The game itself was actually rather enjoyable. It was a lot more fun to watch when we weren’t the ones getting our brains beaten out on the field. I found myself cheering for the occasional outstanding play and hooting the rare intervention of the officials, along with the rest of the crazed mob.
Quigley/Skeeve, on the other hand, maintained an ominous silence. I found this to be increasingly unnerving as the afternoon wore on. I knew him well enough to tell he was planning something. What I didn’t know were the specifics of “what” and “when.” Finally, as the end of the game loomed close, I could contain myself no-longer.
“Say, uh, Skeeve,” I said, leaning close so he could hear me over the din of the crowd. “Have you got your plan worked out?”
He nodded without taking his eyes off the field.
“Mind telling me about it?”
“Well, remember how I got fired from Possiltum?” he said, glancing around to see if anyone was eavesdropping.
“Yeah. You told the King off. So?”
“. . . So I don’t see any reason why the same thing shouldn’t work here. I don’t imagine that City-State Officials are any less pompous or impressed with themselves than the monarch of a broken-down kingdom was.”
That made sense. It was nice to see the Kid hadn’t completely lost his feel for people.
“So what are you going to chew them out over? Their treatment of Quigley?”
He shook his head.
“Out of character,” he said. “Quigley isn’t the type to make a fuss over himself. No, I figured to make the fight the key issue.”
“Fight? What fight?”