Stokes - Addison Cooke and the Ring of Destiny

ADDISON COOKE WAS DOWN on his luck. Rain clouds had been following him around for months, though to be fair, he was in England. Whatever switch controlled the British weather was permanently stuck on Rain. Addison imagined that if archaeology didnt work out for him, he could always enjoy an extremely easy career as an English weatherman.

Todays weather was even more dismal than normal, and the same could safely be said for Addisons mood. He was, in a word, miffed.

His troubles had begun, as troubles often do, when his aunt and uncle were thrown from a cliff in Outer Mongolia. This unfortunate act had been perpetrated by a dangerous man named Vrolok Malazar, known in criminal circles as the Shadow.

Fearing for Addisons life, Addisons uncle Jasper had sent him into hiding at the Dimpleforth School in the town of Weebly-on-Hammerstead. The boarding school was founded by King Edward III more than six hundred years ago, and as far as Addison could tell, no one had yet updated the plumbing.

Dimpleforth was a rambling estate filled with rambling professors and blue-eyed, blue-blooded students with family names older than the ivy-covered buildings. The daily dress code at Dimpleforth was a black tailcoat, a starched white collar, and pinstripe trousers. Trousers, Addison had discovered, was the British word for pants, and pants was the British word for underwear. Addison learned this the hard way on his first day of school, when he innocently asked his professor if the dress code required him to wear pants to lunch.

This mistake earned Addison his first trip to the headmasters office, where he was sentenced to sit quietly for two hours after dinner. And this, in turn, was how Addison learned that dinner was in fact the British word for lunch, and tea was the British word for dinner. Thus, Addison showed up for his detention at dinnertime, or rather teatime, and missed lunch, that is to say, dinner, entirely. And so Addison earned his second detention right on top of the first. Try as he might, Addison could not seem to get the hang of England.

Now here he was, stuck playing a game of cricket in a spitting drizzle. The two team captains happened to be the two meanest boys at Dimpleforth: Weston Whitley from Upper Nobbly, and Randall Twigg, a scholarship student from Lower Nobbly. They took infinite pleasure in teasing Addison for his complete lack of understanding of the British game.

Cricket, Addison had discovered, was much like baseball, if baseball had been designed by a vast committee of bureaucrats paid by the hour. The game of cricket was four hundred years old, and no wonder: a single match lasted thirty hours over the course of an entire week. Weston Whitleys team was currently beating Addisons team by a staggering three hundred points.

Addison trudged across the muddy grass to take his place in the outfield. He had no idea which position to play. Where should I stand?

Randall Twigg squinted at Addison in disgust. Just stand at cow corner so the ball will never come to you.

Which way is cow corner?

Its next to deep midwicket, you grotty ferret. Unless... Randall added thoughtfully, unless we move to attacking field, in which case youll move up to midwicket.

Addison shook his head and sighed. He trotted to the farthest corner of the playing field and stood next to his roommate, Wilberforce Sinclair, the one person in school who would bother to answer his questions. Addison had no friends to turn to. Wilber, why do they call me a ferret?

Wilberforce pushed his foggy glasses higher on his narrow nose. Because a ferret is a rabbit, you see.

How, asked Addison as patiently as he could, is a ferret a rabbit?

In cricket theyre much the same thing. A rabbit is someone who scores zero points. And in cricket, zero points is called a duck.

So a ferret is a rabbit with a duck.

Wilberforce clapped Addison on the shoulder. Now youre getting it.

Addison found this all so dumb that he found he was dumbfounded. It was one thing to have a nickname. But it was another thing to have a nickname that made no earthly sense.

After watching the grass grow in the outfield for a good half hour, it was finally Addisons turn to go to bat. Any advice? he asked Wilberforce.

Wilberforce polished his glasses on his white cable-knit sweater. Its easy, really. Dont swing at anything off stump, block any yorkers, and cut the bouncers. Unless... he added helpfully, unless you play off the back foot, in which case pull the bouncers.

Thanks, said Addison, thoroughly confused. He trotted to the stump, hefted the cricket bat over his shoulder, and wound up like a baseball player. This resulted in Weston Whitley toppling to the ground in laughter. Addison gripped his bat, unsure whether he wanted to hit the ball or just take a run at Westons kneecaps.

Ferret, said Weston, in cricket, we bat underhanded, like swinging a golf club.

Addison adjusted his grip accordingly. Just pitch me the ball. He wanted to get this over with.