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Foul Play – Andy Hall

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A Black Library Publication

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Foul Play

by Andy Hall

There was a knock at the door. The thief stopped rooting through the owner’s breeks drawer and waited, hoping the visitor would go away. Why had they come to the house anyway? Didn’t everyone know that Gerald Frost-thumbs would be at work? The CabalVision weatherman was a ratings hit with his mid-day weather forecasts. Of course, it helped being a weather-mage, if you could not only predict the weather but ensure it happened that way too, but the viewers didn’t seem to mind.

The knock came again, louder than the first one. The thief tip-toed down the stairs of the empty house in time to see the door rock in its frame. It visibly lurched once more as a third burst of knocks came even louder; someone was losing patience. The thief approached the door – he now knew who was knocking. The bosses had come to visit. His hand hovered over the latch.

‘Are you in dere, Sulk?’ spoke a deep, cruel voice from the other side of the door.

‘Yes,’ replied the thief.

‘Den open up.’

He hesitated and thought about running… Turning around, sprinting into the back room and out of the window he’d jimmied open to gain ingress in the first place. He thought about it, but didn’t.

‘Open up,’ said the voice from beyond, threat creeping into its tone. Sulk lifted the latch and opened the door to see two ogres in ill-fitting suits and shades. One, the closest, had his arm half-risen.

‘Took yoo long enough,’ the ogre said. ‘I wuz about to remove the zoggin’ thing off itz hinges. Right, let’z go see yer handywork.’ The ogres barged through, forcing Sulk against the wall. He closed the door and followed after a couple of recuperating breaths. He wasn’t looking forward to the next few minutes. The Kobassi Brothers were not just any old gangsters: they were the gangsters, running the toughest firm in Altdorf. This job – the one they’d seemingly come to personally inspect – was low-level. He was in the midst of stealing some incriminating evidence the gangsters could then use against Mr Frost-Thumbs for leverage.

‘Found anyfing yet?’ asked one of the Kobassis.

‘Not yet, I was in the middle of looking when you knocked–’

‘Checked the undies drawer? They always keep the real kooky stuff hidden in their smalls.’

‘I have, nothing’s come up yet…’ answered Sulk. He was wary. Coming here, now, during the robbery, was close to the ogres getting their hands dirty. And these days, the Kobassis only got their hands dirty when dealing with ‘grasserz’. They despised gobby gits, tattlers, informers and stoolies more than anything else. Sulk knew this all too well. He’d not worked for the Kobassis that long since leaving the Marauders, but had already witnessed what the brothers did to anyone who talked to the Watch. It had involved a barrel and troll vomit; lots and lots of troll vomit…

Sulk couldn’t help thinking that someone must have set him up. Another enforcer perhaps, jealous of how quickly he had come to the attention of the brothers since leaving the leagues? Bald Shrew had it in for him, he knew that.

‘Alright,’ said a Kobassi nonchalantly. The ogre picked up the jimmy bar Sulk had carelessly left on the dining room table after gaining entry. Sulk prepared to plead his innocence, even though he knew it would do him no good. If the brothers were here it was because they’d already made up their minds he was guilty.

‘Wrap this up. We got another job for ya. One more pressin’ dan dis.’

Confused, Sulk continued to stare, waiting for the other boot to drop, waiting for the iron bar to be used on him.

‘Let’z talk about Blood Bowl,’ said the other Kobassi.

The thief was confused by the sudden change of subject. ‘What about it?’ he asked.

‘Well, you used to play da game, didn’t ya? Or was we not correctly informed?’ A low growl came into the ogre’s voice, the barest whisper of threat.

‘No, you’re right, I did. I was with the Marauders, a lineman – before injury forced me out and I had to look for other… er… career opportunities.’

‘The Marauders, didn’t they have trouble wiv dere mascot recently? Lost a goat, or was it swiped? Wot was itz name?’

‘Janet,’ said Sulk. ‘Janet the goat. They were going to kill it, because someone on FaceTome started a rumour that it was a beastman in disguise. Well, not even in disguise, just a gor on all fours.’

One of the Kobassis broke into a rare smile.

‘Anyway, yoo left the humie team, and here you are,’ said the Kobassi. ‘Yoo’ll do.’

‘I’m not sure what this is about... still.’

‘Then yoo better keep up, ’cos the only thing I dislike more than grasserz iz repeating meself. Dere’s a match on in two days’ time at the Oldbowl. The Gouged Eye are playin’ the Dwarf Giants. The Eye are out of form. Expectation iz da stunties’ll win it easy–’

Sulk tried to stifle out a laugh that broke the ogre’s flow. He gave Sulk a deathly stare.

‘Sorry,’ said Sulk. ‘It’s just the Giants are all short, bearded psychos, more interested in testing out their latest weaponry on the field than actually playing Blood Bowl. And they despise greenskins. They’ll win alright and then some. I feel bad for the sorry git stuck ref’ing that game.’

‘Da only fing I dislike more than grasserz and repeating meself is being interrupted...’ growled the Kobassi. Sulk gestured respectfully that the ogre should continue. ‘Everyone expects the dwarfs are goin’ to win. So we’ve gone and put a massive bet on the Gouged Eye beatin’ ’em.’

Both ogres smiled at each other, clearly pleased with a cunning plan that didn’t actually seem that cunning. Sulk suddenly felt he should have run instead of answering the door. He saw himself as a mouse by a trap, knowing he shouldn’t eat the cheese, but strangely compelled to do it all the same.

‘But what happens if the Giants win? Like everybody thinks they will.’

‘Then we’d lose a ton of money, and a lot of status, and our enemies would swoop in. They’ve already started betting against us. But if our flutter pays off, well, we’re gonna be stronger than ever. Dat’s why yoo’re gonna ensure the stunties don’t win.’

‘Me?’

‘You.’

‘How?’

‘We got loads of minions and enforcers on our staff... but only one that used to play Blood Bowl. Dat’s yoo. We gonna put you in zebra togs and yoo’ll be da ref for da match. We got contacts in da NAF. Dey’ll have yoo sworn in and match-ready in no time.’

‘But-but I was a player, not a ref.’

‘It’z close enough. I gotta say, you’re sounding awfully reluctant about dis opportunity. Fink about it as a promotion,’ said one Kobassi.

‘Fink about what happens if you say no,’ said the other Kobassi.

‘Well, I’ve always wanted to blow one of them whistles,’ said Sulk with mock enthusiasm.

‘Dat’s better. Right, we got places to be. Seems news of our wager is spreadin’ already. Dere’s a few chancers betting the other way. Bless ’em. We’re off to see some bookies, make sure da odds stay in our favour. And I’m starvin’. Hungry game dis business!’ The Kobassi gently but firmly gave Sulk a ‘friendly’ slap on the cheeks with a mighty ham-sized hand and headed out of the weather-mage’s house.

‘We’ll be in touch,’ said his brother as he bent to get back through the front door. Then he turned to face Sulk. ‘Just throw some stuff on the floor and smash a few plates. Make it look like a botched robbery, The Watch have promised us they won’t come investigating for another hour or two.’

Sulk was left on his own in the big empty house. He tapped his pocket to check that the small book of suggestive images he had found in the sock drawer was still there. If the Kobassis didn’t want to blackmail Gerald Frost-thumbs, it was something he could do freelance, once all this Blood Bowl malarkey was over.

‘At least they didn’t punish me for being a grass,’ mused Sulk aloud, which was mildly fortunate, because he was. In fact, he was the worse type of grass going.

Sulk lived on the top floor of a particularly wretched tenement deep in Altdorf’s notorious slums, known as the Stinkend, due to their proximity to the Reiksport. He entered his squalid two-room garret the worse for wear, numb from the day’s events. The first thing he did was to peek in the smaller room, where he was greeted by Janet’s welcoming bleat. He gave the stolen mascot a reassuring stroke. Let folk like Bald Shrew think he was in it for the greed, that was easier for them to understand and made sure they didn’t come snooping about. If they knew he was harbouring an innocent creature… well, that was dangerous, that was leverage.

Sulk stumbled into the room that served as his sleeping quarters and kitchen. He wasn’t normally a big drinker, but had stored away a bottle of Bloodweiser Champion’s Brew in the tallest cupboard. He searched for a tankard amongst the debris of pots and pans that scattered the small kitchen area. He found one, opened the bottle, poured the beer in and drank it down in one long drag. It was warm, but surprisingly good, and went straight to his head. He didn’t intend on getting drunk but he thought he was well within his rights to get a little tipsy considering his current predicament. If Sulk knew how much worse it was about to get, he’d have stayed far more sober.

As he blundered towards his sleeping pallet, a shadowy figure wearing a black cloak emerged from the far corner. Sulk staggered back, grabbing a rusty skillet from the worktop, and held it aloft in a quasi-threatening manner, all while feeling slightly dizzy.

The figure approached the skillet-armed Sulk, clearly not in any way intimidated.

‘Had a busy day?’ asked the intruder, and removed his hood to reveal a plain looking man of middle age, wearing a smug grin.

‘Nuffle’s balls! Zog off, Hinter!’ sniped Sulk as he dropped the skillet and headed towards his pallet. Hinter put out his arm, blocking the way.

‘I notice you haven’t made a report recently,’ stated Hinter.

‘There’s nothing to say.’

‘How can we be the Eyes of Altdorf if we can’t see what our enemies are up to? You are one of our little eyes, Mr Sulk, but you seem to be closed. If you cannot keep us informed about what the Kobassis are doing, then what good are you?’

‘Can’t you go and stalk Griff Oberwald? I’ve had a really bad day, let’s talk about it tomorrow.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t do. You are requested.’

‘Requested? By who? Look, when I agreed to do this, under considerable pressure I might add–’

‘When trying to justify it, don’t forget your compensation. Let’s not pretend it’s all stick and no carrot.’

‘I don’t care, I didn’t sign up for late-night visits.’

‘Well, seems your employers – the ones you publically work for at any rate – are up to something. So, you’re on call.’ With that, Sulk felt a cloth bag being slipped over his head – some git must have sneaked up behind him. He felt drawstrings tighten around his neck; they met his skin but didn’t bite too deeply. A strange, sweet smell filled his head.

‘Hinter, you utter s–’ he managed to say before collapsing.

Sulk awoke. His head felt like he’d been in a particularly vicious blocking play on the line of scrimmage… against a troll, although he wasn’t sure if this was a natural hangover or the aftermath of whatever substance they had used to knock him out. He looked around. It was dark. A lone, guttering candle spluttered some yellow light about, revealing a dank but grand chamber with a large sarcophagus lying in the centre. Other standing tombs were dimly visible in the darkness, but this one was the grandest.

‘Gulden von Sulkenhof,’ said a voice. Sulk started and scanned the darkness, looking for the voice’s owner. A tall figure emerged from around the head of the stone coffin and came to stand just within the perimeter of light offered by the candle. ‘There you are, Gulden. How like you to be skulking in the darkness. Tell me, why should I not have you killed right now?’

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s a simple question. Are you a good man? An average Blood Bowl player cast aside by the Marauders as soon as you were injured. You could have leveraged your limited celebrity, like many ex-players do. But instead you end up as a thug working for the Kobassi Brothers, and you’re not even loyal to them. I’ve met skaven with more integrity. So… why should I root for you, why should anyone?’

‘Erm… I don’t care if anyone roots for me. I’m in it for myself,’ lied Sulk.

‘Indeed, how wretched. But then wretched men are easy to control.’

The figure stepped further into the light. Sulk recognised the face but didn’t know from where. The man was older than the usual lot he dealt with. His long face and grey hair gave him a shrewd if noble appearance. But there was an intelligent malevolence around the eyes. He wore fine clothing, over which was a heavy cloak emblazoned with a crest above the left breast. He saw Sulk studying it. ‘That’s the crest of the Lord Chamberlain, for I am he, and you are my agent, willing or not,’ he said. Sulk gulped. ‘The Eyes of Altdorf is my network, and its glare is currently fixed on you. Do you not know where you are?’

Sulk shook his head, although he had an uneasy suspicion.

‘The Imperial crypt. I thought it an apt place to talk. A reminder that all will meet their end – from the poor to the mighty; both the meek and the powerful,’ he said, tenderly tapping the sarcophagus. ‘The time of those ogre gangsters is also at its end.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Sulk with mock confidence.

‘Now, Gulden, don’t be so hasty in ruling yourself out. You have a part to play.’

‘I’m just an enforcer, a low-level thug, as you said.’

‘At the moment you are, but in two days’ time you’ll be an NAF-sanctioned referee,’ said the chamberlain with a devious smile. ‘Come now, you don’t think it timely – the day the Kobassi Brothers tell you about their massive bet, I bring you here?’

‘Maybe it was because I haven’t sent in a report?’ said Sulk.

The chamberlain gave a short laugh. ‘I’m not sure you understand the, shall we say, prominence of my role? I have my more trusted agents to deal with matters of compliance. No, we’re meeting in person because the Dwarf Giants are playing the Gouged Eye.’ The candlelight highlighted a gleam in the chamberlain’s eyes.

‘Sports fan?’ asked Sulk with a meek innocence.

‘Blood Bowl? No, I can’t stand it. I think you’ve got me confused with more murderous chamberlains.’

‘I’ve heard it said it’s a good outlet for those who like to plan and plot? The demographics for Tzeentchian cultists were off the charts when I was in the game,’ ventured Sulk in an attempt to keep the chamberlain distracted while he tried to figure out an escape plan.

‘My nefarious plots are rather straightforward, I’m afraid. I don’t have time for anything quite so labyrinthine. Let’s take your situation as an example. The Kobassi Brothers want you to ensure the Gouged Eye win. I insist that the Gouged Eye lose. It’s as simple as that.’

‘No offence,’ said Sulk, whose niggardly streak had started to resurface as the hangover receded, ‘but the brothers are ogres and big terrifying ones at that. If it’s down to threats, they win.’

‘Well, let me persuade you instead. We want the Kobassis broken. Losing this wager will leave them more than vulnerable, the Burgomeisters will be grateful.’ Sulk wasn’t moved by the chamberlain’s words. The old man could see it, and so his demeanour hardened. ‘Hinter mentioned something of interest to me on your delivery.’ The chamberlain began to prowl around the sarcophagus, wandering into and out of the candlelight with his hands behind his back in a relaxed gesture. ‘Why do you sleep in the corner of your kitchen when you live in a hovel with two rooms? I wonder…’ Sulk felt an icy stab in his heart. ‘Could it be because you keep something else in the other room? Something stolen. Well, you are a thief.’ The chamberlain came back round the head of the long-dead emperor. ‘Is it true love?’

‘No!’ retorted Sulk. ‘Nothing like that. I just care about animals, I hate to see them threatened or maltreated.’

‘You’re not quite the selfish thug you make out to be are you, Mr Sulkenhof? That’s why we should root for you,’ the chamberlain said in a self-satisfied way. ‘Don’t worry, it’s our little secret. Of course, if you wish to shun our gratitude and don’t ensure the Dwarf Giants win, I could always tell your ogre bosses about it… and that you have been informing on them. From what I hear, they hate “grasserz”.’

‘No,’ said Sulk.

The chamberlain gave him an ungracious smile. ‘Why don’t you sleep on it?’

Before Sulk could answer, a hood was slipped over his face. A familiar, sweet smell filled his nostrils. ‘Send him back, Hinter.’

‘You utter–’ was all Sulk managed as he lost consciousness, flickering out long before the guttering candle did.

Sulk spent the next two days agonising on his impossible choice. The Lord Chamberlain demanded the Dwarf Giants win the game, and had the resources of an entire city to make Sulk’s life miserable. On the other hand, the Kobassi Brothers expected him to swing the game for the Gouged Eye, and they did not suffer failure either. A sharp knock at his door told him the time for worrying was over, the game was imminent. He gave Janet another handful of hay and made his way to the ground floor.

He stepped out of his building to see the Kobassis’ personal stretched carriage was waiting for him. He had no doubt they were inside, waiting to give him one last ‘pep talk’ on the way to the stadium. He was ushered into the carriage by Bald Shrew, who gave Sulk an evil wink while closing the door. The ogres were sat on leather seats. Even though the carriage was large by any human standards, the ogres were clearly cramped. Sulk was directed to sit between them. It was all far, far too cosy, and very sweaty. The pong of ogre sweat was far stronger than a player’s underoos, even after a match, he thought.

‘Sulk!’ said one of the Kobassis. ‘Yoo’ve been quiet since we last spoke. Haven’t left yer squat, we heard.’

Sulk was relieved that the ogres didn’t seem to know about his midnight excursion to the crypt. That could have been a difficult one to explain.

‘I’ve been studying,’ he lied. ‘I wanted to get on top of the rules and regs. Even in the time since I stopped playing there’s been some rules changes.’

The ogres looked at each other in an approving manner. ‘Glad to see we made da right choice. But just remember, we don’t give a ratman’s arse about da rules, just as long as da orcs win.’

‘Yeah, they really are out of form...’ ventured Sulk.

The Kobassis both gave him a stare that would have curdled milk. ‘Dat’s the point,’ growled one. ‘Dat’s why dere odds are high and why we’ve bet on ’em. We gonna win big, cos yoo’re gonna make sure dey win big.’

‘How about a draw?’ asked Sulk. ‘I know a win would be best, but a draw would mean you get your money back…’

‘A draw is da same as a loss,’ rumbled a Kobassi. ‘Get us a win, Sulk. And let’z have no more talk about ifz an’ butz.’

The rest of the trip passed in silence, and soon Sulk was delivered to the staff entrance at the Oldbowl. As he got out, the nearest Kobassi leaned forwards. His face mere inches from Sulk’s, his breath stank like the River Reik combined with a year-old corpse.

‘Don’t let us down, Sulk. My brother isn’t as forgiving as me.’ Sulk managed a sheepish grin before Bald Shrew shut the carriage door. The ex-player, ex-thug and now ref wandered to the stadium entrance muttering a prayer to Nuffle without the slightest idea what to do.

Sulk stood on the astrogranite, dressed in black and white with a whistle dangling on twine around his neck. The coin had been tossed, the receiving team decided. It was the Dwarfs. Both teams seemed quite mad about that. He was in the middle of twenty-two adrenaline-fuelled and bloodthirsty warriors in spiked armour. On his left, they were short and bearded. To his right were hulking green-skinned beasts. Surrounding them were the raised stands of the ancient Oldbowl, packed to capacity with cheering fans. The supporters of the Dwarf Giants were in the south end of the stadium – easily spotted not just because of their diminutive height, but also for the sea of blue and gold as they proudly wore their team’s colours. The Gouged Eye’s rabid fans were in the opposite end. They were less concerned with wearing the Gouged Eye colours of red and white, because being green was probably enough to identify with their team. There were a fair few inflated Gouged Eye balloons bobbing around those stands to further reinforce the crowd’s support.

Separating the rival fans in the middle part of the oval on both sides of the Oldbowl were neutral parties. This was the area where the sponsors, corporate blaggers and parties with more financial – rather than tribal – interests spectated. The Kobassi Brothers stood out like sore and irritable thumbs in their seats despite the crowd numbering in their tens of thousands. Sulk saw the ogres and they stared back at him. Time seemed to slow, but it hadn’t really – at all – and both the players and fans were getting impatient.

‘By Roze-el’s bearded chuff, blow the whistle you bumbling umgi git!’ shouted Grimwald Grimbreath, the Dwarf Giants’ captain. Startled by the rebuke, Sulk blew into the whistle and the shrill noise carried across the stadium. A great cheer went out from the crowd and the players on the line of scrimmage crashed against each other like a tidal surge against rock-hewn sea defences. Sulk was standing in the centre of this mass and his old player instincts quickly told him to duck as ancient enemies – black orcs and bearded blitzers – crashed into each other at full velocity. Sulk managed to crawl out of the scrum relatively intact. He kept crawling until he reached the side of the field. In theory, he was meant to be keeping an eye on the game for infractions, rule-breakers and fouls, but he’d spent the first half minute glaring down at the blood-caked astrogranite surface as he moved to the side of the field on his hands and knees.

An arm reached down, offering to pull him up. Sulk took the proffered hand, noticing the zebra-coloured sleeve. So, this was his assistant referee – they had not met before the game, due to Sulk’s dawdling, but there was no time like the present. Sulk let the assistant’s arm drag him up and he looked into the face of its owner for the first time. He was met with a smug grin. It was Hinter’s face.

‘What are you doing here?’ hissed Sulk.

‘Same thing as the Kobassis, reminding you to make the correct decision.’ Before Sulk could answer back, he heard a shout from over his shoulder.

‘REF!’

Sulk turned to see two orcs kicking the absolute snot out of a prone dwarf. The remaining Giants were running towards the incident as fast as their stumpy legs could carry them and screaming at Sulk in the eternal way all players appealed to officials – with jaws wide and arms splayed in ‘Can-you-not-see-this-injustice!?’ fashion.

‘No foul, play on!’ he shouted. The Giants’ fans voiced their objections – fully half the stadium exploded in boos and khazalid death threats aimed at Sulk. The Gouged Eye fans cheered in delight. One of the orcs in mid-foul celebrated with a flying elbow into his victim. Sulk turned his head to give Hinter his own smug grin. But his assistant was no longer smiling, now there was anger.

The game continued, and Sulk was not making himself popular with the Giants’ fans. While not as infamous for it as rival dwarf team, the Warhammerers, the Giants were prone to bringing their experimental and illegal weapons onto the field of play. Some refs deliberately turned a blind eye to this outright cheating; they either feared being skewered on the very weapons they were banning, or had received a hefty purse of dawi gold before the game. Sulk was in neither category. He had already stopped a chainsaw-wielding dwarf from coming on to the field. The fans were not amused. Grimwald Grimbreath pushed past Sulk and nearly knocked him flying.

‘You’re in my personal book of grudges, laddie,’ spat Grimbreath as he strolled back into his own half.

In a way, the dwarfs’ willingness to cheat made Sulk’s job easier, as he didn’t have to manufacture any reasons to penalise them. Of course, he still had to consider letting the dwarfs win to please the Lord Chamberlain, but at the moment he wanted to agitate Hinter more. Before the end of the game, he still had to figure out how he could please the ogres and the Eyes, although, deep down, he knew someone was going to lose – and that was probably him.

There was a roar from the Giants’ end zone. It wasn’t the outraged roar of the crowd; more mechanical – like a lawn mower that had drank a potion of strength. Sulk looked up to see a deathroller churning up the turf around the stands and heading for the astrogranite. Dwarf deathrollers were the ultimate ‘secret’ weapon, the irony being they were not subtle at all due to their enormous size. Initially developed by the Warhammerers from antiquated sports field rollers, it was a steam-driven contraption with a large, spiked roller at the front which was about four foot in height and seven foot wide. The roller span at a fearsome rate, even when stationary. The machine was ridden by a player-pilot whose job was to mow down enemy players, until only dwarfs were left on the pitch unopposed. It was a fan favourite with good reason. Sulk knew if the machine got on the field then there wouldn’t be any orcs left to win the match.

He sprinted across to the Giants’ end zone and stood before the deathroller, red card in hand. The Giants’ fans were shouting and screaming at him at the top of their lungs, cursing his ancestors and swearing countless grudges against him. The deathroller continued to slowly advance, its spinning drum whipping up the air currents around the referee. The deathroller inched forward, until the roller came within a beard’s length of him. Sulk held his ground, even as he struggled to hold his bowels in place.

‘Hold it!’ shouted Grimwald. The Dwarf captain came to stand by Sulk. ‘You’ve got balls, lad. Big, spiky ones, I’ll give ye that.’ He turned to the player in the deathroller pilot seat. ‘Spin her around, Thorek, we’ll try again later.’

Sulk let out a sigh of relief but quickly regained his composure as Hinter came to join him.

‘If you’d let that machine on, it would have been game over, fool,’ he said. Sulk moved into Hinter’s personal space, their heads almost touched.

‘Don’t push me, Hinter!’

‘Or what?’

‘I might push back!’ Sulk walked away before Hinter could respond.

The clock was rushing towards half time. Sulk didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. The sooner the ordeal was over the better, but then what fate would befall him once he blew the final whistle?

‘Illegal procedure!’ a shout called out from the sidelines. Without turning his head, Sulk knew where the shout had come from. As the ranking match official, technically, Sulk was the only ref allowed on the field during play. Assistant refs were confined to the sidelines but could call out fouls and other rules breakages. Most never did, rightly letting the head ref take the heat from resentful players and fans for halting play. But Hinter had his own agenda. Sulk looked askance from the field, and the CabalVision camras followed his gaze.

‘Gouged Eye player four doesn’t have his boot laces tied up. That’s a clear breach of NAF code 122, paragraph C. According to the laws of the game, play must reset with Dwarf Giants in possession.’ Hinter’s face didn’t look as confident as the words he spoke. Even he knew that he was not just poking a hornets’ nest but drop kicking it down the ravine. And yet, his interpretation of the rules was foolproof. Unlike the head referee, he must have been swotting up on his NAF regs before the game. Sulk had no choice but to concur. Grimbreath sidled up to Sulk.

‘Well now, lad, isn’t he a despicable, sanctimonious oik? Glad he’s a Giants’ supporter!’ He gave a gruff laugh and patted Sulk on the back before ordering his players into formation.

The Gouged Eye fans were not happy. Some of the mascot balloons were thrown onto the pitch, where one burst over a goblin, covering him in gloop. Sulk dared a glance at the Kobassis. Their faces were stone – not just hard to read, but impossible. However, their eyes – yes, their eyes – gave away their true feelings, and it was pure, unadulterated anger.

The game restarted with half-time only moments away. Despite all that had gone on, neither side had managed a touchdown yet. While the Gouged Eye were genuinely out of form, the Giants’ were simply being self-destructive, too hung up on getting their illegal weapons on the pitch. If they had just played the ball, thought Sulk, they’d probably be two up by now. It was a thought he certainly wasn’t going to voice to the dwarfs. Although, he worried that Hinter might say something. And as if on cue…

‘Foul play!’ shouted Hinter from the sidelines. ‘The troll is picking his nose, a clear breach of NAF player protocol–’

‘Shut yer zoggin mouth!’ shouted the Gouged Eye captain. The orc came storming up to Sulk. He was big and angry, with a row of broken fangs jutting from his bottom lip. Sulk was thankful it wasn’t Varag Ghoul-Chewer. Part of the reason the Eye were not on form was their absent captain, who was still recovering from injury from when a witch elf had kicked him in the groin last season.

‘Yoo betta get dat assistant git to shut it wiv his weird rulez, or I’m holdin’ yoo’ – with that, the orc poked Sulk hard in the chest with a knotted, clawed finger – ‘responsible.’

Sulk was now sure that every player and member of the crowd was out to get him… Play resumed, the dwarfs were mere yards from the end zone, Sulk had the whistle in his mouth ready to blow as soon as the half was up. He would call it early if he could, but due to Hinter’s constant interference, scrutiny of the match officials was now off the charts. Then Grimbreath was handed the ball.

‘Out the way!’ he roared as he charged past. Sulk blew the whistle, trying to stop the game before the dwarf captain crossed into the orcs’ end zone. But it was too late – an undeniable touchdown was scored.

‘Half-time!’ shouted Hinter from the sidelines. His smug grin had returned.

The teams retreated to their dugouts to be shouted at by their coaches. Sulk was in no doubt that both he and Hinter would be the topic of much of that discourse. He dared a look into the crowd and saw the Kobassis glaring back. Their anger had given way to malice and hatred. If the score line remained the same, he was a dead man.

His assistant ref approached him from behind and looked at the Kobassis. They returned his glare with the same hatred they had shown Sulk.

‘It would be best for everyone if the score stays the same from now on, or even if the Giants can increase their lead.’ He gave the ogres a friendly wave as he spoke. It wasn’t returned. He then faced Sulk. ‘Do you know what I’ve got here?’ He tapped his breast pocket. A small, black book was sat in it. The books were normally carried by match officials used for recording cautioned player numbers... and bribes. Sulk was non-plussed. ‘It’s evidence. All the information we have that you are my informant. Think the ogres are mad at you now? Wait till I show them this,’ he tapped his pocket again, ‘unless of course, you stop being so stubborn and let the Giants win.’

Sulk walked away, partly because it was already time to get the second half started, and partly to stop himself from throttling Hinter there and then.

Let the Giants win, mused Sulk. Maybe, just maybe there was a way out of this…

It was kick-off time once again and the Gouged Eye were receiving. The dwarf kicker hoofed the ball high into the air and into the greenskins’ half. A goblin snatched it before it bounced and orc linemen quickly surrounded him. The greenskin cage started to march upfield. The dwarfs, always better at defending castles than taking them, struggled to grab the goblin as the Gouged Eye moved ever closer to the opposing end zone. Hinter moved along the sidelines, following the ball. Twice he called foul play, but this time the orcs refused to listen. No doubt a direct order from their manager at the half-time talk. Hinter, looking slightly panicked, beseeched Sulk to intervene, but the chief ref pointedly ignored him too. The dwarfs attacked deep in their half. The two team captains were trading heavy blows when a gobbo broke from the cage and made a run for it. He scored, and the Gouged Eye fans erupted in jubilation.

‘I’ve had enough of this!’ ranted Grimbreath, as the dwarfs gathered for kick-off once more. ‘Thorek, you’re back on!’ The roar of the deathroller reverberated around the stadium. The dwarf captain looked to Sulk, daring him to stop it. In the crowd, the Kobassis glared at him, and on the sidelines Hinter looked on with a scowl, expecting Sulk to send it off. However, Sulk didn’t, he looked past it, as if the rumbling, smoke-belching machine wasn’t there.

‘Play on!’ shouted Sulk in his most ref-like voice. The Gouged Eye fans turned their howls from triumph to outrage. The ogres, who had been stony faced throughout, roared their disapproval. Hinter’s scowl disappeared, and a familiar, irritating smile spread across his face. At last he had got through to Sulk.

The deathroller trundled up the field, but the greenskins had no answer. As it advanced the Kobassis gestured at Sulk, desperate to attract his attention. Hinter moved down the sidelines, looking self-satisfied. The deathroller made it to the line of scrimmage – the line that bisected the field at the centre – when Sulk called a foul play.

‘This dwarf’s beard is too long,’ Sulk shouted, pointing to a runner, whose cheeks burned red with embarrassment as he quickly tucked his beard into the top of his breeches. The game halted, and all players stopped what they were doing. Sulk stood at the centre of the field, with the deathroller stationary but its drum spinning menacingly before him.

‘No!’ shouted Hinter. ‘You can’t stop the game now, that’s not even an infraction!’ He strode onto the field in a clear breach of official etiquette. Hinter stormed up to Sulk, ignoring the dwarf and orc players about him, and the rumbling deathroller.

‘What are you up to, Sulk? The game is a draw, full-time is close. You need to let these bearded fools win!’

‘No,’ said Sulk, looking calm.

‘Then you’ll pay. I have all the evidence, I’ll show it to your bosses and watch them pull you apart.’

‘That’s all the evidence? There in your pocket, no copies?’

‘It’s all here,’ gloated Hinter. ‘Ready to give to the Kobassis. And once they’re done with you–’

Sulk gave Hinter a push. It wasn’t hard, but was just enough to tip the assistant off balance. Hinter fell sideways and into the deathroller. There was short scream followed by an unpleasant crunch. The drum of the deathroller turned red.

‘Told you I’d push back.’ Sulk noticed the shredded pages of Hinter’s notebook blow in the wind and get trampled into the astrogranite in the ensuing panic. No more evidence to worry about.

Players from both teams looked surprised at what had just happened. If they had seen the push, none cared to mention it. Sulk quickly took charge of the situation.

‘Penalty on the Dwarf Giants, an illegal construction has caused the death of a match official. Send it off. The Gouged Eye take possession!’

Even the dwarfs struggled to argue against that decision. None picked up on the irony that they were being punished for a murder Sulk had committed. The Gouged Eye were emboldened and surged deep into the Dwarfs’ half with the ball. It was full-time, but with the score still a draw Sulk let the game play on. The Giants’ fans jeered, calling for the final whistle, but Sulk ignored them.

Then the orcs fed the ball to their speedy gobbo, and he dodged a slayer’s tackle and sped into the end zone, scoring a second touchdown. Sulk blew the final whistle – the Gouged Eye had won! The orcs on the field let out a celebratory ‘Waaagh!’, which was echoed by the fans in their half of the stadium. Gouged Eye balloons bounced around and goblin fans were thrown onto the field. The loons joyously laughed, even as they landed with a splat.

The ogres would be happy and Altdorf’s Eyes had no hold on him. Sulk hoped he was in the clear, although he would need to avoid dwarfs for a while.

Sulk entered the refs’ locker room. He was desperate to get out of the bloody kit, although at least it wasn’t his blood for the most part. He walked to his locker.

‘Pleased with yourself?’ said the chamberlain. He emerged from the shadows just as he had done in the crypt, his long face stern, but the flaring of his nostrils revealed rage. ‘I had high hopes for you, Gulden.’ The chamberlain closed the locker door. ‘I should have you killed right now, have my Eyes swoop in and slice your throat. But no, a more efficient message needs to be sent. I can’t have my other informants betraying me, can I?’

‘Do your worst!’ said Sulk, managing to sound far braver than he actually felt.

‘You don’t want my worst, Gulden. Believe me, my worst is reserved for enemies with far more potency than a petty thug and thief! No, I’ll let the Kobassi Brothers deal with you.’

‘You have no evidence – it got chewed up with Hinter.’

‘I admired your little deception back there on the field, but you are so, so naive. How hard do you think it would be for me to manufacture more evidence? Or, maybe I shall just take Janet. The Marauders are still looking for their mascot.’

‘You’ll stay away from her,’ whispered Sulk. ‘If you want my services.’

‘Why do I need a low-level thug?’

‘I’m no longer low-level. I’m now the Kobassi Brothers’ most trusted man,’ stated Sulk. ‘Their wager is won, and they’re now more powerful than ever because of me! I’ll be even closer than before.’

The chamberlain thought about this, and did not disagree.

‘And if you want my cooperation, if you want to know what I know, then you’ll leave me and my charges alone.’

‘Or I could have my agents steal the goat and make you work for me anyway?’ said the chamberlain.

‘As you said, wretched men are easy to control. I am not wretched – not anymore, at any rate. If you want the intelligence, I think it’s best you throw away the stick and keep an eye on my carrots to make sure nobody else ever eats them!’ Sulk gave a threatening look. The chamberlain considered things for a moment then walked backwards, towards the door, withdrawing back into the shadows.

‘I look forward to working with you,’ he hissed, before silently leaving the room.

Sulk slumped on the bench by his locker. He was physically and mentally exhausted and so unprepared for his next visitors.

The Kobassis entered mere minutes after the chamberlain’s silent departure. They looked to be in a good spirits.

‘Dat was a close one, Sulk,’ said one. ‘I like wot yoo did wiv dat deathroller. Could ’ave gone wrong though. We’d be ’avin’ a very different discussion if it had.’

‘Speakin’ of which,’ said the other Kobassi, ‘how did it go wiv da chamberlain?’

Sulk was instantly afraid. He glanced around for an escape route, but the ogres were blocking him. He decided on bravado instead.

‘It went well, he’s keen for me to remain in your employ…’ he chanced.

‘Good, dat’s good,’ said the first Kobassi. ‘We’ve always valued yer relationship with da Eyes.’

Sulk wiped sweat from his head with a shaking hand. Thank Nuffle the toilets were close.

The Kobassis picked up on Sulk’s confusion. ‘How else do you think we feed the chamberlain false information? It keeps hiz cronies away from our real operationz,’ one of them explained.

‘We hate grasserz,’ said the other. ‘Unless it suits our purposes.’ With that, the closest Kobassi clapped Sulk a friendly slap on the back. It was the hardest he’d been hit all day. ‘Get yerself cleaned up. We’ll see yer tomorrow.’ The ogres left.

Sulk washed and changed and walked out the stadium, not caring if he ever set foot on a Blood Bowl field again. He had a suspicion he might have to, but that was a worry for another day. For now he could focus on his true passion. He wasn’t sure what he was going to call it – he toyed with the Reikland Society for the Protection of Clobbered Animals, but he thought that would need shortening somehow. Still, he knew what he had to do next; the Gouged Eye had already threatened to kill the Dwarf Giants’ team mascot. Sulk had to get there first – he had to save a terrier called Rolf!

About the Author

Andy Hall is a professional writer with many years in the games industry. After a stint working for Games Workshop’s magazines White Dwarf and Fanatic, he is currently lead writer for the PC strategy game Total War: Warhammer.

In a fantasy world where violence is a way of life, the number one sport is Blood Bowl - Gridiron where anything goes. Dirk ‘Dunk’ Hoffnung, once a barbarian swordsman, is now a rookie quarterback in the toughest football league you’ve ever seen. Follow his career as he goes from Most Promising Newcomer to MVP!

A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Wayne England.

Foul Play © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2017. Foul Play, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, Blood Bowl, Warhammer, Warhammer Age of Sigmar, Stormcast Eternals, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
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ISBN: 978-1-78572-635-4

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