Howzat! (11 page)

Friday—morning

There was a different feel around the place the next morning. All the players who hadn’t been chosen for the Australian team went home. The twelve of us who remained had a day ahead packed with meetings, training sessions, photos and quick breaks. There was a feeling of tension and expectation in the air. We were presented with our Australian uniforms and caps and a letter with all our names listed. I stared at the green and gold logo at the top of the page, then looked up and smiled. Scott Craven was glaring at me but even he couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.

Everyone we saw during the day wished us luck for the game. Camera crews and reporters came to interview the coaches, and our captain and vicecaptain had to attend a media conference during the afternoon. There was no sign of Smale anywhere.

I caught up with David in the library during lunch and filled him in. He was horrified to hear about my
visit to the Dismal Swamp and the eternal cricket match, and curious about the secret door in the old library.

‘There must be some mistake,’ he laughed. ‘I know the MCG like my own backyard and I can assure you there’s no such room.’

‘If there were, where would it be?’ I asked.

‘Well, let me see. From your description, I’d say right about in the middle of the kitchen adjacent to the Members dining room,’ he laughed.

‘And is there a glass panel on the door to the kitchen?’

David looked at me strangely. ‘Yes, of course. But that’s because people going out need to see if someone’s about to come in.’

‘Can you show me?’

‘Toby, you’re not supposed—’

‘For Jim’s sake?’

David sighed. ‘All right. Come along.’

‘David, do you now who Father Time is?’

‘Father Time? Well, I don’t know if he’s anyone in particular.’

‘Well, I know there’s a weather vane on top of one of the grandstands at Lord’s and it’s in the shape of an old man with a beard leaning over a set of stumps putting a bail on…’

David had stopped and was staring at me.

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ he said, and started towards the Long Room again. But then he turned left and pushed
open a door. ‘This is the Committee Room,’ he said. ‘I must tell you about the toilet.’

‘The toilet?’ I said, pretending not to know.

‘Or rather, the toilet window.’

A bell started ringing. ‘That’s the sign for the meeting upstairs,’ I said.

‘Off you go,’ David said, smiling. ‘We’ll have a look for the glass-panelled door some other time.’

By nine o’clock we were all ready for a good night’s sleep. I was to be first change bowler if we lost the toss. The pitch was a belter, and the word was that the winning captain would bat.

When Jimbo and I got to our room, we looked out at where we’d be playing tomorrow.

‘Look,’ said Jimbo, pointing to the far corner of the ground. ‘It’s the English kids.’ They were playing a game of touch football.

‘Maybe they’ll all be too tired to play tomorrow,’ he laughed.

‘We wish!’

Saturday—morning

I woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. It was early morning, but still dark. I closed my eyes, so grateful that I’d only been dreaming. It had felt so real.

I was back at the Dismal Swamp watching the timeless cricket match, and Jim was umpiring. After each ball he’d turn to me and point, saying, ‘You are
the Cricket Lord, Toby. Out.’ Then he’d raise his finger in the air, dismissing the batsman. Every ball was the same. The game was getting closer and closer to finishing, and the look of anguish on Jim’s face as he turned to me, ball after ball, was the most frightening thing imaginable.

After a long shower and a high-energy breakfast, the memories of last night’s dream finally began to disappear. I was ready to get stuck into what I loved more than anything—a game of cricket.

During our warm-up I kept an eye on the people filling the seats in the Members area and the outer, hoping to see Georgie, Ally and the rest, as well as Mum and Dad. But I hadn’t recognised anyone by the time we came in from the field.

Our captain, Sean, won the toss and elected to bat.

Jimbo and I went into the inside net and I threw some balls at him for ten minutes. He was hitting them crisply and cleanly.

‘They’re coming off the bat beautifully,’ I said.

Jimbo tossed back a couple of balls, barely acknowledging me. He had moved to another level of concentration, all his thoughts and energies focusing on his timing and footwork.

‘Thanks, Toby,’ he called suddenly, nodded once and headed back towards the viewing room to prepare himself.

I joined him a few minutes later, taking a seat and watching the team get ready. I was batting at
number 7. A few minutes later, as I was taking a bottle of water from the fridge, one of the umpires poked his head around the door and called, ‘Openers!’

‘Good luck, Jimbo!’ I called.

‘Heads down, guys,’ Sean said.

Jimbo didn’t turn round.

Scott Craven collapsed into a seat next to me, tossing a ball from hand to hand. ‘Yeah, big feller,’ he said, staring at Jimbo’s back. ‘After all, it’s only an Ashes Test match at the MCG.’

I froze, then slowly turned to look at Scott, the water bottle still halfway to my mouth. ‘What did you say?’

‘What do you mean?’ he sneered.

‘Scott, we’re on the same cricket team for two days. Maybe we can work together just for this game?’ The words were there but my mind was elsewhere. Miles away.

‘Whatever.’ He got up and walked out.

An
Ashes
cricket Test. At the
MCG
. Suddenly I was running. I looked at my watch: it was a couple of minutes before eleven. Pushing and bumping people on the escalator as I leapt two and three steps at a time, I stole a quick glance out at the ground before entering the long corridor that ran down to the box where Jimbo and I had been sleeping. The players were gathering in the middle of the ground. Was there enough time?

I grabbed a
Wisden
from the shelf by the window. Looking out, I saw Jimbo taking his guard.

‘Take your time, Jimbo,’ I whispered, racing back out the door.

There was no one in the Members dining room. Suddenly feeling stupid, I placed the
Wisden
up against the glass window on the door into the kitchen. A guy with a white hat stared at me. He opened the door.

‘You right, mate?’ he asked, wiping his hands on a tea towel.

I charged past him into the kitchen, frantically searching for a door with a small glass window. ‘Hey!’ he called, throwing the tea towel down on the bench and heading towards me. And then I saw it. A small, square window stuck in the wall. But where was the door?

‘There’s a woman out there in the dining room doing crazy things,’ I said desperately. He frowned, then headed for the door.

Surely this is it, I thought, placing the
Wisden
against the thick greenish glass.

There was a grinding, crunching sound as a section of the wall moved slightly inwards. I pushed against the window. I’d opened a small trapdoor, about the size of a large-screen TV.

Taking one last look around, I dived through, pushing the door closed behind me. I was back in the Sanctum. Immediately I noticed that there was only one stump lining the wall on the left. The smell of burning filled the otherwise stale air. I looked up quickly at the sound of voices coming from further down the room.

Edging forwards carefully along the wall, I could soon make out what was being said.

‘They’ve all gone, old man.’

My heart leaped. It was Malchev. Was he talking to Jim? They were hidden from view, just beyond where all the
Wisden
s glowed. I took another few tentative steps forwards. There was no glow coming from any of the
Wisden
s. No one was travelling.

I reached the lone stump in its bracket on the wall. It was Hugo Malchev’s. All the other stumps had gone, Jim’s included. That could only mean one thing. Fighting back tears, I wrenched the stump off the wall and ran towards Malchev, blind rage driving me forward.

‘Jim!’ I screamed, stopping suddenly. Jim was lying on his back. Malchev, standing over him, was holding a burning, smoking stump. Jim’s stump.

‘Well, well, our little hero returns,’ Malchev smirked. ‘I was about to come and get you. Just after I’d dealt with your meddling old friend here.’

I rushed at Malchev, stump raised, and crashed it down on his back before he had time to realise what was happening. There was a snapping sound and I felt the stump crack in my hand.

Malchev glared at me. ‘Get out of here,’ he spat. ‘Or watch a Cricket Lord die.’ He raised the stump over his head.

Terrified, I looked at Jim. He lay still, his eyes closed, his face showing no awareness of what was about to happen.

‘JIM!’ I shrieked, and smashed the stump out of Malchev’s grasp with the stump I was holding. Both stumps clattered to the floor. Jim opened an eye, then in a flash was moving himself, rolling to one side and staggering to his feet.

I dived to the ground before Malchev could retrieve Jim’s stump. He hadn’t seen Jim get to his feet.

It was over in moments.

Jim gave Malchev a massive push from behind. Shrieking with anger, Malchev spun round, his coat billowing out. But he stumbled, momentarily losing his balance. With one hand holding the stump upright, I grabbed his coat and jerked him down towards me. Malchev tottered forwards. I closed my eyes and forced the stump upwards, piercing him.

For a moment, nothing happened. He balanced there, almost like he was floating. Then he cried out a long, howling shriek. I held on firmly as he twisted and shook violently, gasping for breath. Then I felt his dead weight crushing me.

‘Jim,’ I spluttered.

Jim pushed Malchev away then gently took the stump from my hand.

‘Did I take the right stump?’ I asked, panting.

‘You took the right stump, my boy.’ Jim smiled and helped me to my feet. He held me tight, saying, ‘I’m sorry, Toby. I’m so sorry for this.’

‘Is he…dead?’ The word choked in my throat.

Jim was slowly leading me towards the door. He sighed heavily. ‘He will be, Toby.’

I stopped. ‘What do you mean, will be?’

‘We have destroyed the Cricket Lord element of his life. The other, his mortal life, will follow quickly.’

I stared back down the room.

‘Toby, you don’t want to watch.’ Jim gently steered me forward.

I pressed my face into his jacket. ‘I thought you were dead,’ I said through tears.

‘Yes, I’m sure you did. But I wasn’t, Toby. Just out of sight for a while, waiting.’

I moved away and looked up into his face. ‘Waiting?’

‘For you, of course.’ His eyes twinkled and his old face twisted into a gentle grin.

‘You knew I was coming?’

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a Test match to watch. And I believe you’re involved.’

I looked at my watch. The game had only been going ten minutes. I had a hundred questions for Jim, but he was right. At the moment I was a member of an Australian team playing England in an Ashes Test at the MCG.

‘Ah, Mr Jim,’ the chef said, turning as we entered the kitchen. ‘You found your friend.’

‘Actually, Pierre, he found me,’ Jim said. He chuckled, put an arm over my shoulder and guided me out into the dining room.

‘Smale tried to kill me,’ I whispered.

‘I believe he thinks he succeeded,’ Jim replied, smiling at someone standing near the door.

‘Yeah, well, we reckon that’s why he left town. What about the scorecard?’ I said suddenly, stopping and looking at Jim.

He tapped his top pocket and smiled. ‘I think, Toby Jones, we hold all the aces,’ he said. ‘We have the scorecard, we are together and alive. Phillip Smale isn’t around, and you are playing in a Test match at the MCG.’ Then a frown crossed his face.

‘What is it?’ I asked quickly.

‘I’ve just had a thought. Come the real Ashes Test in a month’s time, we are going to need a new Cricket Lord.’

‘Can’t you be the Cricket Lord?’ I asked.

‘No. Not again.’

Neither of us spoke. Then I felt his grip on my shoulder tighten.

‘We don’t want the game of cricket to die, do we, Toby?’

I thought of the timeless cricket match at the swamp and shook my head. ‘Malchev took me there—to the Timeless Cricket Match,’ I said.

We both turned as a ripple of applause broke out around us. ‘It’s Jimbo! He’s just smacked a four.’ We watched the replay on the big screen.

‘Jim,’ I whispered, ‘where is the Dismal Swamp?’

Jim looked at me for a moment then turned back to the game. ‘Some say it’s in a remote part of
Yorkshire in England,’ he said. ‘I’ve also heard it said that it is not of this world, and some even think it’s part of the mind of Father Time.’

‘We were in his head?’ I gasped.

Our eyes met. Jim was smiling. ‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ he said.

He turned back to the cricket. ‘None for 17. A solid start. Go and join your team-mates, Toby. We’ll have plenty of time later to talk. And I need to speak to your father.’

‘Dad?’

‘This isn’t the first time I’ve let a family down with time-travel business and I don’t intend it to happen again. Toby, my dear boy, my travelling times are over. That was a very near thing back there, and I can tell you, though I’m a stronger man than I was a year or so ago, I’m certainly not getting any younger.’

‘Family?’ I looked at Jim carefully. I’d barely paid attention to anything else he’d said.

‘Family, Toby. But I’m going to talk to your parents first.’

There was a shout from the field. The English team was pleading for an lbw against Jimbo, but the umpire wasn’t interested.

‘Yes,’ I said, clenching a fist. Jim smiled.

‘But, Jim, about the swamp,’ I said, returning to the puzzle. ‘Do you know anything about it?’

‘Little more than you, Toby. I was there, keeping all those horrible creatures away from your friends,
while you and Hugo were on your way to rescue them.’ Jim sighed. ‘Poor Hugo. What a waste.’

Gently he took the
Wisden
from my hands. I’d picked it up near the door. ‘I’ll look after this,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll be back for lunch. And I might even introduce you to my son.’