Pond People

Flash recruited his team from the mirlings who trained at the pump. He was looking for marksmen who were fit, competitive, and up for a challenge.

He heard that Molly was taking on anyone who wanted to join.

He’d always been able to look after himself and wouldn’t rely on others for his success now, but this was an opportunity to gather followers.

After each Lightning Strikers’ training session, Flash carried on practising. He had to be the best. That’s what leaders were.

During training sessions, he criticised poor performances. A few shooters became discouraged and left. Good riddance if they couldn’t improve.

Some of these joined Molly’s team.

He called them ‘Molly’s Misfits’ and the name stuck. Apparently, Eddy was coaching them.

The Strikers reckoned Eddy would be his strongest rival, but nobody had seen Molly shoot yet. He didn’t trust her. Was she keeping herself undercover as the Misfits’ secret weapon?

He couldn’t allow Molly to beat him.

Grandad was sharpening a shard of snail shell when Molly walked into his hollow.

‘Molly lass, will this do for a trophy, d’you think?’ He picked up a solid horn-shape made of bone, or something similar. It had a hole bored through it.

‘It fell in the pond ages ago. I kept it because I liked it, but I never found a use for it. The teams could compete for it each year.’

She admired its smooth surface. ‘We’ll have three teams next year. Eddy’s beginners are as good as the others now.’

‘Why not this year?’ asked Grandad.

‘And lose my best shooter? What’s that shell for?’

‘I’m sharpening a new blade for trimming reed shoots. It’s the prize for the most accurate shot. And look at this.’ From the flat-topped stone that formed a workbench, he selected a hollow chunk of mature reed. ‘I’m carving a victor’s crown for whoever shoots the farthest.’

Flo arrived. As they greeted each other a fish darted past. It dived steeply, and a mirling tumbled off. Arms and legs thrashed in a bright orange blur which twisted to land on its feet.

‘Look who’s taken up rough riding.’ Molly folded her arms. ‘Now, why am I not surprised?’

With its burden shed, the fish slowed to settle among the lily stems. They watched Flash swim in a circle to approach it from behind and hover, ready to drop into riding position.

Flo shook her head. ‘He’s landing too fast. Eddy could give him some tips.’

Grandad was behind her. ’He’ll want to do it by hisself. I reckon he’s practising here ’cos he’s checked that Eddy’s at the deeps and won’t see him fall off.’

‘It’s a shame.’ Flo’s thought hung between them.

Grandad looked at her. ‘What is?’

‘It’s a shame Flash won’t ask for help. It would do w-wonders for his confidence.’

Molly sniffed. ‘I don’t think so. He’s arrogant enough already.’

‘She don’t mean Flash.’

Flo explained. ‘Eddy was always smaller than the other tiddlers, but the bullies would leave him alone when he m-made them laugh. He started rough riding because they laughed when he fell off. Then he got to choose when he fell off and whether he fell off at all. Rough riding’s the only thing he’s good at.’

‘He’s good at reed shooting.’

Flo stared at Molly. ‘Is he? He practises a lot.’

‘It’s paid off. He’s good at training others too. They listen to him because he knows what he’s talking about, and because they listen, he doesn’t clown around.’

Grandad was watching the rough riding. ‘Looks like Flash’s practice is paying off too.’

They watched the fish hurtle towards the deeps, darting and diving in vain, trying to shake off its rider.

On the morning of the tournament, the sky rippled blue above the pond. The water was already warming as Flash arrived on the back of a goldfish. This one had decided it was easier to ignore its hitchhiker than to throw him and, in spite of its pauses to graze, they arrived earlier than expected.

As competitors began to drift into the shallows, Flash was twitchy and impatient to compete.

Grandad brought out new reeds and started arranging them by width and length.

Flo was calling her judges together for last-minute instructions.

Fish grazed above them.

He recognised one he’d ridden yesterday. He knew how this one moved, which way it would jump, when it would dive…. After this morning’s easy ride, he reckoned he could out-think any dumb fish.

Molly arrived with Eddy looking relaxed and confident.

There was still time to dent that confidence before the tournament started. He’d show them he could do anything Eddy could and do it better.

He hardly disturbed the water as he glided over the fish, sinking slowly, gently, ready for the first dive when the fish felt–

His world lurched.

The goldfish rose through the water, taking him with it. They parted in the air and, for a moment, he flew.

He slammed into the ground, the impact forcing water from his mouth and out of his gills. The flapping fish threatened to crush him until the cat’s paw swiped, and the fish flew again. The cat pounced after its new toy, eyes fixed on the flailing goldfish.

For a terrifying moment, Flash couldn’t make his arms or legs move.

He heard the waterfall, but he was too far away to see it. He pushed aside blades of grass. His gills burned and he struggled to stand. Moving was hard work out of water.

Once out of the grass, his feet hurt on the hot paving, but now he saw water tumbling down the waterfall and spilling over its edge. Starved of oxygen and drying out, he dropped to his knees and crawled across the burning brick. Nearly there – he glanced over his shoulder.

The cat stood watching from the grass.

He tried to crawl faster, but his arms and legs wouldn’t move faster, and the edge wasn’t coming closer. With his heartbeat thudding in his ears, his eyes sought the waterfall, willing it nearer.

A blow sent him sideways, rolling over and over until he was back in the grass. He curled over his knees with no strength left to crawl.

The strange insect fascinated the cat.

It crawled like a beetle but had bright colours, like a butterfly. The cat liked butterflies.