George the Gut, leaning so far over he came close to swamping the little craft, helped first Andy and then Marcus into the rowboat along with a generous quantity of river water. Zimona was curled in the stern, sobbing, and with all of them soaked, it took Marcus a moment to realize Andy was crying, too.

“What the hell happened?” George said. “I was getting ready to cut loose when I heard the shouting. Where’s Raesinia and Nell?”

“He fucking killed them,” Andy said. “That’s what happened! That fucker—”

“Nell’s dead,” Marcus said. “But Raesinia will be fine. We have to go back and find her.”

“Fine?” Andy turned on Marcus. “Have you lost your fucking mind? How can you—”

Marcus slipped between her and George and bent over, putting his mouth by her ear.

“I will explain everything later, I promise,” he whispered. “Right now you’re just going to have to trust me. Raesinia is alive, and you cannot tell anyone what you just saw.”

Andy’s hand gripped his shoulder tight, and her voice was a hoarse rasp. “You’re serious? You think she’s alive?”

“I swear by all the saints and martyrs,” Marcus said.

Andy pulled back and looked at him, in the shadowy, flickering light. Whatever she saw in his eyes, it was evidently convincing, because she gave a quick, jerky nod and sat down beside one of the oars.

“Raesinia is alive,” Marcus said, turning back to George. “But we have to get to her before they do. Help me—”

The night lit up, as though lightning had struck, and a moment later they were blasted by an enormous roar louder than any thunder Marcus had ever heard. A hundred yards beyond the little boat, a column of water rose from the surface of the river, collapsing into a spray of foam.

Zimona screamed and curled up even tighter. Andy, hands over her ears, mouthed, What the fuck? at Marcus.

“The siege guns!” Marcus shouted, voice barely audible in his ringing ears. “The water battery is firing at us!”

“Then let’s get out of here!” George said, grabbing an oar.

“We have to go back!” Marcus said. “Raesinia—”

He had a sudden image of her, hands on her hips, staring at him crossly. What did I tell you, Marcus? She brought up one hand and drew a line down her palm. Don’t do anything stupid.

“Those guns are a bear to aim,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll be able to hit us.”

“They don’t need to hit us,” George said, giving the oar a pull and sliding across to yank on the other. “Did you see the size of that spout? They’d have us over if they hit within fifty yards!”

“And there’s still musketeers on the pier,” Andy said, sitting down at the other oar. “He’s right, Marcus.”