The Watersprites Chapter 10 – Escape Planning
The room was dark except for the soft, aquatic light of the tablet on Jay’s lap. Outside, the garden swayed under a restless wind. The Wendy House stood silent beneath the hornbeams, their limbs gnarled like sentinels.
Jay hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw a podium. Freya on top. Medals. Questions. Handcuffs.
He tapped the screen. “Kai,” he whispered. “Status.”
The AI flickered to life. Cool, blue text threaded across the screen.
“Multiple government databases have begun cross-referencing your swimmers. Lydia Quain’s memo has escalated to UK Sport Medical Oversight. Do you wish to view the flagged content?”
Jay hesitated, then pressed confirm.
Freya’s 200m Butterfly result flashed:
1:56.78 – Pending Verification – Unclassified Athlete ID
Below, a red tag: FLAGGED: Biological Sampling Recommended
He felt sick.
“Timeline?” he asked.
“A mobile testing unit has been dispatched to the Centre of Excellence, Brighton. ETA: 48 hours. Biological custody was requested by Dr. Roger Parmenter. Subject class: semi-aquatic unverified.”
The light from the tablet cast a faint reflection in the window. Behind it: his own face, pale and drawn.
Footsteps. Beth padded in barefoot, hair tangled from a half-sleep she’d abandoned.
“You’re asking it that?”
Jay said nothing.
Beth reached for a power bank and plugged it into the tablet. “We need options.”
Kai projected a map—Europe bloomed in pale blue. A flicker pulsed above Sweden. West of Lake Vänern. Inland, north of Gothenburg.
“Trollhättan,” the voice said. “Resonance detected. Low anthropogenic interference. Freshwater integrity: high. Ideal for semi-aquatic adaptation.”
Hersch, who had come in without a sound, leaned in. He didn’t say anything—just pointed. A small gasp caught in his throat.
Jay turned to Freya, who stood behind them, wrapped in a towel. “That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?” he whispered. “That’s where the others are.”
Kai’s voice dropped in volume. “Historical satellite data supports this hypothesis. Seismic events coincided with the hatching date you recorded from Markstakes High Pond.”
Then, a chilling update:
“Geneticist Dr Roger Parmenter has activated biological sampling protocols for subjects tagged ‘unclassified’ within Swim England records.”
Beth’s hand went rigid on the arm of the sofa.
They moved quickly.
Beth found a used Volvo XC70 online—a beaten-up tank of a car with enough space for four passengers and two water carriers. Jay laughed when she showed him.
“It’s always a Volvo,” he muttered. “Why is it always a Volvo?”
Kai offered to generate cover: a para-sport training exchange with a sister club in Denmark. Jay registered a fictitious event on the SwimExchange platform. Booked ferry tickets under the Ashdowns’ names.
“We take the para squad minibus as cover?” Beth said, still not sure whether to laugh or cry.
Jay grinned. “I always knew the club swimmers would save us.”
They had 48 hours.
Meanwhile, Freya and Hersch were changing.
Hersch spent hours submerged in the garden pool, spiralling in tight loops, clicking softly under the water. Jay tried to coax him out with mango sorbet. It didn’t work.
Freya had become quieter. She asked Jay once, after supper: “Will they look like me?”
Before Jay could answer, Kai spoke.
“If so, they will be older. And less civilised.”
Beth frowned. “You mean feral?”
“I mean free.”
Freya turned away, staring into the branches of the hornbeams. Her arms, under the porch light, shimmered faintly—iridescent, like dragonfly wings caught in sunlight.
Jay noticed Hersch scratching at his gills. They had flushed red.
“Kai,” he said. “What does this mean?”
“Puberty onset predicted in 2–3 weeks. Hormonal shifts will affect physiological stability. Metamorphosis is possible.”
“Metamorphosis to what?” Jay asked.
“Maturation and stabilisation in the adult form.”
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