As he launched himself over the side, he heard a fresh thudding sound. He didn’t have to look to know where the sound was coming from. But as he hit the water and as the shock and the cold drove the air from his lungs, he looked anyway.

The steamboat’s paddle blades were creating such a froth it was like staring into a boiling cauldron. A dark object appeared within the turbulence and Hawkwood realized it was a body. Whether it was Maddox or another of Stagg’s crew, or even Lawrence, he couldn’t tell. Within seconds it was drawn down beneath the revolving blades.

In desperation, he kicked out but his legs felt as heavy as lead. The coat and the water in his boots were pulling him down. He tried moving his arms, but that proved just as difficult. His limbs were refusing to obey the signals sent by his brain. With the cold sapping his strength at such an extraordinary rate, swimming any distance was out of the question. Energy was leaching from his body with each expelled breath. And the paddlewheel was getting closer. Its pull was sucking him towards the maelstrom.

Then his head went under.

Water surged into his mouth and nostrils. He clawed for the surface. This time, his arms were able to obey the command and his head broke through. Coughing out water, he gulped in air.

And something hit him on the shoulder.

One of the paddle blades was his first thought. Terror took over. Without any rational thought of how ineffective such a gesture would be, he tried to bat it away.

And a voice that seemed to come from nowhere yelled, “WHORE!”

He felt another thump, harder, this time against his arm, and the cry came again, clearer this time and much closer.

“OAR!”

A dark shadow materialized above him. He flinched.

“Christ’s sake’s, man! Grab the bloody OAR!”

Lawrence? He thought weakly. How?

Something struck the water in front of him. He lunged towards it, found it was the oar’s shaft and fumbled his way along its length. The oar was reeled in and the back of his collar was gripped.

“Reach up, God damn it! Here!”

Retching, Hawkwood felt his right wrist grabbed. Letting go of the oar, he reached up with his left hand for the dinghy’s gunwale.

“Hold on!”

With a supreme effort he managed to hoist both elbows over the side of the boat. Then, with Lawrence braced against the side and holding on to his sodden coat, he was able to haul himself unceremoniously out of the water. As he lay fighting for breath at the bottom of the dinghy, he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and heard Lawrence say, “I think the bastard’s stopping.”