Excerpt of Silverfin by Charlie Higson
(Page 1 of 3)
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James was shivering. His body felt raw, as if he'd had the skin peeled off
it, like Croaker's eel. He rubbed his arms to try to get some feeling back into
them, and the raised goose bumps made them feel as rough as sandpaper.
If it was this cold out of the water, what was it going to be like in it?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
It was half an hour before afternoon lessons and he was standing on a low
diving board at Ward's Mead, peering at the water, which looked like some of
Codrose's less appetizing soup. Cold soup. Freezing-cold soup.
"Come on, then," he said out loud. "Just do it."
He pulled back his arms, took a deep breath and flung himself forward. When
he entered the water it was like being hit by a cricket bat. He was stunned by
the cold and for a moment he couldn't move, but then he came alive, clawed his
way to the surface and gasped. All his limbs were aching and his throbbing head
felt numb. The only way to stay in the water and stop himself from jumping out
was to swim. He thrashed across the Mead to the other side and fought the urge
to get out and run back to his room. After a moment's hesitation, he forced
himself round and swam back to the other side.
Weak sunlight was filtering through the low cloud; at least it was warmer
than yesterday, but these were hardly ideal swimming conditions. Nevertheless,
if he was going to stand any chance in the cup, which was only three weeks away,
he knew that he would have to get used to it.
After three widths he found that his body was adjusting to the temperature
and, while it could never have been described as pleasant, at least he knew that
he was not going to die after all.
He swam a few more widths, and when he had had just about all that he could
stand he swam over to where he'd left his clothes and prepared to pull himself
out of the water. But, just as he was getting his knees up, somebody put a shoe
in his face and shoved him back into the Mead.
He looked up. It was George Hellebore.
"Hey, if it ain't my old pal, Jimmy Bond," he said.
"Hello, Hellebore." James once more tried to scramble out on to the grassy
bank.
"Where do you think you're going in such a hurry?" said Hellebore, pushing
him back in again.
"To get changed."
"Always in a hurry, aren't you, Bond? Always got to go somewhere fast."
"I'm cold and I want to get out."
"Yeah, I bet you do. Well, I'm in charge of the river today." Hellebore knelt
down and gave James a big, sinister smile. "And if you want to get out, first of
all you have to pass a little test."
James looked up into George's face. His china-blue eyes were glinting with
crazy amusement and there was an ugly smirk on his lips.
"Look, Hellebore," said James, holding on to the side. "You're not in charge
here."
"Hey, if I say I'm in charge, I'm in charge."
There was no point in arguing, Hellebore was backed up by his usual gang of
cronies: Wallace, with his big, square head and gap-toothed grin, Sedgepole, who
had an extremely small head and sticking-out ears, and Pruitt, who was rather
good-looking and elegant. They leered at James, daring him to try his luck.
"What do you want?" said James, trying not to let his teeth rattle together
with the cold.
"You fancy yourself as a bit of a swimmer, do you, Bond?" said the American,
and Bond shrugged. "Well, I've not seen anybody in this country of yours that
was half as good a swimmer as me. I practically grew up in the water."
"Yes," said Bond, kicking his legs to try and keep warm. "You're supposed to
be quite good."
From SilverFin by Charlie Higson, pages 33-40 of the hardcover
edition. Copyright © 2005 by Ian Fleming Publications Ltd.
