Inside the church, Rafael finally regained control with the help of the newly arrived pirates. They subdued the rebels and drove them back against the altar. With muskets leveled at their chests, the mutineers were forced to drop their weapons.
Rafael—ringed by his loyal men, Derek at his side with a gash open on his brow and Brian cradling his arm—sheathed his cutlass, settled it at his belt, and, hands on his hips, struck a defiant pose.
"Gentlemen, the redoubt is ours!"
"Huzza! Huzza!" cried the loyalists, while the defeated pirates ground their teeth.
"What are we to do with the mutineers?" someone asked.
Rafael let his gaze travel over the vanquished, who stared back with livid, fearful eyes.
"What must be done: apply the code," he said. "Mr. Evans, secure Mr. Garrison and his accomplices. Take them to the courtyard for execution."
A chorus of pleas and insults erupted. Rafael strode out of the church with Derek and Brian at his heels while the seditious were bound and shoved toward the door.
As they advanced, they ran into Vicente, who was rubbing the back of his neck.
"The prisoners escaped," he announced.
The whole mob stopped. Rafael took a step toward him.
"What do you mean, escaped?" Rafael asked.
"They were helped by Kwame," Vicente said.
A murmur rose among the men.
"Where is Kwame?" Rafael asked, murder in his eyes.
"He fled," came Toby's voice as he pushed forward.
Rafael glared sparks at him.
"He used the passage—and barred it from the outside. We're trapped," Toby said, terrified.
The clamor swelled—shouts and cross-accusations flaring between loyalists and rebels alike.
"And why did you go to the tunnel?" Derek demanded.
"I went looking for Kwame… caught him as he was fleeing," Toby stammered.
"And why are you carrying a pack and gear?" Brian asked.
Murmurs rippled through the ranks.
"Bloody Tobias was going to bolt!" a pirate accused, and once more threats and recriminations broke out.
Rafael's temper snapped.
"Add him to the condemned!" he roared, pointing at a terrified Toby.
Fear spread like powder through the crowd and voices rose as one. Then Eddy shouted:
"We're trapped!"
Another wave of panic crashed over them. Rafael realized he was losing control again.
"Execute the seditionists!" he shouted. "That's an order!"
Just then a light fell into the center of the courtyard, cutting the noise to a sudden hush. A pirate hurried over: it was a flaming arrow. He lifted it by the shaft and brought it to Rafael, who stared at it in vexation—then more began to fall, striking roofs and walls and a hay cart. In the distance the watch bell began to ring.
A guard burst in from the roof.
"Archers!"
"We're under attack!" Vicente cried.
Chaos returned at once. Arrows hissed through the air; men ran, shouting.
"To your positions—now!" Rafael ordered.
"What about the seditionists?" Derek asked.
"Kill them—now!" Rafael bellowed.
"Dead men are no use to you," Eddy shot back. "You need fighters to hold the redoubt!"
"They're all traitors!" Rafael raged. "And traitors are to be executed! Mr. Evans, Mr. Harlow—cut their throats like swine! The rest of you, to your posts—move!"
Confusion reigned: protests from the loyalists, begging from the condemned. Rafael ranted, beside himself, until Derek brought the pommel of his cutlass down on the back of his neck. Rafael crashed to the floor.
"Release them!" Derek ordered. "We'll settle accounts later. Everyone—defend the redoubt! The rest of you, find a way to open the tunnel… go!"
The rebels were freed and scattered to carry out the orders.
"Sorry, Rafael," Derek murmured, looking down at the unconscious leader, "but someone has to make decisions with a cool head." He turned to Brian. "Get him to the tunnel—now."
"You know he won't be pleased when he wakes," Brian said.
"Just follow my orders," Derek snapped.
******
Meanwhile, Hans and Magdalena reached the town. They slipped into one of the lanes—deserted, as everyone's attention was fixed on the square.
By the time they came within sight, a pitched battle had broken out. The pirates were firing toward the detachment; the soldiers answered with muskets. A group of young native archers loosed fire-tipped arrows under the sergeant's command, while the cacique argued with him.
"I will not allow you to hinder my strategy," the officer said, turning his back to bark an order. The archers drew.
"My daughter… my daughter is in there," the cacique pleaded in halting Spanish.
The sergeant swung on the village chief and leveled a finger at him.
"One more interference and I'll have you arrested for meddling in the Crown's affairs."
The cacique reeled as the order went out and the archers loosed a volley of flaming shafts that whistled across the night toward the compound's roofs.
He was about to protest again when Magdalena threw herself into his arms. Seeing her, he froze—then burst into shouts of joy that drew the mother, the grandmother, the brothers, and the whole village. They swarmed around them like people who had seen ghosts return from the grave. The villagers clapped Hans on the back; old women touched him as if he were a sacred relic; the children stared as though a man had stepped down from the stars.
"I'm glad you escaped… that heartless Spaniard has decided to set the redoubt ablaze," the cacique said.
Magdalena translated, and Hans sprinted at once toward the sergeant.
"Don't do it—don't set it on fire!" he cried, frantic.
He grabbed the sergeant's sleeve just as the command to fire was about to leave his lips; the priest received a shove for his trouble. The soldiers turned to stare at him like he was a ghost—everyone but the sergeant, who looked more annoyed than surprised.
"What in the devil—how are you out?" he demanded.
"Long story, sergeant… the girl and I fled with help, but you must stop this attack now."
"What is it now, Father—come to plead for heretics?"
"There's a powder magazine beneath those roofs. This tactic is ill-advised."
The sergeant's face tightened in disgust.
"And what would you know of military tactics? That talk of a magazine was pirate bluster to scare us. Stand aside or I'll have you flogged!"
He shoved Hans away and, with a single word—"Fire!"—gave the order. Flaming arrows scythed through the night toward the redoubt's rooftops, now catching fire, volley after volley.
Hans watched as the flames began to eat through the rooftops.
"Magdalena, tell them to fall back," he said. "Have them run as far as they can—don't look back."
Magdalena nodded and sprinted off to order the archers and villagers to withdraw.
People murmured in confusion at the sight of the girl free and the sudden counterorders.
"No one moves an inch from his post," the sergeant barked, grabbing the priest by the chest. "Stop sowing panic. That's your second warning—next I'll have you hanged."
"Listen to me—inside the redoubt they've barrels of powder—"
"Manolo!" the sergeant snapped. A soldier appeared at once. "Take this damned priest, lash him to the first post you see, and give him six strokes."
The soldier reached for Hans's arm, but Magdalena stepped in, and a scuffle broke out as the onlookers murmured and argued—when a thunderclap shook the ground, followed by a wave of force that knocked them all flat.
The falconet screamed through the air and slammed into the earth a few paces away. Hans raised his head, terrified. He looked from the half-buried gun back to where the redoubt had stood and saw an apocalyptic vision. The compound was a furnace, devouring everything inside—his knapsack included.
"The priest was right," a soldier muttered as the sergeant coughed and struggled to his feet.
"Christ… the bastards were right. There was a powder magazine," the sergeant said, hauling himself upright.