Howzat! (5 page)

Tuesday—afternoon

‘Toby, wake up!’

I opened one eye, took in my surroundings, then suddenly sat bolt upright. ‘Geez, what happened?’

Shaking my head, I got off the bed and regretted the move straightaway. A wave of dizziness swept over me and I sat back down again quickly.

‘You okay? How did it go with Jim and Ally? Is she okay now? Toby, did you bump into Smale?’ Jimbo’s words came in a jumbled torrent.

‘Smale? Yes.’ I looked up at Jimbo sharply, trying to ignore the dull throb in my head. I remembered the drag on my ankle as I spoke the last line of the poem. ‘He came back with me, didn’t he?’

‘Well, I dunno, but I got a bit suss when I saw him racing off down the corridor when I came back to the room to check if you’d returned.’

‘When was that?’ I stood up again, more slowly this time.

‘About four hours ago,’ Jimbo said, looking at his watch.

‘What?’ I gasped, and then remembered the injection. I pressed a finger on the spot on my backside and immediately felt the pain. ‘Tell me everything,’ I said, picking up a water bottle. I took a long drink as Jimbo spoke.

‘Well, I sat here for a while—’

‘On your bed. You were lying on your bed, reading the
Wisden
, yeah?’

‘Um, yeah, but that was okay, wasn’t it?’ Jimbo looked worried. ‘I mean, I didn’t think you needed the
Wisden
once you were gone.’

‘No, no. That was fine. But did I come back into the room at all?’

‘What do you mean?’

I took a deep breath. Maybe I
had
dreamed seeing Jimbo. Maybe it was an hallucination, caused by the injection that Smale had given me.

‘While you were lying on the bed reading the
Wisden
, did you hear me or see me?’

‘Nope. I only noticed you were back when I came up before lunch. That’s when I saw Smale. You were lying on the floor, sleeping like a baby. I just dragged you up onto your bed, threw a doona over you and went back down.’

‘Where did you say I was?’ I asked. Surely, someone would have come to check on me?

‘Ah, well, that was a bit tricky. I told Glenn down
in the nets that you’d been called out by your parents for an important appointment.’

‘You did?’

‘Yep. And same for Marto this afternoon.’

‘Marto?’

‘Our fielding coach. Boy, I gotta tell—’

‘Jimbo, have you seen Jim?’

‘Jim? Nope. Should I have?’ He must have noticed the look in my eyes. ‘So what happened with Jim and Ally?’

‘I never saw them,’ I said, reaching for my phone. ‘Smale trapped me, but I’ve got no idea how. I just hope he didn’t get Jim and Ally as well. We’ve got to move fast. I’ll ring home. Can you go and see if you can find David from the library?’

I pressed 1 on my phone and hit send. There was a knock on the door. I switched the phone off and looked over at Jimbo, who was frowning.

‘Who is it?’ he called.

‘It’s just David. Again,’ the librarian muttered apologetically, opening the door slightly.

‘David? Come in!’ My mind was slowly clearing and the feeling was creeping back into my arms and legs.

‘You’re back,’ David said, looking at me and nodding. ‘Jim told me everything. I feel so awful.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘The parcel I left for you—have you got it? The letter?’

I grabbed it from the table by the window and passed it to him. He read it quickly, muttering and shaking his head. ‘Oh dear. Just as we thought.’

‘Thought what? Who’s we? Do you mean Jim? Is he okay?’ The words gushed out.

David held up a hand. ‘Jim and Ally are fine. They returned quickly when you didn’t show up. But I couldn’t find you anywhere. Nor you,’ he added, looking at Jimbo.

‘I was here all afternoon, asleep on the bed,’ I said. Jimbo nodded.

‘Yes, well, I was away from the ground this afternoon,’ David said. ‘Never mind. All’s well, etc, etc. But I suggest you give Jim a call.’

‘So what happened?’ I asked.

David sighed. ‘I do feel very bad. I never thought for a moment that Phillip Smale would return to the library last night. But he did. And he tampered with your mail.’

‘What do you mean, tampered?’ Jimbo asked, looking from me to David.

‘He opened it, took out Jim’s letter and substituted it with another letter. One, I imagine, that lured you somewhere.’ David sat on the bed, took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Jim spoke to me about the letter he wrote to you. I can’t remember all the details, but I can assure you it wasn’t telling you to meet up with Phillip Smale. You were to meet Jim at the MCG.’

‘Here?’ I asked, incredulous.

‘Well, not exactly here, as in here right now.’ David chuckled.

‘C’mon, Toby, we’ve got a session out on the ground, looking at the pitch,’ Jimbo said, heading for the door.

‘You go. I’ll meet you out there. I’m just going to ring Jim.’

When Jimbo and David had left, I picked up the phone again and hit call. Dad answered after only a few rings. After a brief chat, I asked him to put Jim on the phone.

‘My dear boy,’ Jim began, sounding surprisingly cheerful given that I’d stuffed up.

‘Is Ally okay?’ I asked.

‘She’s fine. Another day won’t hurt, I’m sure. But I am very sorry about what occurred, Toby. I’m glad you’re safe. Tell me, what happened?’

I told Jim about meeting Smale at the Oval and his plan to force me to stay beyond the two-hour limit by handcuffing me to the fire escape stairs. ‘But I think I might have travelled anyway,’ I said, describing the vision I’d had of Jimbo lying on his bed reading the
Wisden
.

‘Very odd indeed,’ Jim said after a pause. ‘Smale restrained your body, but perhaps your mind travelled.’

‘You mean I was a ghost?’

‘You say Jimbo didn’t see you?’ Jim asked, ignoring my question.

‘I shouted and shouted but he didn’t look up once,’ I explained.

‘I’m not sure, Toby.’ Another pause. ‘But I must say, if you did in fact travel then you were extremely
lucky to get back to that stairwell in the London Underground. Extremely lucky.’

When I told Jim about the pale-faced guy who was after Smale’s scorecard, I heard his sharp intake of breath. He was silent so long I thought I’d lost the call.

‘Jim?’ I said.

‘This man had white hair?’ Jim asked sharply.

‘Yep. Short and spiky. And his face was so pale. It was if—’

‘As if he were a ghost.’ Jim finished the sentence.

‘Well, yeah, I guess. Not that I’ve ever seen one. It was as if he was dead. Or should have been.’

‘Did he speak to you? Did he know who you were?’

‘I don’t think so. He asked me where I was from, that’s all.’ I remembered something else. ‘And he knew that Smale didn’t have the
Wisden
with the scorecard in it. That’s why he left—to go and get it.’

Jim groaned. ‘And so Hugo Malchev now has the scorecard?’

‘Who?’ I said. ‘Do you know him?’

‘I know of him, Toby, yes.’ Jim paused. ‘Well, you can tell me more tonight. Ally and I will be in the library at 8 p.m. Georgie is coming along too.’

‘But what about Smale? What if he’s there? He’s still got the scorecard. He had it on him all along.’

‘Well, it’s a relief that Malchev didn’t get it,’ Jim said. ‘Don’t worry about Phillip—David’s seeing
to that. You know, that was really very clever of Smale,’ he went on. ‘He opened the parcel I gave to David to give to you, read the letter, realised what was happening and then rewrote the letter to lure you to England.’

‘To leave me stranded there for ever. What would have happened to me?’

‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, Toby. We should just be grateful that Malchev intervened and saved you.’

I stared out the window at the group of kids gathered around the MCG cricket pitch. The coach with them was pointing to a spot down at the southern end. Maybe they were the bowlers’ footmarks. I wanted to get out there too, but I had one more question to ask Jim. Something that had been bothering me ever since our conversation had started.

‘Jim, if Smale read your original letter, doesn’t that mean he knows where we’re taking Ally? Isn’t that going to make it dangerous for her?’

‘Leave these matters to me, Toby. I’ve made appropriate alterations to our travel plans.’

‘Well, let’s hope I don’t run into Smale again,’ I said. ‘Or the albino guy with the spiky hair. Who is he anyway?’

Jim grunted. ‘Smale won’t bother us, but Hugo Malchev I’m not sure about. I’ll tell you about him some other time.’ His voice suddenly lightened. ‘Now, what have you been up to?’

We talked a little about the cricket camp and the things Jimbo and I had seen and done, then I said goodbye and headed downstairs, tossing my bag, with my phone in it, alongside the others in the Frank Grey-Smith Room.

We spent almost an hour discussing the pitch. It was fascinating. Bob, the ground curator for the MCG, talked about the effect a grass cover had on pitches, cracks and bowlers’ footmarks, and how they helped spin bowlers.

After dinner Jimbo and I hung around the library, looking at the collection of
Wisden
s and watching a DVD in the viewing room of some classic Test match action. At least I wasn’t looking at my watch any more. When Jim poked his head around the corner, I was surprised to see that it was almost eight o’clock.

‘It’s time,’ Jim said quietly. David was standing behind him with Georgie.

‘Georgie, hi,’ I said, jumping out of my chair and racing over to her. There were suddenly a hundred things I had to tell her about the camp. ‘Geez, I wish you were a part of this.’ I didn’t quite know where to start. ‘The nets. They’re indoor, but there are also outdoor ones—’

Jim held up a hand. ‘Toby, time for all that later. We have a job to do first.’ I’d never seen Jim look so anxious and serious.

‘Where’s Ally?’ I asked, looking round.

‘She’s waiting in David’s office.’

‘Well, I guess I’ll be heading off,’ Jimbo muttered, standing.

‘No, no, Jimbo. You stay here,’ David said. ‘You and Georgie can help me sort through some posters we’ve just bought. I need someone to identify them and help me build a web page. Do you know how to scan images?’

Jimbo’s eyes lit up. ‘Sure!’ he said.

David caught me staring at him. ‘Don’t worry. Jim’s filled me in on your time travel adventures.’ He turned back to Jimbo. ‘Thanks, Jimbo. That will be a great help. Would you and Georgie mind waiting here while I arrange for the travellers, and then we’ll get to it.’

I gave Georgie a quick wave and followed Jim and David into David’s office. I could see one of the MCG light towers through the window and the footbridge further away. In the distance was the Tennis Centre and the roof of the Rod Laver Arena, where they played the Australian Open tennis tournament. Then I saw Ally.

‘Hi,’ I said, suddenly feeling nervous and awkward. I’d been waiting for this moment for so long and now it had finally arrived. Ally smiled, then stepped forwards and gave me a hug. I felt my face go red.

‘Let’s save the hugs till we’re back and Ally’s better,’ Jim said. He opened up a
Wisden
that was sitting on David’s table. ‘Toby, are you ready?’

I licked my lips and nodded.

I followed Jim’s finger to the spot and a number materialised from the white and black swirl. Somewhere behind me I heard a door close but I was already in another zone; the familiar sounds and sensations washed over me as I felt Ally’s hand grip mine tighter.

‘The number, Toby. Do you see the number? Bob Cowper made 99.’

‘Nine,’ I breathed. ‘Yes. There are two of them…’

It was the quickest, easiest trip I’d ever done. Jim must have noticed my surprise.

‘We’ve travelled in time,’ he said, ‘but not so many metres.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ally asked, looking around.

Jim waved us on. ‘I’ll explain on the way.’

I hadn’t noticed
the year of the
Wisden
, but I could see we were still at the MCG. I heard the noise of the crowd as we walked quickly down some concrete steps and into a large tunnel. We passed a first-aid room and then a block of toilets.

‘Which game is it, Jim? What’s happening?’

‘Not today, Toby.’

Jim’s shoulders were hunched and he was walking briskly. Ally struggled to keep up. Finally he paused at the bottom of some steps and I recognised where we were. An enormous oil painting of an old cricket match took up most of the wall opposite.

‘It’s the old library,’ I breathed, heading up the small flight of steps.

‘I think we’re a little early,’ Jim said.

We entered the library. The shelves of books looked the same as usual, though not quite as full. I glanced quickly at the
Wisden
cabinet to my right.

‘Is it 1966?’ I asked, noticing that the
Wisdens
stopped at 1965.

Jim sat down in one of the chairs at the oval table. ‘Almost, 30 December 1965. Not the most exciting of Test matches played, although Bill Lawry made a couple of solid half-centuries.’ I knew Bill Lawry from the television commentary team. He was a legendary opening batsman and had captained Australia.

‘Did we win?’

‘A draw.’

Ally rolled her eyes. ‘I thought we had to go to Lord’s, Jim?’ She sat down next to him.

‘So we did, Ally. But something has happened.’

‘What?’ I asked.

Jim shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know all the details yet. Marcus will fill us in, I’m sure.’

‘Marcus?’ I hadn’t heard the name before.

‘Marcus Fleming. One of the greatest of the Cricket Lords.’

‘Cricket Lords? Jim, you’re losing me. What’s a Cricket Lord?’

‘Dear Toby, so much to learn. I’ve tried to ensure that you know only what you need to with regard to our
Wisden
time travel. So much information for one so young is an unnecessary burden.’

‘The Cricket Lord, Jim…’ Ally leaned forward. ‘Is he the guy who’s going to help me?’

‘He most certainly is, Ally.’ Jim paused, leaning his head back. His eyes were closed. ‘Let me explain. On the morning of every Ashes Test match played at Lord’s and at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, a new Cricket Lord is appointed, voted in by the previous Lords. This happens every two years.’

Suddenly things clicked into place. ‘You were a Cricket Lord, weren’t you, Jim?’ I said.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. ‘Yes, Toby, I was a Cricket Lord.’

‘So that’s why you can stay away for longer than two hours?’ I asked.

Jim nodded.

‘Are you still a Cricket Lord?’ Ally asked.

‘No. Your tenure lasts two years. Although sometimes longer if there are no suitable candidates,
or if for some reason a Test match isn’t scheduled at either of the venues.’

Someone coughed behind us. I spun round quickly.

An old man doddered forward and took Jim’s hand. ‘Jim Oldfield, it has been a while. And who have we here, eh?’

‘Marcus,’ Jim said. ‘It’s very good to see you. Marcus Fleming, this is Toby Jones and his friend Ally McCabe.’

‘Delighted to meet you, I’m sure,’ the old man said. ‘Shall I take up the story, Jim? Alas, it’s not all good news.’

‘I feared as much.’ Jim turned to face Ally and me. ‘Toby, you’re caught up in this as much as we are, I’m afraid. It’s time you knew everything.’

Jim’s voice was very serious and a shiver went through me. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of being caught up in whatever he was talking about. I had a feeling this was way more important than Phillip Smale and the stolen scorecard.

‘You can be frank with them, Marcus,’ Jim said.

Marcus Fleming looked at us both carefully. He seemed almost sad.

‘As Jim was saying, a Cricket Lord was appointed every two years,’ he began.

‘Was?’ I interrupted.

Marcus nodded. ‘Was. After the fiasco of 1971 here in Melbourne, the practice was stopped. No more Cricket Lords were appointed.’ Marcus looked at Jim.
‘But I’m afraid Malchev has escaped and, even as I speak, is attempting to eliminate all the Cricket Lords.’

‘Malchev,’ I repeated, remembering the name. The pale figure who’d scared Smale into releasing me from his trap. Jim had wondered what Malchev’s motive was for helping me. Perhaps we were about to find out.

Ally stifled a yawn then looked embarrassed. Marcus clicked his tongue.

‘Poor girl. We should attend to her first, then I’ll explain everything fully.’ He led us to a wooden door at the back of the library. I hadn’t noticed it before. Jim saw my frown.

‘This is one room that not even David knows about,’ he said, and smiled. ‘There were shelves in front of it in our library.’

Marcus held up a
Wisden
in front of a small glass plate on the right side of the door. There was a click and the door opened slightly.

‘Any
Wisden
will work,’ Jim whispered to me. ‘Except the modern ones with the player pictures on the front covers.’

‘Does Phillip Smale know about this room?’ I asked, trying to get a glimpse inside.

‘I certainly hope not,’ Jim said.

Ally was in front of me, and gasped as she entered the room. I edged past her. My first thought was that we’d just travelled again—maybe not in time, but certainly to a different place.

‘The Sanctum,’ Marcus said, ushering us in.

I had only stepped a few paces inside but the door closing behind me sounded distant. I spun round, and to my amazement saw that the door was ten, maybe fifteen metres away.

‘A remarkable room isn’t it,’ Marcus said, his voice soft. ‘There was only one other like it. At Lord’s. But not any more.’

I stared around in wonder. The walls were lined with old, half-burnt cricket stumps, a gold plaque beneath each one. A dull glow from the far wall cast an eerie gloom and the lanterns around the room made our shadows flicker on the walls.

‘What do you mean?’ Jim said.

‘The Lord’s Sanctum has been destroyed by Malchev.’

Jim froze and I felt the heavy weight of his hand on my shoulder. ‘Lord’s?’ he whispered.

‘I am afraid so,’ Marcus said.

I barely heard Marcus’s words. We had reached the other end of the room and I was gaping at the wall lined with
Wisden
covers, each inside its own glass case. Some of them were glowing.

‘Travellers,’ Marcus said, pointing to one of the glowing covers. ‘See how brightly the 1967
Wisden
shines? That’s because it’s being used by two parties at the moment: you and me.’

A faint humming noise came from above. As we watched, one of the glowing
Wisden
s dulled, like a spotlight slowly fading. In a moment its cover was back in shadow.

‘Does that mean someone’s just returned from a travel?’ I whispered, amazed at this incredible wall of
Wisden
s.

‘Indeed,’ Marcus said. ‘If any of these
Wisdens
glows, we know there is a traveller using that edition to travel back in time. The brighter it glows, the more travellers are using it.’

I gazed around the chamber. Apart from the stumps and plaques near where we’d entered, and the
Wisden
s in their glass tombs, there was nothing except a rough-looking bed with a small bedside table. On the table stood a large candle.

‘Is this place real?’ I gasped. It was almost like a cave.

‘Oh yes, real enough,’ muttered Marcus. ‘The Sanctum is the home of the Cricket Lord. He has special powers that enable him to be away from here for days on end, roaming the world, watching cricket matches in whatever time he pleases, and as often—’

‘Marcus!’ Jim called sharply. ‘1967. Look!’

The humming noise from above increased slightly as the book glowed brighter.

‘Three travellers to this Test match,’ Marcus muttered. ‘I don’t like it. Malchev might already be aware of us. Come.’

He walked back towards the entrance, but not before I’d seen the worried look he gave Jim. Something big was about to happen. Maybe something bad.

‘What are the stumps for?’ I asked.

‘You’re about to find out,’ said Jim.

We stopped in front of one of the stumps, which leaned out from the wall at a 45-degree angle. The top half looked normal enough—although the wood was a darker brown than the pale colour I was used to—but the bottom section was burnt black and charred. I looked at the gold plaque beneath it and read the inscription aloud:

‘Jim Oldfield. Cricket Lord, Melbourne—1950.’

‘What’s going on?’ Ally asked.

‘I will explain it all fully later,’ Jim said, looking at Ally and me, ‘For the moment all you need to know is that this stump represents me as a Cricket Lord. These stumps are crafted from the very wood that was used to make Father Time—the famous weather vane at Lord’s—and are the essence of what it means to be a Cricket Lord. The wood holds magical properties that none of us is fully aware of, but when part of the stump is burned and the smoke inhaled—’

Marcus coughed. ‘Jim, we may not have much time.’

It all sounded crazy to me.

Jim smiled. ‘It’s all in the ashes, Toby. The ashes from the stumps here.’

‘The Ashes?’ I said, staring wide-eyed at the stump Marcus was now holding.

‘Not
the
Ashes, no. But the concept is not dissimilar.’

I knew the story about how the burnt remains of
a bail from a game between England and Australia—which Australia had won—had been deposited in an urn and then used as the trophy Australia and England played for. That was why Test matches between the two countries were called Ashes Tests. Holding the Ashes was the most important prize in world cricket; except maybe the World Cup.

Ally and I watched as Marcus held the charred end of the stump over the flame in one of the lanterns. The smell of burning wood filled the air. It was sweet and rich.

‘Ally.’ Marcus motioned her closer. ‘I want you to shut your eyes and very gently breathe in the smoke that drifts over to you, is that clear?’

Ally nodded. Jim took my arm and we moved back a few paces. Marcus swung the lantern gently backwards and forwards, causing the smoke to drift towards Ally. I watched her carefully as the dark smoke wafted over her.

‘That’s very good,’ Marcus said in a soothing voice. ‘Keep your eyes closed.’ Then he glanced at Jim, a look of anguish on his face.

Jim lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. ‘Keep going, Marcus,’ he said. ‘We may not be able to return here again.’

As I watched, Jim’s face turned an ashy grey colour and his mouth began to twitch.

‘Jim, what’s happening?’ I cried, frightened by his sudden change. I saw Marcus look desperately from Jim to Ally. Why was he looking so frightened? Ally,
her eyes still closed, seemed blissfully unaware of the events going on around her.

‘Jim…’ Marcus said tentatively.

‘Keep going.’ Jim was struggling to talk.

After one more swing Marcus slid a panel in the lantern closed and it stopped smoking. He smothered the burning end of the stump in a cloth he’d pulled out of his pocket, then rushed over to Jim.

‘Go to Ally,’ he told me. ‘Talk to her.’

Flecks of spit had formed around Jim’s mouth and his breathing was raspy. His chest rose in short, quick bursts. Whatever Marcus had done to Ally had in turn hurt Jim.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ I yelled.

‘Guys?’ Ally said.

I turned around. She looked browner, healthier all of a sudden.

‘Is that it?’ she asked. ‘Am I fixed?’

‘You’re on the road to recovery, certainly,’ Marcus said, then turned back to Jim.

‘Is that all it took?’ she said, staring at me. ‘Just a bit of smoke from some old stump, and now I’m okay?’

‘Shut up, Ally,’ I snapped. ‘What about Jim? Look what you’ve done to him.’

‘What do you mean what
I’ve
done to him? What’s wrong—’

‘Shhhh, both of you,’ Marcus ordered. ‘Listen to me. That was not “some old stump”; that was the stump that gave your friend Jim here the power to be a Cricket Lord. And it’s helped Ally like no
medicine could.’ Marcus sounded angry now. ‘You have no idea—’

‘Marcus.’ Jim’s voice sounding tired. ‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’ I said, looking at Marcus.

Marcus shook his head. ‘It’s time for you to take Ally home,’ he said.

‘But what’s happened to Jim? Will he be okay?’

Ally’s bounciness had quickly disappeared. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise what was going on.’

Jim’s mouth moved gently, as if he was trying to say something, but his eyes remained closed.

Instantly I realised why Jim had been working on his strength over the past months. He’d known all along what was going to happen, that the only way for Ally to get her strength back was for him to give it to her—from himself via the stump. As Ally got stronger, Jim got weaker. There was no risk or worry for me at all—it was Jim who was in danger with this trip. And he hadn’t told me.

‘I fear Jim should have taken more time to build up his power,’ Marcus said softly. He glanced at Ally. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Totally fine. Like I’ve just woken up from the longest sleep of my life and now I want to make up for a wasted half-year.’

Jim opened his eyes. He looked dazed; as though he wasn’t quite all there.

‘Well, in a sense that is exactly what’s happened,’ Marcus said. ‘But remember this. For the gain you have made, someone else has lost.’

‘Marcus, that will be enough,’ Jim said, his voice hoarse. He nodded to me and gently clasped my hand in his. He looked so old, his face lined and drawn. ‘Now, what of this Malchev fellow?’ he said slowly.