One man pulled a knife and sawed at the branches, which were now coming through both sides of the boat. Was Lena directly beneath us? It would protect her from gunshots, since they couldn’t shoot her without sinking us, but how could she breathe?

Another branch took control of the wheel. That was enough for the crew. They turned their full attention to cutting and breaking themselves free. One jumped overboard. I slowly slid a hand into my jacket and pulled out an orange plastic squirt gun. While the others struggled with Lena’s attack, I leaned out and shot the swimming man in the back of the head with a squirt of water from the river Lethe. It was a diluted dose, and should be just enough to wipe their memories of the past day. Maybe two.

Lena appeared inclined to let them go. The branches loosened, and people dove away almost too fast for me to tag them all with the squirt gun.

Soon, only a single man remained, bound like a wooden statue. I crawled to the wheel, restarted the engine, and did my best to steer us away from the cutters as Lena pulled herself on board.

“Smudge?” I shouted.

She pointed toward the remains of the Nemo.

I brought us around one-handed. Water was seeping through the holes she’d punched in the hull, though the branches mostly sealed them.

She brought her face to mine. “Are you all right?” she mouthed.

I shook my head. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a glass vial encased in wood. She must have grown an oak shell to protect it. She removed the top and placed a single drop on my tongue. The burning and throbbing in my arm vanished, as did the other pains I’d acquired.

Lena turned away and reached into the water. A moment later, she was hauling Deb on board.

I spotted an angry red flare bobbing atop one of the larger chunks of the Nemo, a section of deck and hull about the size of a small car. Lena must have gotten Smudge out of his cage before swimming out to intercept us.

Lena pulled one of the branches free and extended it toward Smudge. The wood grew, stretching until it touched the wreckage. Smudge scrambled onto the end of the branch, a pillar of steam and flame and fury. He raced onto the top of Lena’s head and clung there like a crown of fire. Lena grimaced, but Smudge’s flames were mostly on the top of his body, and her hair was wet enough to keep it from igniting.