"I'll return," said Clownmuffle. Then, hands angled ahead of her in the shape of an elegant triangle, she dove headfirst into the lake and vanished.
Hegewisch rocked upon the rocking boat in an expanse of total emptiness.
She saw no sign of the archon, no bulge or shadow in the water. The motor purred and she crawled to it and fiddled with the device that served as the rudder. "Stay. I'll return." Clownmuffle said that and for a few placid seconds the command's magic held. But the ridiculousness shot forth and she realized she needed to get the boat moving—
Abandon them?
She knew they weren't dead. She knew Clownmuffle would fish them out of the depths.
They had NO TIME. Clownmuffle was not a myth, she was flesh and blood like any other, mostly blood now, it streamed out the holes in her face. No—maybe the archon moved on. To the city. But it was a logical entity. It knew its threats. It would exterminate—WHERE WAS IT? How could the lake be so rough and so still, how could the motor purr and the waves crash and yet there not be a single sound, she had to get out get out GET OUT—
Clownmuffle broke the surface. A body under her arm, a body that remained motionless a moment upon emerging but them coughed and sputtered much like Hegewisch had as Clownmuffle lobbed it onto the dinghy. "One more," Clownmuffle said, and dove.
(Chicago, chapter 18)