Silverstone Part One: Through Dark Waters

by J. J. Moody

  “What do we think the author Sophocles is trying to do here, with this section?”

  Just as she had before, Mrs Greenleaf searched the room for a volunteer, or a victim. “Come on Lucy and Jack, let’s let some other people contribute this time.” She paused and Lucy lowered her hand.

  Ben shrunk behind Thomas.

  Mrs Greenleaf consulted her class listing. “Tim. Tim Wisecroft. Where are you?” She scanned the class over her half frame glasses.

  “There’s no Wisecroft in this class Miss,” Jordan quickly jumped in; eager to respond to something he knew the answer to.

  Mrs Greenleaf consulted her register again, and frowned. The tension began forming in Ben’s chest. At last a stuttering noise came from one of the desks near the back, and Ben joined the rest of the class in turning slowly towards it.

  “He…here Miss”. A small hand extended upwards.

  Mrs Greenleaf rose slightly from her seat, straining to see the boy. “Ah Mr Wisecroft, thank you.” She consulted the register again. “And I believe this is actually your first day, so welcome to our little class. The other students should make you very welcome.”

  Ben could feel the boy’s anguish.

  “School started on Monday mate!” Freddy joked. The class giggled.

  Mrs Greenleaf continued. “Well Tim, what do you think the author is trying to achieve here, with this segment?”

  Poor Tim, Ben thought. He was thankful for not being called upon himself, but felt desperately for him. He willed the other boy to say something brilliant, intelligent and strong, announcing himself to the class and silencing Jordan and Freddy forever, but as the moments passed by, he knew it would not come. He sensed the clock ticking, feeling as though something in him was tearing with every slice of the red second hand.

  “I don’t…. know Miss,” Tim said at last, looking down at the text. “Maybe th….at” - Freddy looked at his watch - “that Oedipus is caugh…caught…. between two things?”

  “Yes yes exactly Tim.” Mrs Greenleaf patiently waited for the class to return their gazes to her. “Sophocles is doing exactly that. He wants us to realise that Oedipus is very conflicted. On one hand he wants desperately for the truth, and that is understandable wouldn’t you say Freddy?”

  Freddy bumbled something, but she didn’t wait for him.

  “But on the other hand he suspects that the terrible prophecy about himself might somehow have fact in it, and is afraid of what that would mean about who he really is. That great conflict will continue throughout the rest of the play and the author will bring it out at different points. We will keep an eye out for it. Thank you Tim.”

  At lunch that day, Ben noticed Tim sitting alone, at the end of a table full of giggling girls. He walked over to him. “Hi I’m Ben, I’m in your class.”

  Tim smiled up at him.

  Ben sat opposite on the bench. “How come you were late to join school then?”

  “My parents, th…ought we were going to stay in Australia for a bit longer. I…w…as in the middle of a school year there.”

  Tim’s stammer seemed to dissipate as he talked and became more relaxed. Ben was glad he felt comfortable with him already. “So what happened?” he asked.

  “They had to move back here as D….Dad got a new job unexpectedly.” Tim took another mouthful of his steak and kidney pie, while Ben waited. “So it was a bit sudden for us really.”

  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.

  Chapter Two

  A Perilous Welcome

  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.

  This was very realistic, Ben thought. The man continued to scream loudly. He was a very good actor.

  The other oarsmen began shouting at each other wildly as they rowed, and scrambling to raise shields over the sides of the boat as more arrows whistled past overhead. The man who had pulled Ben into the boat, who Ben thought must be the leader yelled some commands.

  “Get the shields up men, that’s it. Ivor pull up your oar quickly, you can’t row no longer. Help draw up shields for the others now!”

  Ivor pulled his oar out of the water with the help of the man behind him, and lowered it beside Ben. He edged sideways out of his bench, still holding the arrow tightly, and slumped down on the deck just in front of Ben. Ben looked keenly at his arm, and saw thick streams of blood dripping down his leather wrist guard and hand.

  He felt very sick.

  This was not a re-enactment. Something very bad was happening, and he didn’t understand any of it. He just wanted that hot chocolate and to warm up and go home.

  The storm raged violently above him, and the men screamed ever louder as they drew closer to the bank.

  Ben could see people fighting on the land now, with swords, spears and shields. People lay motionless on the ground in awkward positions. He began to shiver violently again, and ached all over.

  Some of the men drew their swords, letting the boat cruise in. They were only a few metres from the clashes of the battle. On the bank other men, their faces covered in hooded capes, stood waiting for them, swords drawn.