Something rotten

one another in soft grunts. Kaine looked at me triumphantly but I noticed too that he had changed slightly. His eyes looked tired and his mouth had a slight sag to it. He'd started to show signs of being human. He was beginning to age.

'Ah!' he said. 'The ubiquitous Miss Next. LiteraTec, team manager, saviour of Jane Eyre. Is there anything you can't do?'

'I'm not that good at knitting.'

There was a ripple of laughter among the team, and also from Kaine's followers, who abruptly silenced themselves as Kaine glanced around the room, scowling. But he controlled himself and gave a disingenuous smile after nodding to Stricknene.

'I just came down here to talk to the team and tell all of you that it would be a far better thing for this country if I stayed in power, and even though I don't know how Zvlkx's Revealment will work, I can't leave the secure future of this nation to the vagaries of a thirteenth-century seer with poor personal hygiene. Do you understand what I am saying?'

I knew what he was up to. The ovinator. It would, as likely as not, have us all eating out of his hand in under a minute. But I wasn't figuring on Hamlet, who appeared suddenly from behind Stricknene, rapier drawn. It was now or nothing and I yelled:

'The briefcase! Destroy the ovinator!'

Hamlet needed no second bidding and he leapt into action, expertly piercing the case, which gave off a brief flash of green light and a short high-pitched wail that started the police dogs outside barking. Hamlet was swiftly overpowered by two SO-6 agents, who handcuffed him.

'Who is this man?' demanded Kaine.

'He's my cousin Eddie.'

'NO!' yelled Hamlet, standing up straight, even though he had two men holding him. 'My name is Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Danish, and proud of it!'

Kaine gave a smug laugh.

'Captain, arrest Miss Next for harbouring a known Danish person — and arrest the entire team for aiding and abetting.'

It was a bad moment. With no players the game had to be forfeited. But Hamlet, actioneer that he had become, was not out of ideas.

'I shouldn't do that if I were you'

'And why not?' sneered Kaine, not without a certain quaver in his voice; he was now acting solely on his wits. He had neither his fictional roots nor the ovinator to help him.

'Because,' announced Hamlet, 'I am a very special friend of Ms Daphne Farquitt.'

'And—?' enquired Kaine with a slight smile.

'She is outside, awaiting my return. If I fail to reappear or you try any sort of anti-Mallets skulduggery, she will mobilise her troops.'

Kaine laughed and Stricknene, sycophant that he was, laughed with him.

'Troops? What troops are these?'

But Hamlet was deadly serious. He glowered at them for a moment before answering.

'Her fan club. They're highly organised, armed to the teeth, seriously angry at having had their books burned and ready to move at her command. There are thirty thousand stationed near the stadium and a further ninety thousand in reserve. One word from Daphne and you're finished.'

'I have reversed the law banning Farquitt,' replied Kaine hastily. 'They will disperse when they learn this.'

'They will believe nothing from your lying tongue,' replied Hamlet softly, 'only that which Ms Farquitt tells them. Your power is waning, my friend, and destiny's inelegant toe creaks the boards to your door.'

There was a tense silence as Kaine stared at Hamlet and Hamlet stared back at Kaine. I'd witnessed quite a few stand-offs but none with so much at stake.

'You haven't a hope in hell anyway,' announced Kaine after considering his options carefully. I'm going to enjoy watching the Whackers trash you. Release him.'

The SO-6 agents uncuffed Hamlet and escorted Kaine out of the door.

'Well,' said Hamlet, 'looks like we're back in the game. I'm going to watch with your mother — win this one for the Farquitt fans, Thursday!'

And he was gone.

None of us had any time to ponder the matter further as we heard a klaxon go off and an excited roar from the crowd echoed down the tunnel.

'Good luck, everyone,' said Aubrey with a good measure of bravado. 'It's showtime!'

The crowd erupted into screams of jubilation as we trotted down the tunnel on to the green. The stadium could seat thirty thousand and it was packed. Large monitors had been set up outside for the benefit of those who could not get a seat, and the TV networks were beaming the match live to an estimated two billion people in seventy-three countries worldwide. It was going to be quite a show.

I stayed on the touchline as the Swindon Mallets lined up face to face with the Reading Whackers. They all glared at one another as the Swindon & District Wheel-Tappers brass band marched on, headed by Lola Vavoom. There was then a pause while President Formby took his seat in the VIP box and, led by Ms Vavoom, the audience stood to sing the unofficial English national anthem, 'When I'm Cleaning Windows'. After the song had finished, Yorrick Kaine appeared in the VIP box, but his reception was derisory at best. There was a smattering of applause and a few 'Hails!' but nothing like the reception he was expecting. His anti-Danish stance had lost a good deal of popular support when he made the mistake of accusing the Danish women's handball team of being spies, and arrested them. I saw him sit down and scowl at the President, who smiled back warmly.

I was standing at the touchline with Alf Widdershaine, watching the proceedings.

'Is there anything more we could have done?' I whispered.

'No,' said Alf after a pause. 'I just hope those Neanderthals can cut the mustard.'

I turned and walked back towards Landen. On his lap was Friday, gurgling and clapping his hands. I had taken him once to the chariot race in the novel Ben-Hur and he'd loved it.

'What are our chances, darling?' asked Landen.

'Reasonable to middling with the Neanderthals playing. I'll speak to you later.'

I gave them each a kiss and Landen wished me good luck.

'Dolor in reprehenderit — Mummy,' said Friday. I thanked him for his kind words and heard rny name being called. It was Aubrey, who was talking to the umpire, who, as custom dictated, was dressed as a country parson.

'What do you mean?' I heard Aubrey say in an outraged tone as I moved closer. It seemed there was some sort of altercation and we hadn't even begun play yet. 'Show me where it says that in the rules!'

'What's the problem?' I asked.

'It's the Neanderthals,' Aubrey said between gritted teeth. 'According to the rules it seems that non- humans are barred from taking part!'

I glanced back to where Stig and the four other Neanderthals were sitting in a circle, meditating.

'Rule 78b-45 (ii),' quoted the umpire, as O'Fathens, the Reading Whackers' captain, looked on with a gleeful expression. 'No player or team may use an equine or any other non-human creature to gain an advantage over the opposing team.'

'But that doesn't mean players,' I said. 'That rule clearly refers only to horses, antelope and so forth — it was brought in when the Dorchester Slammers attempted to gain the advantage by playing on horseback in 1962.'

'The rules seem clear to me,' growled O'Fathens, taking a step forward. 'Are Neanderthals human?' Aubrey also took a step forward. Their noses were almost touching.

'Well. . . sort of

There was nothing for it but to seek a judgment. Since the rules regarding on-field litigation had been relaxed ten years earlier, it was not uncommon for the first half-hour of a match to be taken up with legal wranglings by the teams' lawyers, of which each side was permitted two, with one substitute. It added a new form of drama to the proceedings, but one not without its own problems; after a particularly litigious Superhoop six years