Free A Royal Mess by Tyne O’Connell Page B

backing her. My backup was very thin, but then they say it’s quality not quantity that counts.
‘GFTB, Kelly,’ Bell End whispered in my ear as he wired me up. ‘I’m right here behind you, and I have to warn you, I plan on making a lot of noise.’
‘Okay,’ I replied, figuring he meant cheering.
‘Some of what I may yell admittedly isn’t fit for poor Sister Regina’s ears, but this is war. I intend to throw back the abuse those ratbags are hurling at you, only ten times over and then some. Git it?’
Okay, now I was nervous. ‘I’m not sure I understand, Mr Wellend?’
‘You don’t need to understand, girl. Close your ears to what I yell at them. Your job is to slice that little piece of meat up the other end of the piste to ribbons. So ignore me, it’s not for your benefit but for those scum suckers up there,’ he said, indicating the opposing fan club, some of whom were giving me the finger and others who were pep-talking Jenny.
‘Okay,’ I told him. ‘So you’re going to give as good as we get in terms of abuse?’
‘I’m going to give a damn sight better. They’re baying for your blood, Kelly, and there are near to a hundred of them. I’m going to bay for Jenny’s blood.’ Then he pushed me onto the piste.
As I shook my opponent’s hand, she leaned in and said, ‘Like the banner, Kelly,’ only not in a totally unfriendly way.
I probably should explain that said banner had deteriorated somewhat during its arduous day. The words now read ‘Oo Booo Oo.’ But Sarah and Sister weren’t giving up on it. They clutched both ends of it, jumping up and down with endless energy.
Thanks,’ I said to my opponent. ‘So do I; they made it with jam.’
‘Jam?’ she asked, looking at me as if I were demented.
‘It looked better earlier in the day,’ I told her, more than happy for her to underestimate me.
The niceties ended there, though. From the moment ‘Play’ was called, I heard Bell End yelling the abuse he had hinted at earlier. But all the warnings in the world could never have prepared me for, ‘Gut the little slag! Gut her like a fish!’
It was hard to ignore, especially with Sarah and Sister singing along to Bell End’s chants, converting them all to the tune of ‘He Who Would Valiant Be’: ‘Gut Her! Gut Her! Gut Her Like a Fish!’ one of my favourite hymns as it happens – well, at least it was.
But I couldn’t focus on Bell End or Sister and Sarah’s ‘hymn.’ Jenny was my target. I’d watched her win one of her earlier bouts and I knew she had a penchant for cuts to the wrist and a weakness when it came to defending her mask. It’s not unusual for someone with a strength for making cuts to the hand to have a weakness at defending their mask, because their sword arm hangs slightly lower, ready to make their favourite cut.
I therefore resolved to begin my attack in quinte. A successful manoeuvre – I won the point – but I knew I couldn’t repeat my advantage too frequently or she’d be on to me.
All the while, Bell End was yelling behind me, ‘Sliceoff her ugly head, Kelly, and feed it to the dogs behind her!’
Even the sad cases standing behind my opponent looked shocked by the vitriol of Bell End’s verbal abuse, or maybe it was just shock at hearing a sacred hymn profaned by a nun and a reverting mother.
My opponent’s fan club’s cries of ‘Go for her, Jenny!’ and ‘Go for the kill!’ seemed outclassed somehow by Bell End yelling, ‘Rip the rodent’s throat open and spit down the little weasel’s mouth, Kelly.’
After my second point, Jenny’s fans upped their ante, adding a few lame profanities of their own, which sadly lacked any of the originality or imaginative forensic detail of Bell End’s.
The first three hits had been mine, but I knew I’d have to diversify my approach if I was to maintain my lead, because Jenny now knew what I knew. Sure enough, she scored the next hit on my mask after perfectly riposting my attack to quinte.
She was