'Kapok, for God's sake!' yelled Biffo. 'The Whackers will knock the stuffing out of the team if you're not here to lead us!'
But he continued walking, his former team-mates looking on in disgust, and grumbled and swore for a while before the Mallets' manager, a reedy-looking character with a thin moustache and a pale complexion walked on to the green and asked what was going on.
'Ah!' he said when he heard the news. 'I'm very sorry to hear that but since you are all present I think it's probably the right time to announce that I'm retiring on grounds of ill health.'
'When?'
'Right now,' said the manager, and ran off. Goliath were working overtime this morning.
'Well,' said Aubrey as soon as he had gone, 'what now?'
'Listen,' I said, 'I can't tell you why but it is historically imperative that we win this Superhoop. You will win this match because you have to. It's that simple. Can you captain?' I asked, turning to a burly croquet player named Biffo. I had seen him do 'blind passes' across the rhododendron bushes with uncanny accuracy and his classic 'pegging out' shot from the sixty-yard line during the league game against Southampton was undeniably one of the Top Ten Great Croquet Moments of history. Of course, that had been over ten years ago, before a bad tackle twisted his knee. These days he played defence, guarding the hoops against opposition strikers.
'Not me,' he replied with a resigned air.
'Smudger?'
Smudger played attack and had made midair roquets something of a trademark. His celebrated double hoop in the Swindon-Gloucester play-off of 1978 was still talked about, even if it hadn't won us the match.
'Nope.'
'Anyone?'
'I'll captain, Miss Next.'
It was Aubrey Jambe. He had been captain once before until a media-led campaign had him ousted following allegations about him and a chimp.
'Good.'
'But we'll need a new manager,' said Aubrey slowly, 'and since you seem to be so passionate about it, I think you'd better take it on.'
Before I knew what I was saying I had agreed, which went down pretty well with the players. Morale of a sort had returned. I took Aubrey by the arm and we walked into the middle of the green for our first strategy meeting.
'Okay,' I said, 'tell me truthfully, Jambe, what are our chances?'
'Borderline impossible,' answered Aubrey candidly. 'We had to sell our best player to Glasgow to be able to meet the changes that the World Croquet League insisted we make to the green. Then our top defender, Lauren de Rematte, won a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Africa on one of those junk mail prize draw things. With Kapok gone we're down to ten players, no reserve, and we've lost the best striker. Biffo, Smudger, Snake, George and Johnno are all good players but the rest are second-raters.'
'So what do we need to win?'
'If every player on the Reading team were to die overnight and be replaced by unfit nine-year-olds, then we might be in with a chance.'
'Too difficult and probably illegal. What else?'
Aubrey stared at me glumly.
'Five quality players and we might have a chance.'
It was a tall order. If they could get to Kapok, they could offer 'inducements' to any other player who might want to join us.
'Okay,' I said, 'leave it with me.'
'You have a plan?'
'Of course,' I lied, feeling the managerial mantle falling about my shoulders, 'your new players are as good as signed. Besides,' I added, with a certain amount of faux conviction, 'we've got a Revealment to protect.'
23
Granny Next
READING WHACKERS CONFIDENT OF WINNING SUPERHOOP
Following the surprise resignation of both Roger Kapok and Gray Ferguson from the Swindon Mallets croquet team this afternoon, the Whackers seem almost certain to win next Saturday's Superhoop, despite the prophecy by St Zvlkx. Betting shops were being cautious despite the news and lowered the Mallets' odds to 7001. Miss Thursday Next, the new manager of the Mallets, derided any talk of failure and told waiting reporters that Swindon would triumph. When pressed on how dial might be so, she declared the interview over.
'You're the manager of the Mallets?' asked Bowden with incredulity. 'What happened to Gray Ferguson?'
'Bought out, bribed, frightened who knows?' 'You like being busy, don't you? Does this mean you won't be able to help me get banned books out of England?'
'Have no fear of that,' I reassured him, 'I'll find a way.' I wished I could share in my own confidence. I told Bowden I'd see him tomorrow and walked out, only to be waylaid by the over-zealous Major Drabb, who told me with great efficiency that he and his squad had searched the Albert Schweitzer Memorial Library from top to bottom but had not unearthed a single Danish book. I congratulated him on his diligence and told him to check in with me again tomorrow. He saluted smartly, presented me with a thirty-two-page written report and was gone.
Gran was in the garden of the Goliath Twilight Homes when I stopped by on the way home. She was dressed in a blue gingham frock and was attending to some flowers with a watering can.
'I just heard the news on the wireless. Congratulations!'
'Thanks,' I replied without enthusiasm, slumping into a large 'tvicker chair. 'I have no idea why I volunteered to run the Mallets I don't know the first thing about running a croquet team!'
'Perhaps,' replied Gran, reaching forward to dead-head a rose, 'all that is required is faith and conviction two areas in which, I might add, I think you excel.'
'Faith isn't going to conjure up five world-class croquet players, now, is it?'
'You'd be surprised what faith can do, my dear. You have St Zvlkx's Revealment on your side, after all.'
'The future isn't fixed, Gran. We can lose, and probably will.'
She tut-tutted.
'Well! Aren't you the moaning minnie today! What does it matter if we do lose? It's only a game, after all!'
I slumped even lower.
'If it was only a game I wouldn't be worried. This is how my father sees it: Kaine proclaims himself dictator as soon as President Formby dies next Monday. Once he wields ultimate executive power he will embark on a course of warfare that results in an armageddon of Level III life-extinguishing capability. We can't stop the President from dying but we can, my father insists, avoid the world war by simply winning the Superhoop.'
Gran sat down in a wicker chair next to me.
'And then there's Hamlet,' I continued, rubbing my temples. 'His play has been subjected to a hostile takeover from The Merry Wives of Windsor and if I don't find a Shakespeare clone pronto there won't be a Hamlet for Hamlet to return to. Goliath tricked me yet again. I don't know what they did but it felt as though my free will was being sucked out through my eyeballs. They said they'd get Landen back but quite frankly I have my doubts. And I have to illegally smuggle ten truckloads of banned books out of England.'
Tirade over, I sighed and was silent. Gran had been thoughtful for a while, and after appearing to come to some sort of a momentous decision announced:
'You know what you should do?'
'What?'
'Take Smudger off defence and make him the mid-hoop wingman. Jambe should be the striker as usual, but Biffo'
'Gran! You haven't listened to a word I've said, have you?'
She patted my hand.
'Of course I have. Hamlet was having his merry wives smuggled out of England by sucking out his eyeballs which leads to an armageddon and the death of the President. Right?'
'Never mind. How are things with you? Found the ten most boring books?'
'Indeed I have,' she replied, 'but I am loath to finish reading them as I feel there is one last epiphanic moment to my life that will be revealed just before I die.'