“Current carry us,” one of the men whispered.
Using the dense trees as cover, we crept closer to the fort. It wasn’t nearly as impressive from this side. Plants grew in the cracks between stones, and the roof was thick with moss and weeds, with many shingles missing.
Either the Black Dogs didn’t know their island could be taken from the southeast or they thought no one else knew. Armed with muskets from Vix’s hold, the wherrymen made quick work of the guards at the back door. On a table near their crumpled bodies, a deck of cards lay fanned out between stacks of trinkets and silver coins. Broken bottles littered the ground.
My gaze lingered on the dead men. Perhaps they had friends or family who would be watching the horizon, waiting for them to come home. I tightened my hands on my guns, hardening my heart.
Inside the fort, a lone man stood at the end of the torch-lit corridor. Kenté’s fingers moved at her throat, and she disappeared, right in the middle of the afternoon. One of the wherrymen let out a choked gasp.
“Do not fight,” Kenté’s voice sang out, echoing off the stone walls. “For I am an untrained shadowman. I shall do something stupid and most likely explosive if you lay hands on me. Put down your weapons.” She reappeared, pistol pressed to the pirate’s temple. “Please.”
The man immediately dropped his gun.
I rolled my eyes. “Please?”
The Black Dogs’ headquarters was a mess. Never had I seen so many fine things dashed about in careless disarray: a golden goblet rolled into a corner and forgotten, a jeweled collar flung lopsided around the neck of a bottle of ale. I silently judged Captain Diric Melanos and his men for leaving their plunder scattered all over like that.
“Well done,” I whispered to Kenté. “I didn’t know if the necklace would work.”
“And after you made that outrageous speech about how I defeated the Black Dogs and stole their ship! I see you have little faith in me.”
“Seems to me I have a lot of faith,” I muttered. “Since I made that speech in the first place.”
“I knew it would work.” She twirled a locket on its chain. “I tested them last night.”
“Someone who doesn’t want the Bollards to know her secret ought to avoid doing show-offy things like playing with magic right on the deck where anyone might see.”
She put on an innocent look. “The sailor standing watch on Antelope fell asleep.”
I shook my head. “You better not do that to me.”
The sound of men’s voices ahead made Thisbe Brixton signal for quiet. Presently we came upon the source of the noise—a great round chamber one level below us. Perhaps it had once been a formal dining room, for at one end was a raised dais. Flattening myself against the staircase wall, I glimpsed Ma and Pa sitting on the floor with Antelope’s crew. A wave of relief made my insides weak. But we weren’t out of this yet. The prisoners were surrounded by Black Dogs.
“There’s twenty men down there,” Dinos whispered.
“More like forty.” Thisbe cuffed him on the back of the head. “Can’t you count?”
Captain Krantor jerked his pistol toward the stairs. “Saw you the Emparch?”
“He’s not there,” I whispered, nerves causing my pulse to hammer hot.
“Likely they got him locked up by himself,” he said. “Leave this lot to us. You go find him.” He turned to Nereus. “Reckon you’re a man who’d be good in a fight. You with us or what?”
Nereus’s fingers twitched on his knife. “I go with the girl.” His nostrils flared, as if he could somehow smell battle.
“Figured as much,” the old man said, wiping sweat from his sun-spotted forehead. “Now. We surround ’em on all sides. Once I’m in position, I’ll sing out a signal. You lot sing back. Ready?”
Kenté eyed the arched ceiling of the great room, tugging her necklaces from under her dress. “I’m going to need two for this.”
I held my breath. But it wasn’t like what had happened when she tried the same trick in Casteria. The great room went dark, as if a giant hand in a black glove had snuffed out the lanterns. More than that, Kenté’s magic blotted the light from the windows and doors. The wherrymen crept in one by one, feeling their way down the curved staircase.
“Strike a match, you Dogs!” I thought that was Diric Melanos.
“It’s not working!” one of his crew yelped in panic.
“Looooooow bridge!” a voice boomed from across the room. It was Perry Krantor, calling out as the wherrymen do when they come to a bridge on the river.
“What was that?” The Black Dogs fell into a hush. I heard the ring of steel and the rustle of clothing as they drew their weapons.
Other voices called out in answer. “Low bridge!” The voices seemed to come from all around the room, echoing off the stone walls. “Loooow-ow-ow-ow.” A shiver ran through me. It was an eerie sound.
“It’s that shadowman!” someone yelled.
“No, it’s the shades of them wherrymen come to haunt us,” one of the Black Dogs cried. “Told you, I did! We shouldn’t have done it.”
I smiled. No—they shouldn’t have.
A man began to pray out loud, while another fired a pistol. Several men commenced to yell at the one who had shot the gun.
Over the clamor I heard a familiar laugh. “That you, Perry?” It was Pa, who knew no one else from here to Ndanna would choose that for a war cry. No one except wherrymen.
“Ayah. How be you, Nick?”
“Well enough,” Pa said, “once you put a pistol in my hand.”
Kenté’s fingers moved and the darkness whisked up, like a blanket being shaken out. It hit the ceiling and burst. All the little pieces of it flew into the nooks and crannies of the room.
And then the fight began.
One of the wherrymen tossed Pa a pistol and a bag of shot. He caught it. Lifting his eyes to the top of the stairs, he saw me. A long moment passed between us. He raised his hand in a salute, loaded the pistol, and jumped into the fight.
Hesitant as I was to abandon my parents, the wherrymen’s attack was a spectacular diversion. I nodded to Nereus and Kenté, and we slipped down the corridor. As we hurried deeper into the fort, the smells of smoke and sea lay thick on the air. None of us spoke. My concern for Markos sat on my chest like a heavy stone.
From an open door on the right side of the hall came the clinking of glass. Nereus ducked into the room, and I heard a cry, followed by an unpleasant crunch.
Nereus held the Black Dog’s arm twisted at an unnatural angle behind his back. A puddle of spilled ale seeped into the carpet. It was Alektor’s captain, Philemon, though his lip was bloodied. He wore a long gilt-trimmed coat, which I recognized at once as the jacket I had so admired on Markos.
“One silver talent,” Nereus drawled, running the edge of his knife down Philemon’s neck, “if you tell me where the Emparch’s being held.”
“Are you joking?” the man spat.
Nereus laughed. “’Course I’m joking. Tell me, and you might not get my knife through your eye. Can’t make promises though.”