Howzat!

by Brett Lee

  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.

  Yuvraj Singh scored 58 runs during an international Twenty/20 against England in 2007. His strike rate for the innings was a whopping 362.50. This means that, on average, he was hitting 3.6 runs per ball!

  14

  The Last Cricket Lord

  Thursday—afternoon

  ‘Toby, we’re coming with you,’ Georgie said defiantly.

  I was glad Rahul, Jay and the girls had decided to come back to the cricket camp. Rahul had hinted yesterday that he would be back to watch the game, but I was surprised to see who he’d brought with him. I’d filled them in on the events of last night and this morning.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ I said. ‘Jim would—’

  ‘Jim’s not here to say anything, Toby. We’ll just wait in the background, to make sure everything goes okay.’

  ‘You need us, Toby,’ Jay said.

  I looked at Ally. She didn’t appear as enthusiastic as the others.

  ‘Well, I’m staying here to watch the cricket,’ Rahul said, already gazing out at the action on the field. The Aussie team was 6 for 88 and struggling.

  ‘What about Jimbo?’ Georgie said, looking across to the players’ viewing room.

  ‘No way,’ I said. ‘He was already getting a few dirty looks for spending so much time away from the team. We won’t be seeing him for the rest of the day.’

  We said goodbye to Rahul, bought some food and drinks from the Hugh Trumble Café and headed upstairs. I noticed Ally was lagging a few paces behind.

  ‘No wonder Smale is heading interstate for a while,’ Georgie said, following me into my room.

  ‘Why?’ asked Jay. ‘Wow, you can see the play from here,’ he called, racing over to the huge window.

  ‘Well, it’s obvious. He wants to lie low for a few days, in case something comes up about Toby.’

  ‘This is very weird, Toby. Right now you’re supposed to be dead,’ Jay said, staring at me.

  ‘Only according to one person.’

  ‘C’mon, Toby. Let’s go,’ Jay said. He seemed jumpy. Why was I taking them, I asked myself. People you took with you changed in the new time. They became stubborn. Like Rahul in India and Jay in Hobart.

  Georgie was staring at me.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘You don’t want us to come with you, do you?’ she said.

  ‘It’s not that. It’s dangerous.’

  ‘Oh, save me, Toby,’ said Jay. ‘Why should you get all the fun? You get invited to the cricket camp. You play on the MCG wicket. You train in the indoor nets and swan around the place with your ID security badge as if you own the joint. And as if that’s not enough, you get to go on these amazing time travel adventures just because you happen to have this gift. Why doesn’t any of that stuff happen to me?’ Jay took a swig from his drink, wiped his mouth and sat down.

  ‘You finished?’ Ally asked, eyebrows raised.

  ‘I guess,’ Jay mumbled. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to take you,’ I said again. ‘But stuff happens when I take people. Things change.’

  ‘We’ll wait here for you.’ The disappointment in Georgie’s voice was obvious.

  I looked at my friends, whose heads were bowed. Suddenly they were more important to me than anything else—maybe even Jim. They were my future. All the hours we’d spent together playing cricket, talking, listening to music, just hanging out…I didn’t want to lose that.

  ‘C’mon,’ I said, taking the Wisden off the shelf. ‘Ally, you find the spot. But remember, we do nothing but give this guy the scorecard. Then we go. It’s a pretty spooky place anyway, and you won’t want to hang around.’ I looked at each of them, saw the excitement flushing their faces. ‘Deal?’

  ‘DEAL!’ Jay and Georgie cried together.

  Opening the Wisden, I passed it across to Ally. Georgie struggled to hide her disappointment.

  ‘Ally was really quick last time,’ I said lamely. As if it mattered. But it obviously did to Georgie.

  ‘Should Ally even be coming?’ she said. ‘I mean, remember what happened last time.’

  ‘Hey,’ Ally said, holding her hands in the air, ‘I have no intention of going. I’m not going through all that again. No offence, Toby, but I’m staying right here.’

  ‘That’s probably best,’ I said. I felt Georgie’s hand take mine. ‘Ok. Remember—say nothing. We’ll be back before you know it.’

  I looked down at the open Wisden. It was the same one Jim, Ally and I had used a few days ago. The page was dog-eared.

  ‘Find the number 99 on the page, Ally, then go back a couple of scores. We’ve got to arrive before we did last time.’

  ‘Got it,’ she said. ‘There’s a 5 just above it.’

  I stared into the swirl of letters and numbers.

  ‘Go further up,’ she said. I followed her finger as it moved slightly up the page. ‘There’s a 59. That’s the first number.’

  The 5 slowly appeared from the cloudy grey mess around Ally’s finger. ‘Got it,’ I whispered, ‘59. Hang on to the Wisden, Ally.’

  We were gone.

  The gurgling noise in my ears quickly subsided. ‘Come on,’ I said, moving forward briskly. We could hear the dull roar of the crowd above us, but for once I wasn’t interested in seeing the action. The others jogged behind me.

  ‘Can we just go and see B
ill Lawry bat?’ Jay asked, trying to keep up.

  ‘No!’ I said firmly, not looking around.

  Like last time, there were very few people in the library. An elderly man wearing a dark blue blazer looked over his glasses at us as we entered.

  ‘We’re Jim’s friends,’ Georgie said, walking past him confidently.

  Looking slightly bewildered, he started to fold his newspaper.

  ‘This way,’ I said, leading the way to the shelves near the back. Grabbing a Wisden from the display, I held it up to the little glass window like Marcus had and waited. Nothing happened.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jay hissed. ‘Can’t you just open the door?’

  I moved the book closer to the glass so it was almost touching.

  ‘Toby, the old guy’s coming over,’ Georgie said quietly.

  ‘Jay, distract the dude in the blue jacket, quick,’ I said. Jay trotted back, saying something about a missing school bag he’d left up here last week.

  ‘C’mon, Toby,’ Georgie urged.

  ‘There!’ A small clicking sound was followed by the door easing open a few centimetres.

  ‘We’ve found it, Jay,’ I called, pushing the door open.

  Georgie followed me inside, then Jay a moment later. I shut the door quickly.

  ‘What do you think?’ I said, turning around to see their reaction. No one answered. Spinning back around, I found myself face to face with Hugo Malchev. He stood only a metre away, smiling, his arms folded.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, surveying us with contempt. ‘You’ve brought along some friends, Toby Jones. That was rather foolish. What are we to do with them?’

  ‘I-I’ve got the scorecard for you. Then we go again,’ I stammered, pulling the card out of my pocket.

  ‘Do you understand what’s happening here?’ Malchev said, frowning and taking a step towards Georgie. Georgie edged away, bumping into the wall behind her.

  ‘Not totally.’

  ‘You see, I am the victim here, not the villain. I was the one who suffered. No one had considered the possibility of a Test match being washed out. Oh no. Not one of these brilliant men who became Cricket Lords. But it was worse than that. That game could have started; should have started. But it didn’t, because someone wanted me dead. Someone wanted me to stay in this crypt for ever. But I escaped. And then I returned for the seventh Test at the same ground, and thus I became a Cricket Lord.’

  ‘So why don’t you just leave everyone alone now?’ I said. ‘You’ve got what you wanted.’

  ‘Toby, let’s get out of here,’ Georgie whispered. Jay was looking pale.

  ‘Revenge, Toby Jones. Perhaps children don’t know about revenge. But if you were left to die in a room without food or water—’

  ‘But you’re a Cricket Lord,’ I said. I was surprised by the boldness in my voice.

  ‘Not strictly. I am yet to be appointed, and that can only be done by a Cricket Lord. A living Cricket Lord. In exchange for your life, Toby Jones, Jim Oldfield will appoint me and thus grant my wish.’

  ‘Where is Jim?’ I asked.

  Malchev glared at me. ‘Watching the game from up in the stands somewhere, I imagine.’ He laughed. ‘Now give me the scorecard.’ He thrust out his long, white arm.

  I took one last look at the card then placed it on his hand, wondering whether this was better or worse than Phillip Smale owning it.

  ‘Now, if you want to see the old man one last time, take these two home and come back alone,’ he snarled, waving his arm at Georgie and Jay.

  ‘C’mon, Toby. Let’s go!’ Jay cried, grabbing my arm.

  I looked up at Malchev. ‘Is Jim alive?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to wait until you return—alone—to find out,’ he sneered.

  ‘But you’ve killed the other Cricket Lords!’ I shouted. ‘You’ve killed them all.’

  Malchev turned away and strode off into the gloom of the chamber. I felt the others near me, clambering in close. Suddenly the room was filled with an awful screeching sound.

  ‘TOBY!!’ Georgie shrieked, her fingernails digging into my hands.

  Hugo Malchev was swooping towards us, his long cloak billowing out behind. I ducked instinctively, but felt his strength suddenly tear me away from the others.

  ‘THE POEM!’ Jay shouted.

  Hands and arms grasped at me as I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to recall two of the lines.

  ‘Perhaps I should be done with you now!’ I heard Malchev shriek as he smashed into me.

  I went sprawling, my head crashing against the stone wall behind me. But my grip on Georgie held firm. Jay landed on top of us both.

  What wonders abound, dear boy, don’t fear.

  The words came out in a shouted, garbled mess, but they were out. Someone gripped my arm, pulling me away. Did I have Jay? I reached out for him and saw the look of terror on his face. I could feel Georgie breathing hard next to me.

  These shimmering pages, never clear.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Malchev roared, and wrenched me so hard I thought he’d pull my arm out of its socket. I collapsed onto the floor, my arms swinging back and slapping the stones hard. I’d lost Georgie and Jay.

  ‘Where are they?’ I gasped, looking around in desperation.

  Hugo Malchev laughed.

  ‘I said, where are they?’ Anger overtook fear. With a strength I didn’t know I had, I leaped to my feet and lunged at him, pinning him briefly against the wall behind us. He pushed me away, sending me flying across the chamber. Then he turned his back on me and walked over to the Wisden cabinets.

  ‘Your Wisden still glows with the strength of three of you,’ he said. ‘Your friends have not returned to your time. They will be at the eternal cricket match, out on Dismal Swamp.’

  ‘What swamp? Where? What are you talking about?’ I gasped, trying to get up.

  ‘I’m sorry, Toby Jones, but I’m going to have to kill you,’ Malchev said, turning to face me. ‘You are a traveller, and thus a potential Cricket Lord. And that can’t be. My life doesn’t begin until I have eliminated all the Cricket Lords and time travellers. And now I have the scorecard, no one else can interfere. I shall just have to trick the old man.’

  ‘But I’m not a Cricket Lord!’ I screamed at him, hot tears stinging my eyes.

  ‘No. Not yet you’re not,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What about my friends? And Jim?’ I turned away slightly and started reciting the first lines of the poem again.

  ‘I can take you to the Swamp to save your friends,’ Malchev interrupted. ‘It will do you no good to go home, Toby Jones. I’m afraid you’re beyond that now. Look at the Wisden. See how it fades?’

  Slowly, I made my way over to where Malchev was standing. A pale yellow light washed over the 1968 Wisden, making it brighter than the others.

  ‘You can stare at the Wisden and watch your friends die,’ Malchev told me. ‘I have done it myself a few times.’

  ‘You’re sick,’ I said, spitting the words out.

  ‘Once I have killed all the travellers and Cricket Lords, no new appointments can ever be made again. And after Jim Oldfield appoints me—believing that he is saving your life by doing so—I will kill him, the last of the Cricket Lords. Then I will rule the game for eternity.’

  ‘There’s one thing you don’t have,’ I said, staring up into his ugly face. ‘Father Time.’

  ‘What would you know about Father Time?’ he scoffed, shaking his head. But the fleeting doubt that crossed his face told me I’d hit on a weak spot.

  ‘Do you want your friends to live?’ he asked, quickly regaining his composure and holding his arm out to me. I looked through my tears at his grim face and took his hand. There was nothing else I could do.

  ‘As much as you want Father Time,’ I said boldly.

  ‘Oh, I doubt that, Toby Jones.’

  15

  The Timeless Cricket Match

  A cold wind with icy tendrils swirled around me. H
ugging myself for warmth I stumbled on, trying to stay close to Hugo Malchev, a vague ghostly figure that disappeared then reappeared through the grey misty fog.

  ‘How much further?’ I gasped, shivering.

  A bird swooped down on us and I saw Malchev duck. It squawked and flew on. I looked up into the grey sky but could see nothing. All around us were grey and black trees, stunted and bent; their weird twisted shapes like grotesque creatures.

  ‘Don’t speak to anyone,’ Malchev called, not turning. I wondered what he meant. Who would there be to speak to?

  And then I heard it. The unmistakable sound of bat on ball. It came from away to the left. There was a cricket match happening.

  ‘Who’s playing?’ I asked. It wasn’t really the weather for a game of cricket, but I was dying to see some green grass. Malchev didn’t reply.

  Straining every sinew in my body to hear another cricket sound I pressed on, head down, following Malchev’s steps along the beaten path. And then the smell hit me. It reminded me of Chennai, when I took Rahul there, only ten times worse. It was putrid. I gasped as I felt the stench enter my mouth. My throat tightened.

  ‘Keep moving,’ Malchev ordered.

  Coughing and gasping, I plunged on. The fog had got thicker and I wasn’t aware that Malchev had stopped until I bumped into him.

  ‘Over there,’ he said.

  I followed his arm. Between two gnarly, blackened trees I could just make out the shape of an oval. The mist in that area was thinner. Weird-looking creatures stood about in groups.

  ‘The timeless cricket match,’ Malchev whispered. I looked at him; even he appeared spooked by the place. ‘Not somewhere you want to linger for too long. Let us hope your friends are still alive. Stay close.’

  He set off quickly. I could hear a dull murmuring noise, which became louder as we made our way over a small rise and then down a worn path to the oval itself. I gasped. The figures standing around were the most frightening people I’d ever seen—if they were in fact people. They wore long robes and capes, which made their features hard to distinguish, but as we passed, I caught glimpses of torn, mangled, decaying faces, the flesh grimacing and twisted. I thought of the guy I’d rescued from being crushed by a train near the MCG. Were these creatures time travellers who had died away from their own time? And were their bodies now decaying slowly? Was this where I’d have ended up if I’d died in the truck? A half-human, halfghost creature whose punishment was to be stuck at a cricket match that never ended?