depths. Living lightning, it was there one instant, gone the next. The last he saw of it was the sweep of its tail.
Too late, Shakespeare realized he had stayed under too long. His lungs would not be denied. He willed his mouth to stay shut, but his lips parted of their own accord. Cold water gushed into his mouth and nose and down his throat. He gagged and sucked in more water. His movements became strangely sluggish. He could see the surface, so near and yet so far, but he could not reach it. His body would not respond as it should.
Darkness overcame him. Shakespeare’s consciousness dimmed. He felt cold, clear to his marrow.
Then the darkness became total.
She went over the side before anyone could stop her.
They all saw the body, floating limp. Blue Water Woman cried out, “There he is!” and dived. She swam smoothly, despite her knee-length dress, and she had an arm around Shakespeare within seconds.
That was all it took for Nate to bring his canoe over. He grabbed hold of the back of Shakespeare’s shirt and lifted. Zach and Lou moved to make room, but there was not enough and Nate had to lay Shakespeare’s head and shoulders across Lou’s legs.
“Is he—?” Blue Water Woman asked anxiously, treading water.
Nate saw his friend twitch. Putting a hand on Shakespeare’s stomach, he pushed as hard as he could.
Water spewed from Shakespeare’s mouth. Gasping and coughing, he opened his eyes and looked about him in confusion, then calmed.
“Oh, it’s only you, Horatio. For a second there I thought I was being stomped by an angry elk.”
Blue Water Woman clung to the side and peered over at her man. “Are you all right?”
Shakespeare looked toward her, and coughed. “You dived in to save me, didn’t you?”
“It seemed like a good idea.”
“Lordy. I will never hear the end of this one.”
“No, you will not.”
Shakespeare smiled and reached up, and their fingers brushed. “If I have not told you that I love you today, permit me to remedy my oversight.”
“You nearly died.”
“An exaggeration if ever I heard one.” Shakespeare turned to Nate. “This is not going as well as we planned.”
“We must get you to shore.”
“I am fine.”
“We must get
Shakespeare blinked. “Oh. Yes, we must. I had forgotten.” He slowly sat up and grinned at his wife. “Are you going to cling there all the way back?”
Winona had brought her canoe in and now offered her arm to Blue Water Woman. “Here, let me help you.”
Presently, their stricken armada was underway.
“Wait!” Shakespeare exclaimed. “What about my canoe?”
Nate pointed.
Only one end was still above water, and it was filling fast. Trailing bubbles, the canoe slowly slipped from sight, leaving concentric ripples to mark the spot.
“There was a hole in it as big as a melon,” Zach said.
“That makes two the fish sent to the bottom,” Shakespeare said. “And after all the work we put into them.”
“We should have made dugouts,” Zach said. “That thing can’t knock a hole in them.”
“We aren’t licked,” Shakespeare said. “We will make more canoes and be back out here in no time.” He looked at Nate, expecting him to say something. “Did you hear me, Horatio?”
“I heard.”
“Fish got your tongue?”
“We will talk about it after we get you and Lou out of those wet clothes and in bed.”
“Since when is a little wet worth so much fuss?” Shakespeare replied. “I am as well as I can be, I tell you.”
“Take it up with your wife when we get back.”
“You fight dirty.” Shakespeare shifted and regarded Louisa. “How about you, young lady? You look pale.”
“I am as fine as you, but my lunkhead of a husband still wants to put me to bed.”
“I share your indignation. The way some people carry on about nearly drowning is ridiculous. But I agree with your husband on this.”
Zach draped an arm around Lou’s shoulders, and glared. “You and your stupid water devil.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I nearly lost her,” Zach said. “And we would not have been out here but for you.”
Shakespeare winced. “I grant you that. But your logic is faulty. If I were to suggest we go hunting, and while we were up in the mountains a Blackfoot put an arrow into your leg, would that be my fault?”
“Don’t try to confuse me,” Zach said.
“I will not accept blame that is not wholly mine. If your spleen is agitated, I suggest you direct it at the fish.”
Nate glanced over his shoulder. “You keep calling it that. What makes you so sure?”
“I saw it, Horatio. As I am living and breathing again, I saw it. A fish such as mortal eyes have not beheld since the dawn of creation.”
Zach snorted.
“He is not the flower of courtesy,” Shakespeare quoted. “Scoff if you will, Zachary, but you saw the size of the thing even if you did not get a clear look at the thing itself.”
“A fish,” Nate repeated.
“You sound disappointed,” Shakespeare said.
“I was half hoping it was something else,” Nate said. “Something more.” The legends of the water creatures, so common among so many tribes, had led him to think they would encounter the new and unknown.
“What more do you want?” Shakespeare asked. “A fish that size qualifies as a marvel.”
Nate did not see how. Exceptionally large fish were often reported to inhabit lakes and rivers, to say nothing of the gigantic denizens of the seven seas. He mentioned as much.
“I grant you it is not as big as a whale,” Shakespeare said. “And I seem to recollect hearing that some sharks grow over twenty feet long, and that there is a critter called a whale shark that grows to pretty near sixty. So maybe our monster is puny compared to them, but it is still a monster.”
“It is a fish,” Nate said, stroking his paddle. “You said so yourself.”
“What difference does that make? It is a name, nothing more. That which we call a rose by any other word would—” Shakespeare stopped abruptly.
Waku had shouted and was jerking his arm. “Look! Look there! It come again!”
Not quite forty feet away was another swell. Their aquatic nemesis was pacing the canoes.
Lou gripped Zach’s arm and swallowed. “What is that thing up to now?”
“Don’t worry,” Zach said, squeezing her. “It won’t attack us again.” But he did not feel as certain as he tried to sound.
“That blasted critter is taunting us,” Shakespeare said. “The fiend is rubbing our noses in our defeat.”
“It’s a fish,” Nate said again.
“Fish, smish. Have you not been baited by bears? And what about those wolverines that stalked us? Or that time you waged war against a demon of a mountain lion?”
“They were not fish.”
Shakespeare let out an indignant harrumph. “Were I a finny dweller of the deep, I would take exception to your slander. To hear you talk, all fish are by nature dullards and do not share a whit of brain between them.”
“They are fish.”
“By God, say that one more time and I will scream!” Shakespeare declared. “Honestly, Horatio. I don’t know what has gotten into you.”
