G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"Not really," Zane answered, cinching up the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. "Clutchcudgel is sort of a cross between broom racing and rugby. Basically, you have a series of floating rings that form a big figure eight in the air over the field. The point is to catch one of the three Clutches, which are just flying leather footballs, and then zoom three times through the course as fast as you can. On the last pass, you toss the Clutch through the goal over the middle ring." James shrugged. "Doesn't sound too hard."

"Nope," Zane agreed. "Except for the Bullies. They're the guys on the other team whose job is to force you out of the rings and make you forfeit the Clutch."

Ralph nodded. "All right. But still, assuming you get past them, it's just a straight shot to the goal, right?"

Zane clapped Ralph on the shoulder. "Absolutely. Except for the Keeper. He carries a big wooden Cudgel, and he'll swat the Clutch right back at you if he can. Knock you right off your broom if you aren't careful. Bullies can carry Cudgels too, sometimes."

"And don't forget about the offensive and defensive spellwork," another boy called from nearby.

"Right you are, Heathrow," Zane replied. "The magic game is an essential part of the sport. Which is why the Zombies will rule the course this year."

"In your dreams, Walker," an Igor girl countered. "We'll clobber the lot of you at the first cross passage."

"Cross passage?" James asked, glancing aside at Zane, who waved a hand dismissively.

"Some of the Bullies will hang back during the first loop, just so they can meet you at the intersection and broadside you. You can usually duck under them, and most of them don't really have the guts to perform a true kamikaze."

"Team Igor has plenty of guts," the girl grinned wickedly. "We just got a refrigerated shipment of them last Wednesday."

"Gonna whip yourselves up a squad of Frankensteins who actually know how to fly a Clutch course?" Zane asked brightly. "Or are you just hoping to spawn some dates for the Halloween banquet?"

The girl fumed angrily but couldn't seem to come up with a sufficient retort. Zane dismissed her airily.

Shortly, the class entered the shadow of Pepperpock Down, which consisted of a series of tall grandstands surrounding a neatly cropped field. Two wooden gantries faced each other in the center of the field, each topped with a broad platform and hung with house banners. A scattering of students sat in the grandstands, soaking in the autumn sunlight or chatting in small knots. At ground level, a group of college-aged Werewolves ran exercise drills, their grey tee shirts and sweatpants dark with sweat. Wood led his class across the pitch toward a door in the base of the right gantry.

"Grab a broom, everyone," he called, heaving the large door open and revealing a low, dark locker room. "Let's not be choosy. I want to see you all on the platform in five minutes."

James and Ralph were among the last ones into the musty space. The room was embedded into the ground beneath the field and framed in stone, with a low wooden roof. More house banners decorated the inside walls, most quite old and dusty. Hundreds of brooms were hung on pegs or stashed in large quivers. Babbling noisily in the cramped space, the students chose a broom each and began climbing a set of narrow stairs that spiraled up through the ceiling.

"Whoa," Ralph said, nudging James and pointing. "Look at those!"

James whistled appreciatively as he moved toward a set of shelves beneath the stairs. "Are those brooms? I've never seen anything like that before."

The objects lined neatly on the shelves were as long as brooms, but much flatter and wider, like fence planks that had been smoothed and polished. Their tails were streamlined and flattened, each bristle honed to a needle-like point. Some had been painted with garish designs and colours. They gleamed mellowly in the dusty light.

"Are we allowed to use these?" James asked, wide-eyed.

Ralph shrugged and grinned. "I don't see why not. I'd ask Zane, but he was one of the first ones up to the platform. Come on, let's give it a shot! They sure beat the house brooms back home!"

James nodded. Almost reverently, he picked up the closest of the strange brooms. It was painted glossy black with blue flames streaming from the front. Ralph took the one next to it, which was streaked with orange and black like a tiger's stripes. Held upright, each broom was slightly taller than they were. After a moment's admiration of themselves with their impressive brooms, both boys turned and followed the last of the class up into the open-air staircase.

A minute later, much out of breath, they climbed into the brightness of the platform high over the field. The grandstands didn't seem so very tall anymore as they ringed the field. The campus sprawled away into the hazy distance, topped by the bell tower on the roof of Administration Hall, which was the only thing higher than the stadium platforms. Glittering in the air over the field, James saw the rings that formed the Clutchcudgel course. The one in the middle was larger than the others, and topped with a second ring, smaller and shining silver—obviously the goal ring. A line of pigeons perched atop of the goal ring, watching the students where they gathered on the platform.

"All right," Wood said, clapping his hands together briskly. "Let's stretch our legs a bit, shall we? Three warm-up laps should do the trick. This isn't a competition, so let's avoid passing each other. Leaders cross on top at the intersection, followers keep below. Understood? Then let's be off."

With a curt nod, Wood straddled his own broom and kicked off, bobbing up into the air and passing through the nearest of the floating golden rings. The thought of taking off from such a high perch gave James a vaguely queasy feeling, but none of the other students seemed the slightest bit nervous about it. Like dandelion seeds in a breeze, they streamed into the air, following Wood as he navigated serenely through the course.

"Well," Ralph said, hefting his broom so that it bobbed next to him, "here goes nothing."

Both boys attempted to straddle the oddly-shaped brooms and immediately found them rather uncomfortable and awkward.

"Is it just me," Ralph said, bouncing on tiptoe toward the ledge of the platform, "or does something about this feel a little… backwards?"

Most of the rest of the class had already taken off, forming a long line that streamed through the rings, calling out chatter like birds on a telephone wire. Zane still stood on the edge of the platform, waiting his turn as the others launched ahead of him. He glanced back as James and Ralph hobbled into place behind him, and his eyes bulged.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he hissed suddenly, alarmed. "What are you doing? Get off, quick, before anyone sees you!"

James blinked at his friend and then scrambled to get off of the odd broom. Ralph did the same, but seemed to be rather stuck. He tilted sideways, nearly falling off the broom onto the platform.

"You guys are lucky I'm the only one that saw that," Zane rasped urgently. "If anyone else saw you sitting on a skrim…! " He shook his head speechlessly.

"What?" James exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Wood said grab a broom! What's wrong with these?"

Zane rolled his eyes and smacked a palm to his forehead. "These aren't brooms !" he said, exasperated. "They're skrims! It's an American thing! I mean, look at them!"

"So what's the difference, exactly?" Ralph asked, annoyed.

"For one thing," Zane replied, "you don't straddle a skrim. You stand on it. For another thing, they're designed specifically for Clutchcudgel matches, not regular flying around!"

James threw up his hands. "How were we supposed to know? They were right there in plain sight!"