“But he is all right?” Terence said anxiously.

“All right?” Professor Peddick said. “He is wrongheaded, ignorant, prideful, opinionated, puerile, and violent! All right?”

“I mean, he’s not in danger of drowning.”

“Of course not,” Professor Peddick said. “He has no doubt gone off to expound his misguided theories to the Haviland Committee! And left me to drown! If you two had not come along when you did, I should have shared the Duke of Clarence’s fate. And Overforce, that villain, would have had the Haviland Chair!”

“Well, at least no one’s killed anyone,” Terence said. He looked anxiously at his pocket watch. “Ned, take the lines. We must hurry if we are to take the professor home and be back to Iffley before the afternoon’s gone.”

Good, I thought. When we get back to Folly Bridge I can make some excuse for not going on to Iffley with Terence — seasickness or a relapse or something — and go back to the railway station. And hope my contact was still there.

“Iffley!” Professor Peddick said. “Just the place! Splendid dace fishing there. Tuttle Minor said he saw a split-tailed rainbow half a mile above Iffley Lock.”

“But shouldn’t you go back?” Terence said unhappily. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”

“Nonsense. Nearly dry. And this is too good an opportunity to miss. You’ve fishing lines, I presume, and bait?”

“But what about Professor Overforce?” I said. “Won’t he be worried about you?”

“Ha! He’s gone off to write about populations and teach his dog to ride a bicycle! Populations! History is made by individuals, not populations! Lord Nelson, Catherine de Medici, Galileo!”

Terence looked longingly at his pocket watch. “If you’re certain you won’t catch cold,” he said. “The thing is, I’ve an appointment at Iffley at two o’clock.”

“Then ‘Press on! while yet ye may!’ ” Professor Peddick said. “ ‘Vestigia nulla retrorsum,’ ” and Terence took up the oars with determination.

The willows dwindled to bushes and then to grass, and ahead around a long curve of the river I could see a gray church tower. Iffley.

I pulled out my pocket watch and counted out the Roman time. Five minutes till II. Terence would be on time for his appointment at least. And hopefully mine would wait for me.

“Stop!” the professor said and stood up in the boat.

“Don’t—” Terence said and dropped the oars with a clatter. I grabbed for him and caught the rug as it fell around his feet. The boat swayed dangerously, and water slopped over the gunwales. Cyril blinked, bleary-eyed, and wobbled to his feet, and that was all we needed.

“Sit,” I commanded, and Professor Peddick looked around bewilderedly and sat down.

“St. Trewes, we must take the boat to shore immediately,” he said, pointing at the bank. “Look.”

We all, even Cyril, looked at a grassy meadow covered in Queen Anne’s lace and buttercups.

“It is the very image of the field of Blenheim,” Professor Peddick said. “Look, yonder the village of Sonderheim and beyond it Nebel Brook. It proves my point exactly. Blind forces! It was the Duke of Marlborough who won the day! Have you an exercise book? And a fishing line?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to do this later? This afternoon, after we’ve been to Iffley.”

“The attack against Tallard happened in early afternoon in just this light,” Professor Peddick said, pulling on his boots. “What sort of bait did you bring?”

“But we haven’t time,” Terence said. “I’ve this appointment—”

“ ‘Omnia aliena sunt, tempus tantum nostrum est,’ ” Professor Peddick quoted. “ ‘Nothing is ours except time.’ ”

I leaned forward and whispered to Terence, “You could leave us here and come back for us after your appointment.”

He nodded, looking happier, and began bringing the boat in toward the bank. “But I need you to go with me,” he said, “to work the tiller. Professor Peddick, I’m going to put you ashore to study the battle, and we’ll go on to Iffley and then come back and collect you.” He began to look for a place to land.

It took an eternity to find a spot where the bank sloped enough for the professor to be able to climb it, and even longer to locate the fishing equipment. Terence rummaged through the Gladstone bag between frantic looks at his pocket watch, and I dug into the tin box, looking for the fishing line and a box of flies.

“Here it is!” Terence said. He thrust the flies into the professor’s pocket, reached for an oar, and pushed us up flat against the bank.

“Land ho,” Terence said, popping up and standing with one foot on the muddy bank. “Here you go, Professor.”

Professor Peddick looked vaguely around, picked up his mortarboard, and started to put it on.

“Wait!” I said, rescuing it. “Have you got a bowl or something, Terence? For the white gudgeon.”

We rummaged again, Terence through one of the bandboxes, I in my satchel. Two starched collars, a pair of black patent shoes three sizes too small for me, a toothbrush.

The covered basket Cyril had been sniffing at. It had the food in it, and presumably, a pot to cook it in. I dug through the jumble in the stern and then under the seat. There it was, perched on the prow. I reached for it.

“A kettle!” Terence said, holding one up by the handle. He handed it to me.

I emptied the fish and the water into it and handed the mortarboard to professor Peddick. “Don’t put it on just yet,” I said. “Wait till the water’s evaporated.”

“An apt pupil,” the professor said, beaming. “ ‘Beneficiorum gratia sempiterna est.’ ”

“All ashore that’s going ashore,” Terence said, and had him out of the boat and up the bank before I could set the kettle down.

“We’ll be an hour,” he said, clambering back into the boat and grabbing the oars. “Perhaps two.”

“I shall be here,” Professor Peddick said, standing on the very edge of the bank. “ ‘Fidelis ad urnum.’ ”

“He won’t fall in again?” I said.

“No,” Terence said, not very convincingly, and went at the oars as if it were Eights Week.

We pulled rapidly away from Professor Peddick, who had stooped to peer at something on the ground through his pince-nez. The box of flies fell out of his pocket and skittered halfway down the bank. He bent farther and reached for it.

“Perhaps we should…” I said, and Terence gave a mighty pull around a bend, and there was the church and an arched stone bridge.

“She said she’d be waiting on the bridge,” Terence panted. “Can you see her?”

I shaded my eyes and looked at the bridge. There was someone standing near the north end of it. We pulled rapidly closer to the bridge. A young woman holding a white parasol. In a white dress.

“Is she there?” Terence said, yanking on the oars.

She was wearing a white hat with blue flowers on it, and under it her auburn hair shone in the sunlight.

“Am I too late?” Terence said.

“No,” I said. But I am, I thought.

She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.