Howzat!

by Brett Lee

  ‘I’ll go with them, guys.’ Ally followed Rahul and Jay back towards the entrance.

  ‘Well?’ Georgie looked at me.

  I thought quickly. This could be the best chance we’d ever have to get the scorecard back. It needed to be in Jim’s hands, or Marcus’s—not with Smale. And maybe Alistair could get it for us. If we could talk Alistair into believing that Smale was an evil man, only interested in himself, he might help us.

  ‘So what say you give us another go on the Blaster?’ I asked. He had loved seeing his Master Blaster in action before. That was what it was meant for; not to sit away somewhere out of sight and unused.

  ‘What, now?’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’ Georgie asked.

  ‘Don’t be daft. It’s all packed away anyway, at Phillip’s house. I’m taking this lot over there too,’ he added.

  ‘Yeah?’ My mind was racing. ‘Can you take us there and show us?’ I sensed Georgie glaring at me but held Alistair’s gaze.

  ‘In your dreams,’ he said, shaking his head and laughing. ‘You can help me load up some books and stuff if you like, though. There’s just one more trolley load to go. Maybe then you’ll be the first to know when the Blaster’s up and running again.’

  ‘Ok,’ I said cheerfully, and watched Alistair wheel the trolley towards a glass door. An idea was forming.

  ‘Toby, let’s just go,’ Georgie hissed, holding back.

  ‘I’m going to do this, Georgie. Alistair gets us in to Smale’s house and—’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Me. Whatever.’ Alistair disappeared into the building. ‘You go back and tell the others that I’m doing some late-night work.’

  Alistair had disappeared somewhere beyond the glass door.

  ‘What do you mean, late-night work?’

  ‘Studying in the library, I dunno. Find David. Get him to cover for me. He’ll come up with something.’

  I headed off after Alistair before Georgie could change my mind. When we returned, she was still there.

  ‘That’s all,’ Alistair said cheerfully, heading towards the cabin. ‘Except to sign for the stuff.’

  ‘I’ll shut the doors,’ I called, grabbing one of them and swinging it in. I jumped up into the cabin as Alistair disappeared back in the MCG, this time with his clipboard.

  ‘Toby, come back now,’ Georgie said crossly. ‘This is stupid.’

  ‘No.’ I’d made my mind up.

  Georgie sighed.

  ‘Take this then,’ she said, passing up her phone. ‘And don’t do anything stupid, Toby. I don’t trust that guy.’

  ‘I’ll be back before you know it—maybe even with the scorecard.’

  Georgie grunted, looking concerned. Maybe she was right about Alistair. But Jim was in danger, and having the scorecard would surely be an advantage—maybe a bargaining tool. Malchev had wanted it, and now Jim was with Malchev. I looked over at the building. There was still no sign of Alistair.

  ‘Tell him I’ve gone, but that we’d like to catch up with the Blaster some time,’ I said, heading to the back of the truck.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Georgie! I’m fine,’ I whispered. ‘Shut the doors.’

  The interior blackened quickly as she did as I asked. I waited a few moments, holding my breath, wondering if I’d just done the most stupid thing possible.

  When Kenya played Ireland in Belfast, Ireland on 4 August 2008, they recorded the lowest total in an international Twenty/20 match by only managing to make 67 runs.

  11

  Another Long Room

  ‘Toby left,’ I heard Georgie say as the doors swung open. I darted behind a stack of boxes. Alistair was loading the trolley into the back.

  ‘Yeah, well, I do remember him actually. But you’d better tell him to stay out of my way now. And Phillip’s. I’m telling you, Phillip’s got it in for that kid. I don’t know the full story but there’s something going on there.’

  I couldn’t make out Georgie’s muffled reply as the doors closed again. A moment later the engine started and we were moving—hopefully to Smale’s house and the scorecard.

  Squashed into a tight spot between a pile of boxes and some blankets, I tried to come up with a plan. The big question was whether I should suck up to Alistair and try to get him on my side, or sneak around and hope to get lucky snatching the scorecard. Smale wasn’t around, but how long would that last?

  We travelled for about ten minutes, stopping occasionally, probably at lights or intersections. What if Alistair didn’t plan to unload whatever was in the boxes tonight? What if he was going to wait for Smale to return? I needed to create a diversion; something that would give me a chance to get out of the truck—assuming Alistair opened the doors. My heart sank at the prospect of spending the night in the back of the truck. Perhaps this had been a stupid idea after all.

  I looked around now that my eyes had adjusted to the dimness. There were plenty of boxes holding loose papers, booklets, brochures and magazines. I dragged a couple over to the door then propped them against it. Hopefully one or both would topple over when Alistair opened the back. Hopefully.

  The truck slowed, swung left, then stopped abruptly. I crashed into the side wall, banging my head against the wooden panels. Gingerly I felt the spot; a bump was already forming. I stood up slowly, but quickly dived down again as the lock rattled and the door swung open.

  Would my plan work?

  I nestled deeper under the blankets, expecting them to be thrown off at any moment. Alistair’s footsteps echoed inside the truck as he walked past me. It appeared the boxes hadn’t toppled out of the truck. I heard a grunt—Alistair was lifting something. Maybe the trolley?

  There was a clatter, then a loud curse as something metal crashed down onto the driveway. Must be the trolley. The truck door swung inwards, hiding me momentarily from view. Alistair grunted and swore again. I moved quickly towards the doors and peered through the gap. I saw him get down on his hands and knees and reach under the truck. Something had fallen—probably one of the boxes, finally.

  I stole a glance around the door. Alistair had disappeared completely. Without hesitation, I gently eased the doors open and stepped lightly down onto the pavement. Alistair was still cursing beneath the truck as he gathered up some spilled papers.

  I darted around to the front of the truck and leaned against the passenger door, trying to slow my breathing. The back doors banged shut. I counted to five, slowly, then peeked around the side. Nothing.

  So far so good, I thought. Now to get into the house. With any luck, Alistair would take the cricket stuff to the room where Smale kept his own cricket memorabilia—and perhaps the scorecard too.

  I crept back along the side of the truck and waited. It seemed like ages before Alistair appeared, talking on his mobile.

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’s here,’ he said, opening up the truck’s back door again and clambering inside. His voice became muffled. Once again I risked it, dashing for Smale’s front door. I would never have a better chance than this. Glancing back quickly as I reached the door, I saw Alistair rummaging through a box, obviously looking for something. Maybe it was Smale on the phone?

  Running into the house brought back a flood of memories: Jim and his faked illness; the lady called Davina; Georgie and Ally; and Phillip Smale, of course, as angry as ever with the fact that we were onto him.

  I pulled up in surprise as I entered the main room off the kitchen. An enormous old painting of a cricket match was slowly moving from the wall, opening a door. Had I accidentally activated a hidden button or lever?

  Alistair’s voice drifted in from the kitchen. I ducked behind a long couch as he entered the room, carrying one of the boxes from the truck. He placed it down near the painting and left again. Was this the secret room where I’d find the scorecard? I sneaked a look over the top of the couch. The painting had swung open fully but the entrance was dark.

  Soon Alistair returned with another box. Again he placed it down on th
e ground, but this time he dragged a small set of steps over to the entrance and flicked a switch beneath it. A glow emanated from behind the painting.

  Alistair lifted the two boxes and stepped up into the room. He reappeared a few minutes later and headed back out to the truck. As soon as he’d left, I got up and raced over to the steps. A cool breeze hit my face as I climbed through the opening onto a small landing, then descended a set of stairs. The air got colder and colder.

  I arrived in a familiar-looking room and gasped in surprise. It was the Long Room! An exact copy. One wall was taken up entirely with a huge picture of the cricket ground itself—the view that people in the real Long Room saw when they looked out at the cricket. Inside the room were long red couches, a bar, and glass stands with cricket bats and balls.

  I heard Alistair’s footsteps above me. And voices! Hopefully he was on the phone again. His footsteps echoed on the stairs as he began to climb down.

  ‘Yeah, I remember them from the shopping centre,’ he said, ‘but I never let on.’

  A second voice responded. My stomach lurched when I heard it.

  ‘Well, if you know what’s good for you, Alistair, you’ll have nothing to do with them again. They’re completely out of their depth. Especially that Toby Jones. Cocky little thing. One day I’ll tell you just how close he came to ruining me.’

  Phillip Smale. Kneeling down behind one of the long couches, I was almost sick. My skin prickled and I felt hot and breathless.

  ‘Yeah, so you said. But we need kids to play the Master Blaster.’

  ‘We’ll have kids, don’t you worry. Once the Scorpions Cricket Club takes control of the Blaster we’ll be fielding more sides than any other club in the history of Australian cricket.’

  ‘But won’t the Master Blaster be for everyone?’

  Despite the cold sweat breaking out all over me, I stayed tuned in to their conversation.

  ‘It won’t be for the likes of Toby Jones, my friend, that’s for sure. Once the Scorpions are established as the premier club, then we’ll see.’

  ‘What about the scorecard, Mr Smale? You promised to take me travelling again.’

  ‘All in good time. First let’s organise this room a little, shall we? We have some very important guests arriving tomorrow. I’m sure that couch isn’t where it should be, for a start.’

  The red couch I was hiding behind started to move. I’d never felt worse in my life. I remembered one of Mum’s sayings about cats having nine lives. It was a weird thing to be thinking as Phillip Smale’s eyes met mine.

  ‘Leave the room, Alistair,’ Smale said, never taking his eyes off me. He looked as angry and as evil as I’d ever seen him.

  ‘What the…? How the hell did—’

  ‘I said, leave the room!’

  Alistair dropped his box and darted back up the stairs.

  Smale almost spat at me, he was so furious. ‘You have been meddling in my affairs for long enough, Toby Jones.’

  ‘I saved you from—’

  ‘Don’t you dare try and grovel your way out of this. You’ve broken into my home for the second time, just as you broke into my office at the Scorpions clubrooms. You’re always interfering with my business plans—you and your pathetic little band of friends.’ He took a few quick breaths, as if trying to calm himself.

  ‘I saved your life,’ I whispered. He didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me. ‘Hugo Malchev was going to kill you.’ He spun round to glare at me. ‘Who?’

  So maybe Smale didn’t know much after all.

  ‘I know what’s going on,’ I said. ‘I went back with Jim. We met a guy called Marcus. And we met the white man again. His name’s Hugo Malchev and he’s a Cricket Lord. Marcus used Jim’s stump to—’

  ‘What in God’s name are you blabbering about? Shut up!’

  A wave of absolute panic swept over me. I’d never seen Phillip Smale in this mood before.

  ‘I’m not interested in your petty little timetravelling morons any more. The only reason I took you to London was to leave you there, you brat. Don’t you believe me?’ Smale laughed softly. ‘My God, you’ll believe me now, Toby Jones.’

  He bent down and grabbed me by the collar, hauling me to my feet.

  ‘There’s nothing I need from you now, Toby Jones. I have the scorecard. I have the Master Blaster. I have control of the MCC library and all the memorabilia there. And the Scorpions are on the verge of greatness. There’s just one thing I don’t have. Do you know what that is?’

  I shook my head, trying to think clearly.

  ‘It’s to be rid of you, you fool.’

  ‘Alistair?’ I shrieked, desperate now. I felt for the phone in my pocket.

  Smale noticed the movement straightaway. ‘Give it to me,’ he snarled, holding his hand out.

  ‘What?’ I said, playing for time.

  Smale hit me hard in the face, sending me sprawling. In a flash, he had taken Georgie’s phone out of my front pocket and smashed it to the ground.

  Alistair appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He looked worried to see me on the ground.

  ‘I’ll deal with this, Alistair,’ Smale said, his voice softer. ‘Have you unpacked all those boxes?’

  ‘Almost,’ Alistair replied.

  ‘Well, when you have, follow me in my car. I’ll be driving the truck and taking Mr Jones here with me.’

  ‘Are you handing him over to the police?’

  ‘No, I have somewhere a little more permanent in mind.’

  I looked up into Alistair’s face for some sign of concern, but he merely shrugged and took the car keys from Smale.

  ‘Alistair, you don’t understand,’ I pleaded. ‘He’s going to kill me.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ Smale said.

  ‘Alistair, please—this man is a liar. He hurts people. He wants to kill me. You heard him.’

  ‘Stop your raving, will you?’ Smale scoffed. ‘You’re the one trespassing in my house, obviously after my scorecard.’

  ‘IT’S NOT YOUR SCORECARD!’ I bellowed, tears brimming.

  ‘Enough!’ Smale cried, shoving me up the stairs. He hurled me into the back of the truck with such force that I crashed into the frame, banging my back on a protruding metal bar. I fell to the floor, my body arched in agony. The doors banged shut and a moment later we were moving. I knew there was no use banging on the doors or trying to force them open.

  ‘Can you hear me, Toby Jones?’ Smale’s crackly voice suddenly filled the cabin. I hadn’t noticed the speaker perched up in the corner. There was something in his tone that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

  ‘Take me back to the MCG and I promise I’ll never get in your way again,’ I shouted. I could hear his laughter from the cabin behind the wall I was leaning against. ‘I’ll quit the cricket camp. I’ll play for the Scorpions.’

  For a moment there was silence. He probably couldn’t hear me over the noise of the engine. But then he spoke again.

  ‘You’d be the last person on earth I’d want playing for my Scorpions,’ he sneered. The truck lurched as he crunched down through the gears.

  ‘Then I’ll get Dad to go to the police,’ I yelled.

  This time Smale’s laugh was deep and long. ‘You’ll need a damn good connection where you’re going,’ he said. ‘This is the end, Master Jones. You see, I have friends everywhere; people who owe me favours. Just one phone call was all it took. In a matter of minutes this truck will plunge off the edge of a cliff down into a tip. And if you survive the fall, then you most certainly will not survive Bernie putting the truck into the metal crusher and flattening it. Let’s hope that you’re unconscious by the time that starts.’

  ‘You can’t do this!’ I screamed. ‘You’ll never get away with it. Georgie knows I got into the truck. She’s told everyone else. ALISTAIR!’ I yelled, frightened beyond belief.

  ‘Alistair won’t save you, nor speak up, I assure you,’ Smale said. ‘He wants to be a millionaire by the ti
me he’s twenty-one. And as for the truck,’ he added above the noise of the engine, ‘it will have disappeared off the face of the earth.’

  I stood up and started banging on the wall just behind Smale, screaming and yelling for him to stop. Ignoring the pain in my hands, I thumped even harder as I sensed the truck slowing. Were we at an intersection? The fear of not knowing how close we were to the edge of the cliff was overwhelming.

  ‘YOU CAN’T DO THIS!’

  My voice was hoarse from shouting. I sensed the truck almost stopping, then suddenly we were off again. The journey lasted another fifteen minutes before the truck gently eased to a stop. Exhausted from banging and shouting, my hands red-raw and bleeding, I made one final lunge towards the doors, and tripped over a blanket sprawled across the floor.

  THUMP! THUMP! Someone was banging the side of the truck.

  ‘Farewell, Toby Jones,’ Smale called.

  ‘PHILLIP!’ I roared, blind panic taking over. Then I realised there was something under the blanket. Something with a yellow cover.

  The truck was slowly accelerating as I frantically grabbed for the Wisden.

  ‘C’mon,’ I whispered. I took a deep breath, opened the book and stared into the familiar swirl of black and white. My stomach lurched as I felt the truck suddenly drop.

  ‘Oh God, please,’ I cried, desperately scouring the page for a number, a date, anything.

  ‘Four,’ I whispered, and felt a rush of air sweep over me and through me. There was a thundering, splintering sound of crushing metal and exploding glass, deafening and overwhelming. Then nothing. Nothing except a feeling of dampness on one side of my face. Blood?

  The most sixes hit by a team in one innings in international Twenty/20 is 14. Australia achieved this in a game won against England in the 2006/07 series. Australia scored 5/221.

  12

  Over the Edge

  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…