The Jesuit and the girl ran through the corridor and burst into the courtyard of the redoubt. It looked eerily calm: only the chirring of insects and the hoot of a night bird could be heard, while, in the distance, the uproar of battle echoed from within the church.
"I don't think we can climb the walls," said Magdalena.
"Kwame mentioned a passage… in a storeroom, or something like that," said Hans.
They ran toward one of the outbuildings, taking a lantern that hung from one of the pillars supporting the portico roof. They entered a dark chamber lined with barrels as far as the eye could see. They made their way along the narrow aisle and into another storage room, but a sharp, acrid smell stopped them short.
"It's gunpowder," Hans whispered fearfully, stepping back with care not to drop the lantern.
They retraced their steps and returned to the corridor. Looking both ways, they could still hear the shouting and the clash of steel, punctuated by the occasional musket shot.
"Things are getting hotter," Hans muttered.
"Where did he say the passage was?" asked Magdalena, her voice rising in desperation.
"He said… some kind of storeroom, or something like that," Hans replied.
"I think I know one—but we'll have to go back to the rectory," she said.
They were about to return when, in the middle of the courtyard, Vicente appeared—cutlass in one hand, pistol in the other.
"Well, well… two little mice lost in the dark," he sneered.
"Mr. Morton," said Magdalena, recognizing him. "I beg you—let us go, please."
"Of course… I'll let you go—with wings on your backs," he said, raising the pistol.
He was about to fire when Kwame appeared at his flank and struck him with the pommel of his sword. Morton collapsed like a sack.
"You killed him!" exclaimed Hans.
Kwame glanced down at the fallen pirate as he sheathed his weapon.
"I doubt it—these men have skulls as thick as oysters," he said. "Didn't I tell you which way to go?"
"We thought of using the trapdoor in the rectory," said Magdalena.
With quick, firm strides, Kwame approached, seized her by the arm, and pushed her forward.
"I said the provisions store! There are no tunnels in the rectory!" he urged.
They followed close behind him. Suddenly he stopped, and all three hid behind a pile of barrels and crates as one of the rooftop guards appeared above, drawn by the commotion. The man descended the stairway and crossed the courtyard toward the church. Once the area was clear, they prepared to move, but a sharp whistle cut through the night. They froze again. A moment later, several armed men appeared on the upper level, muskets in hand. The first came running down to the base of the stairs.
"There's a mutiny!" he shouted. The three guards hurried down and rushed toward the church.
"Let's move before the dance is over and Rafael takes back control," murmured Kwame.
They slipped from their hiding place and ran toward another building. Inside, the storeroom was also filled with barrels and crates, but here the air smelled of brine and salted meat.
"The provisions store," Hans recalled, just as distant explosions began to echo.
"Come on, Father—we're short on time," said Kwame, hurrying down the passage until he reached a wooden hatch. With a click of his tongue, he signaled the Jesuit to help lift the heavy door.
Magdalena descended first with the lantern, Hans followed, and Kwame came last, letting the hatch fall shut above them. They found themselves in a passage that looked like a mine shaft, hewn through limestone and braced with beams. Hans examined it all with keen curiosity. Kwame took the lantern from Magdalena and pressed on, with the two close behind.
They walked for what felt like an eternity, their path lit only by the flickering glow of the lantern, until they reached the tunnel's end—where a single wooden ladder rose toward a trapdoor. Kwame climbed it and, with effort, pushed it open.
They emerged into dense foliage beyond the redoubt's perimeter.
"I'd never have imagined you had such an escape route," said Magdalena.
"That was the point—a secret emergency exit," Kwame replied. "A good idea when you've got pirates who used to be miners in another life."
He and Hans closed the door and heaped rocks on top of it. When they finished, they brushed the dust from their hands, and Kwame turned to them.
"I can't thank you enough…" Hans began, but the fugitive interrupted.
"Listen—make sure to warn your father," Kwame began, cutting off the Jesuit and taking Magdalena by the shoulders. "If Rafael doesn't speak of the Xul-Kan base, then neither of you should."
"Why?" asked Magdalena.
"When they start counting the profits from the sale of the Azure ore, the temptation will be great to keep the business going… only this time under the viceroy's patronage. And from what I've heard, he's as greedy and vile as the ones we've left locked behind."
"I understand that part, Mr. Kwame… what worries me is that the truth may one day consume the people," Magdalena replied.
"Remember—at the beginning, your father was part of it. You know well what I mean," he added before turning to leave.
"I understand, Mr. Kwame," said Magdalena.
Hans listened, puzzled.
"May the Nine Gods watch over you, Mr. Kwame," said Magdalena, raising her hand and pointing her index and middle fingers toward him.
"May the Pangool walk beside you, child," Kwame replied. "They do not forget those who keep their word."
He touched the brim of his hat and began to walk away, disappearing into the darkness of the jungle. The sound of his steps over leaves and branches faded until it was gone. Hans looked at Magdalena, bewildered.
"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" he asked.
"There are many dark things it's better you don't know," she said softly.
The Jesuit frowned, and she urged him onward. They made their way through branches and undergrowth in the moonlit dark. As they neared the town, a series of fiery streaks crossed the sky.
"What's happening?" asked Magdalena.
Hans stopped, realization dawning.
"They're firing incendiaries…" he murmured. "I knew he'd do it."
"Who?"
"The sergeant of the regiment—hoping to earn the Order of Santiago for his heroics," Hans said with bitter irony.
"They're setting the redoubt on fire—knowing we were still inside?" she cried.
"Heroism," Hans said, shaking his head, "is always best celebrated from afar—when it's others who burn."
"Father!" cried Magdalena, clutching his arm. "We have to stop them—remember the powder magazine!"
"By all the saints and forest spirits!" exclaimed Hans, recalling it.
They both broke into a run toward the town, while flaming arrows traced arcs of fire across the night sky.