HERCULE allowed Rane to stay with them in their camp (Dutch made an argument on her behalf, though she was on the beach at the time and didn't hear), but it could not have been clearer that he'd have happily seen the back of her. His gaze met hers frequently, unfriendly and suspicious, and his men kept their hands on their guns and their eyes on her wand when she moved through their settlement. They shared their board and bottle with her, however, and Rane kept her mouth shut and her gaze turned demurely down. Dutch had warned her when she and Arthur had come striding back from the seaside, brushing past Arthur and grasping her arm roughly. Arthur had looked at him, worried by the livid expression on his face.

Dutch, not now, let her alone , he'd said, but Dutch had ignored him.

I'll make this quick and I'll make it clear , Dutch had said, low, meeting Rane's eyes with his, close enough for his tobacco-tinted breath to blow the stray strands of her damp hair from her brow. You defied me a couple times now, Rane, first time in that bank. I ain't the type to entertain that sort of nonsense, and folks have died for less.

Dutch! Arthur's voice had been harsh. Still he was ignored.

Now you listenin' to me or ain't ya? Because what I'm about to say to ya, Rane, I ain't gonna say twice. This is the last warnin' you're gonna get, so help me God.

He had jerked Rane roughly, her hair flying. She met his eyes, silent, her hair still damp and clinging to her cheeks, and nodded.

From now on you mind what I say. If I say to get out of a damn bullet-riddled doorway you'll do it. If I say to keep your goddamned mouth shut while we're breakin' bread with strangers, you'll do it. Hell, if I tell ya to dance the fuckin' two-step butt-ass naked around the fire then by God you'll do that too. I ain't Arthur or John, I ain't belly-up stupid around ya, I'm the one that gives the orders 'round here, and if you ride with us you're gonna listen to me.

Rane looked up at him from beneath her brows, breathing quickly through her nose, her eyes still slightly bloodshot from the tears and wine that came before. Arthur noted with a touch of dread that her hand was resting on the hilt of her sword.

Hey, now, that's enough, Dutch she's just been drinkin' is all -

Now we got an understanding? said Dutch, quite unafraid, still ignoring Arthur, and jerked her roughly. His grip was vicelike on her arm. Or do I need to go over it one more time?

Rane , said Arthur warningly. His eyes were on her hand. Rane, you just listen to him and be calm, now.

Rane had dropped her hand, nodding. Yes. I'm sorry.

Dutch had released her roughly, shifting his weight. I had to just about beg on bended knee for them boys back there to let ya stay after that shit you pulled, and I ain't a beggin' man. Good thing you're pretty, is all I gotta say, otherwise they'd have kicked your ass out. He had leaned back, brushing his palm on his shirt. Why the hell are you all wet, anyway?

Tripped and fell into the ocean, Arthur had said, watching Dutch. That's what happens when you put back half a goddamned flagon of wine, you fall and you start fights for no good reason and you run your mouth. Ain't it, Rane?

Rane nodded, silent.

Well, they got clothes. Go get dried off. And don't start no more shit.

I won't.

I mean it girl, you act like a lady for a change or we're gonna die on this bullshit island, and Javier and John'll both hang. I know you don't wanna see a rope around his pretty neck, you'd be pinin' over him for years.

Rane scoffed, shaking her head, her face reddening. Arthur grasped Dutch's arm roughly.

Dutch, quit it, now, she heard ya the first damn time -

Dutch had shaken him off and shoved at Rane's shoulder roughly.

Don't you roll your eyes at me, girl, I got about no patience for you left in me tonight. I mean what I say.

Fine.

This said, he turned on his heel and strode away, sand flying up beneath his boots. They had clothes indeed, and a tent, and Rane had happily exchanged them for her wet ones. Elven clothing had never been much to her liking anyway.

The morning after, Dutch woke Rane and Arthur early. They'd fallen asleep awkwardly in the tent they'd been afforded (not even Micah had commented when they'd vanished into it together; they all knew well enough by then). When he flung open the flap and looked in, he had to take a moment to be wryly amused by the state of them. Rane was propped up against the back, her long legs strung before her, head resting against her shoulder, hair in her face. Arthur was lying with his head on her lap, one hand folded beneath his head and the other strung through Rane's, curled into a comma like a young boy, mouth open and snoring lightly. Dutch rapped on the tent smartly and both started awake, staring at Dutch in bleary surprise.

"Come on, you two, we gotta go grease the tracks," he said, smirking at them.

"Christ, Dutch, how 'bout a little damned courtesy here."

"Well, I ain't never been much for it, I guess. Get on up and get your boots on, you two can cosset and kiss and make eyes later on."

"What, you don't like it or something?" said Rane, and leaning over Arthur kissed him, her hair hanging over his face. He pushed her off, face red, getting to his feet as she laughed.

"Quit it, hell."

"You two are nauseating, truly ya are," said Dutch, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. Rane eyed him thoughtfully as she pulled on her boots, her smile fading. He seemed in a better mood today. Hell, he seemed like a different person, almost. He might not have been breathing down her neck ten hours ago. The change was a little strange. "If you ate sugar you'd both shit out cotton candy, that's what I think. Just sickening."

"What is it?" Athur asked, stretching richly with both hands over his head. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Shit, what ain't?" Dutch leaned against the tent, folding his arms, shaking his head. "Stuck on this God-forsaken hunk of shit, half my boys in jail, most of our cash at the bottom the goddamned ocean. Nah, we're gonna go have a look and see how bad it is with Javier today. Hercule's boys put eyes on him last night."

"Javier." Arthur looked at Dutch sharply. "He's good? Alive?"

Dutch laughed. "Alive, yeah. Good, eh, I dunno about all that. Bet if we asked him right now he'd have a few other words for it besides that one."

"Where is he?" Rane asked.

"Some little establishment on the other side of the island called Aguasdulces," said Dutch, striding out of the tent and rolling up his sleeves, peering around in the early morning sunshine, his brows knitted. "There's some woman who's gonna lead us through the jungle, but we gotta pay, and I only got the one chunk of gold left, so we gotta make it count, and I want you two with me."

"I could make her do it," said Rane, low.

"How?" said Arthur, giving her a high-browed look. "Spin that steel around? Make a lightshow?"

"There's a spell." Rane shrugged, conceding. "A curse, I guess, technically. Illegal. But I guess I'm as crooked as you guys now with law on my heels, so what the hell. Only one of the three I haven't tried yet."

Dutch looked at her, massaging his chin, his eyes assessing.

"I believe that you could," said Dutch, inclining his head. "Tell you what else I believe, we're gonna make a killer outta you yet."

Rane laughed. "I was a killer long before you happened on me."

Dutch laughed, delighted, grasping her shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

THE path to the cave where Dutch was going was treacherous. It was a cliff, sometimes barely broad enough for the lay of their feet, the air screaming under them. The river beneath was harsh and crashing, the rush of the breeze hard and swift. Dutch led them, Arthur and Rane behind, and Rane stared over the edge of the ledge, her eyes frightened beneath her brows. It was far below, that river. Here, as they made their way up, Arthur discovered a curious thing.

"Holy shit." He was looking left at her from ahead, a wry grin playing about his mouth. "I believe that girl right there is afraid of heights, Dutch."

"Well, good to know she's scared of somethin'," Dutch replied, smirking. "That why you're so damn quiet back there, honey?"

Rane didn't reply, only continued to stare over the ledge, arms plastered against the damp rock wall, hair flying and eyes wide.

"Look, now it ain't so far down," said Arthur. He kicked a rock and it fell down toward the river, seemingly forever, before crashing into the water, its splash barely perceptible from up here. "Hell, I reckon you might could survive a fall like that, even. Wouldn't look so good once ya got to the bottom, of course -"

"You know, I knew a man once fell from a high place like this," said Dutch gravely from up ahead. "Name of Phillip Heather. You remember Phil, Arthur? Old sharpshooter from up North? Liked to chew on toothpicks all the damn time, God knows why?"

"Ah, yeah. Ol' Phil. Shame, what happened to him." He gestured at Rane. "You wanna know what happened to Ol' Phil? Tell 'er, Dutch. It's a sad story, ain't it?"

Rane didn't answer, only crept behind him on the ledge, her eyes far below and her breath quick in her throat.

Dutch nodded. "Yep, sure is. Well, one day old Phil Heather had a few too many and then he took the quick way off a river ridge, sorta like this one, wasn't it?"

"Sure was. Damn near identical, if you ask me," said Arthur gravely. "Shit, might even be the same place."

"Might could be, yep. His feet just sorta . . . skated right off the rock wall. Too much silt and whatnot, maybe. And lemme tell ya. Broke every goddamned bone in his body on the way. I'm talkin' legs, arms, ribs . . . shit, he looked like a jellyfish by the time they found him, blood all over the damn place and all his limbs facin' the wrong way -"

"Will you guys both shut the fuck up, please?" Rane snapped, her face pale. Both Dutch and Arthur burst out laughing, their voices echoing against the rock.

"Ah hell, we was only playin'," said Dutch, his boots grinding against the rock, still chuckling.

"Pretty funny, you two dudes, couple of goddamned comedians," Rane remarked, low. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she was shocked neither of them could hear it. Christ, they were high up. "How much further is it?"

"Not much, I don't think," said Dutch. "Keep your britches on. Think I see the end up ahead."

Rane peered ahead, barely daring to lean her head away from the tangled vines of the rock wall. There was indeed an opening up ahead, perhaps some thirty feet away, and she sighed roughly with unfiltered relief. The sooner she could break away from this decidedly unlovely view, the better.

"So what are we gonna do once we get Javier out?" Arthur asked.

"Ah, well. I expect we'll need to hire us a boat."

"With what damn money?"

"We'll figure that part out once we're there," Dutch replied, a trifle coolly. "Anyways, we go back to Saint Denis, collect the rest of our family and figure out about John."

"Figure out about him? What d'you mean by that?"

"Just that, Arthur. We figure out about him. Then we take the rest of 'em and leave. And we gotta be quick about it. Ain't long before somebody's gonna recognize one of us and send word to the US."

"You wanna go back to Saint Denis." Arthur shook his head, coughing roughly into a curled fist. "An insect bite you or somethin'? 'Cuz you gone, friend."

"Well, we look like what we are," said Dutch. "Bunch of desperados on the run. But with the women, a change of clothes . . . we could be pilgrims or a choir or some damn thing -"

"Whatever you say."

They'd reached the mouth of the cave at last, and Rane could have collapsed at its mouth, her breathing harsh and sweat standing at her hairline. Arthur's voice was rough and irritable at her side.

"We're a bunch of penniless fugitives on some Caribbean dump, sneakin' through caves, while two of our best men got shot down," he said, and the look he gave Dutch was decidedly cold. "How could I doubt ya, Dutch?"

Rane watched them from where she'd pressed herself against the stone wall of the cave, a little wary. Dutch met Arthur's gaze, his own equally cold.

"You got no idea, Arthur. None at all. I will do whatever it takes for us to survive."

"I guess that's what I'm afraid of," Arthur muttered, brushing by him. "Dark as hell in here. Where's this lady you was talkin' about?"

"Lumos."

The cave lit up beneath her wandlight, falling into sharp resolution.

"Thank you, my girl," said Dutch, stepping past her and raising his voice. "Gloria! GLORIA!"

Footsteps drew near, and a woman appeared in the gloom, clutching a torch. Rane extinguished her wand, stuffing it into her jeans, watching her approach. She was old, hunched, her eyes rheumy and dark and her mouth tucked. She was glaring at Dutch.

"Buenos noches," said Dutch, inclining his head.

"Buenos noches," the woman replied, hobbling toward them. "Dinero. The money."

"Yeah, yeah. The gold." Dutch reached into his pocket and produced a bar of it from their bank escapade, handing it over. "Aqui."

The woman snatched it from him, inspecting it critically. Dutch laughed.

"Oh it's genuine, ya old hag."

The woman looked up at him, then tucked the gold bar away, motioning to them and starting away. "Vamos. Rapido."

Arthur and Rane exchanged a glance, then followed after Dutch's loping gait into the cave.

IT wasn't a long walk. Eventually they reached a steel cage door, warped with age. By now Arthur was coughing steadily and harshly, and Rane eyed him, frowning.

"You need to pull over?"

Arthur scoffed. "No, I don't need to pull over, Rane."

"Okay. Sorry." Rane lifted her hands. "Just asking."

"Well, quit." Arthur nodded toward the door. "This it? The end of it? I ain't so sure I like it in here no more."

"You must lift it," said the old woman, pointing to the steel gate. "It is stuck, you have to lift it."

"Alright, Christ, we heard ya the first time," Dutch muttered, stepping forward. "Pardon me, my queen. Arthur, gimme a hand with this."

"Okay, then."

Together they grasped the steel door and pulled up, muscles straining in their forearms, and it gave way with a rusty creak, swinging wide. The old woman rushed ahead of them, the torch held aloft in her hand, muttering in Spanish. There was a ladder up ahead, clearly as ancient as the door itself, and she gestured toward it, casting her rheumy gaze back at her three companions. They strode forward, peering upwards towards the light streaming down and blinking.

"This way?" said Dutch.

"Si. Then you pay more."

"Okay. Sure." Dutch sounded almost sarcastic.

"More. Pay more."

"Just a second."

"Pay more. Pay now!"

To Rane's utter dismay, the old woman pulled a knife and jabbed it toward Dutch. Before either she or Arthur could do any more than gape at this, however, Dutch had taken the woman by the neck and presently he smashed her head against the ladder, rattling the wood, his hair in his eyes. The knife clattered from the woman's loosening fingers, and she stared up at him in shocked terror.

"Jesus! What are you doin'?" said Arthur sharply. He was watching this with the same shocked dismay that Rane was, his brow furrowed. "Easy, Dutch!"

"Hey, Christ, don't do that -" Rane pulled her wand. "Dutch, just let her go, I can -!"

He listened to neither of them, instead giving the old woman a final, swift knock, and there was a harsh snap as her neck broke. This done, he let her fall to the rock wall, brushing his hands off on his shirt as if he'd just touched something slimy. Rane stared at him, not entirely able to believe what she'd just seen, her mouth turned down and her eyes wide. Here it was again. The guy had been joking around with her not twenty minutes ago, and now he was standing over some little old woman's fresh corpse, cool as you please.

Arthur was gaping at him too. "What was that?"

"Horrible old crone." Dutch turned to look at him, quite unruffled.

"But you killed her." Arthur could not seem to wrap his head around this one.

"She was gonna betray us, Arthur," said Dutch, and shrugged.

"Betray us?" said Rane, faint, looking at the old woman on the ground. Her head was crooked and her eyes stared sightlessly up. "Betray us?"

"Yeah." He gestured at Rane. "Couldn't you tell? Couldn't neither of ya?"

Rane said nothing, only watched him. Arthur shook his head.

"No," he said, low.

"Well." Dutch started up the ladder. "I got some Spanish. She was."

Arthur watched him a moment longer. "You sure you're alright, Dutch?"

Dutch stepped off the ladder, fixing Arthur with a look that struck Rane as incredibly predatory. Her hand was still wrapped around the wand in her pocket.

"I am just tryin' to make sure some of us survive, Arthur," said Dutch, his voice husky and cool. "Now, shall we proceed?"

Arthur and Rane watched him a moment longer. Then Arthur stepped forward, glaring at Dutch, and started up the ladder, shaking his head.

"I guess."

At the top of the ladder was a platform, looking out onto a broad stretch of land, and Rane had no doubt at once they'd come to the right place to find Javier. The buildings beyond were stone-forged and tall. Military or prison, it made little difference, he was probably here. Arthur, Dutch and she crouched behind the pillars surrounding them, all staring out, getting a lay of the land.

"So how did you know she was gonna betray us?" Arthur asked Dutch. "What'd she say?"

Dutch shrugged noncommittally. "It was in her eyes. And the way she was leadin' us."

"But you said you knew Spanish."

Arthur and Dutch looked at one another a long moment.

"I know human beings, Arthur," Dutch said at last. His voice was icy, condescending, and Rane felt another urge to go for her wand in the presence of this man. Christ, he was far gone. She wished she could get Arthur alone and talk to him about it, but that wouldn't happen yet, not this morning.