabbing a rusty skillet from the worktop, and held it aloft in a quasi-threatening manner, all while feeling slightly dizzy.

  The figure approached the skillet-armed Sulk, clearly not in any way intimidated.

  ‘Had a busy day?’ asked the intruder, and removed his hood to reveal a plain looking man of middle age, wearing a smug grin.

  ‘Nuffle’s balls! Zog off, Hinter!’ sniped Sulk as he dropped the skillet and headed towards his pallet. Hinter put out his arm, blocking the way.

  ‘I notice you haven’t made a report recently,’ stated Hinter.

  ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  ‘How can we be the Eyes of Altdorf if we can’t see what our enemies are up to? You are one of our little eyes, Mr Sulk, but you seem to be closed. If you cannot keep us informed about what the Kobassis are doing, then what good are you?’

  ‘Can’t you go and stalk Griff Oberwald? I’ve had a really bad day, let’s talk about it tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t do. You are requested.’

  ‘Requested? By who? Look, when I agreed to do this, under considerable pressure I might add–’

  ‘When trying to justify it, don’t forget your compensation. Let’s not pretend it’s all stick and no carrot.’

  ‘I don’t care, I didn’t sign up for late-night visits.’

  ‘Well, seems your employers – the ones you publically work for at any rate – are up to something. So, you’re on call.’ With that, Sulk felt a cloth bag being slipped over his head – some git must have sneaked up behind him. He felt drawstrings tighten around his neck; they met his skin but didn’t bite too deeply. A strange, sweet smell filled his head.

  ‘Hinter, you utter s–’ he managed to say before collapsing.

  Sulk awoke. His head felt like he’d been in a particularly vicious blocking play on the line of scrimmage… against a troll, although he wasn’t sure if this was a natural hangover or the aftermath of whatever substance they had used to knock him out. He looked around. It was dark. A lone, guttering candle spluttered some yellow light about, revealing a dank but grand chamber with a large sarcophagus lying in the centre. Other standing tombs were dimly visible in the darkness, but this one was the grandest.

  ‘Gulden von Sulkenhof,’ said a voice. Sulk started and scanned the darkness, looking for the voice’s owner. A tall figure emerged from around the head of the stone coffin and came to stand just within the perimeter of light offered by the candle. ‘There you are, Gulden. How like you to be skulking in the darkness. Tell me, why should I not have you killed right now?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s a simple question. Are you a good man? An average Blood Bowl player cast aside by the Marauders as soon as you were injured. You could have leveraged your limited celebrity, like many ex-players do. But instead you end up as a thug working for the Kobassi Brothers, and you’re not even loyal to them. I’ve met skaven with more integrity. So… why should I root for you, why should anyone?’

  ‘Erm… I don’t care if anyone roots for me. I’m in it for myself,’ lied Sulk.

  ‘Indeed, how wretched. But then wretched men are easy to control.’

  The figure stepped further into the light. Sulk recognised the face but didn’t know from where. The man was older than the usual lot he dealt with. His long face and grey hair gave him a shrewd if noble appearance. But there was an intelligent malevolence around the eyes. He wore fine clothing, over which was a heavy cloak emblazoned with a crest above the left breast. He saw Sulk studying it. ‘That’s the crest of the Lord Chamberlain, for I am he, and you are my agent, willing or not,’ he said. Sulk gulped. ‘The Eyes of Altdorf is my network, and its glare is currently fixed on you. Do you not know where you are?’

  Sulk shook his head, although he had an uneasy suspicion.

  ‘The Imperial crypt. I thought it an apt place to talk. A reminder that all will meet their end – from the poor to the mighty; both the meek and the powerful,’ he said, tenderly tapping the sarcophagus. ‘The time of those ogre gangsters is also at its end.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ said Sulk with mock confidence.

  ‘Now, Gulden, don’t be so hasty in ruling yourself out. You have a part to play.’

  ‘I’m just an enforcer, a low-level thug, as you said.’

  ‘At the moment you are, but in two days’ time you’ll be an NAF-sanctioned referee,’ said the chamberlain with a devious smile. ‘Come now, you don’t think it timely – the day the Kobassi Brothers tell you about their massive bet, I bring you here?’

  ‘Maybe it was because I haven’t sent in a report?’ said Sulk.

  The chamberlain gave a short laugh. ‘I’m not sure you understand the, shall we say, prominence of my role? I have my more trusted agents to deal with matters of compliance. No, we’re meeting in person because the Dwarf Giants are playing the Gouged Eye.’ The candlelight highlighted a gleam in the chamberlain’s eyes.

  ‘Sports fan?’ asked Sulk with a meek innocence.

  ‘Blood Bowl? No, I can’t stand it. I think you’ve got me confused with more murderous chamberlains.’

  ‘I’ve heard it said it’s a good outlet for those who like to plan and plot? The demographics for Tzeentchian cultists were off the charts when I was in the game,’ ventured Sulk in an attempt to keep the chamberlain distracted while he tried to figure out an escape plan.

  ‘My nefarious plots are rather straightforward, I’m afraid. I don’t have time for anything quite so labyrinthine. Let’s take your situation as an example. The Kobassi Brothers want you to ensure the Gouged Eye win. I insist that the Gouged Eye lose. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘No offence,’ said Sulk, whose niggardly streak had started to resurface as the hangover receded, ‘but the brothers are ogres and big terrifying ones at that. If it’s down to threats, they win.’

  ‘Well, let me persuade you instead. We want the Kobassis broken. Losing this wager will leave them more than vulnerable, the Burgomeisters will be grateful.’ Sulk wasn’t moved b
y the chamberlain’s words. The old man could see it, and so his demeanour hardened. ‘Hinter mentioned something of interest to me on your delivery.’ The chamberlain began to prowl around the sarcophagus, wandering into and out of the candlelight with his hands behind his back in a relaxed gesture. ‘Why do you sleep in the corner of your kitchen when you live in a hovel with two rooms? I wonder…’ Sulk felt an icy stab in his heart. ‘Could it be because you keep something else in the other room? Something stolen. Well, you are a thief.’ The chamberlain came back round the head of the long-dead emperor. ‘Is it true love?’

  ‘No!’ retorted Sulk. ‘Nothing like that. I just care about animals, I hate to see them threatened or maltreated.’

  ‘You’re not quite the selfish thug you make out to be are you, Mr Sulkenhof? That’s why we should root for you,’ the chamberlain said in a self-satisfied way. ‘Don’t worry, it’s our little secret. Of course, if you wish to shun our gratitude and don’t ensure the Dwarf Giants win, I could always tell your ogre bosses about it… and that you have been informing on them. From what I hear, they hate “grasserz”.’

  ‘No,’ said Sulk.

  The chamberlain gave him an ungracious smile. ‘Why don’t you sleep on it?’

  Before Sulk could answer, a hood was slipped over his face. A familiar, sweet smell filled his nostrils. ‘Send him back, Hinter.’

  ‘You utter–’ was all Sulk managed as he lost consciousness, flickering out long before the guttering candle did.

  Sulk spent the next two days agonising on his impossible choice. The Lord Chamberlain demanded the Dwarf Giants win the game, and had the resources of an entire city to make Sulk’s life miserable. On the other hand, the Kobassi Brothers expected him to swing the game for the Gouged Eye, and they did not suffer failure either. A sharp knock at his door told him the time for worrying was over, the game was imminent. He gave Janet another handful of hay and made his way to the ground floor.

  He stepped out of his building to see the Kobassis’ personal stretched carriage was waiting for him. He had no doubt they were inside, waiting to give him one last ‘pep talk’ on the way to the stadium. He was ushered into the carriage by Bald Shrew, who gave Sulk an evil wink while closing the door. The ogres were sat on leather seats. Even though the carriage was large by any human standards, the ogres were clearly cramped. Sulk was directed to sit between them. It was all far, far too cosy, and very sweaty. The pong of ogre sweat was far stronger than a player’s underoos, even after a match, he thought.