Since Kayin had failed to move the piece of furniture, he headed back to the warehouse and climbed out through the well. Taking advantage of the sparse guard, he ran toward one of the ruins and began to peered from behind the broken stones. To his surprise, he saw Inzunza approaching Skippy.

  “You lost your wager,” the lieutenant said.

  “I would have won it if your boy hadn’t fought like a filthy brawler,” Skippy replied.

  “Your magic was interesting… a fine trick to present to the king. That should earn me a marquisate,” Inzunza said with a smile.

  Yanga approached, rubbing the back of his head while looking around for the satchel.

  “Lose something?” the lieutenant asked, holding up the satchel.

  Yanga froze, visibly uneasy.

  “Ah… that,” he said, trying to maintain his composure. “I was keeping it safe. I took it from one of the prisoners and, after examining it, found nothing of importance… so I didn’t report it.”

  “Navigation charts carried by a pirate hardly seem unimportant to me, ensign. What were you planning? Keeping them for your own benefit?”

  “Not at all, lieutenant…” Yanga said.

  Suddenly the sound of conch shells echoed through the air.

  Kayin heard it as well and frowned in confusion.

  Inzunza looked at Skippy with surprise.

  “Friends of yours?” he asked.

  “No… but I wish they were,” the elf replied.

  Inzunza looked him up and down with a contemptuous grimace and then ordered the soldiers to search him. Two men began searching him down, removing several strange objects they did not recognize and bringing them to the lieutenant, who examined them with curiosity.

  “More of your tricks?” he asked.

  Skippy merely shrugged.

  “Take them to the armory and secure the prisoners,” the lieutenant ordered. “Move them to another warehouse… and don’t trust those people. They may have more tricks.”

  The lieutenant turned his back on him and faced a soldier who had just arrived, sweating heavily.

  “Who are they?” Inzunza asked.

  “Maroons, sir…” the man replied.

  The lieutenant’s expression hardened. With a gesture he ordered Yanga to accompany him toward the walls.

  The prisoners were transferred to another warehouse filled with barrels of rum.

  “Drink yourselves senseless until you burst. That way you won’t feel the greased rope,” one of the soldiers mocked before slamming the door shut, while musket fire continued outside.

  “Captain, that was well done,” Sammy said.

  “So what’s the plan now?” Trumper asked.

  “First… who are the ones who arrived?” Skippy asked.

  “I don’t think they’re from the redoubt,” Trumper replied. “They would’ve attacked at the start of the duel.”

  “Captain, we have a problem,” Sammy said.

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  “Really?” one of the pirates said.

  Laughter erupted among the men.

  The pirates roared with laughter—everyone except Skippy. After exchanging a glance with Trumper, he ordered that Sammy walk beside him. He began pacing along the corridor surrounded by rum barrels.

  “What is it, Mr. Worthy?”

  “It’s only a matter of minutes before they discover the prisoners from the redoubt are no longer in the granary… and knowing that Spanish madman …”

  The laughter died immediately.

  “The mulatto is right,” Trumper said. “Once they discover it, they’ll come for us with exemplary punishments. We’ll pay dearly for this, Captain.”

  Skippy ran a hand through his hair, thinking, while the secretary watched anxiously, pressing both hands against his mouth.

  Meanwhile Kayin returned to the granary, climbed down the well, and ran through the tunnel until he reached the outside again. From there, crouched among the branches, he saw with surprise that the attackers were a group of black men led by a stout figure dressed in a coat and tricorn hat adorned with feathers, carried in a gilded chair. They were fully armed and brought swivel guns with them.

  From the walls, Spanish soldiers watched them in alert formation.

  Inzunza arrived atop the wall.

  “They come armed… and the King Checo himself accompanies them,” one soldier reported after running down to deliver the news.

  “The rest of you, take your positions,” Inzunza ordered as he climbed the stairs toward the walkway along the ancient Maya wall.

  Meanwhile, outside the walls, among the strange besiegers, Kayin spotted Cody arguing with a woman. He felt the impulse to run toward him, but the risk of being shot stopped him.

  Instead he removed his white shirt and began waving it in the air.

  In the forest, Cody continued arguing with Kenda, while she listened with crossed arms and clear boredom.

  “I already told you to stay back,” Kenda said.

  “Yax found his people,” Cody replied. “But I didn’t. That makes me think they’re inside.”

  “And what do you intend to do?”

  “We could enter from the estuary side. That’s how I escaped… some warriors could come with me.”

  “Out of the question,” Kenda replied.

  Cody crossed his arms in frustration.

  At that moment a murmur spread through the men. Cody looked toward the wall. Inzunza had appeared atop it, accompanied by Yanga and several armed soldiers. But at the far right he noticed a white shape moving.

  “Someone’s asking for parley,” he said.

  Kenda squinted toward the wall.

  “I think you’re hallucinating. Now stop bothering me,” she said, shoving him aside as she turned her attention to the exchange between the lieutenant and the king.

  Annoyed, Cody slipped away and moved quietly toward the foot of the wall where he had seen the signal.

  From above, Inzunza raised a speaking trumpet.

  “King Checo, to what do we owe the honor of this visit?” he asked with a false smile.

  The king cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Let us spare the pleasantries, Lieutenant Inzunza… we come in peace and wish only to negotiate.”

  “It could be a trap,” Yanga warned.

  Inzunza frowned and lifted the speaking trumpet again.

  “State your terms.”

  “We want you to hand over Captain Skippy,” King Checo replied.

  Inzunza looked at Yanga in surprise and then back at the maroons.

  “An interesting request… why such interest in that pirate?”

  “I have my reasons,” the king said.

  “I’m afraid that is impossible. He is a prisoner of Spain for crimes against the Crown.”

  King Checo turned red with anger and, with the help of one of his warriors, rose from his seat.

  “HE OWES ME MONEY! AND I WANT THAT DAMN RAT!”

  “I’m sorry. He is not negotiable.”

  The king clenched his fists, glanced at his secretary, and with an abrupt movement of his fan signaled for a chest to be placed before them.

  “Name your price.”

  “Once again, the king’s matters are not for auction.”

  “Have you forgotten the contributions we have made to your purse, Lieutenant Inzunza?” the king said. “Not to mention the work we have done to support you and allow you to rise in this region.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed.

  The soldiers glanced toward the lieutenant. Yanga stared at him in confusion.

  Inzunza smiled with an ironic expression.

  “King Checo… those are serious accusations without foundation.”

  “We have proof to refresh your memory, lieutenant.”

  “The evidence of an insurgent group against the king holds no weight in any court.”

  “We possess a letter of amnesty signed by the governor of Yucatán,” the king said. “I give you an ultimatum: if you do not hand him over… we will come in and take him.”

  The maroons shouted. The soldiers murmured.

  “You play a dangerous game, Your Majesty,” Inzunza said arrogantly.

  “We shall see,” the king replied. “You have until sunset… or we enter.”

  The king was carried back toward the shade of the trees.

  Inzunza remained standing on the wall, staring defiantly.

  “Yanga,” he ordered. “Bring the two cannons from the coast. Place one before the warehouse to block the path to that pirate vessel… and bring the cannons from the cliff battery as well, but make sure those people don’t see them.”

  Yanga cleared his throat.

  “Lieutenant, the prisoners are secured, and as the king mentioned, the maroons have a truce with Spain. If they see the cannons, they may feel threatened and break it.”

  “Better safe than sorry… we do not know the true intentions of the maroons, and I trust neither them nor my own shadow, as you well understand, ensign,” the lieutenant said, tapping the satchel.

  Yanga nodded, displeased.