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  Screaming, she tried to stop the downward plunge, and finally came to the bottom. She stood up clumsily and explored her surroundings. The sound of her breathing created a hollow echo.

  Somewhere ahead, a few thin shafts of daylight broke through the ceiling, dimly illuminating her surroundings. She was in a cool, dank cave that was more than large enough for her to stand in. The floor was covered with an inch of seawater. Walking forward with outstretched arms, she encountered a wall and tested the rough surface with her fingertips.

  She was still, listening to the muffled clamor from up above. Perhaps she should stay here and wait. The noise of another explosion rumbled through the walls, causing her to flinch. Pebbles scattered around her. She could not wait alone in the darkness or she would go mad. Biting her lip in concentration, she walked alongside the wall, trailing the flat of her hand against it. She was terrified, but she was even more frightened for Justin.

  Remembering the sight of him hanging from the chains, she began to cry. How badly had they hurt him? And the explosion—had he been caught in it? She clung to a thread of hope. Justin was strong and tenacious, he had survived much danger. But she was afraid that even if he had been rescued from the cell, his worry for her would distract him from watching out for his own safety. Step by step she splashed forward through the tunnel.

  Justin knew that Legare would be quick to gather his own men and devise a strategy for dealing with the small battery of vandals wreaking havoc within the fort. But he anticipated that many of Legare’s own men would seize the opportunity to loot and pillage the storerooms and supplies, contributing to the chaos. With luck, Commander Matthews’ force would attack soon, which would force Legare to confront the threat from the harbor as well as the one from within.

  Justin began to hear explosions and cannon blasts from the direction of the harbor, rolling like an irregular drumbeat. Hoarse cries and shouts reverberated through the passageways, and alarm erupted over the island. A haze of smoke began to drift in from somewhere. Calculating various places Aug might have taken Celia, Justin made his way toward the stone steps that led to the main level of the fort. Before he reached the first step, someone leaped out at him with a harsh shout, knocking him to the floor. Justin gripped the rapier hilt and rolled, coming to his feet quickly.

  “Ned!” the assailant cried loudly, calling for help, and Justin found himself faced with two pirates, both smaller than he was but eager for battle. They were armed with short, heavy cutlasses, weapons usually carried by those who’d never been tutored by a fencing master. Such men found their limited skills enhanced by fighting at close range. They rushed at him together.

  Leaping to the side, Justin parried and thrust at one of them, the rapier finding its mark easily. The man collapsed to the ground with a spreading patch of blood on his midriff. The other pirate swung at him in wide, arcing slashes. Justin had to compensate for his bad leg as he fought. He backstepped and lunged, then dove aside to avoid a downward swing that he couldn’t have parried without snapping his rapier.

  Groaning at the pain in his ribs, Justin forced himself to roll to his feet once more. Before the man could raise a defense, Justin lunged and sank the sword into the man’s bulky shoulder. Dropping the cutlass, the pirate clutched at the wound and staggered back against the wall, sliding to the floor. He regarded Justin through slitted eyes, looking like an animal in a trap. Although the wound was not fatal, he had every expectation that Justin would finish him off. Not long ago Justin would have, without a second thought. Now he couldn’t find it in himself. God, what had happened to him?

  Breathing fast from exertion, Justin turned away from the pirate. He wiped his sweat-beaded forehead with the remains of his sleeve. Catching a glimpse of a shadow flitting across the floor, he spun around with his rapier poised.

  It was Aug, carrying a knife in one hand and a Spanish sword in the other. He looked at Justin in disappointment and shook his head slowly. “You should finish him. You have lost your guts.”

  Justin gave him an eloquent look. Yes, once he had been callous and unfeeling, it seemed to say, and it hadn’t mattered if he hurt someone or someone hurt him. Life had seemed much safer that way. “Where is Celia?” he demanded roughly.

  “In a tunnel leading from the underground storerooms to the inland edge of the fort.”

  “It wasn’t on Sans-Nez’s map.”

  “The island whores revealed it to me. They found it underneath the brothel. Legare does not know of its existence.”

  “Don’t tell me you and the others have been—” Justin was cut off by a deafening roar that seemed to billow up from the depths of the earth. The walls trembled and the wooden beams overhead cracked. He looked at Aug. “One of the munitions warehouses?” he said, and Aug nodded.

  Suddenly they heard wild shouts. Men came rushing up the stairs, trampling each other in their haste. The air was thick with fear. Justin flattened himself against the wall of a side corridor and gestured for Aug to do the same. When the desperate rush was over, he and Aug emerged from the passageway. “Don’t tell me that ever since Risk’s betrayal you and the others have been hidden by the whores? In the brothel?”

  “Part of the time,” Aug admitted. “The whores wanted to get even with Legare. He takes too much of their money and does not provide them with enough protection from his own men. Sometimes the men refuse to pay, and hurt them.”

  “Not surprising.” Justin turned to go back the way he’d come. “I’m going to find Celia.”

  “But Legare—”

  “Aye, I’ll see to him. After I find Celia.” As he saw the stubborn objection in Aug’s gaze, Justin raised his brows mockingly. “If you don’t like it, go after Legare yourself,” he invited. They both knew that Aug’s swordsmanship was not equal to the task.

  Aug cursed him in frustration and gestured toward the stairs. “It will be faster to go above ground and find her at the end of the tunnel.”

  Cautiously they went up the steps, through an empty central hall and a gaping doorway, into the night air. Dawn was just breaking. Fires were blazing around the fort, and they saw that flames were leaping from the bow and figurehead of the tavern, a converted brig.

  “This way,” Aug said. Justin started to follow him, when there came an unmistakable discharge from the harbor and a screeching whistle overhead. They dove to the sand and covered their heads. Shells rained down on them. One hit the ground perilously close by, exploding with a deafening boom. They were showered with sand and metal debris. Coughing, Justin lifted his head and stared at Aug. “I think,” he said, “the navy has arrived.”

  Chapter 13

  Celia’s progress had been slow and uncertain, for she could see nothing in the tunnel and the ground was not level. Gradually the thunderclaps from above became less muffled, leading her to believe the tunnel was climbing to the surface. She continued stumbling and feeling her way through the passage, but as the minutes went by her frustration and fear were nearly overwhelming. It seemed as if the tunnel would never end, and she would be caught forever in this darkness. She began to tire, but she was afraid to stop and rest.

  Her fingers, rubbed raw by the constant scraping against the rough limestone, suddenly encountered empty air. The wall had ended. Confused, she groped for the edge of it and felt a deep corner. The shape of the tunnel had changed. Breathing fast in anxiety, she explored her surroundings and found that the path split in two. Aug had not told her this would happen—she didn’t know which direction to choose. Her sore hands clenched into fists.

  “Which way?” she said out loud. Her voice resounded in the cave. Leaning against the wall, she began to cry and said all the foulest words she had ever heard Justin utter. She was startled by a teeth-jarring detonation that sounded as if it came from right overhead. A few pebbles shook loose from the ceiling.

  Galvanized into action, Celia decided to follow the path on her left. The tunnel twisted sharply. She sensed a difference in the air, a tinge of smoke. Sh
e heard a muted scream that was too high-pitched to belong to a man. Drawing closer to the noise, Celia discovered a sharp upward rise in the floor and an opening overhead that glowed red-orange. She heard the dull roar of fire. Hesitating, she stared at the gaping hole. There was another scream.

  Rushing forward, she clambered up the incline and pulled herself through the opening into the burning shambles of a room. There were dislodged planks beneath her feet, planks that must have concealed the entrance to the underground tunnel until someone had pulled them loose to escape. Two of the walls were ablaze, and yellow-white tongues of fire streaked along the partially collapsed ceiling. Two women crouched a few feet away, frantically clawing at a timber that had fallen over the leg of a mulatto girl. As she glanced at her surroundings, Celia realized she was in the island brothel.

  The two prostitutes were squawking, swearing, and coughing. They were free to escape on their own, but they had stayed to help the injured girl. Impulsively Celia darted forward and seized the trapped girl under the shoulders and arms. The others looked at her in surprise. “Lift the timber,” she shouted, tears sliding from her eyes as a puff of smoke wafted into her face. Gasping and choking, they strained to raise the heavy wooden beam the necessary inches, and Celia pulled at the mulatto girl’s shoulders with wrenching tugs. The girl stared up at Celia in terror and struggled to pull her leg from beneath the timber. One of the burning walls swayed, dangerously close to collapsing. Frantically Celia dragged the injured girl free.

  Together they all carried the girl to the opening in the floor. Celia clambered through it first and held out her arms while they pushed the mulatto girl toward her. All four of them skidded down the short incline. One of the prostitutes, a plump brunette with a dirt-smudged face, grasped Celia’s arm. “Thank you,” the woman gasped hoarsely. “Thank you.”

  “Do you know the way out of here?” Celia asked, and coughed harshly. Even the brief exposure to the smoke had made her lungs feel as if they were filled with soot.

  The prostitute gave a wheezing laugh. “If you was aiming to go above ground, precious, you took the wrong turn. Aye, I know the way out. It’s not far at—”

  The ear-splitting blast of a shell came from overhead, and the tunnel collapsed with a fulminating crash. They screamed and huddled together as the earth crumbled around them. In a split-second Celia knew she was going to die. Her mind emptied of all thought. Her ears were filled with a roaring noise, and then she was submerged in an abrupt quietness. Everything around her was still and cool and gray.

  In a while she stirred a little, half-dreaming, half-awake. Her eyes and nose and lungs were stinging. The air was warm and pungent. Coughing, she managed to sit up and wipe her eyes. The brunette woman was gingerly touching a bruise on her own head and swearing, while the mulatto girl was crying. “What happened?” Celia asked huskily.

  “Cave-in,” the brunette said curtly, pointing to the tunnel, which was completely blocked by rubble. “Now we can’t…get out that way.” She gave a hacking cough. “And since the blasted jack-tars above have set the stinking island on fire, we’re trapped here. Cozy little oven…won’t be long till we’re done like f-four roasted pigeons.”

  “No,” Celia said, crawling slowly to the pile of debris. She pulled a chunk of limestone from the top. “The heat and smoke will rise, it won’t collect down here. We’ll be safe for a while…but still, we have to…” She paused as a spasm of coughing shook her body. “…dig ourselves out,” she finished. None of them moved to help her. She clawed at the rocks with her bare hands.

  Then the brunette dragged herself up beside her. “Plucky little pincase, ain’t you?” She grasped the side of a rock and helped Celia dislodge it.

  The tavern was an awe-inspiring sight as it burned, giving off heat and light that rivaled the rising sun. Crawling through the flurry of shot from the navy schooners, Justin and Aug made their way to the partial shelter offered by one of the fort’s two large parapets. A lone, bloody figure staggered out from the doorway. Justin tensed, recognizing the man. “Duffy!” He stood and caught the wounded man as he stumbled, bearing him gently to the ground.

  Duffy held his hands against a stab wound in the center of his torso, blood flowing through his fingers. He looked up at Justin with glassy eyes. “Legare,” he gasped. “I fought ’im, but I couldn’t…I tried…”

  “It’s all right, don’t talk,” Justin murmured, throwing Aug a bleak glance. Duffy was a gallant, foolhardy man—no match for someone as cunning and skilled as Legare. Tearing off the tatters that had once been his shirt, Justin wadded up the shredded cloth and pressed it over the gushing wound. It was a useless effort, but he had to do something. Duffy shuddered and gasped, his head falling to the side.

  “Griffin.”

  Looking up from Duffy’s still face, Justin saw Dominic Legare’s lean, wiry form in the doorway. Legare clasped a bloody sword in his hand. There were no mocking smiles on his sharp-featured face, nothing but deadly purpose in his eyes. He looked clean and unmarked, and invincible. Two other men came up behind Legare. Justin wondered if it had been the three of them against Duffy, if the other two had tormented and cornered him, then allowed Legare to deliver the death-thrust.

  Aug leaped up, and Justin followed suit more slowly. His heartbeat was thrumming in his ears and he was swamped with a savage elation that was as pure an emotion as he’d ever felt. He wanted to kill, to spill Legare’s blood and dance in it. The roar of hatred drowned out the sound of the fire and the shell bursts. He felt capable of anything, any cruelty…He felt almost inhuman.

  He saw it all reflected back at him from Legare’s eyes. My God, he thought, suddenly cold with panic, what’s the difference between us? The scarlet fog cleared away. He remembered Celia telling him she believed in him, clasping him in her arms and making him believe in the part of himself he thought had been lost long ago. It was because of her that he was not like Legare, and never could be. The thought of her steadied him.

  As the torrent of desperate energy began to fade, he became aware of all the things he’d temporarily forgotten—his aching leg, the stabbing pain of his rib, and all the battered places on his body. It was good to remember. He had to fight within his limits instead of trying to push. His usual extension would be curtailed and he wouldn’t gamble on having much endurance left.

  “Aug,” he said, gesturing to the pair behind Legare. “Keep those two outside. No one is to interfere. If they try anything—”

  “Aye.”

  Legare nodded to the two pirates, who moved aside. Justin guessed that they would try to rush Aug as soon as they had the chance. He didn’t think Aug would have trouble dealing with them.

  Stepping into the main chamber of the fortification, Legare waited for Justin to follow. The space was small and enclosed, lit by torches and the weak sunlight that wavered through the doorway. From outside there came sudden battle cries and the clanging of swords. Legare kept his eyes on Justin. “It seems my men have decided to test Aug’s fighting skill,” he said.

  Justin shrugged casually. ’They’ll keep him entertained for a while.” Before he finished the sentence, he lunged at Legare without warning. Legare parried easily and returned with a swift counterattack. Justin fought with grim concentration, finding that he could only accomplish his usually smooth riposte with an awkward hop on his bad leg. His rhythm was off.

  Legare laughed contemptuously. “You pathetic fool. You’ve lost whatever ability you once had.” He disengaged with a sneer, as if the fight was not worth his effort.

  Justin followed readily, attacking and then redoubling, putting Legare on the defensive. He made a feint and then sank the tip of the rapier into Legare’s shoulder. Legare leaped back, but there was a smear of blood on his shirt. Enraged, Legare pressed forward with forceful strokes. Justin held his ground, knowing his leg was not strong enough to support him under a long drive backward.

  The blades crashed and slid together until the hilts nearly met. The m
en gritted their teeth and pushed in a pure test of strength. Justin threw Legare back with a mighty shove. Legare returned quickly. Suddenly they were in the midst of a long, unendurable exchange, parrying and lunging, each seeking to gain an advantage. It was too rapid for either of them to think; instinct alone guided the flashing swords. Somehow Justin broke through Legare’s guard. This time the wound he inflicted was a shallow jab in the side.

  The expression on Legare’s face became demonic. He advanced with purposeful lunges, forcing Justin to hop back. Justin’s breath hissed through his teeth as he defended himself against the attack, and then he saw with a tingling shock that Legare’s face registered victory. At the same time he felt empty space underneath his heels. He was poised on the edge of a stairwell. Striving for balance, Justin slid down the first two or three steps and raised his sword just in time to parry a thrust.

  They were startled by a deafening explosion as a shell hit the parapet and shook the entire structure. Thrown off balance, Justin tumbled backward down the stairs, rolling over and over until he hit bottom. The rapier clattered down a few steps and came to rest halfway down the stairwell, hopelessly out of his reach. Justin lay in the semi-darkness for a few seconds, looking dizzily up at the place he had fallen from. His mind registered the shape of Legare walking down the steps, closing the distance between them.

  Justin forced himself to move, dragging himself up, crawling and stumbling into a shadowy passageway. He fell again. A mere two inches from his nose he saw a wire wrapped around a peg. He blinked and stared at the object. Panting, spitting the copper taste of blood from his mouth, he raised himself up and carefully avoided the wire, staggering deeper into the passage. He slid to the floor and leaned his back against the wall, waiting, gulping for breath, and cradling his arm against the knifelike pain in his side.