Regardless of the reason, as Team Bigfoot gathered at the base of Victory Hill, James saw that the imposing statue was, indeed, destroyed. Its rear half lay several feet away from its base, and while James couldn't be certain, it looked to him as if the pose of the remaining half was rather different than it had been when he'd seen it last.
"People are saying that the statue just exploded as soon as the Werewolves lost," Ralph said, crowding between James and Jazmine Jade. "Like it committed statuicide in shame or something."
"I don't blame it," Zane commented from James' other side.
Beside him, Warrington scoffed. "Who cares what happened to it? If it was me, I'd leave it there like a trophy even after Ares Mansion scampered off with its tail between its legs." James noticed that Warrington was still wearing the Bigfoot jersey he'd donned earlier in order to play reserve.
Behind the team, the crowd from Pepperpock Down was still milling around, congregating noisily in the quad between Administration Hall and Victory Hill, packing the lawns in excited anticipation. Team Werewolf was nowhere in sight and James assumed that they were simply waiting it out in their locker cellar, refusing to watch the moving of the houses. Viktor Krum, unfortunately, had left immediately after the match along with James' mum and sister. Word had leaked back to James that they had received an urgent message via the Shard, which Ginny had been carrying in her purse in the hope of news from her husband.
James' dad, of course, was out on his reconnaissance mission to New Amsterdam, accompanied by Titus Hardcastle, in preparation for tomorrow's raid. Viktor himself had wanted to go along, but Harry had been adamant in his refusal—taking more than two spies on the night's mission would have been conspicuous, he'd said, and he had no intention of alerting the new W.U.L.F. leader to the impending raid. James was quite glad that his father had insisted that Viktor stay behind for the night. If he hadn't, the game would have ended in forfeit before it was barely half over.
Now, in the wake of the Bigfoot victory, cheers still rang out from the gathering throng and pops of fireworks sounded in the hot evening air, flashing their colours up onto the Hill and the stern facade of Ares Mansion.
"So how's this going to happen?" Ralph asked, glancing around at the throng. "Does Franklyn or somebody need to come out and, like, levitate the houses or something?"
Gobbins shook his head. "I don't think so. I think the March of the Houses is old magic, set up by Pepperpock and Roberts and the rest back when they first built the Aleron. I think it happens all by itself. We just wait and watch."
Even as Gobbins spoke, a low, ominous groan arose. James felt the rumble of it in his chest and the soles of his feet. It throbbed in the air, blotting out the other noises rather like a base note on a gigantic magical amplifier. Immediately, the crowd hushed into bright-eyed silence. James looked toward Ares Mansion, but it simply sat there, unmoving, its windows unlit and blank like stubborn, staring eyes.
"Is this it?" James called, raising his voice over the thrumming rumble.
Zane shook his head, glancing around. "Must be! Look!" He pointed—not at Ares Mansion, but backwards, over the heads of the throng behind them.
James and the rest of Team Bigfoot turned around and gasped.
Hovering over the crowd, casting its humongous blocky shadow onto the upturned faces was Apollo Mansion. It looked exactly the same as always except that you could see inside the dark footprint of its foundation: a square of heavy bricks, surrounding what was, unmistakably, the ceiling of the erstwhile basement game room. Clods of dirt and mortar pattered down over the crowd as the structure drifted overhead, moving like a giant parade balloon. A round white shape peered from one of the upper windows and James saw that it was Geoffrey Kleinschmidt, the Bigfoot reserve player who'd been too sick to make it to the match. He waved gamely, grinning, his hair poking up in an unruly strew.
"We won!?" he hollered down, both as a question and a statement, and the crowd roared back, laughing and cheering.
Slowly, ponderously, Apollo Mansion approached Victory Hill, passing over the crowd and emitting that deep, throbbing rumble. As it swept over James' head, he almost thought he could reach up and touch the rafters of the basement ceiling. He laughed out loud as he saw the disarmadillo hunkered on top of one of those rafters, crouched in a sort of alert ball, eyes blinking down at the crowd below.
As the house passed over the lawn of Victory Hill, casting its shadow over the broken werewolf statue, James was surprised to see that Ares Mansion was still there, sitting stubbornly on the Hill's foundation.
"Go on!" Zane called, grinning. "Beat it, house!"
"Yeah!" the members of Team Bigfoot joined in, raising their fists. Soon, the entire crowd rallied the cry, cheering and jeering raucously.
Ares Mansion did not budge, however, even as the shadow of Apollo Mansion crept up its front, casting its reflection onto the tall staring windows. Finally, gently, Apollo Mansion nudged the front corner of its counterpart. The sound of it was a soft, rattling crunch. In response, Ares Mansion shuddered slightly and seemed almost to let out a resigned sigh. A moment later, it arose from the foundation of Victory Hill, producing a long, crumbling, ripping noise.
The crowd erupted into cheers again as the houses traded places, moving like elephantine dancers. Slowly, almost sheepishly, Ares Mansion began its long march down Victory Hill and toward the empty foundation on the opposite end of the mall. In its place, Apollo Mansion settled slowly atop Victory Hill, its footprint meeting perfectly with the gaping foundation beneath it. The ground shook as the weight of the house settled and a puff of masonry dust arose all around it, pale in the moonlight.
The crowd redoubled its cheers, and the members of Team Bigfoot looked around at each other in amazement. Wentworth was there by then, his fingers wrapped in white bandages. Next to him, also wearing various bandages and braces, were Norrick, Mukthatch, Troy Covington, and the rest of the disabled players. Geoffrey Kleinschmidt burst through the front door in his pajamas, his hands raised as if the crowd was cheering solely for him. He made his way down the walkway and joined the team where they stood beaming at one another, happy for the moment beyond words.
"Go on in!" Ophelia Wright cried out, nudging James forward. "Check out your new digs! See what the view looks like from Victory Hill!"
"You too," Jazmine called, turning to the reserve players from the other houses. "All of you! Tonight, you're all Bigfoots!"