Authors: Chris Mould
The Icy Hand (4 page)
A Fish Out of Water
Outside, the cold had taken a firm grip over Crampton Rock. Stanley stared out from his bedroom window. Frost scratched at the panes, and an icy draft slipped in around the window frame. Stanley could feel in the air that it was about to snow heavily; a freezing wind was whipping up a storm in the distance.
And it was carrying something with it.
Stanley knew he had to be up early the next morning, and that alone was enough to give him a poor night's sleep, never mind all his other. By the time he saw Daisy again there would be so much more to tell her. And he wasn't sure she would even believe most of it.
At six a.m. he was unscrewing the pike's glass case, in the dark of the early morning. He placed it carefully on the floor.
And now for the pike. Stanley was almost afraid to touch him, and he was also worried about the safety of the Ibis. He knew that he must not touch it again. But just as he was reviewing this very thought, the pike spoke. “Take the tongs from the kitchen drawer, Stanley, and remove her carefully from inside me. Place her under the loose floorboard that sits directly beneath me. Don't be afraid. I trust in you.”
Stanley felt good. The pike trusted him. But when he fumbled with the floorboards, he found himself unable to lift them at all. Frustrated, he ran to the kitchen and returned with the tongs and a sharp blade that he used to ease up the edge of the boarding.
“That's it,” encouraged the pike. “She will be fine resting there. We do not want to waken every crook and villain from here to eternity. You would not wish to start the quickeningâotherwise you can say goodbye to all you have.”
Stanley was listening with the tongs in his hand, waiting for the pike to finish. He knew nothing of this thing the pike called the quickening.
“You look confused, young Stanley,” continued the fish, “but don't be. It is quite simple. When you held the Ibis in your hand, a faint quiver echoed across the earth. But if she touches the water, a monstrous tremor will waken the world of the dead and buried, and you will have to fight for your life.”
Stanley stared wide-eyed in disbelief, but deep down he knew that the pike had always told him the truth. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Now, take me in your arms and let us do what we need to do,” instructed the pike.
Cupping the fish's belly with his left hand, Stanley placed his right arm over its back, just in front of the large fin. At first it felt awkward, but then the pike seemed to wriggle right into place.
Oh, what a strange feeling!
The sensation of
holding the great fish was hypnotic, and Stanley felt himself swooning and buckling at the knees.
The sensation of
holding the great fish was hypnotic, and Stanley felt himself swooning and buckling at the knees.
“Keep your head, little hero!” requested the pike.
Stanley gathered his thoughts and carefully made his way to the kitchen door. The fish was heavy and the walk up to the lake was a lengthy one. He remembered the inscription on the casing: “A preserved 22½-lb pike caught by Admiral Bartholomew Swift in Crampton Springs, 1827.”
An icy blast assailed Stanley as he fumbled at the door. He set out into the morning with his scarf-wrapped head down, struggling to pull on his gloves as he held on to the pike's carcass. His footprints gave away his route as he crunched across the
frosted lawn toward the gate, to make his way across the moor.
frosted lawn toward the gate, to make his way across the moor.
As he walked he sang, to cheer himself. The strange sensation of carrying the pike warmed him, but it grew heavier as he ventured farther.
In a short while they were up by the old water mill. When they had crossed the wooden footbridge he stopped to rest a while on a milestone.
“You are doing well, Stanley. It is cold for you I know, yet I do not feel it myself.” The pike felt a surge of excitement, and his belly tingled. He longed for the water.
Stanley did not answer. He was regaining his breath. Instead, he patted the head of the pike to acknowledge him, then he rose to his feet and carried on.
Unfortunately it was all uphill from there. On a summer's day Stanley would have trotted there in ten minutes. The journey had taken forty minutes in the freezing cold, but at last he was at the edge of the lake.
“Ahhh, home again!” said the pikeâand for a second, Stanley wondered if it was a good idea to let him back into the water. But he hadn't come this far to change his mind at the last minute, so he braced himself over the water's edge.
“When you're ready, Stanley. When you're ready.”
The great fish slithered downward into the icy water, and the last Stanley saw of him was his tail flickering and propelling him into the depths.
Stanley sat and waited for what seemed like hours. He felt the ends of his stringy hair freezing together in lumps as he watched the morning light start to appear over the sea.
Below, the pike glided gracefully.
Oh, the feeling was too good
.
I could stay here
, he thought.
I would really be so much happier if I was still here among the reeds
.
Oh, the feeling was too good
.
I could stay here
, he thought.
I would really be so much happier if I was still here among the reeds
.
He searched through the flowing tendrils of plants and watched the water life dart out of his way. Oh yes, they feared him. He was really someone down here. Someone grand and respected. No one thought he was a
trout
down here. They knew the difference, and it meant a great deal to all of them.
trout
down here. They knew the difference, and it meant a great deal to all of them.
The pike shot downward into the deep. He was searching now. He knew the head of Admiral Swift would lie at the bottom. Then, out of the darkness, he glimpsed the milky white skin of the Admiral's face. He wanted to nip off the admiral's nose and leave it there while he settled back into life among the reeds. But Stanley needed him.
The pike took a good length of Admiral Swift's wispy white hair between his sharp teeth. Then, with a sharp flick that stirred up the silt from the bottom, he turned and pierced upward toward the oncoming morning light.
And finally he was back. As Stanley sat waiting, the pointed nose of the pike and his glassy eyes suddenly appeared beneath the water, then he rocketed out and landed, THUMP, back into Stanley's arms, nearly knocking him flying.
Something gray and grisly was held fast between the pike's sharp teeth. It swayed from side to side, spraying cold water, almost unrecognizable at first, but Stanley could soon see that it was Admiral Swift's head.
Stanley tried not to look at it too closely, and began striding back, hoping to be done with this dreadful task. By the time he had reached the Water Mill, he could bring himself to take a quick glance at the face. Its eyes were shut and it seemed to be changing from pure white to ever so slightly purpleblue. Stanley almost felt the urge to tell Admiral Swift he was looking a bit better.
He was making good progress and began to sing to himself again. But this time, Stanley was joined by a nearby voice. Who could it be? He stopped and looked around. It was much lighter now, but he could see no one.
Stanley kept singing and the voice joined him again. He stopped and looked down. Admiral Swift was singing with him, keeping his eyes shut while he adjusted to the light.
The pike could not open his mouth, for he would drop the head, but he began to hum along.
The pike could not open his mouth, for he would drop the head, but he began to hum along.
Stanley felt obliged to carry on and the three of them made a wonderful sound through the chilly morning air.
But as they crossed the lawn the singing was brought to an abrupt end by a puzzled Mrs.
Carelli. She stood scratching her head as she opened the door to Stanley. “For goodness sake, Stanley, when I said
we ought to drop him in the drink I didn't mean it! Where have you been with him? And what on earth are you doing out of your bed at this time of the morning, you skinny little lummox? You'll catch your death of cold. Anyway, I thought you wanted to keep him?”
we ought to drop him in the drink I didn't mean it! Where have you been with him? And what on earth are you doing out of your bed at this time of the morning, you skinny little lummox? You'll catch your death of cold. Anyway, I thought you wanted to keep him?”
She was rambling away to herself by this time and Stanley wasn't listening. He was too busy concealing the head of Admiral Swift beneath his coat in a panic. He knew that Mrs. Carelli had seen plenty of things in her lifetime, but if she saw the head of Great-uncle Bart she would keel over.
“ ⦠And why did you take him all the way out to sea and bring him back again? And why did you go out through the back gate?”
On she went, but Stanley was quite relieved that she hadn't noticed the head.
“Erm, Mrs. Carelli? I'm sorry, but could I just get back inside?” he asked. “It's extremely cold.”
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