In fact, there was now total silence in the class. Total silence apart from a distant dripping sound. Drip-drip-drip-drip . It seemed to echo off the classroom walls.
Drip-drip-drip-drip .
He suddenly sensed something at his feet. He looked down to find that he was sitting in a boat. When he looked back up, he was no longer in the classroom, instead he was travelling down the River Poddle. The boat was narrow and basic, barely more than a raft really. The edges were curved inwards so that the water couldnât seep in. There was no one rowing or even steering; the little boat was being taken along by the flow of the water. It meandered down the river, walled on either side by a cold stone tunnel. A single torch burned, fixed to the bow.
Arthur sat in the stern. Even though he didnât know how long heâd been there or how heâd gotten there, and even though all he knew was that he was back in the dark Poddle tunnel on a small wooden raft, he wasnât frightened. But then he wasnât exactly calm either. He felt anxious, like there was an important task at hand that he had to carry out. He forgot all about his classroom, his friends and his teacher, and tried to remember what that task was.
The only sound now was the water lapping against the boat. No â that wasnât quite right. It was the sound of water lapping against boats, several boats. He turned around. For as far as he could see behind him, identical boats to his own followed. Each had its own torch, the light flickering on the stone walls and reflecting off the murky waters. But each boat had more than one passenger; in some as little as two, in others as many as five squeezed onto the fragile rafts. They were mostly men, although some looked as though they were barely out of boyhood, with long hair and beards, and were wearing dark tunics and heavy woollen shawls. Some of the men had weapons and shields with them in their boats; others had tools and building materials. Arthur looked down at his clothes and found that he was wearing a similar itchy tunic. He also had a few silver bracelets on his wrist and a necklace with the bronze pendant lying against his chest.
He scratched his head in confusion and found that his hair was long. It grew as far as his neckline and had a greasy, lanky feel to it. He rubbed his jaw to find a thick and bristly beard there. When he looked at his hands, he saw only a manâs hands: veiny and thick with a fine layer of hair over the back.
Without really meaning to, he found himself reaching out to the wall to stop the boat. The others stopped behind him. He stood up, unsure of what he was doing but not in the least wobbly in the boat. His manly hands felt along the stone wall, finding the perfect spot. He pulled the pendant harshly and the necklace split, then he slammed the pendant against the wall. There was a brief green flash of light. When he took his hand away, the piece of bronze was embedded in the stone, glowing faintly. The light faded as he turned to speak to his army.
Strange, Arthur thought distantly, that I know theyâre an army.
The voice coming through Arthurâs lips wasnât his own: it was a deep baritone, echoing off the tunnel walls. And it spoke in a language that Arthur couldnât understand. The men nodded agreement and he sat back down. The boat moved on by itself.
They travelled further down the river than Arthur, Will and Ash had explored. And yet, somehow he knew that what he was seeing was accurate. He knew that the scratches on the walls were real; he knew that the turn to the right they soon came across was authentic.
There was a light in the distance. It was flickering orange so Arthur knew it was firelight, but it was much brighter than the torches they had. As the boat moved closer, he realised he was looking through a door and into a large, cavernous room. Several torches adorned the wall he could see.
Then one torch in the room blinked out as they