as fast as they could stumble through the weeds and muck. Then he was in waist-deep water, with the sides of a gondola under his hands, and he was simultaneously scrambling and being pulled aboard. That was . . . Maria Garavelli cursing under her breath beside his head.
And then a gun went off practically in his ear.
He tumbled onto the bottom slats and lay there, frozen, and wet, and hurting; shivering so hard he could hardly think, with shouting going on over his head, and another shot.
Then they were under a winged leonine shadow as consciousness slipped away.

When he came to again, it was to the sight of Maria standing on the stern, moving the