Chapter Text
“So then, boys. Don’t anger the locals, don’t add or subtract from the population, and stay out of the hospital, the prison, and the newspaper. Have fun!” Charles Cholmondeley (pronounced Chumley), 15 years old, gulped. He had wanted to stay safely in England and catalogue newts - his mother had even bought him a new book on them, so he knew all about the different species and genera, and that a newt has an anus but not a penis - but all of the spots on that expedition had been taken straight away. As a result, here he was in the Amazon, being told not to swim in the river because there were amoebas that would swim up his nose and eat his brain. Lovely.
On the bright side, all he had to do was collect samples of the water at various intervals, so nothing too strenuous (it was bad for his anxiety). He and the rest of his team paddled out down the river before turning off onto one of the tributaries, and eventually reaching a lake. He immediately recognised it as an oxbow, but correctly assumed that no one would care.
One boy, Ewen, stood up.
“Who fancies a dip?” Everyone else stared at him with either awe or exasperation. “No one? Well, I’m going in. It looks lovely and shallow!” Charles felt he had to speak up against the stupid decision his classmate was about to make.
“Are you sure that’s the best-” He was cut off by a loud splash “idea…”
The other boy had completely disappeared and he watched the water nervously for a few seconds, wondering if he ought to do something, but eventually the blonde popped back up, coughing and spluttering.
“Montagu!” came the shout from John, the unofficial leader of the group. “Only an idiot tests the bottom with his feet!” Snickers came from around him.
“Alright, Bevan! No need to rub it in…” If Charles knew these two, which he did, the argument would continue for quite a while, and so he began to make his way across the lake and away from the chaos down a narrow stream. He continued for quite some time until he reached a spot that seemed perfectly peaceful; no noise or movement except for a gentle breeze. He sighed with relief and leant back in his kayak to enjoy the silence.
Suddenly he heard a splash and sat up quickly, looking around for the monster, assassin, or bee that had caused it, but saw nothing - until a rainbowy blob hit him in the face. He had no time to wonder what it was that had assaulted him in such a manner, however, as he momentarily blacked out.
When he came to, he found an unfamiliar fish lying at his feet. He thought he sort of recognised it, but it wasn’t quite like what he had seen before… oh! A new breed of trout! He picked up his paddle and began the journey back.
Several hours later, he found himself talking to an enthusiastic journalist.
“So what happened?”
“Well, I was just paddling along when this beauty”- he held up the fish -”lept into my kayak and briefly knocked me out! It was quite magical, actually.” Montagu, still dripping wet, scoffed.
“This’ll make the headlines, I’m sure. I can picture it now: ‘Rare Fish Attacks Boy Scout’.” He said it in a voice that even Charles could recognise as sarcastic, but what do you know? It did.