"Malcolm, you’re the duck warden," the senior student greeted him at the gate. "This means that whenever anyone is interrupted in their studies by the ducks quacking, they ring you up and you have to go out there and tell the ducks to shut up. Any questions?"
Malcolm considered this briefly.
"Why do I have to do it?" he asked slightly pathetically. The senior beamed.
"Look, College Hall is a traditional place. It’s one of the oldest university halls in Canterbury. It’s a privilege to be given a position like this, ok?" Malcolm contemplated this.
"Is this like how we’re not allowed to have things with wheels in the quad?" asked Malcolm, who had been reading the college handbook on the train with increasing dismay.
"Yep, just like that."
"Or whistle in the hall? Or wear sandals to dinner? Or…"
"Yes, well done. Your room’s over there." The senior indicated vaguely and moved on to the next student. Malcolm had a thought.
"So what if I can’t make them be quiet?" he asked nonchalantly. The second year turned back to Malcolm, grinning unappealingly.
"Same thing that happens if you break any of the rules, fresher."

Which meant a mob of screaming senior students breaking into his room and parading him around the quad for fifteen minutes before chucking him into the stagnant bog at the far end of the hall euphemistically known as the college duck pond, as Malcolm had found out later that day,

"Yeah… right," he said to the caller. "Be there in a minute." Small specks of rain started to run together on the window as he left the room asking himself for the hundredth time why he hadn’t applied for one of the more normal halls of residence in Christchurch.

Six minutes later, Malcolm was drenched. He didn’t know whether the mystery caller had somehow predicted the downpour, but it seemed to him an increasingly likely possibility. They had, however, been correct in their observation. The duck pond was teeming with ducks. Ducks chattering aimlessly to one another. Ducks quacking loudly for no apparent reason. Large clucky ducks followed closely by squeaking, bobbing chains of smaller ducks. To be fair, he could see how this sort of thing could seriously impede the studying potential of students living near by. Sort of.
"Be quiet!" he yelled, sounding slightly more desperate than he had intended. He had already gone through his usual repertoire of threats, chants, and gestures, but the steadily falling rain seemed to make the ducks more vocal than usual. Malcolm was not a zoology student, but he suspected that the presence of ducklings was also contributing to the noise level. He had certainly not got as many calls to duty before the ducklings appeared on the pond several weeks ago. Making his way over to the crumbling edge of the pond, Malcolm watched a train of tiny striped ducklings paddling after a larger duck below him. He was silently cursing all things feathered when he noticed something interesting happening at the back of the line. The last duckling was lagging behind the others, and although it was frantically paddling, with one leg repeatedly breaking the surface of the water, it seemed to be being held in place by the other leg. Malcolm watched, fascinated, as the duckling began to struggle fiercely and emit a piercing squeaking noise out of all proportion to its tiny body. The large duck at the head of the procession, now quite a distance away, stopped at the noise and quacked warily, but before it could look around, there was a muted plop and the duckling was suddenly gone, drawn underwater by some unseen power. Crouching on the bank, Malcolm scanned the area where the duckling had disappeared, but it was impossible to see anything past the dappled surface. The mother duck quickly checked her remaining entourage and continued on her way, totally oblivious. He was about to get up when Malcolm saw something bob to the surface a few metres from where the duckling had been pulled under. He could not immediately tell what it was, but as it drifted closer, he could see it was the duckling again. Floating upside down with a gaping hole in its belly. Faintly horrified but intrigued, he was about to poke it with something when he heard the dinner bell ringing out from the other side of the hall.

Malcolm’s friend, Anne, was not a zoology student either, but had a deep and profound knowledge of native fauna as a result of having been subscribed to the Kiwi Conservation Club magazine by a well meaning aunt since the age of four. "It was an eel, you idiot," she informed him, as he stared at his plate of spaghetti bolognese half on hour later. "I mean, what did you think it was? A sea monster? A giant squid?"
"No," said Malcolm, trying to sound sincere.
"Hey, guess what we’re doing in labs at the moment?" asked Gary, who was sitting opposite Anne and Malcolm. He was a zoology student, but those who knew him had serious doubts regarding his academic motives for this choice.
Keeping in mind that the last time he had responded to one of Gary’s conversation starters, he had had to sit through a graphic description of a dogfish dissection, Malcolm diplomatically took a large mouthful of spaghetti and scrutinised his fork intensely.
"What?" Anne asked. Malcolm shot her a withering glance.
"Cutting up eels," said Gary. Malcolm, who was already regretting the mouthful and anticipating worse, sought about for a new topic of conversation while chewing ferociously.
"And taking their guts out," Gary continued, before he could swallow. "Really? That’s… that’s interesting. Can I have the…" Anne began.
"And looking at all the parasites in their guts," Gary added pleasantly. Malcolm swallowed frantically and was about to comment on the artwork in the dining hall when the picture he was staring at suddenly reminded him of the mutilated duckling he had seen earlier that day floating upside down in the pond. Taking into account the general quality of much of the modern art in the dining hall, this was not in itself an unusual occurrence among diners at College Hall. However, Malcolm had suddenly thought of something. Something that could conceivably mean an end to his humiliating duck quietning duties. Something wonderful.

"Gary," he said quietly after Gary had finished drawing an interesting but ultimately unwelcome comparison between the tapeworms he had pulled out of his eel at lab today and his neighbour’s spaghetti. "Would you be able to get hold of some of those eels for me sometime? Just to sort of borrow for a while. Live ones I mean." he added hurriedly.
"Live eels? What do you want them for?"
Malcolm looked around to see if anyone was listening. Unsurprisingly, no one was. Gary’s dinnertime conversation had that effect on people.
"Just to…you know, keep for a while."
"Keep where? In the bath? Hey, that’d be good!"
"No," said Malcolm quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was to put ideas into Gary’s twisted mind. They shared a bathroom, for heaven’s sake. "Just in the pond, just for a few days, you know. There are already lots in there anyway," he adlibbed ferociously.
"What do you want to put eels into the pond for? It’s bad enough down there as it is."
"I know, but I thought they might sort of scare the ducks away for a while," Malcolm lied. He was hoping the eels would do more than that. Once all the ducklings were gone, surely the rest of the ducks would vanish as well. Or get their feet bitten off. Malcolm wondered whether a really big eel could kill an adult duck.
"Oh, yeah, the duck warden thing. Must be pretty annoying for you," Gary said without sympathy. "How ‘bout I get some really big ones, we stick them in there and then they eat all the ducks, that’d be good eh?" Gary laughed unpleasantly. Malcolm tried to look shocked.
"Sure, I can get some eels for you," Gary continued. "They don’t lock the tanks or anything. I’ve got a lab test tomorrow if you want me to get some then."
No more demanding midnight calls from random people. No more raids and being paraded around the quad like a trophy . No more intimate acquaintance with the bottom of the pond.
"Really? That’d be great, Gary. Thanks." Feeling slightly sick yet strangely triumphant, Malcolm got up to join the line for seconds.

It was a Saturday evening and most of the students were out, leaving the far end of the quad dim and deserted. The duck pond slopped malignantly in the dark. A low rumbling grew gradually louder and Gary appeared at the back gate, pushing an enormous red wheely bin. The bin was sloshing slightly. Malcolm, who had been failing miserably to look inconspicuous for the last half an hour, strolled over unconvincingly. "Have you got them?" he asked, peering under the lid as Gary parked the bin on the bank of the pond.
"Yep," Gary patted the top of the bin proudly. "Got them from the marine lab after 114. There are hundreds of fish over there, they’ll never miss these guys, eh."
Malcolm directed the torch he had been concealing awkwardly up his sleeve into the bin. A mass of writhing, slimy bodies came into view and he quickly withdrew the torch.
"Um, great. What sort of eels are they?" he said, still not quite able to believe what they were doing.
"Not just eels, mate. There were a whole lot of things in there: lampries, dogfish, lots of stuff. I just stuck a big net in and took a bit of everything." Malcolm considered this.
"Sort of like pick ‘n mix," he attempted, taking another reluctant look into the bin. He noticed several small shark-like fins protruding from between the eels, which themselves looked nothing like the small native ones he had been expecting. These were huge, some of them thicker than Malcolm’s leg, and their jaws were curiously wide with several rows of pin sharp teeth that curved backwards into their gaping mouths.
"Yeah, they’ll make quick work of those ducklings, I reckon," chortled Gary. "Come on, let’s go. You get the other side." Gary grabbed one side of the bin. The image of the floating, dismembered duckling came suddenly into Malcom’s mind and he hesitated, both hands on the side of the bin. "Hurry up," urged Gary, "Help me tip it."
Taking a deep breath, Malcolm started to push. As the bin slowly tilted, he could hear the slimy bodies flexing and thrashing against the sides of the bin. It was almost at ground level when the twitching, entwined mass of eels and other assorted creatures slipped out of the bin and hit the still water with an enormous splash. Large, uneven ripples spread as the new occupants dispersed. The pond was still for a moment. Then suddenly the water exploded into a white fury of enraged sealife.
"What’s happening?" screamed Malcolm over the churning and splashing. Gary was looking mildly surprised at the commotion, and had stepped back several paces.
"I don’t know, they weren’t doing this in the marine tank," he yelled back. "Maybe they’re just getting used to the water or something."
The fish were obviously dying in the muddy, shallow freshwater. They could not understand what was happening to them, only that they were suffering, and that maybe if they attacked everything around them for long enough they would be left alone. Malcolm suddenly knew that the entire aggressive force of every fish in the boiling, bloody duck pond was directed at him. Long slimy fins cut through the muddy surface, and flat pointy tails flapped accusingly in the air. Two small sharks circled hungrily in the pondweed just below his feet, and a tubular hagfish reared up out of the water and waggled revoltingly at him, baring its circular jaws in a crazed grimace. He vaguely noticed Gary edging out the back gate and turned to do the same when he remembered the wheely bin lying at the edge of the pond. Where had Gary got it from, anyway? Could it somehow incriminate them? Trying not to look at the pond, he took the bin in both hands righted it. He was halfway back to his room when he heard the shout.
"Wheels in the quad!"

Malcolm dropped the bin and stared, panic stricken, at the group of seniors who had just returned from the pub. All were either too drunk or unobservant to notice the commotion in the distant pond, but the fact that this pathetic little first year had broken one of the hallowed laws of the hall by bringing wheels into the quad did not escape a single senior student. "You know the rules, duck warden!" one of them screamed, upon which the entire group of twenty or so senior students grabbed Malcolm and started the circuit around the quad.
"Aaargh, no!" screamed Malcolm, but the group was too intent on their purpose to notice anything different about the pond as they swung him the required three times before heaving him triumphantly into the pond.

"Quack quack" the group jeered drunkenly as they watched the water boil and rise around him. "Quack quack quack!"