The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 2 Page 4

  But the most fascinating display was the room filled with helmets, some of them real, some of them replicas that they were allowed to touch. There were cone-shaped helmets and helmets that covered all of the head, with only tiny slits to see out through. “Still enough room to stab a sword in,” Data pointed out. Travis winced.

  “This,” said one of the museum guards, picking up a replica of a beautifully curved helmet with stems running down over each ear and another to protect the nose, “is a spangenhelm. It’s what a Viking warrior would wear.”

  He turned to Travis, smiling. “You want to try it on?”

  “Me?” Travis asked.

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  With the others giggling, Travis reached out and took the huge helmet. It weighed about three times what he expected! “Careful now!” the guard laughed. “Don’t drop it!”

  With the guard’s help, Travis pulled the helmet over his head. He could barely keep his neck straight. He couldn’t believe that anyone could even walk with something like this on, let alone head into battle!

  “How’d you like to play hockey in something like that?” Mr. Johanssen asked.

  “No way!” said Travis.

  They helped him off with the helmet, placed it back on the display shelf, and moved into another area with even more weapons.

  “Where did they execute the prisoners?” Data asked.

  “I can show you,” Mr. Johanssen said, smiling, and he led them out to the courtyard.

  “I’m going to tell you about something that happened right here at this spot on September 19, 1837,” Mr. Johanssen began. Travis tried to imagine how long ago that was.

  “The prison governor at the time, Hans Canon, was a hard, cruel man. He used to have his prisoners flogged for the slightest reason.”

  “What’s flogged?” Wilson asked.

  “Whipped. Their shirts stripped off and their backs beaten with leather straps until their skin peeled away. Sometimes they bled to death.”

  “Awesome,” said Data.

  “You’re a mental case,” said Travis.

  Mr. Johanssen continued. “There were two particularly evil criminals here then. Karlqvist and Wahlgren. The governor hated them both, but particularly Karlqvist, who wore his hair long and was a bit of a loudmouth. One day the governor got so fed up with Karlqvist’s behaviour that he came out here and had him dragged inside, and when he had been strapped to a chair, the governor himself cut his hair.

  “I guess he did a pretty awful job, because they threw Karlqvist back out here in the courtyard and all the other prisoners laughed at him. But Governor Canon made the mistake of coming out to gloat. Wahlgren and his friend had knives, and the two of them attacked the governor right here where you’re standing.”

  Travis looked down at the rough bricks. The image of the two men stabbing at the governor flashed through his mind. He shivered.

  “Was there blood?” Data asked.

  Mr. Johanssen laughed–once, and very quickly. “A lot of blood. The governor died of his wounds.”

  “What happened to the two men?” Andy asked.

  “They cut their heads off.”

  “Here?” Data asked.

  “Right here.”

  “Right off?”

  “Right off.”

  Data looked at the ground as if the bricks still ran red with blood. He stepped away carefully, almost afraid he’d trip on a rolling, bloody head.

  “All because of somebody’s hair?” Data asked.

  “All because of somebody’s hair,” Mr. Johanssen said. “Nish is lucky he’s living today and not back then.”

  The Malmö Ice Stadium was much more like a regular Canadian hockey rink than was the strange Globen “golf ball” in Stockholm. At the snack bar, the Owls, who were used to seeing a pop machine at best, couldn’t get over the fact that they were selling ice cream and that parents and older players were lining up to buy beer.

  The Owls were to face the Finnish team from Tampere. The Finns had already beaten one of the Swedish teams and were said to be almost as good as the Russians. This time, however, it wasn’t the way the opposition skated and shot that impressed the Owls during warmup–it was their advertising.

  The Tampere team had blue jerseys and socks and red pants, but the blue of their jerseys was almost hidden under the ads for car oil, computers, stereo systems, even a bank.

  “They’re gonna be slowed down by all the advertising,” said Data as he and Travis circled at the blueline, warily watching the Tampere players as they took shots.

  Travis laughed. But perhaps Data was right. They didn’t seem as swift as the Russians. Certainly, none skated like Slava Shadrin.

  The Malmö rink itself was one big commercial. There wasn’t a board without advertising. Banners hung from the low ceiling, promoting SAS airlines, Volvo, Burger King…

  “When we get back home, I’m selling my body, too.”

  Travis turned, surprised. It was Nish.

  “Whatdya mean?” Travis asked.

  “I’m renting out my uniform. McDonald’s, Nintendo, Nike–you name it, I’m going for it.”

  “They’d never let you.”

  “What’s it to them? Maybe a big ‘Coke’ painted on the top of my helmet. Whatdya say?”

  “You’re nuts.”

  Just as the warmup was about to end, Travis effortlessly deked Jeremy out of the net and backhanded a shot off the crossbar. He could hear his teammates cheer. Funny, he thought. In a game, goals count; in practice and in warmups, crossbars are what matter. He had his crossbar. He was certain to play well.

  The Finns had tremendous puck control. They seemed to work the larger ice surface better, especially the defence, but even though the team from Tampere had the puck more, the Owls seemed to know better what to do with it. Andy Higgins scored on a hard shot through a screen, but the Finns tied the game late in the first period after Nish had got caught badly out of position.

  At the break, Travis took a look at the crowd as the Owls headed off to their dressing room. He knew Annika was there–she’d been doing that stupid yell every time Nish touched the puck–but he hadn’t seen Slava’s team come in. The Russians were just taking their seats behind the Owls’ bench, all with dull-red team jackets, all sitting down as if they were getting ready for a class. They probably were, Travis thought; they were here to study the opposition.

  Sitting just behind Slava were the two men they had seen at the Russian team’s dressing room. They seemed strategically placed, watching. The man with the gold tooth wasn’t there.

  Muck didn’t seem particularly pleased with the 1–1 score.

  “Nishikawa,” he began, “would you mind explaining what ‘cycling’ is?”

  Nish didn’t look up. He sat doubled over on the wooden bench with his folded arms pressed between his chest and knees. He stared at the floor as he answered.

  “All three forwards work the puck in the same corner. Each one drops the puck back as he circles and then blocks the checker. If there’s a clear opening, the player picking up the puck walks out for the shot.”

  “And did you see that out there today?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did it work?”

  “Yes.”

  “It worked because you fell for the lure. If you don’t bite, they can’t block you. And if they can’t block you, they can’t come out.”

  “I thought I had a play.”

  “That’s the idea, isn’t it? You thought you did and you didn’t. And they scored on us because you fell for it.”

  Nish said nothing. He knew.

  Muck had only a few words for the rest of them.

  “We’re here to play hockey, not sightsee. You want to take pictures, you do it out of uniform, okay?”

  The second period saw a dramatic change. It was not just the way the game was played, it was also the sound level. Annika’s calls for Nish were now all but drowned out by the whistling and shouting, and once even a song, fro
m the Russians sitting behind the Owls’ bench.

  “How come they’re cheering for us?” Travis asked Dmitri when they were off for a shift.

  Dmitri smiled. “I thought they were cheering for me.”

  This time Nish let the Finns cycle all they wanted. He maintained his position and simply stepped into any player who dared come out of the corners with the puck to try him one-on-one. If he saw a chance to go for the puck, he took the player and left the puck for the forward coming back. The Finns never got another good scoring chance.

  Sarah gave the Owls the lead with a beautiful two-on-one with Dmitri. She let Dmitri break for the net, but, instead of passing to him, she slowed and cut across the slot. The one defenceman who had been in position simply drifted out of the play with Dmitri, and the goalie had to move with Sarah. Once she had him going the wrong way, she slid a hard backhand along the ice that ticked in off the far post.

  The Finns pulled their goalie in the final minute. Travis tried to block a shot at the point, but didn’t drop down in time. It didn’t matter, as the shot went high and wide, but Travis knew he had hesitated. It had looked as if he’d tried his best, but he hadn’t. He’d paused, and even when he did go down he’d kept his eyes closed, afraid of the puck.

  Lars ended the tension when he scored in the empty Finnish net with a long shot that barely had enough weight to carry it over the goal line.

  The Owls were 1–1 for the tournament.

  They still had a chance.

  The telephone rang in the boys’ room at the Master Johan. Nish, who had been trying, once again, to unscramble the television so they could watch free adult movies–“Sweden invented sex!” he’d shouted–threw down the loose wires in disgust and rolled across the bed to scoop up the phone.

  “What?” he demanded. His rewiring was not working out. He was getting frustrated.

  Nish held the phone out towards Travis.

  “It’s for you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Whatdya think I am, your secretary?”

  It was Dmitri. He wanted to meet Travis immediately by the elevator on the fifth floor. He couldn’t explain. He wanted Travis to bring Nish and Lars but wouldn’t say why.

  Nish agreed to go only reluctantly. He was close, he said, to cracking the problem. Travis looked at the back of the television. Loose wires were everywhere. He only hoped Nish would be able to put it all back together again.

  Dmitri was waiting for them at the elevator. “Slava called me,” he said. “He wants to go out with us.”

  “Fine,” said Travis. “Where are we going?”

  “To McDonald’s–he just wants to get away.”

  “So why the secret meeting?” Nish demanded.

  “They won’t let him go anywhere. Those two bodyguards watch him like a hawk.”

  “I thought there were three,” said Travis.

  Dmitri blinked at Travis. “He says two.”

  “But I’ve seen a third,” Travis said, thinking of the man with the gold tooth.

  “Two, three, whatever. He just wants to hang out. He wants us to bring along Sarah, if we can.”

  “I’ve got a date with Annika,” Nish said.

  “A date?” Lars asked.

  “Okay, I’m supposed to get together with her.”

  “Where?”

  “Same place–McDonald’s. A little later.”

  “So we’ll all be there together,” said Dmitri.

  “Call Slava,” Travis said.

  “It’s not that simple,” Dmitri said. “We have to break him out of here.”

  “What?”

  “They won’t let him go. He’s got no life apart from playing hockey.”

  “Hockey is life,” said Nish.

  “He just wants to be a kid,” said Dmitri. “Lars, you’ve got to phone and get one of the bodyguards to go down to the front desk. Slava says he can give the other the slip.”

  “Won’t he get in trouble?” Lars asked.

  “Muck would sit one of us out if we did anything like that,” Travis said.

  Dmitri shook his head. “You don’t understand. Slava is the best player in Russia. He won’t get in any trouble. They will.”

  “Who will?”

  “The guys guarding him.”

  Lars went to one of the house phones and Dmitri dialled the number and handed the receiver over to him. The boys heard a click, then a man’s muffed voice. Lars spoke quickly, in Swedish. The man obviously understood. Lars had lowered his voice, and though the boys couldn’t understand what he was saying, he sounded very authoritative. The man seemed to be shouting back, angrily. Lars spoke again, very calmly, and hung up.

  “Did it work?” Dmitri asked.

  “I think so. He should be headed down to the front desk.”

  “What did you tell him?” Travis asked.

  “Nish gave me the idea,” Lars smiled. “I told him his players had been fooling with the television sets. I said he was going to be charged 340 krona for the movies they had watched. He got mad and I told him if he wished to discuss the matter he’d have to meet with the manager.”

  “Brilliant!” Dmitri said, snapping his fingers.

  They called Sarah’s room next. She was delighted to be asked along. They ran into Data and tried to get him to come, too, but he said he thought he was getting a bad cold and didn’t want to go out.

  “Gimme a second!” Nish shouted at the last moment. He raced up to his room, reappearing a couple of minutes later at the elevator doors. His hair was freshly moussed and gelled and shining, smelling like room refreshener.

  They met Sarah in the lobby and all went outside, skirting around to the street behind the Master Johan, where they had arranged to wait for Slava. Several minutes passed, and they had all but lost hope, when the rear door to the hotel opened and a slim young man in a red jacket slipped out, his cap pulled down tight over his eyes.

  It was Slava. He ran over, shouting to Dmitri as he reached his new friends.

  Dmitri laughed. “He locked the other guy in the washroom by jamming a hockey stick under the handle!”

  Slava was now shaking hands with Sarah–very formal for a bunch of kids from North America. Sarah giggled; yet she seemed flattered, charmed by Slava’s old-world ways.

  “Let’s get going!” Nish said.

  They headed up towards McDonald’s. It was a dull early-spring day, the clouds so low they spread like a thick grey blanket over the city.

  At the first corner there were streetlights and a small bridge over a narrow canal which led towards the park where the old castle stood. It was quiet, with little traffc, and they began to relax a bit as they headed over the bridge.

  “EEEE-AWWW-KEEE!” Nish shouted. There was no response. Annika wasn’t within range.

  Travis didn’t feel quite right, but the others seemed at ease. Slava and Sarah were walking together, but saying nothing. Nish was calling out constantly. If he was this bad now, what would he be like when they got to McDonald’s?

  Travis began to feel something was really wrong. At the far end of the bridge, a car had come to a stop. It must have slid on some ice, for it had swung sideways and was blocking their path. Two men were getting out.

  Travis looked back to see if any traffc was coming towards them from the other end of the bridge. A dark van had slid the same way on that side, too! Another man was getting out.

  It was the man with the gold tooth!

  “Watch out!” Travis shouted.

  But already it was too late. The others had noticed as well, and were ready to run–but they were trapped. The car blocked one end of the bridge; the van the other.

  The quickest way off the bridge was to head back and take their chances with the man with the gold tooth, but as Lars and Travis started to move that way, they saw the man reach into his coat.

  He had a gun!

  “Run for it!” said Dmitri. “It’s them!”

  No one had to explain who. The Russian mob was makin
g its move!

  The five friends turned, scrambling frantically, not knowing which way to run. Travis caught sight of Nish’s face: beet red, terrified.

  The other two men were now running towards them.

  “They’re after Slava!” shouted Dmitri. “We can’t let him go!”

  “Grab onto him!” shouted Sarah.

  She threw her arms around Slava just as the first two men reached them. One of the men roughly grabbed Slava by the arm and yanked–but now Dmitri also had a hold of his cousin and was desperately hanging on. The man yanked again, harder.

  Travis had to do something! He was afraid, but he had to act. He dived for Slava’s legs and caught him in a perfect tackle.

  “HANG ON!” Dmitri screamed.

  A boot lashed out and caught Travis on the side of the head. He saw a blinding flash of light, almost as if lightning had struck from inside his head. The pain was incredible, but still he held on. He was not going to chicken out!

  Travis felt a huge weight come down on him. Out of his uninjured eye he could see it was Nish. His friend had leapt into action, too, but instead of going for Slava’s legs, he had tackled the foot that had kicked Travis! It was the man with the gold tooth! The man went down hard on the roadway of the bridge, his gun spilling away.

  KA-BOOOOOOM!

  The stunning crack of the gun was followed by instant, eerie silence. Everyone lay still a moment. No one moved.

  Travis looked up. The man with the gold tooth had hold of his gun again and was pointing it at them and shaking it. He was very upset.

  “Get up!” he barked out in Russian.

  “Everybody just get up slowly!” Dmitri translated.

  The Owls rose slowly. Travis’s head was screaming. He thought he was going to be sick. Was he going to be shot? Were they going to kill Slava?

  “Move!”

  “We’re all to get in the van,” Dmitri said.

  Everybody? Why everybody? Travis wondered. But he also knew this was no time for him to raise his hand to ask a question. This wasn’t a classroom.

  The men hurried the friends towards the van at the near end of the bridge. Travis listened for police sirens. Someone must have heard the shot.