The stands had emptied.
The team sat, enjoying the dying sunshine from the bottom step of the dugout, and listened to the distant, agonising shrieks of the Eekster Chieftains coach, who was currently being crucified by his fans up on the hill overlooking the town.
"Now dat's insentif," said Dik Der Cunnin'.
"All right," Edwyrd said, strolling out towards them and flipping through his clipboard. "All right, boyz and girlz, just a few notes, and then you can head inside and hit the showers. The first-"
Fourtooth leant conspiratorially inward.
"Been meaning to talk to you about that," he said. "When you keep telling them to 'go and hit the showers'? They don't think it means the same thing you think it means."
Edwyrd frowned.
"Wait," he said. "Is that why the faucets are always broken?"
"It's also why they don't smell any better," said Fourtooth, lighting up his pipe.
Wazguttle, meanwhile, was grinning proudly, glancing back towards the rest of the team.
"Didya see us, kotch?" he asked. "Dem furries went frough our tunnel at der end, an' we clapped, an' we din't even kill dem! Not even one – jus' mangled one or two."
"Yes," Edwyrd said, genuinely pleased. "Yes, that was very impressive. In fact, well played, all of you. Your conduct was fine, even your fouls had a certain respectability to them – and that was an excellent touchdown, Cress. This is exactly the sort of thing our new owner's going to want to see. Now, let's talk about remembering to look for the ball-"
Fourtooth, gazing at something over Edwyrd's shoulder, gaped. His pipe went tumbling down out of his mouth, and clattered against the wood of the stands.
"Er…coach?" he ventured. "You're gonna want to see this." His voice took on a certain urgency. "Before they do."
Edwyrd turned to follow his outstretched finger.
Someone was walking towards them across Old Ghoul's Green. Although perhaps 'walking' wasn't really the term for a method of movement that managed to imply, with a fastidious lightness of pace and swiftness of stride, that the grass itself was something common and repulsive. That it was, in fact, insulting, even blasphemous, for one so high-born to walk on grass as vulgar and ill-bred as this.
The elf woman wore a plain traveller's cloak, which had been swept back on both sides in order to reveal the glistening white robe, punctuated by diamonds, silken threads and clear crystals, that lay beneath. Her sweeping, leonine blonde hair hung from either side across her enormous pointed ears. Her eyes were as cold and as shrill as ice.
"Edwyrd Kettlebelly, yes?" she called as she approached. "I am-"
Further introductions were cut off as she dived hurriedly to the ground to avoid being hit by the heavy wooden bench Flirksmasher had just thrown at her. The bench landed harmlessly in the grass of the green on its side, and stuck there at an angle.
"Stop it, Flirk!" Edwyrd snapped, spinning around. "I think she's the owner, she's the bloody new owner!"
Flirksmasher gazed blankly at him for a second, and then turned to lift up another bench.
"Flirk!" snarled Edwyrd. "Put the damn thing down!"
He turned, and dashed out across the grass towards the elf, who was slowly picking herself up while gazing with mild horror at the mud staining her gorgeous robes.
"I'm so sorry," Edwyrd said, breathlessly, as he reached her. "He didn't mean to – well, he did. But he thought you were just an elf, you know. Not that, er, that's any justifiable reason to have anything against elves, of course. Ha ha ha. Can I help you up?"
The elf, ignoring his proffered hand, pushed herself up onto her feet and snapped, as if it was something she'd learnt by rote,
"Edwyrd Kettlebelly, yes? My name is Princess Anyka Whistlewind Silverfoot Pridehorn of The Hunter's Emerald Tower." She gave him a slightly cross glance, before conceding, "and, yes, as you suggested to that brute behind you, I am indeed your team's new owner."
"Good ears," Edwyrd said, before adding, quickly, "I mean, er…sorry."
Anyka glared at him.
"I suppose," she said, nodding towards the stands, "that I should meet with the team now, yes? Before any more of them attempt to murder me, at least."
"Yes," said Edwyrd, quickly. "Yes, of course. Right this way."
He hurried after her, noting with slight concern that the Oldboyz had got to their feet. Worse, that a few of them had somehow found melee weapons in the stands in the past few seconds and were now testing the sharpness of the blades with their fingers while giggling to themselves in excited anticipation.
As the elf got close to the stands, she called out, in a loud, sharp voice that smacked of the classroom and made half of the orcs drop their weapons straight away,
"Orctown Oldboyz! My name is Princess Anyka Whistlewind Silverfoot Pridehorn of The Hunter's Emerald Tower. You there – waving the battleaxe at the back and shouting about 'loppin' 'er ears off good'. You are this team's captain?"
Wazguttle gave her an uncertain look.
"Yeah," he mumbled, with as much hostility as he could muster.
The corner of Anyka's mouth curved upwards, very slightly, into what an imaginative person might have described as a smile.
"Good," she said. "You played well today. Excellent attacking play. And which one of you is 'Bob Blackteef'?"
It took a second for Bob to remember.
"Oh," he said, raising a hand that still had a barbed pike clasped in it. "Dat me."
"Can you tell me why," Anyka asked, placing her hands on her hips, "at the very beginning of this season, you held a branding iron against the chest of one of this team's own fans until he suffered a fatal heart attack?"
Bob looked a little embarrassed.
"'E wanted me ter singe 'is shirt," he said.
"Sign," Edwyrd interjected. "He wanted you to sign his shirt. Miss…uh…Princess Silverwhistle, I have already disciplined Bob, so this really isn't necess-"
Anyka, ignoring him entirely, snapped, jabbing her finger towards the Oldboyz,
"All of you, listen closely! I know you better than you know yourselves! I have studied your player records. I have seen the replays. I know which of you are doing well by your team and which of you are letting down the side. I know which of you deserve a bonus and which of you will be getting a pay cut."
Grobb's mouth fell open.
"You ain't gonna dock our pebbles?" he whispered, crestfallen.
"You are a good team!" Anyka yelled. "You deserve to win championships! You have been rotting for too long out here in the provinces! That ends today!"
Behind her, Edwyrd brightened.
"Now," the elf continued, "I am going to have a long conversation with your coach, your captain, your apothecary and…which one of you is the little orc with the surprising ability to articulate coherent sentences in post-match interviews?"
"I…think that's me," Cressida said, raising her hand.
Anyka gave her a piercing stare.
"Yes," she said, after a moment. "Well, that would explain it. The coach, the captain, the apothecary, the runner and I are going to head back to my inn and discuss our team strategy for the duration of this session." She hesitated before adding, without a great deal of conviction, "And if the rest of you should be free to attend, I will gladly purchase a round of beverages for you all."
There was a moment of silence as the Oldboyz attempted a little mental translation.
And then, as if every one of the team, powered on by Gork or Mork or whoever it was that gave them their incredible unity of thought, had come to exactly the same conclusion at exactly the same time, a great collective howl of celebration, as old and as savage as the hills, echoed across the green,
"SHE BUYIN'!"