Dominions

21-2

When Leopold yelled out wordlessly, Rodin let go of everything. The tiller slammed into his leg, and the boom flew over his head. The boat tilted again, and Leopold threw himself forward, practically pushing Rodin to one side.

Then they were level, Rodin on a wet seat, Leopold opposite.

“I’m sorry. That didn’t go well.”

“Nonsense! It was tighter than might be advisable, but you turned us, and we didn’t capsize. That’s better than many do on their first attempt.”

But there was a waver to his voice. For all his love of sailing, that move had unnerved Leopold. Good.

Good.“Take the tiller back. Practice makes perfect, so maybe the wise thing would be for you to keep command. Let’s try that manoeuvre again.”

They did, and this time Rodin kept the boat from taking on water. It was still jerky,‌—‌maybe sailing wasn’t as easy as it initially appeared.

“Much better! It’s difficult to believe you’ve never done this before. Oh, I’m most impressed, my friend.”

“Thank you. But it would take many, many hours of dedication to reach your easy mastery.”

The wind moved over the water, and in the moonlight Rodin saw ripples and peaks, some tight together, others spread out. He read the water, as he read situations and people. Ever changing, but predictable to one who understood the signs.

Rodin sailed the dinghy for a while longer, conscious of the subtle changes in the wind. He responded, teasing the tiller and the sail, making fractional movements, easing this Genevieve across the lake.

Leopold continued talking, something about a committee he was a part of. Rodin nodded, made positive noises when it seemed appropriate, but his mind was on other things. He noted the coils and bends of ropes at his feet, and he nudged one, forcing it to flip over, forming a loop. He saw Leopold’s leg, so close to the rope.

It wasn’t so much a plan as a way of taking advantage of the situation. If a jibe went wrong, Leopold would again rush about as he tried to keep his boat level. Rodin could, he believed, slip the loop of rope around the man’s ankle in the confusion. But that might not be enough. If‌…‌if the boom came over suddenly, striking the Councillor hard enough to knock him overboard…

There were options here. Rodin simply had to do whatever it took to ensure the man stayed under the surface once he entered the water.

The wind picked up, and spray flew. Rodin’s vest kept him warm, though‌—‌and that set his mind on other thoughts. Leopold wore his vest with the release webbing hanging to one side. That might be a design flaw, but Rodin could take advantage of it.

Rodin watched the water. He brought the boat round, keeping to the middle of the lake, away from land. He concentrated, breathing steadily, preparing his muscles.

A patch of water rippled with white-caps as a squall rushed over it. And the boat was in the perfect position.

“Ready about!” Rodin yelled, starting a slow turn into the wind.

Leopold eased forward, ready to swap sides. Ready for Rodin to pull the tiller.

But as the rush of wind hit, Rodin pushed instead, forcing the boat into a jibe. With a flick of his wrist, he freed the sail, catching as much of the squall as possible.

The boat creaked as it listed, building speed with the power of the wind. Rodin gripped the tiller, keeping the boat on the turn, even when water started washing over the sides.

Leopold yelled, off-balance, tricked by the movement. Rodin ducked as the wind grabbed the sail, sending the boom screaming over his head. He threw himself forward at the same time, one hand dipping to the water-logged deck, the other reaching for Leopold’s vest.

He pulled the webbing, freeing it, and before Leopold could respond he pushed. Leopold flew back as the boom crashed into him.

Rodin dove to the water-filled bottom of the boat, throwing the loop of the rope round the Councillor’s flailing legs, pulling it tight.

The world tilted violently, and they slammed into the water.

In the icy blackness, Rodin grabbed Leopold, pulled him close. He punched, fist sinking into the man’s stomach, and a rush of bubbles hit Rodin’s face.

Leopold slapped his arms wildly, and Rodin spun him, grabbed rope and twisted it round the man’s body. The Councillor jerked, and a hand clawed at Rodin’s face. He knocked it away, pushing Leopold down, even as his own vest pulled him to the surface. With one hand he released the webbing, shrugged it off his shoulders, let it float to the surface.

And something hit him. Not the Councillor, but something solid, and there was movement all around, bushing against him.

The sail.

The boat must have turned upside-down, and now the mast was pointing to the bottom of the lake. The sail hung loose in the water, folding over, wrapping itself around Rodin.

His lungs burned, and his stomach contracted. He needed air.

Conscious that Leopold had slipped from his grasp, Rodin clawed at the canvas, pushing it aside. He kicked, then clawed his way up, to where the blackness wasn’t quite as intense. Light burst into his vision, his stomach clenched again, and nausea rose.

His head broke the surface. He gulped down air, thought he’d throw up. He coughed, and threw his arms out, splashing in the water. It sparkled in the light.

The bright light that played over the surface of the lake.

As the roar of the water in his ears subsided, Rodin heard the soft purr of an engine, close by. There was a voice, too, asking if he was okay.

He spun, but hands reached under his arms, and someone grunted as the water fell away from him. No‌…‌as he was pulled free of the lake.

“Can you see me? Can you tell me your name?”

The voice was female. Rodin blinked, patches of light dispersing in his vision, and he saw a head, partially concealed by long hair. The woman appeared to be leaning over him.

“What‌…‌what happened?” he stammered. Who was this woman, and what was she doing on the water? He’d been alone with the Councillor, hadn’t he? No lights, no sounds from‌…‌from this other boat that he now lay in. “Leopold,” he said, not sure exactly what he was asking.

“Relax.” A hand brushed his head. “Look.”

She reached one arm round him, tilting his whole body so that he could look out onto the water. The dark shape floating close by was surely the upturned hull of Leopold’s Guinevere, but there was a figure in the water just to one side. No, two figures. One lay flat in the water, and the other pulled them both toward the woman’s vessel. She reached over, grabbing the floating person.

As she lay him in the boat, Rodin recognised the prone figure as Leopold. He wasn’t moving and his eyes were closed, and for a moment Rodin thought that, maybe, his plan had worked. But there was no urgency in the woman, or the man who now climbed up beside Leopold.

The woman bent over the Councillor, her back to Rodin.

“He’s unconscious, but he’s alive,” she said.

Blood flowed from Leopold’s head, but the woman pressed a bandage down. The bandage soon lost its whiteness, and she placed another over the top, sealing it in place with tape. She rested Leopold on his side, and Rodin could see the rhythmic rise and fall of the man’s chest.

Damn!

Damn!“Always said these night-time sessions were a risk,” the woman said, like she was chastising a child. “But he wouldn’t listen.”

“He might pay more heed now.” The man rubbed his head, droplets of water flying.

“Maybe. Still don’t reckon he’ll be happy we were watching, though.”

The man shrugged, then turned to Rodin and knelt down. “How are you doing? Any injuries, any pain?”

Rodin shook his head. The pain was all internal.

He’d failed.

“Okay. We’ll get you back to the clubhouse.” The man turned to the woman. “You’ve called for help?”

“Should be here in a few minutes,” she said, then turned to Rodin, the bright light once more obscuring her features. “We’ll get our friend here to the medi-center, and they can give him a full check. But from what I can tell, there’s no injuries that won’t heal in time. Might have a nasty bump on his head for a while, and he’ll have to rest up for a few days, but‌…‌he had a lucky escape.”

But there was a sharpness to her voice that felt out of place. Like she was blaming Rodin.

He shuddered, and it might have been from the cold, but it might have been from the growing realisation.

The woman glared at him‌—‌he knew this, even though her face was in shadow. She did blame him. And what she’d said earlier‌—‌she was watching over the Councillor, even on his supposed private night-time sails. Like‌…‌like she was protecting him.

didRodin thought of the ambush by that stinking river in the districts, and of the assassin sent to ensure he didn’t take this contract.

Cat had spoken of those who wanted to ensure Leopold remained alive. They’d come after him before he crossed the glass. And there was no reason they’d stop protecting Leopold now. Far from it.

With Rodin so close to the Councillor, they’d only increase their efforts to ensure he failed.