Dominions

21-1

21

- 21 -

Leopold stood on a jetty, looking out over the dark lake. There were lights on the path over the far side, set at ankle height, and they cast no light over the water itself. When Rodin called, the Councillor turned and strode along the wooden platform, hand already outstretched.

“Mister Terrell! So glad you had no second thoughts‌—‌at least, none that dissuaded you.”

“None at all. I’m always excited to gain new experiences.”

“Then shall we begin? Or do you need a moment. The club-house is still open.”

The building was behind Rodin, the hum of chatter and muted thud of background music reaching down to the water. The glass doors, previously open, were closed now.

Rodin had no wish to join the drinkers and merrymakers at the club-house, and even less of a desire to advertise his presence. “I believe I’m ready. Is that your vessel?”

There was only one boat‌—‌dinghy‌—‌tied to the jetty, small and blue, bobbing lazily on the water. The mast stretched up higher than Rodin expected, but the mainsail was still folded, and the jib was wrapped around the forestay. As it should be, from what Rodin had read.

“That is my little extravagance, yes. Small, but perfectly formed. Shall we?”

Rodin expected the jetty to move more than it did. There was a gentle undulation, but nothing to upset his balance. Of course, once the boat was on the water, things would become more unstable.

Leopold placed one foot in the dinghy, using his legs to pull it tight against the jetty, and Rodin stepped across. He sat, and breathed in time to the swaying of the vessel.

“I have a spare vest, if you’d care to put it on.” Leopold stepped nimbly into the boat and handed the garment to Rodin. It was thin, sleeveless, with fastenings at the front and a belt lower down.

Rodin noticed now that Leopold wore something similar, although his was clearly crafted to look more like normal wear and less like a safety device. But Rodin knew it would work the same. If he went into the water, the vest would provide buoyancy.

A complication, but not a reason to abandon the plan. Rodin would simply have to ensure that the man was far enough under that the vest couldn’t bring him to the surface. And if he happened to suffer an injury as he went overboard…

“Ready?” Leopold was already unfastening the sail, letting the canvas fall into the boat. Then he pulled on one of the ropes‌—‌the halyard, if Rodin remembered correctly‌—‌and the sail began to rise.

“You set the boat without automation too?” Rodin asked as he watched, noticing how confidently the Councillor stepped, even up on the gunwales.

“Most definitely.” Leopold finished pulling, and the mainsail flapped in the wind, the boom swinging freely. Rodin shuffled, raising a hand to ward it off. “Maybe it’s nothing more than a ritual, but I take pleasure in it.”

Leopold pulled the rope sharply between a cleat, then stepped round the mast and began to unwind the jib from the forestay. The boat lurched from side to side, but he moved effortlessly. “But maybe I should give a commentary as I work. That way, you’ll become more familiar with sailing, and Genevieve in particular.”

“Genevieve?”

“Every boat must have a name, and this girl is Genevieve. I had no say in the matter, of course‌—‌she was already named when I purchased her, and it’s considered bad luck to change a vessel’s given name. But it is a name that rolls round the mouth, is it not?” He leaned in slightly, a cue that he wanted Rodin’s opinion.

“It’s a nice name.” That sounded weak. “Almost sensual.”

Rodin had no idea where that came from, but it clearly pleased Leopold. “Absolutely! And then I researched the name. It’s old, from before the chaos and the collapse.” He cleated the next rope and stood tall, one hand on the metal forestay, the canvas billowing off to the side. “And do you know what it means?”

Rodin shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“It means white wave.” Leopold reached forward, ran one hand up the mast. “White wave. Isn’t that just perfect?”

“It does seem apt.” Although, he thought, it could soon be the only white wave at the bottom of the lake. Stupid, naming an inanimate object.

“Genevieve,” the man breathed, his face soft. Then he spun, jumped to the jetty. “But are we ready to sail? If you could grasp the tiller, my friend‌—‌that’s the wooden pole in front of you. Hold it steady, that’s it.”

As he spoke, Leopold untied ropes, throwing one then the other onto the dinghy. The boat began to drift away, but Leopold bounded across, and Rodin grasped the seat as the vessel rocked violently.

Leopold smiled, sitting opposite Rodin and taking the tiller. “And we’re off.” He reached down, pulling ropes. The sail puffed out, and the boom swung round as the boat turned.

They were sailing.

It wasn’t what Rodin expected. After a slight moment of nausea, the motion was gentle, the undulations peaceful. Water lapped against the boat, and the sails flapped. At least, until Leopold pulled the ropes tighter. Then the sail filled with air, the boat tilted, and they picked up speed.

“Ready about!” Leopold yelled, and the boat lurched. Rodin was thrown forward, which was fortunate, because the boom flew over his head. It felt like an invisible force had grabbed the boat and spun it around, before throwing it forward on a new course.

And in that movement, Leopold had swapped sides. He now sat beside Rodin, close enough to smell the soap the man had used, and the vaguely rubbery smell from his buoyancy vest.

“My apologies,” the Councillor said, his smile indicating how lacking in sorrow he really was. “I should have given you a few instructions. That was a tack.” And he launched into a description of the way a sailing boat was turned.

Rodin nodded in the right places, and asked a few question, even though he knew many of the answers from his research. But things were always different off the screen, and he had not been expecting the suddenness of the tack.

The next one was less jarring, and the one after that was almost pleasant. Rodin swapped sides now, keeping opposite Leopold. It didn’t even bother him when the boat tilted, and Rodin was able to reach a hand into the water with ease. After another few minutes, he joined Leopold in slipping his feet under the webbing and leaning way over the edge of the boat, the tiny vessel listing madly as the Councillor pulled the sail in tight.

Rodin felt his heart-rate increase as they skipped across the water, and the spray coated the smile on his face. Maybe there was more to sailing than he’d previously assumed.

They jibed, a more violent manoeuvre that involved Leopold grasping the boom as it fought to fly across the boat. The turn was sharp, the ending sudden, and Rodin noted how Leopold kept his feet spaced wide, his centre of gravity low.

A move that could put a man off-balance. An accident waiting to happen.

Leopold talked as they sailed. He pointed out areas of the lake and of the park‌—‌at least, what could be seen. In the moonlight, the water rippled, and that motion set it apart from the land. The paths were all illuminated by the same low-level lights, but other dots of illumination moved around. Torches, Leopold said, held by walkers. Not everyone was confident walking by the light of the moon.

But there were no lights on the water itself, Rodin noted. No other vessels, and nobody to witness the upcoming catastrophe.

“How are you faring, Terrell?” he asked. “Not queasy, are you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. There’s so much to take in, so many facets of the experience to assimilate. I don’t mean to be poor company.”

“Oh, but you’re not! Far from it. My work often involves listening to others, so it’s relaxing to be free to simply talk. My only fear is that I’ll start boring you.” He laughed, and Rodin smiled too. “But would you like to take the tiller?”

Don’t appear too eager. “Are you sure? I’d be fearful of making a mistake. It seems incredibly complex.”

Don’t appear too eager.It didn’t, of course. The sails caught the wind, and adjusting them altered the speed of the boat. The tiller moved the rudder, that plank of plastic sticking in the water at the back of the boat, and this was used for steering. Everything else was details and fancy names.

“You’ll be fine! One advantage of this time of night‌—‌we have the lake to ourselves.”

“But what of the sides‌…‌the bank? What if I crash?”

“Oh, no need to go anywhere near the edges. And if you do struggle, I can take over in an instant. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

“If you think I’m up to it, of course I’ll give it a go.”

“Excellent! I suggest the tiller in your left hand. Take the main sheet in your right. No, don’t pull it yet. Keep the sail where it is. Aim for a nice straight line. That’s it! Oh, this girl appreciates a firm hand. Don’t worry‌—‌that was nothing but a gust. Let’s try turning. Angle Genevieve into the wind‌…‌that’s it. Feel how we’re losing speed? Now, turn sharp, and make the move!”

“Ready about!” Rodin cried out as he ducked under the slow-moving boom. The sail caught the wind from the opposite side, and they were off once more.

“Excellent! And I’m impressed how you picked up on the correct call. I apologise how often I forget! Now, pull in the sail, just a fraction‌—‌let’s build up a little speed!”

Leopold kept up his commentary as Rodin got the feel of the boat. It was frustrating how he never felt in total control‌—‌the wind wasn’t steady, and it seemed that even moving about on the seat altered how the boat handled. But he soon had the hang of the basics. And he didn’t realise he was smiling until Leopold commented on it.

Rodin hadn’t enjoyed himself this much for a long time.

“Oh, you’re a natural! That’s excellent. But how about we try jibing?”

Rodin slowed the dinghy while Leopold explained the process, warning him how the wind would try to wrestle control of the sail, but that Rodin was Genevieve’s master, and he must keep a firm hand.

Rodin stuttered a few responses, and started the manoeuvre. He stood, mimicking Leopold’s stance‌—‌but he allowed one leg to shake, and when he moved he did so in short jerks, like he was panicking.

He knew this was going to be awkward, but he didn’t expect the wind to have so much force. His shoulder jarred as he fought to keep the boom where it was. Leopold shouted an instruction, something about pulling or pushing the tiller.

Rodin pushed, and the boat tilted high, water swimming around his legs. Leopold threw his weight over the side, feet under the straps and both hands on the gunwales. In the moonlight his face was as pale as the sail that bulged with wind.