On the far side of the cabin wall something—a frying pan, perhaps—began to bang rhythmically as it swung back and forth. The barge was responding sluggishly to the river swells, its tremendous weight of stone lending it a stability that resisted the rise and fall of the water.
Ken’s panic gave him strength. He heaved desperately upward, trying to achieve a sitting position. His head struck the low ceiling with a resounding c***k. He fell back, half stunned.
Labored dots and dashes, in the form of grunts, came quickly up from below him. “Y-O-U O-K?”
Ken managed to answer. “O-K.”
Finally he forced himself to try again. He had been almost upright once. If he didn’t heave quite so far—
He was sitting up finally and hunching himself forward until his head was even with a window set in the
