Inzunza had everything under control. The prisoners were lined up along the edge of the cliff, holding torches and facing away from the pyramid. It looked like a scene from some dark Handel opera, and to add even more drama, old Smith began singing a religious hymn at the top of his lungs, while mothers clutched their frightened children and everyone stared out toward the sea in terror.

  “We’re going to die… we’re going to die,” muttered one of the Garnor pirates.

  “We’re all going to die eventually,” said Mike Hatcher.

  “I agree we’re all going to die,” growled one of the pirates from the redoubt, “but at least someone could shut that sanctimonious old fool up. His shrill voice is giving me anxiety.”

  The pirates began to protest.

  “But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest…” Smith shouted, followed by a chorus of jeers.

  Inzunza watched the prisoners, amused.

  “Shall we silence them, Lieutenant?” asked a soldier.

  “No,” Inzunza replied. “It adds more drama to the episode. I love this scene—it is truly operatic. All it lacks is music.”

  Then he turned to another soldier.

  “Bring Manolo. Have him climb the pyramid and start singing.”

  With that, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat, smiling with satisfaction.

  A few minutes later, the soldier’s voice rang out in a flamenco lament, lifting a raw, broken cry that echoed among the stones of the Mayan ruins, mingling with the prisoners’ wails and the pirates’ shouted protests.

  Meanwhile, Sammy remained tied up in the office. She struggled against the ropes binding her wrists and, in one of her movements, fell to the floor. She paused to catch her breath; she could hear the shouting, the lamentations, and the soldier’s singing. It was like some macabre scene from the Divine Comedy.

  “Oh heavens,” she gasped. “Whenever I need a ghost, none appears… damn it.”

  Then she heard the crash of a plate shattering. She turned to look: from the crate beneath the portrait of the King of England, a rat had approached to sniff the food scraps and knocked the plate and utensils to the ground. The knife and fork lay scattered there.

  “Old Price… I don’t know whether this is a good omen or a joke,” she murmured.

  Another rat arrived and began sniffing at the remains of the dishware. Within seconds it was locked in a fight with the first. When the victor approached Sammy, the girl tensed.

  “Oh no,” she said, fearing an attack. She began shouting at it and jerking her head, but the rat fled. Sammy followed it with her eyes and saw it disappear beneath a chest of drawers.

  She took a deep breath. Then she decided to drag herself toward the utensils. With great effort she reached them, twisted herself as best she could, and tried to grasp the knife. Through clumsy, trembling movements she pushed it, but it slid and became wedged in one of the cracks of the crate.

  “Damn it…” she muttered in frustration.

  But then an idea came to her, and she began steadily rubbing the rope at her wrist against the blade’s edge.

  The Garnor sailed with the wind astern. The outline of the rock rose before them. The bow angled toward the entrance of the estuary, and they entered, passing beneath the cliff. At the top they could see the battery—silent, but threatening. Skippy remained attentive to the maneuver while the pilot called out headings to the helmsman. They left the rock behind and drew closer to the cliff where the citadel stood.

  The wind began carrying murmurs that, as they advanced, became shouts… and above that noise, the lyrics of a song whose piercing notes echoed across the surroundings.

  “Captain, there’s something strange about this,” said the secretary.

  The captain descended from the quarterdeck and moved toward the bow, followed by several men.

  “I see lights!” shouted the lookout. “Lights lined along the cliff!”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Skippy stiffened and gave the order to prepare the cannons. The crew sprang into motion; the bell began to toll.

  When they finally reached the cliff face, the sight before them froze every pirate in place.

  “By the devils of the forest…” Skippy muttered at the Dantean spectacle, hearing screams in different languages, along with the shrieks of women and children.

  “Don’t fire… don’t fire!” the pirates of both factions shouted upon seeing the Garnor approach like a vengeful specter.

  Skippy surveyed everything with a furrowed brow. After the initial shock, he recovered his composure and paced the deck without taking his eyes off the scene, heading back toward the quarterdeck.

  “Change course?” the helmsman called.

  “Shall we fire?” the gunner asked.

  “Hold your positions. Shorten sail, now,” the captain ordered.

  The orders were obeyed, and the Garnor lay anchored before Xul-Kan.

  The lieutenant took up a speaking trumpet and climbed several steps of the pyramid.

  “To those aboard… welcome to Xul-Kan,” Inzunza called from above.

  Skippy raised his trumpet.

  “Good evening… quite the welcome,” he said.

  “Captain Skippy, I presume?”

  “Correct. I have come to retrieve the crew you are holding prisoner.”

  The captives began shouting.

  “I knew he wouldn’t abandon us!” said one.

  Inzunza smiled, savoring every second.

  “I understand, but I do not know whether you have noticed that they are my prisoners. Therefore, you have two options: surrender… or fire upon all these innocent people. Among them is your crew.”

  Silence fell.

  “I understand the situation,” Skippy replied. “And I must say I am impressed with your maneuver. Using innocent people as a defensive wall is hardly gentlemanly.”

  “Do you wish to speak of gentlemanliness—the pirate who assaulted a king’s galleon and threatened the Viceroy’s daughter? Let us not speak of principles you do not understand. I demand your surrender.”

  “And if I do not feel inclined? I have more than ten cannons aimed at you.”

  “But if you fire, you will cause a massacre, including your own men. And you will not escape: the battery is trained upon you at this very moment. It would be useless bloodshed. You would be sunk before reaching the estuary’s mouth. The choice is yours. You have one minute. If you do not surrender, I shall begin casting people into the abyss and lay their deaths upon your conscience.”

  “You would be left without your wall… what did you say your name was?”

  “Call me Lieutenant Inzunza.”

  “A pleasure. I tell you, you would be left without your shield.”

  “I have more prisoners than I can dispose of. Time runs,” Inzunza said, consulting his pocket watch.

  Skippy assessed the situation. The crew waited tensely; the prisoners along the cliff began screaming for mercy.

  “Captain… let us flee. Leave these poor devils to their fate,” said the secretary.

  “They have several guns trained on us,” the carpenter said.

  “There are only two,” the master gunner cut in. “We can break through.”

  Skippy drew a deep breath, looked at his crew, and then toward the shore. Then he raised the speaking trumpet.

  “I ask one condition… and I will surrender to you, Lieutenant Inzunza,” he said.

  Inzunza smiled, amused.

  “I do not believe you are in a position to set conditions,” he replied.

  “I can try,” Skippy answered.

  A heavy silence settled over them.

  “State it,” said Inzunza.

  The silence grew heavy; one could hear the waves breaking beyond the sandbar that sealed the estuary, and the faint whimpering of frightened children.

  “I want you to allow the Garnor to depart with my crew…” said the elf, “and to release all those prisoners.”

  A murmur rose among the captives.

  Inzunza smiled.

  “You want me, do you not? I am responsible for the operation against the Santa Carmen,” Skippy continued. “I can order my cannons fired, cause a massacre, and you will not fare well either. I will take innocents with me… and answer to the gods thereafter.”

  “There is only one God!” Smith shouted.

  “Shut up, you damned sanctimonious old fool!” the pirates yelled at him.

  Inzunza’s lips curved once more.

  “Very well. I shall consider the request,” he said.

  “Will you grant it or not?” the captain insisted.

  Inzunza allowed himself a dramatic pause.

  “You have my word,” he replied.

  The prisoners cried out once more.

  “Very well, send a boat for me,” Skippy said.

  A murmur rose among all present and swelled into a roar. Inzunza clapped his hands, thoroughly satisfied, and drew himself up proudly.

  “I have awaited this moment, Ensign,” he said to Yanga, who stood silent, watching the surreal spectacle. “One does not capture a legend every day.”

  Aboard the Garnor, the captain looked at his crew, who stood silently watching him.

  “Close the larboard gunports,” he ordered. “Prepare my disembarkation.”

  The sailors murmured, stunned.

  Skippy descended from the quarterdeck and went to his cabin.

  “Captain, what are you doing?” asked the secretary.

  “Can you not see? I am surrendering.”

  He entered his cabin, shut the door, donned a splendid coat, placed upon his head a tricorne adorned with a bold plume, and regarded himself in the mirror, nodding once, satisfied with his appearance. Then he moved to a cabinet, opened a drawer, and withdrew several objects, slipping them into his coat pocket. When ready, he returned to the deck. The men stared at him, uncertain.

  “Gentlemen… I wish you a good life. You are released from your obligation,” he said, and descended the ladder into the waiting boat while the crew watched from the rail.

  Yanga, who had just returned from the battery, observed the scene in disbelief. Inzunza had accomplished what no captain or admiral had managed: the capture of a pirate.

  Inside the granary, the prisoners struggled to understand what was happening. The shouting reached them muffled, and all were nervous. The boatswain approached the door.

  “Hey… you there, soldier… what’s going on?”

  A burly soldier, followed by a thin one, approached.

  “What do you want?”

  “What the devil is happening? What’s all that noise?”

  “Your captain has surrendered, and soon the scum of your ship will join him… if we do not hang you all first.”

  An argument erupted inside. Kayin stepped aside, seeking a corner away from the brutes, and closed his eyes.