Harry
Friday comes absurdly slowly. We skate twice a day and I drill the plan into them religiously. Even so, the time seems to drag. I hear nothing more from Kate other than a brief "see you Friday :)" which is more than I could have hoped for, yet less than I wanted. I prepare a presentation as well as many speeches for the girls and Skander to get them to go easy on Joan while I'm gone, and I deputize Edmund to help mind the others.
I insist Joan call me; she tells me she'll be fine. Skander promises to be good and requires multiple hugs before I go. Pippa is usually self sufficient but I hug her an extra time anyway. Blanche is teary-eyed and wants me to promise to be careful. I promise to come back in one piece then Joan starts freaking out. Edmund is quiet and I ask him if he wants me to ask Joan to sit with him while he wakes up. He says no he'll be fine with the dog. I promise to call him, but he's quiet about it. I suspect he's trying to be brave.
But finally, Friday morning does come. We are excused from classes and are to take the bus to the airport. Coach Bill and I packed up the extra sticks and gear last night, and now all that's left is to load everyone up and be on our way.
"We're missing people," Thomas can count it would seem.
"This is everyone," I say, pushing my glasses up my nose as I bend to load the bus with our various bags.
"Where're Grey and Scroop?" Jon asks, frowning.
"They elected not to come," I say, flatly.
(Ahem, twelve hours earlier)
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Coach Bill, naturally upset by the scene before him.
"They were tampering with our sticks," I said, finishing duct taping Scroop's hands. Grey was already trussed and whimpering on the floor.
"Okay, so probably not," Coach Bill said.
"We were, we admit it!"
"Just get him to let us go!"
"Someone paid us to; we didn't mean any harm!"
"They were sabotaging us," I said, folding my arms, "They're traitors."
"Yeah, we don't kill people for sabotaging a hockey game," Coach Bill said, like he's had to say this before, when he only has once that I'm aware of so far.
"I'm not killing them," I said, "They're off the team though."
"You threw them off the team?" Thomas asks.
"No, I thought you'd object," I say, sarcastically.
"We didn't have enough people before, this means that we'll have no line changes," Fluellen stutters.
"I know," I say.
"That's really impossible," Warwick says.
"Why—why—why the fuck are they off the team?" Thomas asks.
"They are both injured, they can't play," Coach Bill says, tiredly.
(Ahem, twelve hours earlier:)
"You can't just throw them off the team, we don't have enough people to play as it is," Coach Bill said.
I gripped Scroop's arm, twisting it until it came out of the socket. He screamed in pain as I dropped him to take hold of and sharply snap Grey's ankle. He also started howling pain.
"Looks like they can't play anymore," I said, going to start packing the gear.
"Yeah, it's really weird neither of them can play anymore," Coach Bill says, glaring intentionally at me, "However, because we are either insane or just gluttons for punishment, we're still going."
"We can skate the whole time," Rey says.
"Against a fresh team every ten minutes?" Thomas sighs.
"We are not giving up," I growl, "We will not fail. Because nobody has ever done something like this before, simply means it was meant for us to do."
"If you say so," Warwick sighs.
"This is going to be awful," Fluellen says.
"Or spectacular, come on, get on the bus, we don't want to be late," I say. Thomas lingers last with me.
"Is there—anyway—you weren't involved in their injuries?" Thomas asks.
"No, none whatsoever."
"Am I going to get to know why?"
"They accepted a bribe to damage our gear, they were untrustworthy," I say.
"That same bribe we all got offered via email? That you almost definitely sent out?" Thomas asks.
"Yeah, that's the one, glad you're aware of it."
"GODDAMN IT, HARRY!"
"Don't say my name like that. You sound like dad."
"Dad would call you a fuckhead, which would be accurate."
"Yeah, possibly."
The bus is big enough that we each have a row to ourselves if we want it. I sit up with Coach as usual to help him navigate (he loves this). Thomas sits in the very back of the bus alone. Jon and Rey pick a middle seat at random to watch something on a laptop and chatter excitedly. Fluellen sits one row up from Thomas with a book. Warwick sits in front of Jon and Rey to talk with them. That's all six of us.
The airport is beginning to get crowded, and it takes well over an hour to shuffle everyone in and past the few paparazzo waiting on us. In our secluded Avon, I have gotten very spoilt with relatively few press hounding us. We get no such luxury here, however.
"Could you break the habit of a lifetime and—guess not," Coach Bill mutters, as I and my five soldiers flip off the press as we walk into the terminal. We're all wearing matching Bard's t-shirts emblazoned with the quill and sword crossed logo. Mine also has the roman numeral five on it, my jersey number, on the back but at the moment I'm wearing a black sport coat over it. Thomas has a jean jacket over his, the rest are all bare sleeved and already sweating from excitement and jumping around. We are all wearing jeans, Thomas and I black, save Jon who is wearing cargos presumably to carry nasty things and snacks. I let Coach pat him down before security and confiscate any weapons.
"It's good training for them," Rey says, making a hex sign at the press.
"They'd be shocked if we didn't," I say, though I turn and flash them a smile, tapping my fingers to my temple in a V for victory sign. I only do it in case Kate is googling our progress and might see. I don't want to come off as complete idiot; save that for once we're on the ice together.
"You know, they'd probably throw out the pictures if you waved normally. They wouldn't think it was you," Coach Bill points out, ushering us towards security.
"You could be right, I'll try that with Skan sometime," I do get cross with them taking his picture he's only little and he didn't ask to be part of this family.
"If you have any more weapons child," Coach growls at Jon, who he just took another knife from.
"I'm done, I swear—how am I supposed to defend myself?"
"From whom? Your brother is like seven feet tall and can break bones with his bare hands. Trust me, everyone is afraid of you," Coach Bill growls, shoving him on.
Eventually we get through security, my many laptops take a decent amount of time as does Rey's bag which looked like it was designed to carry bombs and that's because it was. Coach Bill grudgingly waits for and claims us. I use the wrong ID so they're confused when Coach says I'm one of his students but in the end that goes all right. Then Coach Bill tries to take my over twenty one ID.
"I'll have you arrested again," I say, holding my wallet well out of his reach.
"If you buy alcohol, I will call your stepmother and she and I will parent you whether you like it or not," he growls, not even afraid.
"It's for emergencies," I say, tucking the wallet back in my pocket.
The rest of the team is gathered by our gate, looking out the window.
"Here goes nothing," Thomas says, quietly.
"I hate flying," Warwick twists his hands.
"Ready to kick some Tempest's ass?" Rey asks, bouncing, "What? Why is Coach Bill glaring at me like that?"
"I don't know; he's just weird. Come on let's compare our seats and select an appropriately weird story for the flight attendants," I say, looking at my ticket.
"I really do not want to talk to the FBI and the FAA before the game again—"
"We made it on time. I don't know why you're so upset about it. And I very nicely got you out of prison after the game. All right, I'm definitely doing a Russian accent but other than that I'm open," I say, checking my brother's tickets. The six of us are in three different rows scattered around the plane. Excellent.
"This is stupid," Fluellen says.
"Take this," I slap a glove into Fluellen's hands.
"Why?"
"You'll find out when I think of it," I say, grinning.
"I'm gonna pretend to be mute," Thomas says, rubbing his face.
"Brilliant, you'll be our prisoner."
"Can I also be a prisoner?" Rey raises his hand.
"Are you gonna actually pull the emergency door or just pretend to?"
"Just pretend to!"
"Absolutely do that, yes."
"I'll be pretending I don't know any of you," Coach mutters.
"Are we going to incriminate him?" Jon asks.
"Yes, clearly," I say, redistributing tickets.
YOU ARE READING
Henriad (History Plays, Book 5)
Teen FictionThe heir to a criminal empire must deal with his father's terminal illness, raising his siblings alone, falling in love, and the excrutiatingly painful trials that come with growing up. Since his mother's untimely death, Harry has been fiercly prot...
