I took a deep breath, then concentrated, imaging out the window glass from the door that seemed to be the one closest to the surface. More icy water poured over me, filling the entire inside of the coach, which seemed to be bobbing along under water or bouncing up from the bottom. I held my breath and grabbed the edges of the window fame, levering myself out, except my left boot became stuck and I found myself being caught and stretched as the current pulled me downstream and the sunken coach held me fast.
Somehow, I managed to pull my boot free, but my lungs felt like they were bursting by the time my head finally broke above the water. After a moment, I located the river wall. Then I started to swim toward it. That didn’t do much good, because all that was there was a sheer expanse of icy smooth stone stretching upward some five or six yards, and the current was carrying me southward.
I must have been swept two hundred yards downstream before I managed to locate one of the ladders, even if there wasn’t a platform at the bottom. I lunged and grabbed it, then got my boots on the bottom rung. It didn’t get any easier. The iron ladder was icy and slippery, and after I’d climbed three or four rungs, my hands were numb. I kept forcing myself up. I finally pulled myself over the wall and took several steps away from the river. I was shuddering almost uncontrollably.
As I stood on the still narrow river promenade, a thought occurred to me. Could I image the water out of my garments? Then I shook my head. They needed some residual water, or they’d likely turn to dust, and, with the water on my skin, and my exhausted state, I might end up injuring myself.
“Sir! Sir!” A patroller came running toward me. “Are you all right?”
“For the moment. If I don’t get out of these clothes, I’ll turn into an icicle.”
“This way, sir!”
Less than half a quint later, I was wearing borrowed baggy brown wool trousers and a blanket, standing in the kitchen of Aelys’s-a bistro I’d never known even existed.
“Can you tell me what happened, sir?” asked the patroller.
“What happened to my driver?” I worried about Desalyt.
“We haven’t found him, sir. One of the women who saw it said he went into the river.”
“Why didn’t the horses go into the river?”
“The traces broke, we think, sir. We had to put one of them down. Could you tell me what happened, please, sir?”
Along with my questions, that took almost a glass, enough that my boots, set near the stove, were only damp, as opposed to soaked. Then, after I took a hack to Imagisle, I had to tell the duty second about the accident, and then meet with Ghaend, who was in charge of transportation, so that he could tell Desalyt’s family, and Reynol, who handled losses of property for the Collegium. I also left a brief note for Maitre Dyana, who was at the Council Chateau, presumably meeting with Chief Counselor Ramsael.
It was nearing a quint past fourth glass before I finally left the administration building and made my way across the quadrangle and northward. As I walked swiftly up the front walk to the house, I caught sight of the Maitre’s dwelling, where Maitre Dyana would eventually take residence, and realized that the exterior looked to be complete. Work had slowed considerably, given the imagers who had left Imagisle to accompany Dartazn, but there were still enough, obviously, to continue with the repair and rebuilding.
Klysia stepped into the hall and looked at me, wrapped in a patroller blanket and baggy trousers, and carrying soaked grays and my winter cloak. In escaping from the coach, I’d lost my visored cap.
“Master Rhennthyl!”
“I took an unplanned swim in the river.”
By the time I had handed off the soaked garments, washed up, and donned fresh garments and dry boots and sat down in front of the family parlor fire for a quint or so, Seliora and Diestrya arrived. I stood and went to the foyer.
“Rhenn…you’re home early.”
“That’s because I took an unplanned swim in the River Aluse.”
“What? How did that happen?”
“Dada went swimming?” asked my daughter.
“I did. The water was cold. It wasn’t a good idea.” I turned to Seliora. “Let’s get Diestyra settled in the kitchen for her dinner, and then I’ll tell you.”
Seliora understood.
Once the two of us were back in the parlor, I went through the whole thing, grateful that, by the end of my tale, the combination of hot tea and warmth from the stove finally lifted the last lingering chill from my bones.
Seliora said quietly, “Cydarth wanted you dead.”
“That’s likely, but the way it was set up will make it difficult, if not impossible, to prove it. There are also a number of people who might want me dead, and all of them would know enough to pick ways that would be hard for an imager to escape.”
“Most imagers wouldn’t be able to image away a widow under water and swim through an icy river.”
“Oh…all of those Clovyl trains could do that part.”
“What? All ten of you? And who knows that?”
“Very few,” I had to admit.
After a long silence, she asked, “Will it always be like this?”
“For a time,” I temporized. “Until it becomes clear there are other powerful imagers.”
“That could be a very long time, dearest.”
Unless I could do something about that…
60
On Jeudi morning I woke up only sore in a few places, not enough to change my morning routine, a routine that had doubtless contributed to my surviving the events of the previous day. I did hurry to the administration building, since I wanted to brief Maitre Dyana as soon as possible. I was there before she was. So I sat in her anteroom with Gerard reading the morning newsheets.
Both reported on the story of my river swim, but on the second page. The front page of Tableta featured a story based on “unauthenticated information” that suggested that the northern fleet was preparing for a major offensive against the Ferran fleets. A number of highly placed sources suggested that such an effort, if indeed true, was incredibly risky in midwinter, given the potential for storms and high seas. The lead story in Veritum was about the military situation in Otelyrn, and how the lack of Solidaran fleet presence had allowed Stakanar, an ally in all but name of Ferrum, to seize the most valuable territory of Tiempre.
The story about my accident was short and direct in both newsheets. A coal wagon had been stolen right on the streets of L’Excelsis, the driver coshed and trussed up, but somehow, the hitches had been loosened and the wagon released and hurtled downhill into the Collegium coach. The team had been found a block away, largely unharmed. Civic Patrol Captain Subunet of First District suggested that the thieves had panicked after the wagon had gotten away and headed downhill. The damage had been limited to the coal wagon and to the imager coach and its occupants. The single passenger in the coach had been thrown into the river with the coach, but had escaped and swum through the icy waters to safety. The driver was still missing and possibly drowned.
I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Once again, as had happened too often in the past, an innocent man had died because people were trying to kill me. Yet, with all that was at stake, I didn’t see that my becoming a recluse on Imagisle was in anyone’s interests, except Cydarth’s and Vyktor’s…and the Ferrans’.
At a slight cough, I set down the newsheets and rose to greet Maitre Dyana. “Good morning, Maitre.”