Pond People

Team members greeted each other under the reeds and told each other how nervous they were. Supporters who had arrived early to get a good spot for viewing were becoming restless.

Molly checked off the last of her team to arrive and sent them to join Eddy and the others. Spectators were still arriving. As she took her team list to Flo, she recognised a group of Flash’s supporters from last week’s friendly match. That plump silver one had complained about her view from the spectator zone.

She was pouting again today. ‘Come on, Walter – there’s a space over there. Oh, triffic! Someone’s beaten us to it.’ Tendrils of silver hair trailed across her petulant frown as she glanced behind them. ‘Can’t she swim any faster?’

Her friend, a pale orange youngster, ran his hand through the pale tufts of hair sticking up on his head.

‘It’s not my fault, Sylv. It was either looking after Amber, or guarding tadpoles, and then I couldn’t have come at all.’

‘Why is it always you who has to look after Amber?’

Her shrill protest carried to Molly, but Walter gave no sign that he’d heard. He was watching a frail, half-grown honey-coloured mirling as she swam unevenly towards them.

‘Come on, Amber!’

‘Coming, Wally.’

‘His name’s Walter.’ Sylva turned away.

Walter scanned the assembled teams. ‘Have you spotted Flash yet?’

Molly followed his gaze to where the Strikers were gathering.

The water surged, blurring her vision, and fish darted for cover. A black streak whisked out of sight above the surface ripples.

‘Was that the cat? Did anyone see? Did it get a fish?’

The shallows fell silent.

‘I think it did,’ someone answered. ‘I was looking the other way.’

‘Spit!’ Flo was ashen. ‘We forgot to look out for the c-cat.’

A newly arrived Striker touched down, ‘Is Flash around?’

‘He was here a minute ago,’ a teammate answered.

‘He swam up to the surface,’ another offered. ‘Probably gone to check out the targets.’

All eyes rose towards the rim of the pond.

‘I thought he was heading for a fish.’

The cat reappeared, pawing playfully at something on the ground.

‘Oh, no!’ Flo’s hand covered her mouth.

Molly launched, issuing instructions as she swam.

‘All shooters to the surface. Anyone with a reed, drench that cat!’

Who was she to give orders? as if expecting everyone to jump.

And they did.

‘Shoot as hard as you can and as fast as you can. Aim anywhere. Just hit it!’

Grandad handed reeds to anyone who thought they could help. From surface leaves of lilies and reeds and watermint, mirlings aimed with varying degrees of success, dipping to reload between shots. Someone offered her their reed shooter, but she shook her head and watched from just below the surface.

The cat shook itself.

The shooters’ aim improved.

The cat turned its head towards the source of the barrage and Eddy scored a direct hit, straight in its eye.

It shook its head and ran – away from this needle-sharp rain that whipped sideways.

Shooting slowed… and stopped.

As the water settled, Molly’s view cleared.

Drops trickled off the brick edge, back into the pond.

A shooter dived from her lily stem, followed by another, and then more. Others stayed watching. A clump of dust blew to the edge of the pond and lodged there.

There was no wind.

Molly tried raising her head out of water, but her eyes stung in the dry air and she had to retreat. They still stung in the water. As the surface settled again, she located the grubby clump again. On a neighbouring lily, Grandad dipped his head to take a breath.

The clump gave a heave and rolled into the pond.

It dropped, dust drifting away as it bumped over blanketweed to lay motionless at the bottom, orange patches now showing through the grime.

She dived.

Flo and Eddy were there before her. Grandad floated down to join them.

Flash’s mouth was open and fixed.

Flo knelt over the body, brushing dust out of its gills. She looked up.

‘They’re m-moving.’ Her words barely reached them. ‘He’s breathing.’

Hardly, thought Molly. That flutter could have been the water’s movement.

She looked away.

Eddy was nearly as pale as Flo, his fixed stare as lifeless as Flash’s. Grandad squeezed Flo’s shoulder.

Her own throat was tight.

A gulp shook the body. Flash winced as his gills opened. His mouth closed, and his eyes moved for the first time. They found hers.

’Must do something ’bout cat.’

Her hands and toes uncurled as relief washed through her. Flash’s eyes glazed again as ‘I owe you,’ travelled through the water between them.

‘Not me. It was Eddy who hit the cat’s-eye.’ She knew because she’d heard Grandad congratulate him. ‘I don’t shoot. I’m air-blind. My eyes don’t work out of water.’

Flash’s eyes widened and fixed; she thought he’d passed out again. Then he started laughing, which made him cough. His eyes found Eddy, and he managed a nod.

‘Thanks mate.’ He coughed again. ‘That has to be the prizewinning shot.’

A smile broke like sunshine across Eddy’s face, lighting his straw-coloured eyes.

‘Give you a re-match?’

Flash seemed to consider but may have been gathering energy to reply.

‘Only if I get to choose targets next time.’