Night fell swiftly over the sea as the Garnor lay at anchor near the coast, its hull barely breathing with the tide. The deck lanterns were partially dimmed, leaving only a few shielded lights burning so as not to betray the ship’s position. In silence, the assault party formed along the rail.

  The boat waited, hanging from the davits, swaying gently.

  Skippy studied each of the men in turn, lingering for a few seconds on their weathered faces. When his gaze reached Sammy, he held it just a moment longer, as if measuring something he would not say aloud.

  “No pointless heroics,” he said.

  Trumper clicked his tongue.

  “You heard him… no lagging behind, no playing the brave fool,” he muttered with authority.

  The boat was lowered slowly until it kissed the water. One by one, the men climbed down the rope ladder. The motion was treacherous; more than one had to cling to the lines to keep their balance.

  Sammy was among the last to descend. She took her place near the bow, holding her breath, beside Kwame. Kayin settled in next to her and nudged her silently with his elbow.

  “Many thanks, my friend, for inviting me on this suicidal excursion,” he whispered.

  “You could have said no,” Sammy replied.

  “Did you see how they wanted to lynch those sea dogs earlier? They’d have torn me to pieces,” Kayin murmured back.

  Trumper took position at the stern, his cutlass at his belt.

  “Oars,” he ordered softly.

  The oars slipped into the water without a sound, barely breaking the dark surface. Behind them, the Garnor remained motionless, reduced to a black silhouette against the pale reflection of the moon.

  They slipped toward the coast to the rhythm of the water brushing past the hull and the waves breaking against the stone.

  With every stroke, the mass of the cliff loomed larger before them.

  “Watch the current,” Kwame warned, eyes fixed on the black water. “It could throw us against the rocks.”

  They began rowing parallel to the cliff face, where the waves broke with less violence thanks to the low tide. With a gesture, Kwame signaled them to veer left.

  Ahead of them, the cavern emerged: a dark hollow at the foot of the rock wall.

  Kwame stayed alert at the bow.

  “The current’s starting to pull us,” he whispered. “We still have some margin… but don’t waste time.”

  “Keep the rhythm,” Trumper ordered.

  Little by little, they drew closer, feeling the increasingly rough sway.

  Kwame leaned forward to inspect the rocks.

  “We’re going in… keel’s going to scrape,” he announced.

  A wave shoved them toward the mouth of the cave. There, where the water broke gently against a narrow beach, they jumped into the surf up to their knees and pushed the boat over the pebbles. Together they dragged it deeper into the cavern, boots slipping on wet stone as the echo of the surf resounded around them and the damp smell enveloped everything.

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  “Quickly,” Trumper urged. “Unload the gear.”

  They unloaded weapons, ropes, and equipment with automatic movements. Sammy felt her heart hammering in her chest as her boots touched solid ground—too loud, she thought, for a place like this.

  “We’ve reached the first point…” Kayin whispered.

  From the mouth of the cavern, a stream of cold air escaped outward.

  Kwame struck a flint and, with the help of two men, lit the lanterns, passing them hand to hand.

  “We move to point three… we’re entering the tunnel. Stay close together.”

  Sammy swallowed.

  “It feels like… I’m inside one of my grandfather’s novels.”

  “The worst part is that it’s real,” Kayin murmured.

  “Silence,” Trumper ordered.

  The group plunged into the darkness. Kwame was the first to slip through a narrow opening, followed by the men, who advanced with difficulty; dangling weapons and a few prominent bellies made the passage even harder.

  As Sammy prepared to enter, a hand suddenly grabbed her by the collar. Trumper yanked her backward and sent her tumbling to the ground.

  “You guard the rear,” he ordered before disappearing inside.

  Sammy drew a deep breath. She knew her situation with the boatswain was precarious, but rescuing Cody mattered more. The rest could wait.

  She eased herself into the opening, following the line of lights ahead—lights that seemed to be swallowed by the dense darkness. They moved through the narrow passage amid gasps and complaints.

  “You can spare me the whining and keep walking,” Trumper growled. “I swear, if we ever see the moon again, I’ll use my fists on you.”

  After a stretch that felt endless, they emerged into a wide chamber that opened like a breath of air. They regrouped to recover and began exploring the surroundings by lantern light.

  “Where are we?” Trumper asked.

  “In a storage chamber,” Kwame replied. “We must continue… time is against us.”

  But two men lagged behind, feigning difficulty, and began inspecting some chests stacked against the wall. They forced them open, their faces lighting up.

  “Gods… there must be thousands of doubloons here,” one whispered.

  “Why rescue filthy prisoners when this is a whole season’s pay for the Garnor?” another replied.

  “You two…” Trumper’s voice thundered from the tunnel. “Move now, or would you rather stay here hugging the chests?”

  He struck the pistol at his belt.

  The men ran, though not before stuffing a few coins into their pockets. The boatswain made sure they entered the tunnel, then approached one of the chests himself, lifted the lid, and took a handful of coins, slipping them into his pouch. Then he noticed Sammy at the rear.

  “You’re a dead man if you say a word,” he said quietly.

  With that, he turned and entered the tunnel, followed by the girl.

  The group advanced through the gallery, their murmurs echoing along the stone.

  Everyone fell silent as they walked, gazing at the capricious shapes of stalactites and stalagmites whose shadows clung to the walls like specters spying on them. Soon they began to hear the murmur of an underground river, until their boots stepped into the cold current.

  “Damn it,” one man said, slipping and nearly falling into the water before catching himself on a rock. “This thing has force!”

  “You might find it interesting to know that there isn’t a single river flowing above ground in the entire Yucatán Peninsula,” Pete said.

  “So how do people get water?” a pirate asked.

  “Through cenotes,” Kwame replied. “They’re connected to an extensive network of underground rivers like this one—some much deeper.”

  A murmur of surprise ran through the group.

  “I’ll remind you we’re on an operation, not strolling along the Thames,” the boatswain snapped.

  They walked on for a stretch until they reached a natural pool, where they stopped at the edge.

  “This is where we split,” Kwame said, and for a moment no one moved.

  The men murmured as they scanned the walls with their lanterns.

  “The team assigned to the battery will take this tunnel,” he indicated a narrow opening where a tributary flowed. “It will lead you to the rock temple enclosure. It empties into a cistern—you’ll climb up and emerge inside the sanctuary. From there, you’ll neutralize the Spaniards quietly… The rest of us will continue toward the jungle exit.”

  Those assigned to the battery prepared themselves. Pete was among them, along with two burly men.

  “Halt,” Trumper ordered.

  He looked at two of the assigned men.

  “Gentlemen Goodwin and Ford, you’re coming with me. In your place, Mr. Worthy will go with Mr. Nightingale.”

  A murmur rippled through the chamber.

  “Mr. Trumper, that wasn’t the plan,” Kwame objected.

  “You guide us,” Trumper replied. “I decide who’s on my team.”

  Lantern light hardened their faces; they looked like demons conspiring beneath the rock.

  “Will that be enough to take the battery?” a pirate asked. “I don’t doubt Mr. Nightingale, but Mr. Worthy is still a sea rat.”

  “I’ve got no problem with it,” Sammy said firmly.

  “We’ll manage,” Pete added.

  The battery team received a lantern and disappeared into the passage. Sammy caught sight of Kayin’s silhouette; she couldn’t see his face, but she felt his gaze following them, heavier than any word he could have spoken.

  The rest of the group moved off in the opposite direction, toward the vertical shaft that would lead them to the exterior exit, their footsteps fading into the depths of the cavern, swallowed by stone and darkness.