“Yeah, not bad,” said Max. “I’d lick your face, but it looks sort of dirty.”
Frankie patted his head. “You’re the most valuable player,” he said. “The way you stood up to that lion was incredible.”
Max lifted his shoulders in a doggy shrug. “It was nothing. Like Louise said, ‘Just a pussycat.’ ”
Frankie realized that the crowd had gone completely silent. He let his eyes sweep over the thousands of unsmiling faces. They weren’t expecting us to win….
“Ouch! Ow! No!”
On the other side of the arena, Captain Lasher was giving Brutus and Snatcher a taste of her whip.
“You’re pathetic!” she raged. “I’d be better off substituting you for statues, for all the good you did. Call that footwork, Brutus? Call that defense, Snatcher?”
Charlie grabbed the ball out of the goal and held it aloft for the Ref to see.
“The game’s over!” he cried. “Now, let us go.”
The Ref looked at them, his eyes fierce, but it was the announcer who spoke, looking down his nose at them.
“The game is not over until the Ref decides,” he said. “Thumbs up, you may leave. Thumbs down, it’s back in the dungeons to fight another day.”
The Referee held out his arms, thumbs pointed sideways.
“Dungeons!” called one of the spectators.
“Feed them to Ferox!” called another.
The Ref’s thumbs began to turn downward.
“This isn’t right!” said Louise. “We won fair and square.”
More people were crying out, “Ferox! Ferox!”
“I don’t think the rules are the same here,” said Frankie. As the shouts grew louder, his hopes began to fade. “I’m sorry, guys,” he said. “I tried ―”
“Frankie, listen!” said Charlie, a smile starting to spread over his face.
Frankie stopped talking. Louise was grinning, too, and he realized why. The crowd had stopped shouting the lion’s name. They were chanting something else.
“FRAN-KIE! FRAN-KIE! FRAN-KIE!”
Frankie glanced at the Ref. His thumbs turned upward and cheers shook the arena. Pride swelled in Frankie’s chest.
“Release them!” cried the announcer. “The winners are Frankie’s FC.”
Two servants rushed to the main gate and drew back its heavy bolts.
As the doors opened, an incredible sight met their eyes. Frankie saw gleaming temples covered in colorful stone, soaring arches, and tall columns. Hills covered in grand villas rose in the distance.
“Ancient Rome!” gasped Louise.
“Stop that lion!” bellowed the announcer.
Before the servants could move, Ferox had slipped through the open gates.
“At least one of their teammates escaped the dungeon,” said Charlie.
“Let’s go home,” said Max, scampering ahead.
Frankie followed him, waving to the crowd. But doubts were growing in the back of his mind. What if they couldn’t get home?
“Where’d Max go?” asked Charlie, slightly ahead. “He was here a moment ago.”
Then Charlie vanished, too.
As Frankie stepped through the gates, sunlight blinded him. When he opened his eyes, he was standing ankle-deep in the sandbox, back in the park.
Clouds hung in the sky and water dripped from the trees. The others hopped out of the wet sand.
“Hey, where’ve you been?” It was Kevin’s voice.
Max barked and Frankie spun around. His brother was walking toward them, his ball in his hand and his friends following behind.
“We … we were just playing soccer,” said Frankie.
“In a sandbox?” said Kevin, frowning.
“Yes!” said Charlie and Louise together.
Kevin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Well, anyway, listen. We thought we’d play a game with you, now that the rain’s stopped.”
“A game?” said Frankie.
Kevin waved his ball. “Y’know, soccer, Frankenstein. Unless you’re scared?”
Frankie grinned and looked at the others. “Scared? No, we don’t scare very easily.”
As Kevin led them back to the field, he looked Frankie up and down. “Why aren’t you soaked? It was pouring a minute ago.”
“Um …” Frankie searched for an answer.
“We hid under … um, the slide,” said Louise.
* * *
At the dinner table that evening, Kevin was sulking.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Frankie’s mom. “Your face looks like you just sucked on a lemon.”
“Nothing,” grumbled Kevin.
He lost three–one to a group of kids, thought Frankie, finishing his meal. They’d had his favorite dinner: pizza. Max was sitting beside his chair, looking up hopefully for scraps.
Frankie’s dad came in with a cup of tea and sat down. “Well, here’s something to cheer you up,” he said. “I just heard on the radio that there’s a lion on the loose in town.” He chuckled, obviously not taking it seriously.
Frankie felt blood rushing to his face. It can’t be …
“That’s crazy,” said Kevin, pushing pieces of crust around his plate.
His dad took a sip from his mug. “Apparently they had to get the zookeeper to track it down,” he said. “It’s a big guy, with a huge mane.”
Frankie managed to recover, and glanced down at Max. “It’s probably just a big pussycat,” he said with a grin.
Many thanks to everyone at Little, Brown Book Group UK; Neil Blair, Zoe King, Daniel Teweles, and all at The Blair Partnership; Mike Jackson for bringing my characters to life; special thanks to Michael Ford for all his wisdom and patience; and to Steve Kutner for being a great friend and for all his help and guidance not just with this book but with everything.
Help Frankie and his friends through the maze to find their magic soccer ball!
FOLLOW FRANKIE’S ADVENTURES IN THE NEXT BOOK:
Frankie led the way, closing his eyes as he passed through the wall. When he opened them, the farm was gone. He found himself standing at the end of a dusty street lined with ramshackle wooden buildings. One had a “General Store” sign above the door. Another looked like a saloon, with a wooden porch and swing doors. Shutters covered most of the windows. Beyond the street stretched miles of sandy desert dotted with cacti, and in the distance mountains rose in a haze of heat. What looked like a single line of railroad track vanished into the distance. The magic soccer ball was resting alongside a water trough outside a blacksmith’s stall.
Frankie sniffed — the air smelled strangely sweet, like caramel.
“Where are we?” asked Charlie. Instead of his school uniform, he was now wearing faded jeans and shirt with a neckerchief and a wide-brimmed hat.
“When are we?” asked Louise, who was tugging at the hem of a frilly red dress. “This is not my style at all!”
Frankie glanced down at his own clothes. He saw boots with spurs, pants with leather chaps and a brown shirt. Stitched onto the shirt was his FFC logo.
We must be here to play a game!
Max scampered along, sniffing the ground. “Looks like the Wild West to me!” he barked.
ALSO BY FRANK LAMPARD
Frankie vs. the Pirate Pillagers
Frankie vs. the Rowdy Romans
Frankie vs. the Cowboy’s Crew
Frankie vs. the Mummy’s Menace
Copyright © 2013 by Lamps On Productions. All rights reserved.
Published by Scholastic Inc., 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012, by arrangement with Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First printing, June 2014
Cover art by MJ Illustrations
Cover design by Claire Moore
e-ISBN 978-0-545-66615-2
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, r
everse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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