Howzat! (9 page)

For maybe ten seconds I didn’t breathe. I lay as still as stone, scarcely believing that I was alive. Slowly I opened an eye, carefully taking my arms away from my face. I looked down at my legs. Still there. Trying to control my shaking body, I slowly got up, wobbling and almost falling before finally making it to my feet. It wasn’t blood on my face, but moisture from a patch of damp grass I was lying on. And it wasn’t night. It was day—beautiful, wonderful day…

‘I’ve been watching you, kid. You’re a disgrace. How old are you, eh?’

‘What?’

A tall man with a little boy hiding behind his long legs was staring down at me. ‘You’re drunk, aren’t you?’

‘Is this Australia?’ I asked, then immediately regretted it. It was hardly a smart question, but this was the first time I’d travelled without knowing where I was going or what year.

‘See? You need help, lad. C’mon, Max.’ He shook his head and wandered off.

I got up and found a seat, and watched the occasional person passing by. It obviously wasn’t a major game—maybe an interstate one. The man had sounded Aussie, and the people around looked normal enough. I hadn’t even glanced at the
Wisden
cover, just opened it to a random page and hoped I’d hit on a scorecard. Luckily I had.

I wrapped my arms around myself. What if the
Wisden
hadn’t been there? Had Alistair left it there because he was anxious about Smale’s intentions? But Alistair didn’t know about
Wisden
s and time travel. Or did he? Had Smale told him?

And what do I do now? Whisper two lines of the poem and end up in a pulverised truck?

Your time, this time; none short, or long
. Jim had said that time here would pass at a similar rate as time back home. As long as I arrived back after the truck had been crushed, I would be okay. Surely by now it must be crushed. Wasn’t that the deafening noise I’d heard?

Whatever happened, I would only get one shot at it. Before I could change my mind, I stood up, at the same time whispering aloud the first two lines of the poem. I closed my eyes and waited.

I hit the ground hard, just metres away from the mangled truck. Both back doors were buckled but open.

Brushing the dirt and grime from my clothes, I stood up and looked around. The place was deserted. A couple of black crows squawked overhead then flew off. A low, deep engine rumbled to life. I looked over to where a flock of seagulls had suddenly burst into the air. A huge yellow grader was slowly and jerkily heading towards the truck, the bouncing, bright beams of its lights piercing the darkness.

A sharp pain in my foot almost caused me to stumble as I raced away in the opposite direction. I just had time to hide behind a huge iron bin before the grader slowed to a stop in front of the tangle of twisted metal and broken glass. A cage with two enormous jagged sides, like the mouth of a giant dinosaur, rose up and over the truck then slammed down onto its side. There was a clank and a hiss and then the jaws squeezed tight, pulling the truck forward then up. Suddenly the battered mass was in the air. The grader reversed, its piercing BEEP BEEP BEEP fading as it sped away.

I wondered if the driver had been told there was a body in the truck. Surely not?

Something vibrated in my pocket. My phone! I’d completely forgotten about my own phone when Georgie had given me hers.

Everything OK? Ring when u get a chance, G.

I dialled Jimbo’s number, wondering how I could have forgotten about my phone. Perhaps it had been the panic and confusion? And maybe I had an
advantage now over Smale. At least I was clear about his intentions.

‘Toby? Is that you?’ Jimbo couldn’t hide his excitement.

‘Yup. Still in one piece. You won’t believe what happened. Listen, can you send David out to the Waterside Tip?’

‘The what?’

‘Waterside Tip. It’s down past the bridge on—’

‘What are you doing out there? Georgie said you were gonna try and grab the scorecard from Smale’s place.’

‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I get back. Did you cover for me okay? Are Mum and Dad all right?’

‘Yeah, no worries. We told them this expert bowling coach had arrived but was only available for an hour or so, and some of the bowlers had gone upstairs to look at the video of their net bowling with him and analyse it.’

‘Cool. Upstairs where?’

‘Upstairs I’ve got no idea. It was just a vague sort of general upstairs thing,’ Jimbo said, and laughed. ‘Ok, I’ll talk to David. Hope he’s still in the library.’

It took David almost forty minutes. By the time I dragged myself into his car I was cold, hungry and tired. He took one look at me and drove quickly to the nearest food outlet.

‘You wait there,’ he said and dashed into the shop.

‘You’d have to tear me off the seat,’ I muttered to myself.

David came back with a steaming cup of hot chocolate and an assortment of snack bars.

‘You’re a life-saver,’ I said, tearing open one of the bars and shoving half of it into my mouth. I leaned back against the seat and sighed.

‘Didn’t quite go according to plan?’ he asked, eyebrows raised.

I looked at him and smiled. ‘You could say that.’

Thursday—morning

‘So, what now?’ Jimbo asked the following morning. I’d described the events of the night before to Jimbo and the others when David delivered me back to my room. Watching their faces swing from horror to amazement brought home just how terrifying those moments in the truck had been and how lucky I was to be here.

‘I’m sort of glad I’m not playing today,’ I confided to Jimbo, staring out our window at the MCG oval. ‘It’ll give me time to think.’

‘You need to find a quiet spot over there,’ said Jimbo, pointing to a section of seats lit up by the morning sun, ‘and do absolutely nothing for a few hours.’

‘If Jim’s not back at home this morning, I’m going after him,’ I said.

‘But you can’t go back to the same place in time. You told me that. That’s the whole reason Ally got sick.’

‘True, but I also can’t do nothing. I need to know, one way or the other.’

‘What about the scorecard? Are you still going after that?’

‘Yep. And I’ve got an idea too.’

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ Jimbo called.

‘Good morning, boys,’ David said as he opened the door. He was carrying a large envelope. ‘Toby, Jim asked me—’

‘You’ve seen Jim?’ I gasped, rushing forward. ‘Where is he?’

‘No, no. That’s just it. Jim left me a note a few days ago saying that I was to give you this envelope if I didn’t hear from him by Friday.’

‘But today’s Thursday,’ Jimbo said.

‘Exactly.’

‘I don’t get it,’ I said.

‘Well, it sounded to me like a situation where Jim might be in trouble,’ David explained, ‘and I figured being a day early wouldn’t hurt.’

‘Do you know what’s in here?’ I asked David as I tore open the envelope.

‘I don’t, though I have a feeling it’s something quite important.’

I sensed Jimbo and David move in closer as I scanned the neatly typed one-page document.

‘Jim’s in trouble,’ I breathed, sitting down on my bed.

My dear Toby,

I fear I am currently in danger and may need your help. It is now Friday and I have been away too long. Let me explain two things to you…

1. T
HE
C
RICKET
L
ORDS

Hugo Malchev—the man you remember as very white—is attempting to eliminate all the Cricket Lords. You know he managed to escape from the washed-out Test match in Melbourne. It was he who destroyed the Sanctum at Lord’s—but before he did, he removed all the stumps. He has used the stumps to kill the Cricket Lords. I imagine you’ve heard the stories of Dracula and his immortality, and that a wooden stake through the heart is the only way to kill a vampire. We Cricket Lords are not dissimilar. The only way a Cricket Lord can be killed is to be pierced by the very stump that helped him to become a Cricket Lord in the first place.

Alas, all the Cricket Lords appointed in England have perished, and almost all those in Australia too. The situation is desperate. But there is one thing I hope will save me from a similar fate: the scorecard.

2. T
HE
S
CORECARD

There is more to this scorecard than meets the eye. Our friend Phillip Smale, I’m sure, is not aware of this, but Hugo Malchev wants it and
now knows in what time it exists. Your time and mine, Toby. That is why I believe he is sparing my life. He needs me to get the scorecard. We must give Malchev the scorecard and trust the rest to fate.

However, the scorecard on its own is not enough for Malchev. There are two other things he needs. One he most certainly will have—a copy of the first Wisden published. The other I’m hoping he’ll never find, and that is Father Time himself.

Toby, you must return to the Sanctum here in Melbourne. Hugo Malchev will monitor your travel. DO NOT engage him in any conversation. He is a dangerous and unstable person. Just give him the scorecard and leave. Please.

I’m sure that we will be reunited again very soon and, though our travelling may be over, we will enjoy the present and the future together.

Your dear friend,

Jim

‘Phew,’ David whistled, shaking his head slowly. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

I didn’t reply straightaway. I clenched and unclenched my hands, feeling the pain from last night’s adventure. ‘Alistair,’ I said eventually.

‘Who?’ David asked.

‘Alistair. He’s working for Phillip Smale,’ Jimbo explained, standing up.

‘We have to get to Alistair,’ I muttered. ‘He’s our only chance.’

‘How?’ asked Jimbo. He started shoving his cricket gear into his kit.

‘Dunno yet, but I’m going to sit in the sun over there and think up something. C’mon.’

If getting the scorecard was going to save Jim’s life, then I’d get the scorecard, no matter what. Sitting in the outer, watching the one-day game begin, I let my mind wander, feeling the warmth of the sun slowly take away the aches and pains from last night.

I had three options.

Call in Dad and the police and build up a case against Smale. But that might take a while and didn’t guarantee getting the scorecard.

Break into Smale’s house and steal the scorecard myself. But that was highly risky and again there was no guarantee of success.

Get in touch with Alistair and work on his conscience. Tell him what a freak Smale was, and that if he didn’t help I’d report him to the police. I wasn’t exactly sure what for, but that was a minor detail. Surely he’d be shocked to hear from me.

I checked my mobile phone, a plan slowly beginning to form in my mind.

The schoolboys team from England were applying the pressure early, and Jimbo and Cam were having difficulty finding the gaps. Despite Jim’s letter lying on my lap, and my aching body, I couldn’t help being
interested in their opening bowlers. Neither was especially quick, but they were both deadly accurate. Almost predictably so.

As if reading my thoughts, Jimbo danced down the track to the next ball delivered and hoisted it over mid-off for four. I stood up and applauded loudly, immediately regretting my enthusiasm. It would be a while before my hands recovered from last night.

Three overs later Jimbo was dismissed, trying to pull a ball that wasn’t quite short enough. It looked like he’d top-edged the ball into his pads. It ballooned out to short mid-wicket.

It was time to make the call, and I needed Jimbo to help me.

‘What were they like?’ I asked Jimbo ten minutes later. I thought I’d given him enough time to get over the initial disappointment of being dismissed. We were in the Members stand watching the game.

‘Tight. It was really quiet and tense out there. It was like they were stalking us. Gave me the creeps.’

‘Wow. They sure look like they know what they’re doing from here,’ I said. ‘Ok.’ I pulled the phone out from my pocket. ‘Here’s the plan.’

Jimbo listened carefully, nodding occasionally but never interrupting. ‘Is that it?’ he said when I was done.

‘What do you think?’ I said. I’d already keyed Alistair’s number into my phone. I got it on screen and passed the phone across to Jimbo. He put his drink bottle onto the ground, wiped his mouth with his hand and sighed.

‘I’m not very good at this sort of stuff, you know,’ he said, suddenly looking anxious.

‘C’mon, Jimbo. You’ll be right. It’s not like I’m asking you to—’

‘Drive off the edge of a cliff?’ he said, smiling wryly.

‘Exactly.’ I hit the call button and handed Jimbo the phone.

‘Hello?’ he said after a moment. ‘Is that Alistair?’ He gave me a slight nod. ‘No,’ he went on, suddenly agitated, ‘don’t hang up. Listen to me.’ There was another pause. I leaned in closer but couldn’t make out what Alistair was saying. ‘Where’s Toby?’ Jimbo said firmly. ‘We’ve got a text message here that says he’s in a truck and he mentions your name. I just thought you might know where he is. You see, he hasn’t arrived back and his parents are about to call the police.’

Another pause. Jimbo looked at me and nodded. It was going well.

‘Yes. Your name’s on the message. Something about you driving the truck down to the Waterside Tip?’

This time I could hear the agitation in Alistair’s voice. Jimbo held the phone away from his ear.

‘I had nothing to do with it!’ Alistair wailed.

‘Bring me the scorecard and I’ll believe you,’ Jimbo said. ‘I’ll even let you read and delete the text message.’ There was a pause. I held my breath.

‘We give the scorecard back to Jim and it’s all forgotten,’ Jimbo went on. ‘After all, it’s Jim who’s the rightful owner.’

Alistair said something.

‘I promise you nothing will happen if you give Jim the scorecard,’ Jimbo said, then grimaced. ‘Yes, you can even have the phone. I’m sitting in the Members area just next to the players’ viewing rooms in front of the Hugh Trumble Café.’

I grinned, giving Jimbo the thumbs-up. Jimbo nodded once more, then pressed end.

There was a shout from the middle. The English team had just taken another wicket.

‘Well?’ I asked.

‘He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Are you sure you want him to see you?’

‘Only after he’s given you the scorecard.’

‘But how will I know it’s the right scorecard?’

‘I’ll go upstairs and grab a
Wisden
. Place the scorecard in the
Wisden
—the players’ names and scores should appear on the scorecard. But do it quickly. You look at it long enough, you’ll end up travelling.’

‘Really?’

‘Jimbo.’

‘I know, I know.’

I was back in five minutes. After handing Jimbo the
Wisden
, I chose a seat behind him; close enough to see but not so close that I’d be spotted by Alistair. I pulled the jacket I’d brought over my shoulders and hunched down low in the seat.

Two more wickets fell before Alistair, true to his word, arrived. I saw him pass Jimbo a small box. He
looked around furtively, holding his hand out, probably for the phone. I watched Jimbo open the box carefully and pull out a plastic card holder. Carefully he eased the scorecard out, opened the
Wisden
and placed the scorecard inside.

‘Not too long,’ I hissed quietly.

Jimbo appeared to jerk back slightly before slamming the book closed. He looked at Alistair and grinned.

‘Alistair,’ I called, standing up just as Jimbo was holding the phone out to him. Alistair spun around. The phone clattered to the ground. I was the last person he expected to see.

‘We told you everything would be okay if you brought us the scorecard,’ I called, walking down to him. Jimbo handed me the
Wisden
. The scorecard poking out just looked like a tatty old bookmark. I clutched the
Wisden
to my chest and looked at Alistair.

He was pale. ‘But…but…you’re…’

‘I got out. Was it you who left a
Wisden
in the back of the truck?’ I could tell straightaway by the blank look on his face that it wasn’t.

‘A
Wisden
?’

‘Never mind.’ Maybe he’d simply never collected that last box that held the
Wisden
and other old cricket memorabilia.

‘Phillip said he was taking you straight to the police station, but then you’d somehow escaped and there’d been an accident,’ Alistair said. ‘That something had happened.’

‘It was no accident, it was intentional. Listen, Alistair, you should think very seriously about hanging around with Phillip Smale. He tried to kill me. He locked me in the back of that truck and left me for dead. It rolled over the top of the cliff down at the Waterside Tip. I got out only because there was a
Wisden
in the back there.’

‘Yeah, I carted a few of them for Phillip today.’

‘Well, luckily you didn’t collect that last box. Once Smale realises the scorecard is missing, he’ll be onto you.’ I watched him closely, wondering whether I was telling him stuff he knew already, but he looked genuinely shocked.

‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked nervously.

‘Where’s Smale?’ I said, suddenly on edge.

‘He’s gone up to Sydney for a few days. Something about a collection he’s looking at.’

‘So why are you looking so worried?’ Jimbo asked.

‘Because the plane isn’t leaving till mid-afternoon. I reckon he’s the last person we want around at the moment, don’t you?’

The old Alistair was returning.

‘So how did you manage to get the scorecard?’ Iasked.

‘Oh, that was easy. I set up his security system as well as the codes to the safe.’

‘And he trusted you?’ said Jimbo, surprised.

‘He was pretty confident that with the money he was offering me I wouldn’t do anything stupid.
Plus, he needed me because of the Master Blaster. Anyway—’ for the first time this morning Alistair smiled, ‘I never showed any interest in his scorecard or the
Wisden
s.’

Jimbo groaned as another shout from the middle filled the stadium.

‘Crikey, we’ll be bowling before lunch the way we’re going,’ he muttered. ‘I’m off, guys.’

‘And speaking of bowling, I’m going to let off a bit of steam in the nets,’ I said. ‘Thanks, Alistair. Good luck with Smale.’

‘Hey, I’m really sorry,’ Alistair said. He sounded genuine.

‘So what are you going to do?’ I asked him.

‘Get my Master Blaster and leave town for a while. Guess I’ll have to wait a bit longer for that first million.’ He smiled.

‘I have to ask a question. You going to say anything to Smale?’

‘Not now the scorecard’s gone,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘Hey.’ A thought had just occurred to me. ‘I know someone honest and totally reliable who’d be very interested in the Master Blaster.’ Mr Pasquali’s Chucky was a dinosaur compared to the Blaster. ‘I’ll give you a call.’

Ten minutes later I was back in the nets, concentrating on building up a steady rhythm and trying to generate good pace off the wicket. Both Tom
Gilbert and the chief nets coach, Glenn Mason, were there to offer advice.

It took a couple of overs, but I soon got into the zone, concentrating solely on my bowling and the coaches’ suggestions. For an hour I was able to put aside Jim, Smale, the scorecard and Hugo Malchev. The session was rewarding and exhausting and I was quietly relieved when Tom clapped his hands and said it was time to finish up—almost.

‘Here are six balls, Toby. Make yourself six bucks by hitting the coin here six times in a row.’

Tom placed the coin down on a good length just outside off-stump. I pranced about like an idiot when I hit it on my fourth delivery.

‘Your turn, Tom,’ I said, throwing him the ball.

‘Hang on. Double or nothing.’ Glenn put a dollar coin on top of the one already down there.

‘You want to raise the stakes, Toby?’ Tom said, swinging his arms to warm up.

I grabbed a coin from my pocket and added it to the stack.

‘Anyway, doesn’t that make it easier to hit?’ I asked.

‘Well, I’m only having one shot at it. You had six,’ Tom grinned.

He ran in smoothly and delivered the ball over the wicket. The coins went flying.

Tom shrieked, his arms in the air. ‘Did someone get that on tape?’

Glenn and I groaned.

‘You’re shouting the juice at lunch, Tom,’ said Glenn. ‘C’mon, everybody. It’s time!’

As he said ‘time’ a wave of panic swept over me suddenly. It was time for me to meet Hugo Malchev. Again.