“I’m all right,” said Robin to Edwin. “I’ll tell you later. Here.”
Edwin took a caramel from the proffered parcel. The strain in Robin’s face bothered him. Robin had been correct, last night: none of this was Robin’s fault, and he deserved distraction if he wanted it. He’d been enjoying himself with the game until that vision, whatever it was.
Robin had barely moved a few firm strokes farther towards the lake’s centre when a miniature fountain erupted beneath the red boat, like an account Edwin had read of the great waterspouts of whales. It sent both Robin and caramels tumbling into the water. The cheers and hoots were far louder this time.
Edwin rowed gingerly to what he calculated was the edge of that charm’s radius. He reached over and grabbed the edge of Robin’s drifting boat; it had landed right side up, at least. Just as Robin swam over and reached for the other side, Edwin gave it a daring yank out of his reach.
“What—” Robin looked drenched and befuddled, his hair darkly otter-slick.
“Rah,” Edwin said with precision. “Dark Blues.”
Robin’s face transformed into a grin and he splashed a handful of water up at Edwin. “So you do have a competitive streak,” he panted as Edwin steadied the red boat’s side so that Robin could struggle back aboard. His shirt clung, transparent, to his chest. “Didn’t think I’d have to pack boating flannels,” he added, plucking at it. “And I don’t think they come in mourning colours. Damn, that wind’s got a bite to it, doesn’t it?”
“I can warm you up,” said Edwin.
Robin stared at him. Edwin felt his face fill with mortified colour.
His voice cracked as he said, “I meant—I can do a drying spell.”
“Oh,” said Robin, with a hint of crack himself. “Yes! Much obliged. If you would.”
Edwin dropped the cradle twice before he managed the spell. It warmed his palms and parched the skin there; he raised his cupped hands to his face, and blew as though to snuff a candle. The spell billowed invisibly out and over Robin, and a half-lidded expression of enjoyment fell onto his face and nearly distracted Edwin into losing his focus.
“There,” Edwin said when it was done, trying not to sound too winded. He had the wrung-out feeling that meant he’d drained his power and wouldn’t be able to muster the smallest of spells for the rest of the day. Perhaps it had been a waste. But Robin looked delighted, his sunniness restored. And his shirt, Edwin noted with a pang, once again opaque.
Robin ruffled his now-dry hair with one hand and said, “Right-ho—let’s try for a second,” and sculled himself determinedly off into a new stretch of lake.
Edwin put his abandoned caramel in his mouth and let it soften there, sweet and buttery. The breeze had picked up, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Trudie had her hand in an open lily. A small contained rainstorm was soaking Charlie, near the lake’s centre; Charlie flung up an umbrella spell, then laughed and let it dissolve, tipping his head back.
This was . . . not terrible. Edwin felt almost fond of Bel and her imagination and her tireless dashing after diversion.
Bel herself pulled her boat up near his, breathing hard. She too had a bedraggled look to her hair, and she waved an oar, sounding gleeful. “I thought I’d have laid the Pied Piper on one of them.”
Edwin followed her gaze to where Robin was undergoing an ornithological bombardment. Every duck and coot and moorhen on the lake had taken an intimate interest in the red boat, and those that weren’t paddling at it as though scenting bread had already begun to flap their way out of the water and into the boat itself. Robin was laughing and trying to shove them back out again, collecting angry quacks and pecks for his troubles.
It wasn’t just waterfowl, either. Smaller birds dotted the air, flitting and curling, calling out in every voice from fluting to harsh. They seemed to be trying for a perch on the boat, or on Robin himself.
“I’m going to be Noah’s Ark if this keeps up,” shouted Robin. “Oh—blast,” and ducked as a blackbird swooped right for his face.
The water around the red boat was frothing with the motion of curious fish. Edwin had exactly enough time to wonder uneasily about eels before the inevitable happened: one too many birds, one sudden movement too far on Robin’s behalf, and Robin was toppling into the lake. Again.
Belinda shouted with laughter and buried her face in one hand.
“Robin?” Edwin shouted.
“Ah—help?” came from Robin, somewhat muffled.