But I find I run ahead of myself once more, and must crave your pardon to leave this tale awhile upon the very cusp of hubris and disaster, while I recount events that earlier passed elsewhere.

For Danik had had his way, and the Avalanche had set sail to my aid with all possible dispatch, and indeed in some confusion by reason of that haste. Or so, at least, Danilo would have me tell it — being the only means to justify the discovery that then befell, when the shop was already some half-day's sailing from Sainte-Marie, with a fair wind behind and hearts high in the hope of action.

With the Avalanche, then, in some disarray, by good fortune Danik chanced to descend into his cabin in search of some small item required on deck. To his alarm, however, the haste of his entry set up an answering barrage of blows and cries that seemed to come from his sea-chest itself, as though some evil spirit were trapped within. And there — when the catch was triggered and the lid was flung back — there, among the captain's linen and his shirts, as if in a crumpled nest or padded cell, the culprit was unearthed. Bruised and tear-stained at seven years old, yet victorious over all prohibitions, Jehan de la Tour emerged into the light.

To be trapped within the chest, of course, had formed no part of the young stowaway's plan. Otherwise, as he explained with pride, it had been simplicity itself. His only mistake — in panic at footsteps outside the door — had been to latch home the lid.

If he had expected an adoring reception, he was sadly mistaken. Had the child not already been sufficiently punished by his hours of terrified imprisonment, Danik would have been sorely tempted to have him beaten soundly. It should not have been possible for him to slip on board — and, moreover, the Avalanche was now well into the Martinique Passage, having long since passed the northern point of the island, and to return the boy to his grandfather would entail many hours of working to windward, and the loss, perhaps, of a whole day.

L'Aiglonne had bid him keep her son out of danger — and yet every instinct told him now that every hour might count in coming to her rescue. Should he endanger that for the prank of one unruly small boy? And yet it was for the sake of Jeannot's safety that she herself was now at risk....

"You can whip me if you like." The child's voice was very small, viewing his hero's thunderous expression. "I don't mind —" A slight wobble gave this brave statement the lie, but he rushed on. "I just want to help Maman —"

"And what do you imagine a child your age can do to aid her, save endanger others?" Danik sighed, and gave him a shake. "We have no time to take you back, Jehan, so you must sail with us perforce. But you'll see no fighting, and you'll not leave the ship when we land — is that understood? If one hair of your head comes to harm, your Maman will have me whipped from yardarm to yardarm —"

The child's laugh was a little uncertain, until it was joined by Danik's own chuckle. "I left a letter in my room," Jehan confided. "So they will not worry for me, back at Mireille."

One of Danik's eyebrows flew upward ruefully above the boy's head, unseen. "I'll let your grandfather deal with you himself when we get back," he promised cheerfully, kneeling to put an arm around Jehan's shoulders. "Then we'll see just how much worry you have made...."

The boy returned an unrepentant grin, secure in the knowledge that his idol was no longer angry, and followed him up the steps and out into the sunlight and the explanations that must be faced. He would be sailing to adventure after all; and the wrath awaiting his homecoming seemed very far away.

'A fair wind, and a fast passage' is the toast to which the sailors drink; and the saints must have interceded for her errand, for the Avalanche was gifted with both. Not until that same sultry afternoon that plagued us in the fort did the wind leave her sails at last, dropping to no more than a breath of air to send her drifting in across a glassy sea, hour by hour, as the coast crept slowly into sight, and all aboard her fretting lest some lookout on the shore should raise the alarm.

Danik's intent had been to skirt the island and sail in boldly beneath the fort; but that was madness in this airless heat. He altered course, therefore, to make the swiftest landfall that he could. It was barely an hour before sunset when the Avalanche at last came gliding in beneath the cliffs, to a sheltered cove where she could lie unseen while those aboard her made a swifter passage on foot. It was not long, however, before the shore party discovered they were not alone.

"Search parties, I'd say." Osman took the spyglass Danik handed him, with a word of thanks, and focussed it more closely on the moving specks beyond the ridge. "Three or four of them, without a doubt, and maybe more...."

He glanced back, as if to assure himself his vessel's masts were out of sight, and then over at the sinking sun behind the fort. "They cannot have seen us, Herr Graf — I'll lay a Spanish dollar on that. It's the far end of the island they're searching, and turning over every bush —"

"L'Aiglonne." Danik's heart had taken a queer little leap of pride. "The lady made her own escape. That one has the hawk's blood of her father, and a spirit to match...."

He turned on his heel, laying a hand on Osman's arm. "We must let her know we're here — and if possible without raising the alarm. Take five men and make your way to the fort to find out all you can. I'll take the rest. If she's here, she'll not be easy to find... but I think I know where she may be...."

Osman nodded and vanished into the growing shadows with a handful of men, as Danik sighed and set himself to the task of contacting a fugitive with every reason to be lying low. The search-parties were out in force at the far end of the island, close to the fort. If she were there, she would be found — and Osman would doubtless learn of it. But if, as he hoped, she had slipped the cordon, L'Aiglonne would surely head for the haunts that had served the two of them so well in those days on the run. He knew — none better — how easy it was to lie still and silent in this place, and be passed unseen; but surely, if she heard Ruritanian accents, she would make herself known?

Danik sighed again, watching the sun's steady descent into the ocean. It would soon be dark, and they could not risk lanterns that might bring the lady's pursuers after them in turn. Best, perhaps, to make their way to that great stone under whose shelter L'Aiglonne had once slept, and hope to meet her there....

But when, stumbling in the dusk, they had found the weathered outcrop, there was no sign that anyone had been there. The earth in the little hollow under the overhang bore no hasty imprint where a sleeper might have sprung up, and the telltale tracks of bird-prints untouched seamed the dust.

Danik halted, dismayed. "Madame? L'Aiglonne?"

No answer, save the night-wind stirring in the trees. The emptiness was almost strong enough to touch. For a moment he could feel it closing in, nullity all around in a strangling, enfolding grip....

That way lay madness. Danik, who had never thought himself an over-imaginative man, took a grip on his own emotions and considered the situation. She might still come.

"We'll sleep here — no, wait. I'll sleep here; do the rest of you spread out among the trees and lie in cover within my call. We've no wish to scare the lady off — and if she sees our numbers I doubt she'll wait to see if we be friend or foe."

Nods of agreement, all around, as the men began to separate, moving off in ones and twos. Danik raised his voice, grinning. "And if you snore — be sure to snore auf Deutsch!"

He wrapped himself in his own cloak and slid in under the rock, listening to the ebbing ripple of laughter that had marked that last sally as his crewmen spread out all around. His shoulders found the familiar hollow; a darker shadow overhead was another friend, that obstinate lump of rock on which he'd cracked his skull upon rising, two mornings out of every three. He could almost hear her breathing there beside him... almost imagine, if he reached out, that she had slid in under the outcrop in the dark into her accustomed place. But it was only the breeze, rising.

He shivered, feeling a little eddy of wind brush down his spine. No familiar long-boned shape, tonight, to lie warm against his back. She was out there somewhere, alone and hunted.

"L'Aiglonne...?" It was barely a whisper, expecting no answer. "Where are you, camarade?"

The hours wore on in restless silence, and sleep came in snatches, the air seeming to press in upon him close and oppressive until he could not breathe. Half a dozen times he started awake, sweating, only to find the mass of rock looming above his face, crushing him downwards with its implacable weight.... The sound of his own voice, crying out, jerked him into full wakefulness at last.

The clearing was bathed in moonlight beyond the shadows in which he lay, far from the foul air that filled his dreams, and he could bear it no longer. Almost without thinking he rolled over and out into the open, springing to his feet and drawing in deep breaths.

The moon was high, and it lacked some few hours before dawn. She had not come. She would not come, now. She needed his aid — and he did not know where to find her— He had begun to thrust his way through the bushes, along paths that in a scant few days had already become overgrown.

She was not here. She had not been here. Stumbling through the moonlight, Danik of Ruritania wandered the haunts they'd known, calling, driven by an urgency even he did not understand. No-one answered. All around was as silent as the grave.

And in that same hour, so far as ever, later, I could judge, I too woke in terror from exhausted sleep, and fought to free myself, and then at last remembered where I lay; and in that dreadful waking wept. For such a weakness I could claim the privilege of my sex — but in truth no prisoner situated as then I was need have thought it shame to give way to his tears, and God will forgive me if in that darkness I cursed his name.

Better to have cursed that of Edmond — or better still, my own. For my adversary, being, as I have said, no fool — nor over-burdened with scruples either — knew well enough that all the while we marched, with him at pistol-point, any power that lay between us was slipping away, from my hands back into his. And did not scruple to tell me so.

With every step we took, more men lay within his call... and I had but one shot as threat, and all too little willingness to use it. To have carried off successfully such a scheme, I must needs have been at once as daring as Danilo, as ruthless as Edmond — and as lucky ten times over as the Avalanche herself.

You will gather, then, that my plan failed; that we did not reach the gates, nor anywhere even close, and that Edmond proved to have the whip-hand after all. To my shame, we did not even pass that first guarded door.

It was simply done, after all. Seeing me walking free, the guard had already laid his hand upon his weapon. I ordered Edmond, under the pistol's threat, to bid him lay it down if he valued his master's life — and Edmond, perceiving the tremor I could not entirely hide and judging the moment to be ripe, chose instead to call for aid, and jumped aside as the man rushed forward, grappling for my wrist.

I fired. I could not help myself, in that sudden rush; doubtless that was the chance he took, and even what he had counted upon. The shot went wild. Edmond was not touched — it was the other man who lay groaning at my feet, when the sudden, shocking sound was done.

For a moment I was deafened and choked alike, smoke and shot both more overpowering by far between those solid walls than in the open air, and Edmond profited by it to pluck the empty pistol from my hand and aim such a blow at my head as might have put paid to all my earthly woes, or at least stretched me senseless on the ground beside that other poor wretch. But some instinct bade me move, almost in the last second; and the blow that should have struck me down crashed instead full-strength against the empty wall.

The pain of it, to the hand that held the pistol-grip, must have been immense. I think Edmond's grasp must have been for a moment numbed, for the weapon clattered to the floor, and he doubled over with a cry of pain almost as piteous as the moans of his erstwhile henchman upon the floor. The which, I may add, inspired in me far more pity; for I had not meant to harm the man, and yet so far as I had time to judge, he was dying, and dying in agony.

But I had no time for pity, or regret, nor indeed for thought, beyond the animal instinct of any hunted thing. The shouts and shot had been enough to rouse the whole fort on my heels, and indeed the first of those new pursuers were already coming into sight, both at the foot of the stair down which we had lately come, and around the far corner of that corridor down which we had, so short a time ago, been proceeding; that is to say, I was surrounded, or would imminently be so.

I did not pause to think upon my likely fate should I be recaptured, nor even upon the probable fate of my son were I to die here, alone and friendless upon an unknown isle. Like the smaller fish before the greater, I fled, taking the only route of escape still open to me, however brief the recourse it might offer. I darted in through that door which had stood all the while at my back, the presence of a guard on which had been Edmond's pretext to make his move — the door to the room where we two first had met, and seemed now likely to bid our unloving farewells. The door to Edmond's office.

Small enough a chamber it seemed for a man to pick as his sanctum, with the whole of the fort, such as it was, to choose from; but it boasted one convenience essential to all leaders and commanders, namely a stout bolt on the inner door. Of this, as you can imagine, I swiftly availed myself, and then began to thrust every item of the furnishings in the room across to bar the door, upon which the fists and swordhilts of my pursuers were already furiously beating. The gesture was instinctive to one in my position, and yet but a futile ploy, as I well knew — for it could hope to delay the inevitable entry by no more than half a minute at the most. I had trapped myself, weaponless, in this cramped room, and could not hope to hold out long.

The window, unbarred, offered a moment's promise of escape. The opening was wide enough to take a cannon's muzzle, or for a man to climb... but the only possible egress was upward, out onto a tiny enclosed space where two walls met and merged, eighty metres above the fangs of rock below. Downward from the window, the walls fell sheer and without compromise, angled over the cliff and down to the hungry sea.

I shrank back from that dizzying sight, and saw my barricade shudder under the blows now rained on it from behind. The seams of the door were beginning to gape. Minutes, at most, remained.... Unthinking, I caught up a stout paper-knife from the desk, taking reassurance from the hilt in my hand, though I knew full well that the blade could no more be used to defend myself than could a silver platter in the grasp of a child.

All around the room, under my uncomprehending eye, were pale patches where furnishings against the walls had been moved or overturned. I backed towards the window. If all else failed, I might yet find the courage to essay that dreadful climb....

But it was in that moment of all-encompassing despair, with forbidden thoughts of self-destruction all but acknowledged in my mind, that the dark lines running four-square down the wall first came to my attention, and began all at once to make a kind of sense. There — a paler patch, where the largest cupboard had once stood. There — an outline, traced among the stones, that could be, that looked very much like... a door. A door! A passage — a secret way, such as the old Spaniards who had built this place were said to have loved—

I had flung myself across the room toward the tell-tale stones, pulling, levering and thrusting with the knife-hilt in my hand, heedless as the blade snapped half-way in my grasp. Something gave. I tumbled almost headlong down the shadowed steps revealed, as the door behind me yielded with a final, rending crash.

There was no time to seek for a hidden catch to close the door, even if such a device should indeed exist. There was time only to flee downward in the dark, skirts dragging at my heels, trusting in the workmanship that built the stair that there would be no missing step on which to break my neck.

Shouts, behind me, as my pursuers discovered my flight. My hearing strained for the clattering upon the stairs that would signal their onslaught; but instead muffled voices rose again, fainter now and further back with the speed of my descent. Light, I guessed at hazard; they were waiting for a light to be fetched before venturing into the bowels of the rock. Would that I had that choice... but necessity drove at my heels, and I stumbled on, into darkest night.

The stairs ended, abruptly, and I fell, crashing downward onto my hands with a cry that I could not repress. Blackness in front of me. Open space — and behind me, the first dim and distant yelping of the renewed hue-and-cry. This was what I had feared, left wandering blindly at the foot of the secret stair, unable to flee, unable even to find an entrance to the outer world, if such there should be....

I should know when they were coming by the light. Light, that alone could save me now, and yet instead would signal the end of all my hope.... More sound upon the stairs. It would not be long now. I groped forward, reaching for a wall and finding only blank space all around.

They say that the senses of the blind are keener than those of other men; that scent and sound in some measure come to take the place of sight. To the truth of that I have no means to attest — for it was by accident alone that I stumbled upon the only shelter that cavern could afford. 'Stumbled', indeed; for I caught my foot against some great mass in the dark, and fell, measuring my length against a slab of stone raised a good metre from the ground... and felt it shift beneath my weight, grating loose.

Half-sobbing from the sudden bruising pain, I found that I was in a veritable maze of these stone cists or caskets, as hasty fingers revealed them seemingly to be. The force of my fall had driven the lid half-off the nearest; it was heavy, but not more than I could move. I raised the lid a little more, and slipped swiftly into the sanctuary within, drawing the cover back over myself with such care as I could manage in the time.

The sunken centre of the slab bedded home with a dull sound, the very finality of which was unpleasant to hear. I thrust my strength again upward upon the stone above my head, and assured myself once more that I could lift it sufficiently to slide it free; then let it fall as softly as I could, and crouched in cover like a hunted hare. At every movement, a fragile splintering gave way beneath my weight, and I dared not stir for fear of betraying my presence by the sound.

The voices came nearer; and then, the first flickers of light, glimmering faintly along the cracks as I held my breath. The interior of my refuge was almost, but not quite, black. I could make out nothing save that slight tracery of light along the rim.

Exclamations close at hand, and hammering footsteps pounding past, ten or twenty at least. Then the barnyard din of many angry voices raised at once, as the footsteps became confused mêlée all around — searching for their vanished prisoner, at a guess. They had counted on finding me here, that was clear enough.

"Two of you — check that entrance!" The speaker held some authority of command, and the others fell silent as I strained my sense to make out the direction of which he spoke.

"Open it — she may have found her way outside. Not the larger lever, imbecile — to the left —" Every word was manna to my ears; and most of all, that sweet song of grating rock resounding through the chamber as the unseen door was opened. Now, if they would just go out to search and leave it open in their wake —

"And if she is still here?" Another voice, tinged with a low cunning for which I could not at once understand the reason. "Do you want us to open up the coffins, mon lieutenant? Check for our pretty quarry down among the bones?"

But I scarcely heard the last words. It was all I could do to keep myself from leaping up in sudden horror to escape the confinement in which I lay. I knew now why the chest in which I crouched was not empty; I knew, too late, the horrid meaning of the dry-sticks crackling that splintered as I moved. Beneath my knee, perhaps, lay shattered ribs — that rounded weight against my hand could be a grinning skull — and I was trapped, trapped with the dead in a desecrated grave....

You will take me for a fool, perhaps, not to have guessed the manner of casket in which I lay. But I defy any man, finding unhoped-for sanctuary in the dark, not then to have his reason all but overturned by the sudden knowledge that he has thrust his limbs, unknowing, into the shattered remnants of the dead; that he lies cheek by jowl with a corpse, imprisoned in a tomb, and dare not move!

Only the dryness of my mouth saved me from a strangulated scream. I believe that in another moment I should have been on my feet, all thought of escape, of concealment flung away in my horror at the company in which I lay — but I must have made some sound, for the lieutenant shifted sharply and gave a sudden bark of consent. "Go to it, then, mes gars... let's have them open, these two first...."

How fickle we women are! Our sensibilities, so easily offended, are as easily discarded, it seems — for as the stone lids came grating off, to be cast with a crash upon the nearby slabs, and their contents ransacked with greedy fingers and coarse jokes, I found myself cowering in the shelter of that same confinement I had moments earlier believed myself to be ready to risk anything to flee, frozen to the spot.

The sounds came nearer and nearer. Then — just as the neighbouring coffin-lid crashed down upon my own — blessed reprieve.

"Search, I said, not smash — that's someone's ancestor you've got there, Maglorre, put her down—"

Ribald comment, that brought a snarl from the lieutenant. "Eh, and you too, Beaupré. Put those trinkets down! Did I order stealing from the dead? Nom de Dieu, what have I done to be thrown among grave-robbers and scum?— leave that. Leave them all. There's nothing here. She must have slipped past us in the dark.

"Two of you, back up the stairs, at the double. The rest, follow me. You know Monsieur's orders—"

But whatever Edmond's orders concerning myself had been — and I confess I was much concerned to find out — they were clearly known already to all those present, for I heard nothing further save a low rumble of voices as if in assent, and the fading sound of footsteps. The tracery of light above my head flickered, and ebbed to nothing. They were gone; and a final, echoing thud showed that the exit itself, too, was shut. They would not be coming back.

For a minute I hardly dared to breathe, lest it should be some trick. But all around was darkness, and the silence of the crypt. I was unsuspected and alone. In effect, I was free.

Free — but not free from the companionship of the ancient corpse on which I lay. The needs of the moment now passed, I had once again conceived a strong distaste for my situation.

I thrust upwards to free the covering slab from the recess in which it lay, meaning to heave it aside; thrust again, surprised, as my first effort yielded only the slightest movement; then flung all my strength against it in panic, crying out and beating frantically upon the unresponsive stone. Too late, I recalled the massive weight that had descended overhead, as an open coffin-lid was flung aside carelessly atop my own. The blade of the guillotine would have been more merciful by far. They had trapped me here beneath a double weight of stone, in an unwitting sentence for which there could be no repeal and no reprieve — walled me up to die in a sealed cave behind a secret door, until my own bony jaws should scream in silence alongside that grinning skull with whom I shared my tomb — to die in choking horror in the dark—

I screamed; but there were none to hear me. I clawed at my imprisoning walls until my nails were splintered and my finger-ends scored with blood; had Edmond come towards me in that minute and pressed a pistol to my temple, I would have blessed the hand that brought oblivion even as he made the shot. I wept, and shrieked, and called on God, and all the saints, and offered my soul, I think, to the very Devil himself, if he could but save me now.

But Lucifer did not answer, having perhaps no use for such a weakened vessel as I; and Our Lord granted me only the mercy of unconsciousness, when the frenzy of my terror had overthrown my senses, and all but exhausted the air within which I lay. While my captors and my rescuers alike combed the island for me by the light of the setting sun, I lay hid where none of them could ever find me, helpless even to call for aid. Buried beneath that cliff, I would live or die by my own efforts; for no man knew I was there.