The Oldboyz lined up on the snowy Schwarzkopf field.

"Not bad," Edwyrd said, cheerfully, picking up the ball and tossing it up into the air. "Really not a bad practice at all, lads. We should be well set for tomorrow when we play the university team."

A row of blank green faces.

"Er, that's a sort of place where you learn things," he added quickly. "Learn things. Like - you know what, it doesn't really matter. What I'd really like to see, though, is a little more speed on the wings. Grobb's doing great, but Dok…unless you can get that jetpack a little more, er, consistent, we might have to consider jettisoning it for this match."

Dok McKlowd's face lit up.

"Oh, fanks, kotch!" he said.

"That means we might have to not use it," Edwyrd explained.

Dok McKlowd's face sank.

"Our main problem is," Edwyrd continued, "that you lot are great at hitting things. Nobody's disputing that. But…if something's moving faster than you, how do you get to it in order to hit it?"

"Frow somefing at it," Dik Der Cunnin' muttered.

Edwyrd conceded that maybe this was a good idea.

"But if there's nothing handy lying around to throw-" he went on.

"Frow a spektatuh at it."

"My point is," Edwyrd said, rather more loudly, "that we need another runner. So we can get the ball up to them quickly if we have to. Someone speedy, like-"

He threw the ball up into the air again.

It barely had time to slow and fall before it was snatched up by a spiralling, spinning silver blur.

Cressida landed neatly on her feet, and began to run. A couple of seconds later, she touched down at the other end of the pitch.

She jogged back to the Oldboyz, grinning, and tossed the ball back to Edwyrd.

"I first started playing when I was about seven," she said. "The Fourth Dorm Fiends, they used to call us. I remember, at the end-of-term matches, when I took down Mildred Jassburg, in the Upper Sixth, and broke her neck…good times." She frowned. "What're you all staring at?"

"Play fer us," said Grobb.

Edwyrd blanched.

"What?" he said. "No, no, no. That was very impressive, Miss Cressida," he conceded, "but you're…no, she's not going to play for us."

"Nothing wrong with having a human on an Orc team," Fourtooth said, scratching at his beard. "Not in principle, anyway. The Motley Horde takes just about anybody, for instance."

At the mention of the name 'Motley Horde', at the very back of the group, Luggen raised his head.

"It's not that simple," Edwyrd snapped. "You lot are orcs. She's only human. She can't take as much punishment as you. What if she got killed?"

"We could paint 'er green," Wazguttle suggested.

"You could paint her green," yelled Edwyrd, "but she still wouldn't be an orc!"

Cressida laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Look," she said. "Just give me a chance, master dwarf. You need a player; I need a job." She glanced around the Oldboyz. "How much are you being paid, anyway?"

"Ev'ry munf we get a shiny new pebble," Grobb said, puffing his chest out.

Edwyrd ran his hand over his eyes. Once again, he was beginning to sense that he was losing control of events.

"Fine," he said. "Look. We'll get you a helmet and some kit, and…you can trial for us."

He shook his finger vaguely up at Cressida. "You're just lucky it's only a university team we're going up against," he added.