Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

'I say,' said Twizzit, who had suddenly appea

red in the company of Stig.

'Have a bun!' said Aubrey. 'We're going out in style!'

But Twizzit wasn't smiling.

'We've been looking at Mr Stig's genome—

'His what?'

'His genome. The complete genetic plan of him and the other Neanderthals.'

'And?'

Twizzit rummaged through some papers.

'They were all built between 1939 and 1948 in the Goliath bioengineering labs. The thing is, the prototype Neanderthal could not speak in words that we could understand — so they were built using a human voice box.' Twizzit gave a curious half-smile, as though he had produced a spare ace from his sleeve, and announced with great drama: 'The Neanderthals are 1.03 per cent human.'

'But that doesn't make them human,' I observed. 'How does it help us?'

'I agree they're not human,' conceded Twizzit, still with the ghost of a smile, 'but the rules specifically exclude anyone "non-human". Since they have some human in them, they technically can't fall into this category.'

There was another long pause. I looked at Stig, who stared back and raised his eyebrows.

'I think we should lodge an appeal,' muttered Jambe, leaving his Chelsea bun half eaten in his haste. 'Stig, have your men limber up!'

The judges agreed with us. The 1.03 per cent was enough to prove they weren't non-human and thus could not be excluded from play. While Wapcaplitt ran off to search the croquet statutes for a reason to appeal, the Neanderthals, Grunk, Warg, Dorf, Zim

and Stig, limbered up as the Whackers looked on nervously. Neanderthals had often been approached to play as they could run all day without tiring, but no one until now had ever managed it.

'Okay, listen up,' said Jambe, gathering us around, 'we're back in the game at full strength. Thursday, I want you to stay on the benches to get your breath back. We're going to fool them with a Puchonski switch. Biffo is going to take the red ball from the forty-yard line over the rhododendron bushes, past the Italian sunken garden and into a close position to hoop five. Snake, you'll take it from there and croquet their yellow — Stig will defend you. Mr Warg, I want you to mark their number five. He's dangerous, so you're going to have to use any tricks you can. Smudger, you're going to foul the Duchess — when the vicar gives you the red card, I'm calling in Thursday. Yes?'

I didn't reply; for some reason I was having a sudden heavy bout of deja vu.

'Thursday?' repeated Aubrey. 'Are you okay? You look like you're in a dream world!'

'I'm fine,' I said slowly, I'll wait for your command.'

'Good.'

We all did the 'harrump' thing and they went to their places whilst I sat on the bench and looked once again at the Scoreboard. We were losing twenty-one hoops to twelve.

The klaxon went off and the game started with renewed aggression. Biffo whacked the yellow ball in the direction of the up-end hoop and hit the Whackers' ball. Warg took the roquet. With an expert swing the opponent's ball tumbled into the Italian sunken garden, and ours sailed as straight as a die over the rhododendrons; a distant clack was mirrored by a roar from the crowd, and I knew the ball had been intercepted by Grunk and taken through the hoop. Aubrey nodded at Smudger, who took out the Duchess in grand style: they both careered into the tea party and knocked over the table. The klaxon sounded for a time-out while the Duchess was pulled clear of the tea things. She was conscious but had a broken ankle. Smudger was given the red card but no hoop penalty as the Duchess had been shown the yellow card earlier for concussing Biffo. I joined the fray as play started up again but the Whackers' early confidence was soon evaporating under a withering attack from the Neanderthals, who could anticipate their every move simply by reading their body language. Warg passed to Grunk, who gave the ball such an almighty whack that it passed clear through the rhododendrons with a tearing of foliage and was converted by Zim on the other side towards an undefended hoop.

Three minutes from time we had almost caught up: twenty-five hoops to the Whackers' twenty-nine. Firmly rattled, the Whackers missed a roquet, and with only a minute to run scored their thirtieth hoop with us only two behind. All they had to do to win was 'peg out' by hitting the centre post. While they were trying to do this, and we tried our best to stop them, Mr Grunk, with eight seconds to go and two hoops to make, whacked a clear double-hooper that went through one up-end hoop, the entire forty yards down the green and through the mid. I'd never heard a crowd yell more.

We had levelled the score and desperately tried to get our ball to the peg in the scrum of players trying to stop the Whackers from doing the same. Warg grunted to Grunk, who ran towards the scrum and tore into them, taking six players down as Warg whacked the ball towards the now unprotected peg. It hit the peg fair and square — but a second after the klaxon had sounded. Play had ended — in a draw.

39

Sudden Death

NEANDERTHALS TURN DOWN CROQUET OFFER

A group of Neanderthals unwisely turned down an exciting and unrepeatable offer from the Gloucester Meteors yesterday following their astonishing performance at the 1988 Whackers versus Mallets Super- hoop on Saturday. The generous offer of ten brightly coloured glass beads was rejected by a Neanderthal spokesman, who declared that conflict, howsoever staged, was inherently insulting. The offer was raised to a set of solid-bottomed cookware, and this was also roundly rejected. A spokesman for the Meteors later stated that the Neanderthal tactics displayed on Saturday were actually the result of some clever tricks taught them by the Mallets' team coach,

Article in The Toad, 24 July 1988