“Chapter 15

"What do you make of this?" Ebeneezer said as he set a small blue phial on the table. He and Coach Robsson were sitting in 'The Last Wave' - North Shore's one and only tavern - drinking mulled wine beside a nice warm fire. Winter had come, and hadn't quite gone yet, and Robsson had discovered that this whole being dead business played havoc with his temperature. It was the night before their next match, and getting drunk and staggering home late had become something of a new tradition for them.
Robsson picked up the phial and examined it. "A chaser?"
"Nope."
He dangled it beneath his chin. "A nice pendant?"
'Nope."
That was as far as the examination went. "Give up then."
"This," Ebeneezer told him, leaning in and lowering his voice, even though there were no other customers nearby, "is dichloromethylbenzoethanate."
Robsson looked vague.
"Also known as distilled essence of chaos yak's bladder."
Robsson still looked vague.
"Also known as Mallory's Milk."
Robsson still looked vague.
"You've heard of Liquid Luck?"
"Ah!" Robsson's eyes lit up. "I know Liquid Luck. I used it a few times as a boy. Me and the lads would mix it with the holy water just before Sunday School and then we'd watch as Father Boniface would... well, never mind about that. It's perhaps best not to dwell on these things. But anyway, yes, I know it."
"Well, Mallory is Lady Luck's ugly sister."
"Huh?"
Ebeneezer gave a sigh. "Mallory's Milk is the opposite of Liquid Luck. Someone under its influence will find it really hard to do anything successfully."
"Like play the piano?"
"I was thinking more like play Bloodbowl."
"But why would you..." The part of Robsson's brain that wasn't already pickled in mulled wine finally caught up with the conversation. "Oh, I get it. You're thinking of..."
"Exactly."
"And there's enough there to..."
"More than enough."
"But, isn't it a little bit, you know, illegal?"
"Only if we get caught."
"Good point. And who is it we're playing tomorrow?"
"Goblins."
"Does it even work on goblins?"
Ebeneezer gave him a broad grin. "There's only one way to find out."


* * *


The goblins in question were called Revelleerz, a particularly grim bunch of vicious hack-and-slashers coached by the equally grim and vicious dabassman. They'd turned up early and had spent well over an hour in the changing room, supposedly getting dressed, but Robsson had played against enough goblin teams to know that they were no doubt busy checking over all the secret weapons and dirty tricks they were bound to have brought along for that traditional goblin Bloodbowl experience.

Finally they were ready, and Coach Robsson was pleased to see that nearly all of them took a cupful of water from the cask Da Hui had kindly provided for the visitors before they stepped out onto the pitch. Robsson looked across at Ebeneezer and winked.

Sure enough, as soon as the ref blew his whistle and Da Hui sent the ball sailing over the goblin line, a particularly crazeded-looking bundle of green fury charged forward, swinging a massive spiked ball around his head on the end of a long chain and letting the momentum of the swing take him wherever it wanted to. Having expected something like this, Robsson had kept the golems back from the front line and so it was poor old Mortimer, the new boy, who took the brunt of the frenzied attack.

As the Revelleerz took the the ball and collected in a huddle around the two trolls, Robsson kept back his more valuable players, sending in the zombies to slow the advance while Berengariax and Ivan raced around to come at the group from the rear. But the goblins were a touch bunch. Most of them were hardened veterans who had played in many more games than any of Da Hui's players, and for a goblin to survive that long on the Bloodbowl pitch, either they were incredibly lucky, or damned vicious... or possibly both.

"Oooooh!" the crowd cried. The ball-and-chain-weilding goblin had leapt forward and brought his mighty weapon round into the side of another poor player's head with a sickening crunch. Unfortunately, the player in question was one of the Revelleerz's own trolls.
"Ouch," Robsson said to Ebeneezer. "That was a bit...unlucky, wouldn't you say." Ebeneezer scowled at him.
While the goblins were distracted by the chaos on the own front line, Berengariax blitzed the ball-carrier and Ivan the Terribly was there to pick-up the ball and run it in for a touchdown. Then, to add insult to injury, just as the goblins were preparing to receive the kick-off, the referee decided to eject the lunatic goblin for his flagrant disregard for the rules.
"Oh, bad luck there!" Robsson called over to dabassman, then burst out laughing.

The goblins surged forward once more and this time it was Feccia who was caught up in the assault, falling to the ground beneath the studded fist of one of the trolls. Sensing an opportunity not to be missed, the goblins crowded round the prone zombie while one of them raised up his hob-nailed boot and brought it firmly down on Feccia's head. There was an unnatural squelch sound as brains squirted out on all sides but Robsson hadn't even had time to leap to his feet in protest before the referee blew his whistle, sending the corpse off in one direction and the smirking little goblin off in the other.
Robsson wasn't exactly sure the sending off of a goblin was worth the destruction of a zombie, even if the delay meant the Revelleerz had very little time left to score before the half. But he needn't have worried. by the time the whistle blew to end the half, Feccia was back up on his feet, looking only slightly worse for wear, and the score was still 1-0.

The goblins were thirsty, and Robsson watched with delight as they crowded round the water barrel. Even the trolls were taking big mouthfuls from it. Only a lone goblin wasn't drinking. He was too busy making some adjustments to his pogo stick and practicing his bouncing. Robsson made a note to keep an eye on him.

The Revelleerz were falling apart. Robsson hadn't noticed another of the goblins being banned during the half-time break - a bombardier who hadn't even succeeded in lighting a single bomb during the few minutes he'd been on the field. So now there were three goblins in the sin-bin another who was still recovering after the pounding he'd taken during the first half. Soon there was another heading off to keep him company.

There was no way the goblins could stop Da Hui's drive, and even when they tried, nothing seemed to work for them. Their blocking was ineffective, their dodging was clumsy. Jeremiah scored quickly and then, capitalising on another run of bad luck from the goblins, Berengariax added a third to put the result beyond doubt.

With little except pride left to play for, the non-drinking, pogo-wielding goblin scooped up the ball and while the rest of his team failed to get anywhere with their assault, he leapt over the undead lines, powering his way downfield and with a determined final leap, made it all the way into the endzone. Da Hui tried for one final score, but as time was running out, Silas's desperate pass slipped through Celandril's paws and they were forced to settle for a 3-1 win.


* * *


dabassman was still cursing his bad luck when Robsson and Ebeneezer wandered over to bid farewell to the goblins.
"I just don't geddit," he said. "We ain't 'ad that sort uv bad luck fer ages. Normally da lads keep da gods 'appy wiv a few sacrificed rats an' fings an' dat dus da trick. But dis wos a disasta. We cuddn't do nuffink rite. An' now sum git's gon an' stole 'arf are winnins. Bugga!"
Coach Robsson glanced into the water barrel. It was empty. "Oh, that's terrible," he said, barely able to contain his chuckle. "What bad luck." He snorted. Ebeneezer gave him a dig in the ribs with his elbow, but this just made Robsson laugh even more.
"Well, better luck next time," he managed, then gave in to an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.
dabassman drained the cup of water he was holding and threw the cup angrily back into the empty barrel. It caught the edge and bounced back, hitting him in the face. Turning away with a bleeding nose, he tripped on his own laces and stumbled, crashing into one of his trolls who lost his balance and sat down heavily on his coach's head, letting out a loud and noisome fart as he did so.
Robsson fell to the floor and laughed so uncontrollably, he really did think he might split his sides. But that was okay, he thought. If he did, Igor could patch him up.”