All the pirates rushed to peer through the loopholes, and some climbed the walls to observe from the battlements.
"There are torches out there—our lookouts saw soldiers marshaling the villagers," Derek reported.
Rafael listened calmly, though Derek's expression betrayed unease.
"We should get out of here... while we still can," said Eddy.
"Oh, sure—that's what you do best, Eddy. Running off like a chicken," Kirk shot back.
"You challenging me?"
"I'm just saying what you are."
Eddy shoved Hans toward Kwame.
"Darkie, keep an eye on this bore. I've got an ass to kick," he said.
Kwame placed a hand on Hans's shoulder. The two pirates locked in argument, and soon the others joined in, taunting and goading one another.
"We're not abandoning our redoubt," Rafael said, raising his voice. "Besides, what can a handful of Spaniards do? Derek—how many did you see?"
"The lookouts report at most six soldiers," Derek replied.
Everyone began talking at once, the noise rising to a shout. Hans lifted his hands to speak.
"Listen—there aren't many options," he began. "Within hours, a detachment from the Bacalar garrison will arrive at the church gates and open fire. They'll kill us all."
Silence fell over the room.
"The priest's bluffing," said Brian.
A murmur swept through the men.
"I'm not bluffing," Hans replied. "Part of the reason I'm here is to keep you all alive. They've made it clear that when the troops arrive—with cannons—they'll level this place to the ground. So let's make a choice. Let Magdalena go, and I'll go with you. I'm your only safe conduct."
There was a brief stillness—then an uproar.
"I say we bolt while we can!" Eddy shouted. "We take the tunnel, head for the coast, sell the rum, and make for Honduras!"
"Or we go find that temple of hens the girl mentioned!" Brian added, earning nervous laughter.
The arguments swelled. Then Derek raised his voice.
"Rafael, it's time to decide and run. If Magdalena's story is true, we can go to that place—Chichén Itzá. Maybe that's where our luck turns." He held up the papers lying on the altar table.
Rafael grabbed an oil lantern hanging from the wall and hurled it onto the table, setting everything ablaze. Brian rushed to throw the burning sheets to the stone floor, where the old documents flared bright; the book caught only at the edges, its thick covers holding while a faint flame licked through the leaves. Hans watched, helpless, as the pages were eaten by the flames until everything written vanished into ash.
"Once again, don't contradict me, Derek," Rafael said coldly. "No one leaves this redoubt. No one's claiming profits on the coast, no one's running to Honduras, and there'll be no treasure hunts, Derek!" He pointed an accusing finger at him.
"I'm not staying here waiting to be killed!" Eddy shouted, echoed by a chorus of voices.
"What this priest says is nonsense—meant to sow panic. I see the plan now: he's here to spread confusion while his friends prepare to strike," Rafael said.
"I'm only warning you of what's coming," Hans replied.
"I'll tell you what's coming—we'll hang you from the watchtower and defend this place till we've got gold in our hands."
"Have you not heard, man? Even the King of Spain's coming to blast us to hell!" Eddy snapped.
"We should run while we can," said Toby.
"Whoever turns his back on this redoubt is a dead man," Rafael declared.
Silence again.
"You know what I think?" Eddy said.
"No one cares what you think, Mr. Garrison," Rafael answered.
"I think Rafael's already plotting a deal with the Spaniards through that Jesuit," Eddy accused.
"Like Hawk did," muttered one of the men.
"And the Carioca too," added another.
Hans could feel the air thickening; the men's tempers boiled, and he caught Rafael's murderous stare.
"Damn Jesuit, you came only to cause trouble. Are you happy now, Derek?" Rafael snarled.
Derek stammered and looked at Brian. The three of them shrank back as the crowd seethed, and Hans realized he had crossed the Rubicon.
"To hell with this!" Eddy shouted, raising his cutlass. "Let's set fire to the magazine and flee to the coast! Who's with me?"
Everyone began yelling at once.
"What's the magazine?" Hans asked Kwame.
"Where the gunpowder's kept," Kwame replied.
Hans finally understood: they were using naval slang.
"Who's with me?" Eddy barked again.
The answers came all at once, a rising chorus.
"We must defend this stronghold at all costs!" Rafael insisted.
Eddy stepped close to him.
"Then stay in your bloody stronghold—we're leaving," he hissed.
The shouts grew louder.
"Let's get the hell out!" another pirate cried.
"Enough!" shouted Rafael. "Mr. Evans, Mr. Harlow—proceed to arrest Mr. Garrison for treason and mutiny!"
The two pirates exchanged glances and swallowed hard. They started to step forward, but several of the others blocked their way. A tense silence followed—then the shouting broke loose again.
"We're sick of the both of you!" Eddy shouted. "Who votes to throw them from the tower? Kill the priest, the girl, and blow up the town while we make for the tunnel!"
The mob roared. Rafael and Derek backed away, drawing their cutlasses, pistols in their off hands; Brian and several others took their side.
"The first man who steps forward dies where he stands," Rafael warned.
Defiantly, the men advanced. Rafael fired. A flash lit the dark, claustrophobic hall, the acrid smell of powder filling the air. Faces froze—then came a cry:
"You shot me, you bastard!" one pirate screamed, clutching his shoulder.
All eyes turned to him, then back to Rafael, whose jaw was set tight with rage.
"The next shot won't miss," Rafael said through his teeth.
Hans watched, pale and tense.
"This won't end well," he murmured.
Then chaos erupted. As one, the pirates roared—a savage, collective howl—and surged toward the altar where Rafael stood. He fired again, the bullet lost in the din. Others joined the fight: Brian, Derek, and the rest, striking steel against steel.
The altar became a cauldron of fire and steel; the smoke of oil and gunpowder burned their eyes. Amid the chaos, Kwame reached Hans and grabbed him by the collar.
"Do something useful—get her out," he ordered, thrusting a dagger into Hans's hand and shoving him aside before turning to fight.
Hans froze for a heartbeat; Kwame glared at him.
"Move! Use the passage!" he shouted, parrying a blow from a cutlass.
"Where is it?" Hans asked, trembling.
"The storeroom—" Kwame was cut short as another pirate lunged at him. "Idiot, go!"
Realizing the battle was lost, Hans ran toward the corner where Magdalena was bound and began cutting her straps.
"Was this part of your plan? Because it's brilliant," she said dryly.
"No... no... I've no idea what's happening anymore," Hans stammered, hands shaking as he fumbled with the knife.
"Never used a blade before, Father?" she teased, watching him struggle.
"You're not helping," Hans muttered, fighting not to panic.
At last he freed her, helping her to her feet. Together they ran toward the courtyard, the clash of blades and the roar of voices echoing behind them.
Vicente, still fighting beside Rafael, caught sight of them from the corner of his eye.
"They're escaping!" he shouted, but in the chaos no one heard.
"Damn, I always have to do everything myself!" he growled, breaking away, cutlass in hand, and running after them.