Silverstone Part One: Through Dark Waters (4 page)

They sat and talked for a
while. Ben told Tim about his own change of scenery and the classes
Tim had missed. After a while he decided to mention the swimming
pool. “So have you heard about the weird swimming pool here?”

“The old one, where someone
drowned ages ago?”

“Yeah.” Ben paused, considering
how to go on. “There’s definitely something strange about it. I had
to swim on the first day of term. It sounds strange but it felt
like there were some strong currents in it. Just like you might
find out at sea.”

Tim didn’t look up from his
bowl of rice pudding. He ate like a boy twice his tiny size. Ben
sensed he was listening intently as he scraped the sides.

“I could feel something pulling
me under in the class last time, and then I managed to get out, and
the janitor was standing there like he knew what was going on. He’s
a bit odd too I think.”

Tim looked up, his bowl so
clean it could have been put straight away. “Hmmm, could be a drain
that’s got some strange pressure on it I suppose? I think we have a
class there tomorrow don’t we, so we could test it together then?
I’m not a very good swimmer though. I don’t exercise much really.”
He smiled.

Ben felt much better having
confided in him, and lighter getting the story off his chest.

They packed up their trays,
deposited them at the cleanup point, and walked out together into
the playground.

The next day, all Ben could
think about was the afternoon swimming lesson.

He missed his lines a few times
during English, and Lucy giggled as he tried to catch up.

He survived a surprise test
from Mr Lomonosovsky on forces.

Finally, the clock struck 3,
and he walked with Tim over to the looming brick gymnasium. The
lights from the exercise hall beamed out into the cold grey
afternoon as they trampled over a few soggy autumn leaves towards
it. Ben’s heart was already beating hard, and his chest hurt
again.

After they had changed, Ben and
Tim were put with Paul and Mary in one lane. Ben was relieved to be
nowhere near Jordan or Freddy this time, but barely heard Mr Taylor
barking instructions for the lesson as he stood on the side
shivering with his group.

Mr Evren was there again in the
stands, only this time he was awake, watching them.

They started by swimming four
lengths of breaststroke. Ben swam as fast as he could do without
overtaking Tim, and offered some words of encouragement to keep the
smaller boy going. Mary and Paul sped past them.

Then they moved on to
backstroke, and Ben found his hands hitting his friend’s feet. He
didn’t mind though as it kept him focussing on something besides
the darkness below him. So far, so good, he thought.

The class paused at the shallow
end while Mr Taylor shouted some further orders at them. This time
they were to race in freestyle, and Ben was pitted against Mary in
the first race of their lane, with Tim to race Paul second.

Mr Taylor gave them a few
minutes to line up at the edge.

Ben’s teeth chattered hard as
he moved towards the start beside Mary. He glanced at Tim behind
him at the lane edge, who nodded and gave a sympathetic smile. In
the bleachers Mr Evren sat watching.

Ben stood in position, ready to
dive in. He stared down at the shallow water and the strange
mosaics decorating its bottom. Swirling shapes and intricate
patterns. Nothing he recognised. His eyes followed them away into
the distance; to the dark waters he was about to swim straight
into.

The whistle blew.

Ben burst away, nervous energy
coursing through him. He was already a full body length ahead of
Mary. He could hear the shouts from the side, and the splashes of
swimmers in the other lanes as he took his first breath. He knew he
was way ahead of them, but didn’t care. His adversary was the pool
itself.

As he surged ahead, he watched
the slope of bright mosaics fade away beneath him, until he could
see nothing but shadow. He looked ahead for the end of the pool,
but couldn’t make anything out. To his left, he could still see a
section of the lane marker. He just had to stay close to it.

He swam hard. All he could hear
now was his own heart, beating so powerfully in his ears he thought
it might just burst. But there was also an energy unlike anything
he’d ever felt pumping through his arms and legs and powering him
on.

He knew he must be approaching
the turn.

Suddenly though, he began to
feel something. A surge of panic hit him as he felt the swirling
drag of the water below him.

He took another stroke, and
pulled his head out for a breath. Where was the lane marker? The
water was swelling around him like waves. His head turned back
down, but all around him was dark.

He swam still harder, but he
could feel the water building in strength, determined to catch him
and suck him down into the blackness. It almost had him in its
grasp.

He fought on, but could feel
the energy in him beginning to wane. In desperation he considered
stopping to call for help, but knew the water would gain an even
stronger hold around him if he did.

He realised he was going to go
underwater.

The pool pulled him down
relentlessly, and as his strokes slowed, his arms and legs no
longer broke the surface.

Ben sunk.

His heart beat in his ears as
he stopped swimming, and turned to watch the fading light of the
pool surface above him. He caught sight of Mary and a few of the
swimmers from lanes near theirs. Soon they would come down too, he
thought, and then Mr Taylor would realise and pull everyone out
somehow. He just had to hold on. He held his breath, and tried to
save his energy and stay calm, but knew he only had a minute at
most.

The other swimmers passed
overhead, and the surface quickly darkened.

He didn’t understand. Was it
just a drain problem under his lane? That was impossible. A pull
this strong would definitely catch other swimmers in the lanes
beside his. And why had it not affected Mary for that matter? His
mind raced as fast as his heart as he tried to think. Maybe if he
waited till he reached the bottom he might be able to get out
through a pipe? The air was running out though, and his confusion
was not helping.

Still further down he went. The
water was thick and heavy around him, and he could barely see his
hands. His ears popped.

He curled into a ball and
imagined the things that might be waiting for him down there.

The water swirled and he spun
in all directions.

Ben knew he was running out of
breath. Hopefully his parents wouldn’t cry too much, he thought. He
wanted them to be happy in their new, old house. An overwhelming
sadness mixed with anger inside him, and he sobbed into his
goggles.

But then, all of a sudden,
there were flickers of light.

Light above him.

The water seemed to have
relaxed its icy grip, if only for a moment, and he thought he might
actually be floating upwards now.

He pulled away towards the
light, swimming desperately upwards. It was close now; he just
needed to reach it to see his family again. He didn’t understand,
but nothing else mattered.

He was reaching the very limit
of his breath when at last he broke the surface, and gasped a deep,
desperate mouthful of cold air.

He opened his eyes, but his
goggles had steamed up. He felt a cold droplet land on his
forehead. Then another.

He lifted his goggles and
looked around for the rest of the swimming class.

But the other students were
nowhere to be seen, and Ben was not in the swimming pool
anymore.

Ben took a few more deep
breaths, wondering if he was in shock.

A thick mist surrounded him on
the water. Above, the sky was an angry grey, and there were flashes
of lightning and loud thundercracks as the rain fell.

Had the roof of the gymnasium
just blown off in some kind of a freak storm?

The water swelled, lifting Ben
just high enough to see above the mists. He thought he saw a light,
and perhaps a shore in the distance.

How on earth had he got here?
The water had pulled him down; he remembered that much, and then
had suddenly released him and he’d swum back up to the surface. But
this was definitely not the same surface where he’d been swimming
laps in Mr Taylor’s class a few minutes ago. Was this a dream? Had
he drowned?

Before he had long to
contemplate his predicament, he heard a shout nearby. He twisted in
the direction it had come from, and listened above the thunder. It
came again. It sounded angry, and Ben wondered whether Mr Taylor
had somehow followed him and he was now in serious trouble.

The shout came again, this time
with other cries beside it.

Ben waited patiently for
another wave to crest on the rough waters, and looked for the
source of the shouts.

There, two swimming pool
lengths away, was a boat. It was wooden, he could tell that much,
and appeared to be simply but solidly crafted. It carried around
twenty men, all clad in what looked like old-fashioned leather and
metal armour. They rowed hard right towards him, shouting angrily
as they came.

Ben wondered if he had found
his way into a re-enactment of a historic sea battle. He raised his
hands tentatively, and waved at the boat. Thoughts of all the
trouble he would be in danced in his mind, but he was getting
colder by the minute, and just wanted to get out of the water and
go home. An image of Paddy shivering in sympathy flashed into his
head.

“Help!” he cried.

The boat kept coming, and the
shouts became louder, angrier.

Were they going to run him
over? Ben swam off to one side of the boat. “Hey! Hey! Help me!” He
waved frantically as the boat neared.

At last, one of the oarsmen at
the front of the vessel turned towards him, and slowed his row
strokes. “Woah!” he shouted above the storm.

The other oarsmen slowly
stopped, and the man stood up. He wore a large and crudely made
metal helmet, which covered his face down to his nose, and which
had a single spike on the head plate that seemed to have been
positioned more by chance than craftsmanship. Long dark hair
trailed out from underneath the helmet, and a beard glistened in
the rain. He stared at Ben.

“I’m not part of this
re-enactment. Please can you help me get to the shore?” Ben
shouted.

The man stared. He looked to
his side at another man almost as big, and then back to Ben. “What
kind of fish are you then, lad?”

The other men laughed
loudly.

Ben waited.

“If you ain’t a fish, you’re
braver than most to swim on the lake, and on a day like this.” The
man waved up at the storm.

Ben expected the man very soon
to realise he was not a part of the game, and to feel pretty stupid
about leaving him in the cold water for so long.

“Answer me quickly then boy:
are you a friend of King Elmer?”

Ben considered. That might be a
password of some kind for the game. He decided to try playing along
in the hope of speeding things up. “Yes. I am a friend of King
Elmer.”

The man watched him carefully.
He didn’t seem to be convinced, and Ben was tiring. He had almost
drowned after all, and was now treading water in a freezing lake,
in the middle of a storm.

“Look please I just need to get
out of the water and get home. I don’t know how I got here, but
there’s been a mistake of some kind and I need to get home. My
parents and school teachers will be worrying about me.”

This seemed to stir the men up.
But as they began to discuss, a great shout went up from the bank
where Ben had seen the light a moment ago. He heard the clash of
metal on metal, and people screaming.

There must be another part of
the re-enactment on the shore, Ben thought.

The men hurriedly began to set
their oars.

Ben shouted again. “Oh come on
please, I need to get out here!”

The man looked around at his
fellow actors. Then he lunged over the side towards Ben, and in a
swift motion, grabbed him under his armpits and dragged him over
the side and into the boat, throwing him onto the boards between
the two rowers’ benches.

Ben felt a bit ridiculous lying
there in his Hulstead College swimming shorts, with his goggles
around his neck, so he quickly tried to sit up and look like he was
in control, but banged his head on an oar handle.

The men all stared at him, but
quickly turned their attention back to the lake bank. They began to
row hard.

Ben looked around for something
to keep warm or dry off. As soon as they arrived at the shore he
would find someone with some sense to help him. Then he’d get a hot
chocolate, and have a hot bath back at home as soon as he could,
and work out an explanation for all this madness.

Under one of the benches he
noticed a blanket of some kind, and reached for it. He dried
himself as best he could, hugging his chest and rubbing his arms to
warm up. Then he realised the blanket was in fact a sort of long
woolly shirt. He quickly put it on and continued rubbing.

The men continued to ignore Ben
as they rowed through the choppy water, shouting angrily towards
the bank. Other shouts met theirs. He wondered what would happen
when they landed. The battle re-enactment would get into full
swing, he supposed, and he would have to try to avoid being
pretend-hit by anyone silly enough to think he was involved.

A moment later Ben heard a loud
whooshing sound from the direction of the shore. An oarsman at the
front of the boat screamed out, “arrows, take cover!” and stopped
rowing. He clutched his right forearm, and Ben saw what looked very
much like a wooden arrow sticking out of it.