Return of the Emerald Skull Read Online Free Page B

I'd picked up during my brief observation of the game, my task was to hitone of the targets in the outfield, where a catcher with a long-netted stick stood waiting. The shot would determine how much of a free run I'd have to get round the bases, before the opposing team were allowed to tackle me or trip me up with the fives mallets – or ‘toe-crushers’ – they brandished. If the ball was caught, then I was out, and it was game over.
    I glanced across at Mr Cripps. From the glint in those watery blue eyes of his, I had the feeling he intended to teach me a lesson. As referee, he wouldn't find it hard.
    A hush descended as the pitcher stepped forward on the playing field. The farthest target from me would give me three bases before the tacklers could move. It was my best shot.
    I nodded, and the pitcher lobbed a nasty-looking screwball my way. I stepped back, giving it air, then swung the bat in a graceful arc with all my might.

    I stepped back … then swung the bat in a graceful arc with all my might.
    THWACK!
    The bat and ball connected sweetly, and the crowd
oohed!
then
aahed!
as the ball flew over the target keeper and thudded into the three-base target. Flinging away the bat, I was off round the bases at a nervous trot as the tacklers, rooted to their field positions, waited like chained lurchers eyeing a mad March hare.
    Peeeeep!
    Cripps's whistle sounded as my foot hit third base. A trifle early, I thought – but I wasn't about to complain. Not with five tacklers tearing towards me from the four corners of the field, waving their mallets at knee height.
    Whoosh!
    I jumped over the first mallet and swerved past a second. The third and fourth tacklers collided with the fifth in their eagerness to get at me. The home base was in front of me as, on the sidelines, the members of IbisHouse cheered wildly and threw their tasselled caps in the air. I was going to score a home dodge, and an eagle's eye at that!
    All at once, out of nowhere – like a brick wall or a fog-smothered chimney stack – Mr Cripps rose up in front of me, his red, snarling face bearing down and his great ham-like hands outstretched. It was obstruction, plain and simple, but since he was the referee, there was no point appealing. Instead, at the last moment, I dropped into a perfectly executed Peabody Roll, straight through the great oaf's legs, and up again.
    Crash!
    The schoolmaster bit the dust behind me with a shout of rage as I trotted on to home base and the congratulations of my teammates!
    I left them to enjoy the victory and took off before old Cripps started asking awkward questions, and was back in the bustling heart of the city as the newspaper hawkers werehitting the streets with the late editions.
    ‘Read all about it!’ they were shouting above the babble of voices and clatter of carriage wheels. ‘Ghost ship found on mudbank!’
    Tired as I was, and ready for my bed, that got my attention all right. I stopped one of the newspaper hawkers and bought a copy. As I stood beneath the gaslight on the corner of Ox Bucket Lane, it was all I could do to keep my hands from shaking when I read the inky black newsprint.
    T he
Ipanema,
a merchant sailing vessel, was found grounded on the mudbanks just south of the Spruton Bill lighthouse this morning by a party of fishermen. The ship was deserted, apparently abandoned by its entire crew. Their hasty and chaotic departure was indicated byupturned tables, meals left half eaten and, most singular of all, a blood-stained boat-hook pinning a banknote to the door of the captain's cabin …

eedless to say, I didn't get much sleep that night in my attic rooms, and what little I did get was disturbed by dreams of ghostly ships, wild-eyed captains and bloody cargo hooks. When at last I tumbled out of my bed and dashed some water in my face, I knew I had some decisions to make.
    Should I go to the authorities and inform them of my visit to the
Ipanema
? Or should I return to Archimedes Barnett and