As soon as the man footing the bill finished speaking, hurried footsteps pounded across the deck. One after another, sailors leaped overboard, splashing up pretty sprays of water, while those who hadn't made it in time started taking bets on the spot.
That shout hadn't just brought people running to help. The crew who'd heard there was entertainment hurried to the upper deck even faster than Kraft and Martin, crowding along the rail to watch and join the betting. They cheered for their chosen swimmers and critiqued their strokes.
Things quickly descended into farce. Many of the nimble sailors had grown up in the warmer reaches of the Tem River, where swimming had been a childhood pastime. Fishing someone out of the water was neither difficult nor serious business to them.
Martin pushed through the crowd first, miniature crossbow in hand, and reached the rail. The fastest swimmer was already close to the figure bobbing in the water. So far, the figure was sinking more than floating, and the splashes were growing smaller, but that shouldn't stop the sailor from hauling him out.
The mood was lively. The winners smugly collected a copper or two, while their companions laughed and cursed at the swimmers they'd bet on as they handed over their coins. Martin kept watching with his crossbow ready. Kraft strongly suspected that if the target started moving again, Martin would shoot him once more, regardless of the risk of hitting someone else.
But there was no need to worry about that for now. One sailor dived beneath the surface and, when he came back up, had hooked an arm under the man's armpit and across his chest. The next swimmer didn't turn back at once; he paused to help support the man's body as they swam back.
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