by Vic Connor
The guns are a thing of beauty—the three of them are now holstered across my left crutch, with my other three common pistols at my hips and thighs, Hendricks’ gun close to my right hand, and my trusty pistolón at my back, for when trouble gets too close.
And a small clay jug hangs tied to my belt, too; another gift, this one from Axolotl.
“The Eagle Warriors claim no archer can miss after having drunk this,” he’d said. “May it work as well for bullets as they say it does for arrows.”
Juanita has utterly changed her appearance by swapping her zigzagged poncho for European clothes, similar to what Hendricks and the other Dutch soldiers wear: A long-sleeved white shirt, rat-brown coat, wool breeches, and boots. Her black hair has been tied in a bun and tucked under a small tricorne hat. Her wardrobe is modest but brand new, courtesy of Inktmeester and Van der Kaart.
“That’s a sunrise lands look you have,” I observe. “How does it feel?”
“Hopefully no worse than it looks, my child.”
The clothes suit her well enough; our main goal here is to avoid El Morisco or one of Barboza’s minions recognizing the poncho-wearing pagan witch, and we can only hope this disguise might work.
The bald gnome’s attire is similar to Juanita’s, though of much better fabric and workmanship. It makes sense, since they’re meant to portray a boss and his underling.
We march along the Southern Road, keeping a swift pace. Juanita and her bees scout ahead, now escorted by Inktmeester who, for somebody always sitting on his stool, moves surprisingly swiftly. Abe and I take turns making sure Uitzli can keep up—the sky, covered with thick gray clouds, promises little sun today, which should make things easier for her—and the Noh mask closes our ranks, naginata at the ready.
Barboza’s estate is huge: acres and acres of sugarcane, a beautiful country house with white walls and red roofs overseeing a handful of smaller cabins and shacks, and beyond all that, the iridescent waters of the Caribbean Sea.
We survey the terrain, hiding among the jungle foliage. The sugarcane fields themselves are devoid of guards and harvesting slaves.
“Why is there nobody in the fields?” I whisper.
“It is too early to harvest it,” Juanita explains. “The canes will not be ready for another couple of months, I think.”
“Thems rooftops, though.” Abe peers into the distance like a sailor in the crow’s nest scanning the horizon for faraway sails. “Thems crawl with ‘em guards, an’ a fair bet t’ same be true fer other spots ‘round the house.”
“A frontal assault wouldn’t have worked, yeah,” I say. “I mean, an ambush in the middle of the road didn’t work, so…”
Juanita bows her head and whispers a prayer to Lord of Here and Now, the Smoking Mirror, asking him to confuse our foe’s eyes and to deceive their ears. After she finishes, she turns to Inktmeester. “Time to go.”
“If all goes well,” I tell them, “we’ll be waiting for you here. But if something goes wrong and you need to flee, and somebody comes running after you, we’ll also be waiting for them.” I pat the pistolón at my back.
35
Left Behind
We’ve been waiting for Juanita and Inktmeester for about three hours.
The good news is, all seems tranquil and quiet at Barboza’s villa. The bad news is that the clock keeps ticking while nothing happens.
Hidden behind the foliage about five hundred paces from Barboza’s mansion, I stare at the white walls of the house. My Appraising Gaze is of no help in this case. “Do you think Barboza caught them?” I ask.
“Nay, lad,” Abe assures me. “Me nose says trouble ain’t far away, but storm ain’t upon us jus’ yet.” He pulls his head back and sniffs loudly.
Careful to remain out of sight, I brush aside some leaves and branches to take a better look at the building. The guards on the roof seem about to die from boredom, and ready to kill for a chance to get away from the tropical sun and enjoy a siesta somewhere shady. “What the heck is taking them so long?” I grumble.
Miyu puts her index finger over the Noh mask’s lips. “Shh!”
“I don’t think the guards can hear us—” I begin.
The Noh mask tilts forward, its brow looking stern and commanding.
“All right, all right,” I whisper. “It’s just—”
Abe’s huge hand squeezes my shoulder. “Thieves ahoy,” he growls.
The front door of Barboza’s estate opens slowly. Dressed as if for a fancy party, all silks and bows and looking somewhat like a doll, the Moor steps outside.
My fingers wrap around my crutches, grasping them as if trying to strangle the wood.
The Moor makes a short, polite bow and allows Juanita and Inktmeester to exit the house. The gnome and our witch bow back, like the three of them had been sharing pleasantries over tea at a fancy high-society gathering.
Abe sniffs again, his hand reaching for his cutlass.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
“Me nose ain’t sayin’…”
Appraising Gaze
An orange-red hue surrounds El Morisco, but there seems to be nothing wrong. He turns around, goes back into the house, the door closes…
…Inktmeester and Juanita begin to walk back across the fields, toward the jungle where we sit waiting for them…
Abe sniffs again.
“Will you stop that!?” I try to yell in a whisper. “All is going well, can’t you see?”
The gnome and the witch are approaching; only two hundred paces and we’ll be free to go…
…frantic yells and shouts come from the house. Somebody screams “¡Ladrones!” at the top of his lungs.
Exchanging panicked glances, Inktmeester and Juanita quicken their pace.
The doors of the house are flung open; the Moor points at our two friends and yells, “¡Alto! ¡Ladrones!”
I’m about to call out, “Run!” but there’s no need. Their cover blown, Inktmeester and Juanita sprint toward the jungle.
“Told ya, lad!”
“You’ll gloat later, mate,” I tell him. “After we get out of this alive!”
More yelling and shouting explode after El Morisco’s alarm; howls and angry barks follow. Two musketeers come running from around the house.
“What d’ya wants us t’ do, lad?”
Juanita and Inktmeester are now about a hundred paces from us.
I uncork Axolotl’s clay jar. “As soon as our friends reach the forest, we run.” I take a long sip; the brew tastes like green, sour tea. It makes my eyes itch like they’re on fire, just as Axolotl had warned me it would, and I have to blink furiously to clean away the tears. “Let’s buy them some time … and make sure these bastards think twice about following them into the jungle.” I draw the first Langesnuit from my left crutch.
I blink furiously again. It’s as though a subtle veil that had always been in front of my eyes suddenly tears itself away and falls aside, allowing me to see things closer, sharper, brighter.
I hear a shot.
Inktmeester falls to the ground…
“Get up, ya blunderin’ squid!” yells Abe.
Right before hitting the dirt, the thief twists into a ball, rolls shoulder-first, then springs up again and runs at top speed.
Still far in the distance, the two musketeers take aim again at our companions. All right, then; we can all play the long-range game…
Unflinching Calm
…things zoom in, as if the musketeers were only fifty paces from us…
“That be too far, lad!”
…Menéndez, the musketeer on the right, prepares to shoot Juanita…
…gently, softly, I pull my trigger…
Crippling Shot:
Critical!
…Menéndez’s musket flies out of his grip, shattered. He grabs his bleeding hand, howling in pain. The roof guards begin shooting in our direction, but miss by a wide margin.
Benavídez, the other musketeer, looks around in apparent sho
ck: He must have only now realized that the two escaping thieves aren’t alone, and he’s an easy target for whoever hides in the jungle. Scared, he turns to retreat.
“¡Los perros!” yells the Moor, still standing at the entrance. “¡Traigan a los perros!”
Worth a shot, literally…
…I give the smoking Langesnuit to Abe and grab the second gun…
…we can hear dogs barking behind the house, their yowls getting louder…
…I aim at the Moor’s forehead, pull the trigger…
Headshot:
Miss!
…a small cloud of white powder forms about a foot to the left of El Morisco’s face when my bullet hits the wall. He curses and dives inside the house.
Juanita and Inktmeester are almost here.
“Get ‘long lively!” yells Abe.
Juanita, running at break-neck speed, gives him a split-second glare as if to say, “What in the Aztec hells do you think we are doing!?”
They fly into the jungle near us and drop to the ground, wheezing as they fight to slow their breathing after the maddening sprint.
“Do you have it?” I ask. “My father’s book; do you have it?”
Juanita nods, gasping for air. “And the letters,” she puffs.
The cacophony of barks, howls, yells, and yowls coming from the mansion grows louder by the minute. A few bullets shot from the roof puncture the trunks and branches around us.
“Good,” I say, pleased. “Now, let’s get out of here. They’ll be on our trail in no time.”
We flee along the jungle path, trying to reach the Southern Road back to Duurstad. Abe leads—or better said, yanks—Uitzli by the hand; part of my mind registers I’m now able to swing on my crutches almost as fast as the others can run.
I still can’t run and shoot, though.
“Keep moving!” I bark. “It’ll take them some time to realize we left, and nobody will shoot at them from the jungle. But when they do, they’ll be all over us. Move!”
As if on cue, dogs bark and howl at our backs.
“The dogs will catch up with us, young Jake,” warns Juanita. “That’s what they breed them for: Track and catch the runaway slaves.”
“Track, maybe,” I concede, taking huge strides on my crutches. “But catch … we’ll just have to see about that.”
Spaniards’ voices answer my taunt in the distance. “¡A por ellos!” they shout. “¡Persíganlos!”
Inktmeester breaks in his cat-like leaps to reach inside one of his coat’s pockets, fumbling and searching…
As I stride past him, I ask, “What’s going on?”
He flashes me a gnomish grin and opens his hands, revealing a handful of sharp, evil-looking caltrops. He tosses them into the mud and resumes running.
A few minutes later, we can hear cries of pain and curses behind us: Judging by the voices, at least two or three of our pursuers are out of the race, their feet torn up by Inktmeester’s spikes. And, with any luck, the rest will slow down, wary of stepping on more evil devices.
We keep moving, hearts pounding in our chests, barks and yells fading behind us. The narrow jungle path finally reaches the Southern Road, becoming wider like a small stream just before it joins a large river.
“Left or right, lad!?” Abe asks. “East or west?”
To the right! Duurstad is nearer. Go, go, go!
To the left! Tepetlacotli’s walls are safer. Move!
Is there any way to trick our pursuers…?
…no, no way: the Alanos have been trained to track slaves who may have escaped hours or even days ago. We’re only a few minutes ahead. They’ll know which direction we take, clear as day.
“To the right!” I order. “Back to Duurstad, go, go, go!!”
We sprint east, toward Duurstad’s safety. A strange wind blows past us: Dry, hot, almost rough and coarse as it rubs our skin.
Miyu, who leads our group, slows her sprint to a trot, then to a cautious walk.
“Come on!” I shout. “Keep moving!”
But the samurai comes to a full stop in the middle of the road, bringing her naginata to a defensive stance. Abe releases Uitzli’s hand to draw his cutlass.
Juanita stops, too, scanning our surroundings. “The Moorish fiend,” she announces. “He is near.”
Shit. A whirlwind of sand and dust spins in front of us, blocking our escape.
Abe and Miyu, blades at the ready, stand their ground as the whirlwind twists, grows, lifts itself, and reveals our foe just thirty paces ahead. The Moor stands dressed like a silk doll, but his eyes speak murder, and the wicked glint of his short axe and long blade promise a world of hurt and pain.
I look around for Inktmeester: he is nowhere to be found. That treacherous little gnome must have kept running and left us behind.
Screw him.
The howls and yells coming from the jungle path at our backs grow closer and closer.
All right… let’s do this, then.
“Abe, Miyu! Try to flank the bastard!” I order. “Juanita! You and I will take care of the rear.” I whisper to Uitzli, who seems dazzled among the chaos, “You, little sister, keep Abe and Miyu in one piece as best as you can.”
I turn around, my back to the Moor, the pirate and the samurai: I’ll have to trust my companions can at least hold him while the witch and I deal with the Spaniards and dogs giving us chase—they’ll storm our rear any second now.
At least the terrain is perfect for us. This section of the Southern Road is ten paces wide, and we left the jungle path leading back to Barboza’s village a bit ago.
Behind me, I hear Abe yelling, “¡Maldita tu sucia madre!” to taunt El Morisco into action.
I do my best to focus on our side of the battle; breathing deeply is becoming a second nature…
Skill Upgraded!
Unflinching Calm:
Skilled Apprentice
“…There, see that tree?” I tell Juanita, indicating a thick tree some distance from us, near the narrow jungle trail. “Hide behind that trunk. They’ll stop there to shoot at us. That’s when you’ll strike.”
“My child, how do you—?”
“Go!” I bark.
She obeys; her humming cloud of bees darts forward.
Steel clashing with steel rings from where samurai and pirate fight our main enemy. I can feel more than hear Uitzli right behind me, radiating her healing energy to patch Abe while the pirate yells, growls, and curses.
I reach for my third and last Langesnuit…
No, I tell myself. I’ll probably miss the first shot, anyway. I need them to stop.
…Instead, I draw the common pistol from my left thigh. It’s the hardest one to reach, so best to draw now when we still have a few moments before the dogs and Spaniards burst out of the jungle…
“Kutabare!!” Miyu yells, her warcry sharp as a knife. She must have struck true, because now it’s the Moor cursing back, and Abe yelling, “Take that, ya filthy dog!”
Slowly, I aim at the entrance to the jungle path: Two Alanos—Sable and Black—held on leashes by a dog-handler Dieguez and followed by the two musketeers Pardo and Somoza, make their way into the Southern Road.
Crippling Shot:
Miss!
The bullet from my common Pistol passes harmlessly over their heads, but it achieves the goal I seek: the Spaniards stop in their tracks, with Pardo and Somoza readying their weapons and Dieguez the dog-handler loosening the leashes. The animals vault forward, howling at me, while the Spaniards stay back…
…right beside the tree where Juanita hides.
Damn, I hate this part. Grabbing the second common pistol, I wait for Black to come close enough for me to shoot…
Crippling Shot:
Critical Hit!
…the poor dog wails helplessly as his front leg splinters. He rolls on the ground from the impact. Sable halts in its tracks, looking confused and scared about what happened to Black…
… inspiration strikes…
Bark Orders
“You!” I snarl to the dog. “Back!” I order. “Back, or I will kill you!”
Stunned, Black cowers, shrinks, turns tail, and runs back to the Spaniards.
I hear Abe yell, “¡Maldita sea tu madre!” and a soft, wet thud followed by the pirate’s pained curses tells me the Moor has landed a terrible blow.
A bullet flies not three inches from my right ear. Pardo has opened fire, and Somoza is about to.
Now is the time for the last Langesnuit: I draw it from my crutch as, even at this distance, I lock eyes with Somoza. We both know that whoever shoots second may not survive…
…yet shooting in a hurry could mean there’s no second chance…
…he moves faster than me, but he misses. His bullet breezes past my right shoulder.
Miyu yells again, “Kutabare!!”
There’s no time for finesse, I’m afraid. The Southern Road zooms in as I home my sight on Somoza’s chest. Tunnel vision settles in…
Careful Aim
…I squeeze the trigger as he frantically tries to reload his weapon…
Chest shot:
Miss!
…Damn it!
“Juanita!” I yell. “Bite one of the musketeers!”
At least the dog handler turns around to retreat, looking shrunk and taken aback—not unlike Black, who has run back with its tail between its legs—but Somoza is reloading, and Pardo looks ready to take a shot…
…there’s a low-pitched bang as Pardo fires in my direction…
…like the previous bullet, this one whizzes harmlessly past my right shoulder…
Harmlessly?
I hear a gentle wail and another wet, soft thud, this time from right behind me. Uitzli grabs my arm as her other hand presses tight against her throat.
