Excerpt from Black Swan Green by David Mitchell, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Time went by, I suppose.

The sour aunt held a china bowl in one hand and a cloudy glass in the other. "Take off your sock."

My ankle was balloony and limp. The sour aunt propped my calf on a footstool and knelt by it. Her dress rustled. Apart from the blood in my ears and my jagged breathing there was no other sound. Then she dipped her hand into the bowl and began smearing a bready goo onto my ankle. My ankle shuddered.

"This is a poultice." She gripped my shin. "To draw out the swelling." The poultice sort of tickled but the pain was too vicious and I was fighting the cold too hard. The sour aunt smeared the goo on till it was used up and my ankled completely clagged. She handed me the cloudy glass. "Drink this."

"It smells like . . . marzipan."

"It's for drinking. Not smelling."

"But what is it?"

"It'll help take the pain away."

Her face told me I had no real choice. I swigged back the liquid in one go like you do milk of magnesia. It was syrupy-thick but didn't taste of much. I asked, "Is your brother asleep upstairs?"

"Where else would he be, Ralph? Shush now."

"My name's not Ralph," I told her, but she acted like she hadn't heard.

 

Clearing up the misunderstanding'd've been a massive effort, and now I'd stopped moving. I just couldn't fight the cold anymore. Funny thing was, as soon as I gave in, a lovely drowsiness tugged me downward. I pictured Mum, Dad, and Julia sitting at home watching The Paul Daniels Magic Show but their faces melted away, like reflections on the backs of spoons.

 

The cold poked me awake. I didn't know where or who or when I was. My ears felt bitten and I could see my breath. A china bowl sat on a footstool and my ankle was crusted in something hard and spongy. Then I remembered everything, and sat up. The pain in my foot had gone but my head didn't feel right, like a crow'd flown in and couldn't get out. I wiped the poultice off my foot with a snotty hanky. Unbelievably at first, my ankle swiveled fine, cured, like magic. I pulled on my sock and trainer, stood up, and tested my weight. There was a faint twinge, but only 'cause I was looking for it. Through the beaded doorway I called out, "Hello?"

No answer came. I passed through the crackly beads into a tiny kitchen with a stone sink and a massive oven. Big enough for a kid to climb in. Its door'd been left open, but inside was dark as that cracked tomb under Saint Gabriel's. I wanted to thank the sour aunt for curing my ankle.

Make sure the back door opens, warned Unborn Twin.

It didn't. Neither did the frost-flowered sash window. Its catch and hinges'd been painted over long ago and it'd take a chisel to persuade it open, at least. I wondered what the time was and squinted at my granddad's Omega but it was too dark in the tiny kitchen to see. Suppose it was late evening? I'd get back and my tea'd be waiting under a Pyrex dish. Mum and Dad go ape if I'm not back in time for tea. Or s'pose it'd gone midnight? S'pose the police'd been alerted? Jesus. Or what if I'd slept right through one short day and into the night of the next? The Malvern Gazetteer and Midlands Today'd've already shown my school photo and sent out appeals for witnesses. Jesus.

Squelch would've reported seeing me heading to the frozen lake. Frogmen might be searching for me there, right now.

This was a bad dream.

No, worse than that. Back in the parlor, I looked at my grandfather's Omega and saw that there was no time. My voice whimpered, "No." The glass face, the hour hand, and the minute hand'd gone and only a bent second hand was left. When I fell on the ice, it must've happened then. The casing was split and half its innards'd spilt out.

Excerpted from Black Swan Green by David Mitchell Copyright © 2006 by David Mitchell. Excerpted by permission of Random House, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.