Citadel Read Online Free PDF Page B

so mostly the current sent its cargo rushing downstream.
    Sandrine looked out over the river. Now she noticed there was something else in the water, caught on the ridge of jagged rocks below the weir. Pushing the chain into her pocket, she shielded her gaze with her hand, reluctant to believe the evidence of her own eyes.
    It looked like someone trying to swim. One arm stretched out, the white material of the shirt billowing in the current, the other holding on to the rocks.
    ‘Monsieur?’ she shouted, hearing the fear in her voice. ‘Monsieur, do you need help?’
    Her voice sounded thin, not loud enough to carry above the roar of the water over the weir.
    ‘Monsieur!’
    Sandrine looked around for help, but the ferry had reached the far bank and was out of earshot. She dropped the jacket on to the grass and ran up towards the road. There was no one about, no sign of the motorbike she’d heard, no one walking past.
    ‘Help, I need help,’ she shouted.
    There was no answer, no movement, just shadows reflected in the water, a pattern of light and dark. Sandrine ran back to the river, hoping she’d imagined it, but the man was still there, on the rocks beneath the weir, his shirt moving to and fro in the current. It was down to her. There was no choice. There was nobody else.
    She removed her shoes and her socks, tucked her skirt into her underwear, then waded out into the water.
    ‘I’m coming, hold on.’
    The further she went into the current, the faster the water swirled about her legs, harder and fiercer against her calves, her knees, the backs of her thighs. Deeper, colder. Sandrine struggled not to be knocked off her feet.
    ‘Hold on,’ she cried again.
    Finally, she was close enough to touch him. A young man, unconscious, dark skin, black brows, long hair. His head lolled to one side. His mouth and nose were out of the water, but his eyes were closed. She wasn’t sure if he was breathing or not.
    ‘Monsieur, can you hear me?’ she said. ‘Take my hand, if you can.’
    He didn’t respond.
    Steeling herself, Sandrine reached out and touched him. Still nothing. She took a deep breath, then manoeuvred herself around so that she could get her hands beneath his armpits. She tried to pull. At first, nothing happened, he was held somehow on the rocks. But then his grip slackened and after a few more heaves, suddenly he came free.
    Sandrine lurched and nearly collapsed under the sudden responsibility of his weight, but then the water took over and held him up. Feeling the squelch of mud between her toes, slowly she began to drag him back to the bank. She tried not to look at his pallid skin and lifeless features, his dark hair. She thought he was breathing, hoped he was. Tiny sounds seemed to be coming from his mouth, but she wasn’t sure. Every drop of her strength was focused on the task of getting him back to the safety of the shore.
    As the water became shallower, he grew heavier in her arms. The last few steps were almost impossible, half dragging, half pulling, until his upper body at least was out of the water. With what little energy she had left, she managed to roll him on to his side before sinking to the ground on the grass beside him.
    She took deep breaths, steadied her heart. A few moments later and she forced herself to look at him properly, at his bruised and lifeless face. There were rope burns around his wrists, red marks on his lower arms. Not the sort of marks he could have got from the water. She looked at his feet, seeing the soles were also bruised.
    Sandrine swallowed hard. Not drowned. Rather, someone had tied him up, beaten him. She took another deep breath, fighting the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her, trying to work out what might have happened.
    Without warning, the man’s eyes snapped open. He coughed, started to choke, as if the oxygen had suddenly started to feed into his lungs again. Sandrine leapt back, just as a stream of river water spewed from his mouth. He