[color=ec008c]"If you can do that, be my guest..."[/color]

[b][color=#a4161a]"Heya boss. Quite deep up in shit creek we are today."[/color][/b] 

Henri positively beamed.

"[color=fdc68a] My lady, I would be positively delighted to.[/color]"

The fog began lifting as he sacrificed some of the metal surrounding him, mostly from his back (which he presumed would not need as much protection for this plan), to fashion a long metal rod, which he poked into the water from above, producing an audible hiss, and lengthening it until he had determined the depth of the river.

"[color=fdc68a] Goodness, That is quite deep, --with a deep current too. Try not to fall in, kids.[/color]" he mused, as he continued working, withdrawing the length of iron rod, then altering it to have alternating triangular flanges along its length where one could step or climb, and a long 90 degree flattened hook on the end, before leveling it over a shoulder, and dropping into the inky black filth with a sploosh.

Undaunted, and weighing several hundred kilograms, he could feel the current tugging on him, but could resist its flow. He marched as close to straight forward as the combination of features allowed, until he could detect the metal of Delving's uniform, and his men's weapons, altering his course to correct for the flow of the water, and the otherwise complete lack of landmarks to navigate by.

As he got in range, he reached out with his will, and willed the musket from the remaining mook's hands, toward the back of Delving's head, as hard as he could.

Something-- he could not really see what, due to the turbidity of the water, prevented the attempt. Irritated, and undaunted, he lifted the hooked pole up, and swept it along the edge of the canal, aiming to snare a foot.