“Ladies aaannnd gentlemen,” announced Bismark from his perch above the center line, “take a look at that fox!”
All eyes were on Dawn as she warmed up on the marble. Ciro was good. Cora was decent. The others struggled to stay on their feet, let alone control the tarantula. But Dawn maneuvered her kiwi with skill and slid on the marble surface with grace. The fox was a natural.
“She must be shut down!” Boris whispered. His team gathered around him at the far goal. “Shut down, do you hear me? Bee, do not leave her uncovered for a moment. Hay, you mind the sweep, and Miss, don’t forget to fall back on defense every play. If they get a fast break, let me stop it alone. I can handle anything they throw at me. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Coach,” they said.
“We can’t take any chances with that one.” Boris watched as the fox spun in tight circles, with Harry balanced on the tip of her kiwi. “She is the threat.”
“What a match we have here today!” Bismark exclaimed. “Finesse versus power, captor versus captive, the Nocs versus the Crocs! Are you ready for this, ladies and gentlemen?” Bismark looked down at the crowd of several hundred jerboas and the other captured nocturnals. “Hello? Hola?” he prompted. But there was no reply. The animals sat blankly on the stone benches encircling the floor. They were not in the mood to be entertained.
Boris slid over to where Dawn and her team were practicing. “Are you all ready to play?”
“We could use a little more time to get used to this surface,” said Dawn.
“You’ve had enough time!” roared the croc. “Besides, there’s only one way to learn, and that’s to play. We start in three minutes. Bats! Bismark! You hear that?”
The bats flapped down to the floor. With white marble dust, they had painted vertical stripes on their fur.
Bismark eyed their design. “Do not be fooled by the cheap imitation, folks! Those are refereeing bats, not sugar gliders! I assure you that the stripe down my back is au naturel.”
Dawn moved toward the croc. “Before we start,” she said, “we have one last condition.”
Boris spun and stuck his snaggletoothed snout in Dawn’s face. “No more conditions. We play for freedom, your team versus mine. The agreement has been struck!”
Dawn did not budge. She stared into the crocodile’s yellow eyes. “Yes,” she said, her voice calm. “We play for freedom. But you must honor that freedom with an act of faith. A sign of your good word.”
Boris let out a long, hissing breath through his nostrils. “And what is this act of faith—this proof of my good word?”
Dawn raised her chin. “You must release the jerboas. Only when they are free will we play this game.” The fox looked out at the tiny animals clustered around the floor. They were squeaking and whispering in disbelief.
“Impossible!” Boris bellowed, silencing the crowd. “I will release no one! No one! I mean, unless, of course, you win. Besides, the jerboas are necessary to maintain the marble rink. Impossible to play without them.”
“Actually, we have brought lomandra leaves from above ground,” Dawn replied. “We will fashion the leaves into brooms that will keep the marble clean—better than the jerboas’ tails ever could.”
The crocodile and the fox locked eyes. Finally, the croc flinched.
“Fine!” Boris grunted. “The jerboas may go. They are of no use to me anyway.” The crocodile dismissed the rodents with a petulant wave of his claw.
The jerboas erupted in cheering and song as they hugged and danced at the news of their release.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” they cried. In a flood, they made their way toward the exits. Only Jerry remained quiet.
“Wait!” he called over the crowd. “Brothers, sisters, my jerboa kin!”
The jerboas quieted. All eyes in the arena fell on the tiny desert rodent.
Jerry drew in a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and spoke. “We will stay.”
A silence fell on the cave.
“I made the mistake of helping to bring our nocturnal brethren here, but we cannot make the mistake of leaving them now. We must stay to the finish. Whatever the finish may be.” With that, Jerry turned and slowly walked to the sidelines where he seated himself on a bench.
For a few moments, none of the jerboas moved. But then, one by one, they returned to their seats. Hundreds of them, row after row, lined up on the cold, hard, stone benches.
“Let’s go, Nocs!” shouted Jerry, breaking the silence. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Boris’s eyes blazed with fury. “Enough interruptions!” he roared, desperate to regain control. “It’s time to face off.”