We’re soon on the road. Proximus drives the horses while I am to “stay with the leaves.”

There are a lot of leaves. The horses on this planet aren’t really horses, and they seem able to carry much more weight than even oxen on Earth could. The wagon reminds me of a covered wagon from the 1800s, though it has spikes of bone jutting out from its frame. When I asked Proximus about those, he told me I “probably didn’t want to know.”

So I ride on top of the leaves, which are all wrapped and bound in a type of canvas. Even though the leaves are wrapped and dried, I can still smell them. It’s a dense and herbal smell, as strong at least as something like fresh mint or allspice, though smelling nothing like either of those–or like any other herb from Earth.

I peek my head through the opening and see Proximus’ broad shoulders before me. I keep expecting it to be night, and I have to remind myself that it never will be. Instead I see the dull sun in the distance, casting its feint light onto his muscular contours.

I watch him for a few minutes in silence. Even though he’s been driving the horses for hours, he doesn’t so much as slouch.

I finally whisper his name.

He turns to me with a scowl. “Keep out of sight.”

I scowl back. The scent of the leaves is so strong that I don’t have to keep the stinking ratskunk blood on me, but now I’m not allowed to so much poke my head out of the wagon.

“How much further?” I ask.

He tries to shove me back in, but I dodge his hand, and he just growls and gives up.

The buildings in front of me seem to only go a block or two deep. I’m used to seeing the city look almost infinite. We must be nearing the river. The part where it wraps around the far end of the city–we’re not going back the way we came, but rather deeper in toward the inner regions. Which are supposed to be warmer and brighter. Though more dangerous.

“Aren’t the bridges going to be guarded like before?” I ask.

He nods. “We will ford the river.”

Ford the river? I only know the verb “ford” from playing The Oregon Trail as a kid. I strain to remember what happens when you ford the river. As I recall, you lose a lot of bullets, meat, spare parts...oh, and usually two or three people die.

“That sounds bad,” I whisper.

“Go back inside,” he says. “I am in charge.”

“Why don’t we bribe the guards?” I ask. “With some dream leaves.”

“They are on duty, they cannot conceal giant bags of smelly leaves,” he says. “And if the emperor clan is looking for us, they’ll know the reward for finding us is better than anything I can provide. We ford the river. It’s only as deep as four men here.”

Four alien men. So at least 30 feet deep. I doubt that 30 feet or 100 feet would make much difference at all in this situation.

“I don’t like it,” I whisper.

“Once we are out of the city,” he says. “You can come out. We will make camp somewhere, and I will spear you again. This will appease you, and I will also enjoy it immensely.”

I laugh. “Wow, that is so romantic, Proximus.”

“Yes,” he says, smiling with satisfaction.

It’s hard to stay mad at him sometimes. If a man from Earth said something like this, I’d probably slap him. Proximus doesn’t know that this isn’t the way you talk to a woman, and his simple and matter-of-fact stating what will happen...and his immense enjoyment brings a big smile to my face, which is burning red.

“Can these horses swim?” I ask.

“They must,” he answers.

In the chaos of leaving the company storehouse, I only partially managed to overhear what the overall plan was. Proximus didn’t order everyone fired or destroy the company, and he ordered the expensive expedition to kill the Clan Who Dreams and steal the dream leaf supply to continue as planned. I heard some mention of him planning to return once the source of leaves was secured.

The more obvious part of the plan was that we sell the leaves we have closer toward the inner regions. Kannakus said that the leaves were worth a fraction of their true value so far out in Therassus, and the further in we traveled, the more we could sell the leaves for. This is why we are risking going into more dangerous territory–for greater profit.

Proximus still wanted to sell them in Therassus for a fraction of their true value, but he knew he couldn’t risk staying in that city any longer after killing two of the city guard.

We reach the end of the buildings, and then I see a ramp in front of us. It dips down until it disappears in the green water.

“Small fishing ships enter the river here,” he says.

He urges the horses forward, but they stop a few feet short of the water, letting out a weird grunting noise and jerking backward.

Proximus leaps off the front of the wagon, pulls his spear out, and slaps each horse on the ass with the blunt butt of his spear. They move forward, and he jumps back up onto the wagon as the horses go down neck-deep into the river.

Soon the wagon dips into the water, and I find myself crossing my fingers that it will actually float. Water sloshes up and covers Proximus up to his thighs. I can tell by the look on his face that it’s too deep, that he expected the wagon to float more than this.

He acts at once, grabbing two bags of leaves–one in each hand–and throwing them into the river.

I muster all of my strength to grab one single bag and hoist it up. I toss it into the water. In time it takes me to toss that one bag overboard, Proximus throws out six or seven.

Water starts to seep into the wagon, hitting the bottom of my feet. The skin-tight teal suit protects me from the cold of the water more than I’d have expected. The fabric must be well beyond anything we have on Earth.

Proximus throws more bags overboard, and I notice the water isn’t getting any deeper.

“I think we’ve stabilized,” he says.

We both sigh as the sound of sloshing water dies down. I can hear my panting breath again, and I feel so thankful that, for once, something is going to go as planned.

I hear a loud snap, and just as I begin processing what that sound could mean, I feel icy water rush up all around me. At first I’m amazed at how fast the water flooded into the wagon, but then I realize it didn’t flood in, we just went all the way under. The small area above my head that isn’t submerged is just a bubble of air, and it’s quickly shrinking. I tread water to keep my head in that bubble, and through I feel my suit tighten to prevent ice-cold water from leaking in, it sloshes up along my neck and chin, sending a frosty chill deep into my bones. I know I should swim out now and escape the wagon, but I find myself too afraid to do anything beyond keep myself in that bubble of air, which will soon be gone.

Proximus breaks through the water and appears in front of me. His teal shoulders glisten with droplets of water as he breaks above the surface and into the bubble of air. He grabs hold of me with one strong arm.

“I will count to four,” he says, “And then we are going under. Get a good breath.”

On three I suck in all the air I can manage, and on four he pulls us under. I feel us shoving through wet sacks of canvas, and I soon lose all sense of direction. I focus on holding my breath as Proximus pulls me through the water. Just when my lungs start to hurt and scream out for air, we break through the surface, and I take in a deep breath. Some water gets in, and I start to cough, but Proximus sets me down on the shore. He grips me and pulls me tight against his body, then pats my back with enough force that I cough up water.

I look up and see that a few floating boards are all that remain of our wagon. There’s a handful of canvas bundles floating among the wreckage, and before I can even suggest it, Proximus dives back into the river to retrieve them.

He manages to save four or five packs of leaves, but the rest go under. One of our horses is standing a few dozen feet from us and huffing, but the others are nowhere to be seen.

Proximus takes my soaking mantle off my body and wrings it out as best he can. He gets the horse to come back toward us, and after he calms it, he puts the wet mantle over its back.

“You must be cold,” he says. “Humans cannot retain heat. Especially human women.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “The suit protected me.”

I really am cold though. My hair is soaked, and the frigid air feels like it’s seeping all the heat from my body out through my scalp.

Proximus pulls me against him and wraps his arms around me. His warmth covers me, and I start to feel better immediately.

“I said I’m fine,” I lie. I know we need to keep moving.

“You’re not,” he says. “Let me warm you.”

And so I do. He warms me as I use a torn piece of canvas to dry my hair.

“Are the leaves still good?” I ask.

Proximus slashes open one of the bags with the tip of his spear. He holds up a handful of leaves and squeezes. Water drips out in thick droplets. He growls and throws the whole bag into the river.

“Can’t we dry them?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It will be taken by mushrooms.”

“You mean mold?”

“No,” he says. “Mushrooms. Fungus.”

Another word he didn’t get.

He checks the rest of the bags, and finds two bags that didn’t get soaked. He ties them to the horse. I’m afraid to ask how little money two bags will get us.

We ride the single horse together, though it has no saddle. I wrap my hands around Proximus and try to sleep as we ride. I wake up a few times to realize that I’m in front of Proximus, and that he’s holding me secure with one hand while he drives the horse by its neck with the other.

At some point I feel myself being lowered onto the ground, with the now dried out mantle wrapped around me.