Pond People

Surely, she would wake up any minute from this nightmare.

Flash had little to say now as he swam up the sheer sides of the bucket and around its walls, as if looking for somewhere to climb out.

Molly’s gaze remained fixed on the black wall opposite. As her breathing steadied, her eyes followed the curve of the bucket. The other mirlings’ faces were as blank as her thoughts, except for Flo, who was busy tending to Grandad.

It was lonely inside her head. She moved closer to the three who had been in the bucket before them.

‘It’s Sylva and Walter, isn’t it? How did you get in here?’

Sylva stared as if she hadn’t understood. The water quivered around her, and her lustrous scales had dulled to leaden grey. The youngest of the three answered – what was her name? Amy? Amber, that was it.

‘We didn’t see the net!’ She shook her head earnestly. It was a large head for such a small body.

‘We saw Flash and we were going to follow him to the prizegiving and there was a big “whoosh” and everything was black and we were dragged backwards.’ She looked around her. ‘And then we were here.’

Flash swam down, and Sylva’s back straightened. She ran a hand through her silvery hair.

Walter dipped his head, as if saluting King Neptune. ‘Hello. I’m Walter.’ Sylva elbowed him. ‘And this is Sylva.’

‘Triffic to meet you,’ Sylva simpered.

‘And I’m Amber,’ the little one added. ‘Wally’s my brother and Sylva’s his girlfriend.’

‘Don’t talk rot, Amber.’ Walter glanced nervously at Sylva whose trembling had stilled.

But her words still wobbled. ‘What’s ha-appening?’ She gulped. ‘They’re going to pour us back into the pond, aren’t they?’

Flo and Grandad joined them.

Flo understood humanspeak better than most. ‘I think these fish are here to be k-kept indoors.’

‘I think you’re right, lass.’ Grandad nodded. ‘What we have to decide is if we want to go with them or take our chances in this bucket.’

‘We have to stay together,’ Sylva wailed. ‘Walter?’

Flash ignored her. ‘And our chances depend on what happens to the water after the fish are gone.’ Seven pairs of eyes turned towards him. ‘They might empty it back in the pond.’ He looked to Grandad. ‘But I think that’s unlikely.’

The old mirling nodded. ‘The sink’s nearer for them to tip it down, or the nearest outside drain.’

Flash didn’t elaborate on where drains went, but that didn’t stop Molly’s imagination following them down. Her throat tightened, and her stomach urged her to curl around it like a snail in its shell. All her familiar uncertainties and what ifs were swept aside by the new fears flooding through her. Only the embarrassing spectacle of Sylva tipping into hysteria armed Molly against giving way to her own panic.

As Flo and Walter tried to calm Sylva and lead her away from Amber, Molly gazed up at the shapes circling the bucket and steadied her thoughts.

‘Looks like we’re safer staying with the fish then.’

The sky above the circling fish was white and strangely flat. Whatever sun flooded it with harsh light was out of their view.

Someone lowered a jug into the bucket. Water surged over its rim until the jug was full and rose again. The bucket darkened as a face blocked the light and oval eyes again followed the circling fish. Molly shrunk back against the side, glad of the darkness at the bottom of the bucket.

A small fishing net slid down the side and the orange fish was netted before they had time to plan.

Flash called, ‘Come on!’ and sped towards the rising net, seizing Flo’s hand as he passed. He dragged her slight figure with him over the top of the net.

Eddy shouted, ‘Flo,’ and grabbed the net as it left the water. Flo thrust her arms through to grab his. ‘Eddy, hold on.’

Sylva moaned.

Molly had no time to think. ‘Walter, take Amber and Sylva and get above the fish so the net catches you on the way up.’ Amber swayed like pondweed in a current. ‘Amber, can you manage that?’

Amber nodded. ‘I’ll be all right. Come on Sylv.’

‘We’ll only get one chance.’ Grandad started swimming.

The water darkened again. Molly powered upwards, linking arms with Grandad as she passed, to take him with her.

The net dipped.

The black fish flipped violently, hit the side, and swooped in terror around the bucket, pitching Molly and Grandad aside to drift like leaves to the bottom.

The net stilled while the fish calmed, giving Walter’s group time to get in it and hang on.

When Molly sat up, sick and disoriented, she and Grandad were alone in the bucket.

The water was settling, but her stomach still churned, along with her thoughts.

What now?

There had always been someone in the pond to tell her what she ought to do, and to sort things out when she didn’t do it.

Now, only Grandad sat beside her, limp and disoriented on the bottom of the bucket. And there were no more fish to catch.

The water darkened; this was it. Next stop, the drain. She waited to feel the bucket lift.

The jug descended again.

Grandad flipped over faster than she’d ever seen him move. ‘Come on, lass. They might be topping up the fishbowl.’ He launched from one knee.

Molly passed him, grabbing his hand on the way. Her tail drove as hard as she could to add to his thrust. The jug entered the bucket, and water flooded over its rim, washing Molly and Grandad with it, into safety.

Or not.

Grandad’s thought reached Molly as they tumbled in the jug. ’I suppose they are emptying it in the bowl.’

Belatedly, they shared the realisation that the jug’s water might still be destined for the drain, making the bucket lighter before it was carried to be emptied.

But what else could they have done?

They didn’t wonder for long.

They tumbled from the jug into bright water with light all around, to be tossed again by the water that followed them.

Molly drifted to the bottom and waited, yet again, for her world to stop spinning around her. There was nowhere here for a mirling to hide.

The light on every side gave an illusion of space, but the bowl itself wasn’t spacious. Even Grandad wouldn’t get tired swimming across it. Or even walking across it.

The three fish circled, looking for a way out. The former dodger-fish suddenly flicked and swam across as if to frighten the glass out of his way, only turning at the last moment.

On the other side of the bowl, Flo was bending over Grandad; Molly could see from here how grey his gills were. Flash and Eddy circled with the fish while Walter’s little group huddled against the curve of the base.

And there was nowhere to hide.