Inzunza stepped into the center with a touch of theatrical flair, his military coat adorned with gleaming buttons and a tricorn hat perched atop a meticulously curled and powdered wig prepared by his Indigenous servant. In his right hand he carried a fine Flemish lace handkerchief, which he occasionally brought to his neck to wipe away the sweat, while his left rested on the hilt of his sword.

  He stopped before Skippy, who was visibly strained by the tropical heat and the blazing sun, yet still managed to maintain a relaxed and defiant bearing.

  The lieutenant smiled.

  “A proposal: a duel,” he said.

  Skippy nodded and smiled in return.

  “If I win,” he said, “you’ll learn about the treasure—but you’ll release Kwame, my men, and the other prisoners… and you already know what happens if I lose.”

  Inzunza pursed his lips, amused.

  “I have no problem with that…”

  The courtyard fell utterly silent.

  At a signal from the lieutenant, Yanga appeared. He removed a satchel—one Sammy recognized—and handed it to a soldier. Then he took two swords offered by another soldier and approached, carrying one in each hand.

  When he reached Skippy, he tossed one of them onto the ground.

  The elf bent down and picked it up.

  “You’re not going to remove the chains?” Skippy asked.

  “They make the game more interesting.… he’s all yours, Yanga,” Inzunza said, withdrawing under Skippy’s annoyed gaze before fixing his attention on the ensign.

  “Looks like they’ve thrown you to the cannon,” Skippy said.

  “Do not be so arrogant, Captain,” Yanga replied. “Prepare to submit to Spain.”

  “Ensign Yanga, I need him alive…” the lieutenant called out.

  Inzunza then sat in the baroque chair beneath the canopy. He lifted a glass, took a sip, and then drew out the lace handkerchief of Flanders and waved it in the air.

  The duel began.

  The two combatants took their guard.

  The first clash of steel rang across the courtyard, drawing cheers from both the soldiers and the crew of the Garnor.

  Yanga attacked without hesitation—a storm of precise blows that forced Skippy backward as he struggled not to tangle himself in the chains, whose rattling added further drama to the scene. Each thrust aimed for bone, not warning.

  Skippy barely managed to parry the attacks, feeling his arms tremble with every impact.

  Meanwhile, Kayin stood near the exit of the tunnel.

  He could smell the sea breeze and feel the humid warmth of the morning when suddenly he heard murmurs coming from inside. Moments later the prisoners from the warehouse emerged, pushing him aside to allow two pirates armed with muskets to pass.

  They signaled for silence.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  They quickly surveyed the surroundings and returned; another gesture told the others to begin leaving quietly.

  Kayin had to crouch aside while women, children, and the remaining prisoners passed before him.

  When he climbed out of the shaft and into the daylight, he hurried after one of them.

  “Listen… there’s been a problem. I need to tell you when to begin the attack.”

  “Yes, of course,” Larry replied. “We’ll stay alert. Come on—everyone keep moving, don’t stop.”

  “But… I need you ready to strike,” Kayin insisted, trying to stop him.

  The pirate kept walking, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the escape continued.

  “Yes, yes, don’t worry,” he said. “You can count on us.”

  Kayin stood motionless as he watched them disappear into the jungle without looking back, swallowed by the dense foliage.

  Only then did he understand.

  They would not return.

  “Oh… damn it,” he muttered.

  He ran back to the shaft and, once inside the tunnel, leaned against the wall.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” he whispered.

  Meanwhile, the duel continued under Inzunza’s entertained gaze.

  At that moment a soldier approached carrying the satchel Yanga had handed him earlier and placed it beside one of the poles supporting the canopy. The soldier turned back toward the duel when the lieutenant beckoned him.

  “What is that?” Inzunza asked.

  “A satchel the ensign asked me to guard. Apparently it was confiscated from one of the prisoners,” the soldier replied.

  The lieutenant pursed his lips and gestured for it.

  Once it was in his hands, he began examining it. He removed the tube and, upon opening it, studied the navigation charts with curiosity—then the journal.

  After satisfying his curiosity, he returned everything to the satchel and placed it beside him. But when he turned his attention back to the duel, the same enthusiasm no longer shone in his eyes.

  In the arena, Skippy managed to regain his footing. He spun and delivered a quick slash toward Yanga’s flank.

  Yanga blocked effortlessly and answered with a knee driven straight into Skippy’s stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.

  The pirates erupted into boos and whistles while the Spaniards applauded.

  The elf tried to stand, but the chains tangled around his legs. Yanga seized the opportunity and launched another series of thrusts that Skippy barely avoided.

  Laughter broke out among the soldiers.

  Skippy rolled and rose just in time to stop another descending blow.

  Steel screamed against steel.

  Yanga pressed forward, increasing the pressure. Every step closed the distance. Every strike grew more violent.

  Then Yanga cheated.

  Feigning a retreat, he flicked a hidden dagger from his sleeve straight toward the elf. Skippy barely managed to avoid it.

  “Cheater!” the pirates shouted.

  Inzunza burst into laughter, joined by the soldiers while the pirates answered with jeers and whistles.

  Skippy managed to turn his head just in time. The blade sliced his cheek. Blood flowed instantly.

  “First blood!” one of the men shouted.

  Inzunza leaned forward.

  “Continue…”

  Skippy clenched his teeth and attacked with fury, but Yanga was a seasoned swordsman. He parried the blows and drew a dagger from his belt, now armed in both hands.

  The pirates began booing again.

  “We should attack,” Sammy said.

  “It will happen when I give the order,” Trumper replied.

  Skippy dodged the strikes of the sword and dagger until, in one exchange, his sword was knocked from his hand.

  “It’s over! Yanga, finish him!” Inzunza shouted.

  “I thought you wanted him alive,” Yanga replied.

  “His head will do just as well,” the lieutenant answered.

  Yanga showed his teeth in a cruel grin.

  “Sorry… orders,” he said, meeting Skippy’s gaze.

  “That’s against the rules!” Sammy shouted.

  Laughter echoed across the courtyard—even among the pirates.

  At that instant Skippy rolled beneath the attack and, as he sprang up, pulled a small clam-shaped device from the pocket of his vest.

  He threw it at Yanga’s feet.

  The object struck the ground, sprang open, and released a blinding flash of light that left the ensign dazzled.

  The entire scene froze in stunned silence.

  Then the boatswain shouted:

  “Now!”

  The pirates drew daggers and knives, cut the rope binding them together, and hurled themselves forward. Skippy sprinted for his sword. Yanga, still blinded, slashed wildly at shadows.

  Skippy retrieved his weapon, struck Yanga on the back of the head with the hilt, and ran to rejoin his men. Sammy grabbed Yanga’s sword and joined the fight.

  Inzunza and the soldiers stepped back—but were immediately reinforced by more troops armed with muskets, who received the order to fire.

  The pirates threw themselves to the ground.

  Two men were killed instantly, and several others wounded.

  Everyone lay face down.

  “Well… today I’m truly doomed,” Skippy muttered.

  “What happened to the outside reinforcements?” Goodwin asked with his face pressed into the dirt.

  “We’ve been betrayed,” Trumper said. Then he turned his head toward Sammy, who was also lying flat against the ground. “This is your fault.”

  The girl turned her head slightly and managed to glimpse Kayin watching from afar.

  “Save yourself…” she whispered.