“Chapter 17

They were all there, as tradition demanded. It was a new tradition, just invented by Coach Robsson, but as he had pointed out, all traditions have to start somewhere. The players, the coaching staff, even the cheerleaders, all sitting astride their boards in the gentle rise and fall of the water out beyond the breakers. It had been a struggle, and though he hated to admit it at a time like this, some moments had been hilariously comical. Kornelius wrapped up in an old tarpaulin to protect his armour from the seawater, Number Eight being towed out on a raft made of old fencing because none of the boards could take the weight, Otis walking out along the sea floor, attached to his floating board like a mobile anchor because it was easier than trying to stay on top of it on the surface. But finally they had all made it and now they were ready to begin.

It was Berengariax's funeral. She was lying face-up on her own board, her armour scrubbed clean and her wounds carefully concealed. And there had been a lot of them. It had taken Ebeneezer the best part of two hours to prepare her, but Robsson had to admit, he'd done a damn fine job. Now she was resting peacefully, surrounded by tiny candles which had been melted to the edges of her board.

It had been a human team - the Harpooners - that had been the death of her. They hadn't looked so tough - at least not compared with some of their other opponents, with their chainsaws and big guys and claws, and maybe that had been the problem. Overconfidence. She had dashed off on her own, determined to take out the opposing blitzes before they could settle into their game, and then all of a sudden, one of them had come out of leftfield and piled into her while her attention was elsewhere. Splat. Robsson had looked hopefully across at Ebeneezer. Surely there was something the necromancer could do, but he had simply shaken his head. Some injuries were beyond even his vast skills.

After that the team had tried their best, but the death was clearly weighing heavily on them and they struggled to get back into the game. Celandril took it particularly hard, and his play became erratic. When he was knocked over a few minutes later and failed to get back up, Robsson knew there was no point keeping him on the field. His heart was simply not in it any more.

But without the wolves, Da Hui was just too slow and too weak. They did manage to pull back a score during the second half, but it was a slow, painful process and the Harpooners always looked as if they were just biding their time, knowing the game was theirs as long as they didn't do anything stupid. And they hadn't done anything stupid.

It was a tough loss for the team. Berengariax had been popular - with the other players, at least. Robsson had been terrified of her and had tried to avoid her whenever possible - and replacing her was going to be a tough job, not least because the full moon was still two weeks away and Celandril was in no shape to go scouting for replacements just yet. Also, Robsson had to admit, they couldn't afford a replacement just yet.

But all of this was for later. For now there was the small matter of the funeral to get through. As coach, Robsson was expected to say a few words, so he coughed to get everyone's attention and then did the best he could.
"Berengariax was a bitch," he began. "And by that I mean she was female. I wasn't sure having a female on the team would be such a good idea, but she wouldn't take no for an answer and she proved, in her all-too-short career, that my reservations were unfounded. She was fast, she was tough, and by the gods she was damn scary when you got on the wrong side of her. But now she's gone, and we have to let her go. We will engrave her name on the Wall of Heroes and we will remember the great talent she was, and the legend she could have become." He paused, trying to remember if there was anything else he should have said, but he decided now was probably not the right time to point out that she's been a terrible surfer.
"Farewell, Berengariax," he said, and pushed the werewolf's surfboard away from the semicircle of players. The tide would take her further out, and eventually the waves would swallow her up.
He turned back to the rest of the team. "Right. Tonight we get drunk and tomorrow - not too early tomorrow - we train. We have some tough matches ahead until we can find ourselves another wolf, but I think we owe it to Berengariax to win every single one of them."
The players muttered their agreement.
Yeah, Robsson thought to himself. If only it was that easy. He began to paddle towards the shore. Behind him he heard a splash, which was probably Otis falling off his board. He didn't care. Somewhere ahead in the darkness was a tavern and a serious amount of mulled wine and he intended to get there before anyone else.”