CHAPTER ELEVEN
Godfrey, on guard, kept his eyes peeled as they rowed in their small golden vessel down the canals of Volusia, the current taking them slowly, weaving in and out of the back streets of Volusia. Everywhere, he looked for a place to stash the gold. He needed some place reliable, some place discreet, some place where they would not be watched, some place he would remember. They could not stash it in the boat, and as the tavern loomed up ahead, he knew their time was running short.
Finally, something flashed and caught his eye.
“Stop rowing!” he called out to Merek.
Merek, standing at the rear, used his long oar to slow then stop the boat, and as he did, Godfrey pointed.
“There!” Godfrey said, pointing.
Godfrey looked down and saw, up ahead, something beneath the water. Su
