Read Chapter 18: The Scheme Bursts

The water had gone glassy by the time Darrow gave the order. Aidan stood at the rail, watching the pale smudge of land take shape on the horizon—the low, brown-green sprawl of the coast, and beyond it, the squat outline of Fortaleza de San Cristóbal. The fort the governor had built to guard his treasure. The fort Isabelle wanted burned.

“Crew to sea chests!” Darrow’s voice rang out from the quarterdeck, sharp and eager. “Arms and powder, lads. We’ll have the gold before the tide turns.”

A cheer went up, ragged but hungry. Men scattered below, boots thundering on the companionway stairs. Aidan stayed where he was, watching the fort grow. Something prickled at the back of his neck, the same instinct that had kept him alive through a dozen naval actions. Too quiet. Too easy. The fort’s guns hadn’t moved. No signal fires. No boats putting out to challenge them.

A trap. He knew it in his bones. But whose?

He turned and went below, not to his sea chest—his powder and shot were already in place—but to the brig. He needed Vincente. Needed to tell him the governor knew. That there was a spy aboard, and that spy had sold them all.

The brig smelled of rot and salt. Vincente sat on the bench, wrists shackled to the bulkhead, his face lit by the single lantern swaying overhead. He looked up as Aidan approached, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not surprise. Wariness.

“You’re still here,” Aidan said, dropping his voice. “Good. Listen—the fort’s a trap. The governor has guns hidden, fireships, soldiers in the cellars. He knows we’re coming. Someone on this ship told him.”

Vincente’s lips curved into a thin smile. “I know.”

The words landed like a blow. Aidan’s hand drifted to his belt knife, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet.

“You,” he said. “You’re the spy.”

“Southampton,” Vincente corrected, as if that explained everything. “They sent me to stop the French from turning Darrow into their puppet. A worthy mission. But then I learned what Darrow was really after. The treasury. A fortune in gold and silver, sitting in a fort guarded by a governor who’s too clever for his own good.” He shrugged, the chains rattling. “I decided the Crown could wait. A man could retire on what’s in that vault. A man could buy a title.”

“You sold us out.”

“I sold *Darrow* out,” Vincente said. “The governor pays well for intelligence. And when the attack fails—when the guns misfire and the powder won’t burn—Darrow will be captured. His crew will hang. And I will walk free, with a pardon and a purse heavy enough to sink a skiff.”

Aidan’s fists clenched. “The powder. You switched it.”

“Every charge on the gun deck,” Vincente said, nodding slowly. “Fine sand, beautifully grained. It will flash and spark and do nothing. Your guns, gunner, are silent.”

For a long moment, Aidan stared at him. The man who had claimed to be his only ally. The man he’d trusted with the truth of his own sabotage. Vincente had played him from the start—played them all.

“There’s still time,” Aidan said, his voice low and hard. “I can tell Darrow. He’ll hang you from the yardarm.”

“And what will you tell him about yourself?” Vincente tilted his head. “The sabotage on the course. The false compass. You think he’ll believe you were innocent in that? He already suspects you. He’s spoken of killing you, hasn’t he?”

The words hit close to home. Thorne had said as much. Aidan’s jaw tightened.

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You’ll die with the rest of them,” Vincente said. “The governor has soldiers in the fort. He has fireships ready to launch. And when the guns fail, Darrow’s ship will be a coffin. But it doesn’t have to be that way for you.” He leaned forward, chains clinking. “Open this door. I’ll tell the governor you helped me. You’ll walk free with me. We’ll split what’s left after the Crown takes its share.”

Aidan’s laugh was short and bitter. “You think I’d trust you now?”

“I think you’re a practical man,” Vincente said. “And I think you know your crew is dead either way. The question is whether you die with them.”

Above them, Darrow’s voice rang out, muffled through the deck. “All hands! Stand by to come about! Prepare the longboat!”

They were closing. Minutes, maybe less.

Aidan made his choice.

He stepped forward, grabbed Vincente by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him up against the bars of the cell. “You were right about one thing,” he said. “The guns will be silent. But you forgot something.”

Vincente’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’m not a gunner anymore,” Aidan said. “I’m a survivor.”

He released Vincente and turned, striding back toward the companionway. His mind raced as he climbed. The charges were dead. He couldn’t fix them all. But he didn’t have to.

The fort’s guns were hidden. The governor knew the plan. But the governor’s spy—Vincente—was locked in the brig, and the governor didn’t know that.

Aidan emerged onto the deck. The fort loomed closer now, its stone walls pale in the westering sun. Darrow stood at the helm, spyglass raised, a grin spreading across his weathered face.

“There she is, lads,” Darrow called out. “The treasury of San Cristóbal. A few hours of work, and we’ll be rich men.”

The crew cheered again. Aidan saw Groves at the bow, a hammer in his hand, ready to lead the boarding party. Thorne stood by the wheel, pale and sweating. Isabelle was nowhere to be seen.

Aidan crossed the deck to Darrow, forcing calm into his stride. “Captain,” he said, keeping his voice low. “A word.”

Darrow lowered the spyglass, his grin fading. “This better be quick, gunner.”

“The fort knows we’re coming,” Aidan said. “There’s a spy aboard. I know who it is.”

Darrow’s eyes narrowed. “You’d better be certain.”

“I am,” Aidan said. “It’s Vincente. The man in the brig. He’s English Crown—sent to watch the French—but he sold us to the governor for gold. He switched the powder. Every charge on the gundeck is sand.”

For a heartbeat, Darrow didn’t move. Then his hand shot out, grabbing Aidan by the throat. “You brought him aboard. You vouched for him.”

“I was wrong,” Aidan choked out. “But I’m telling you now. The attack will fail. The guns won’t fire. The governor will slaughter us.”

Darrow’s grip tightened, then released. He stepped back, his face a mask of fury. “If you’re lying—“

“I’m not.” Aidan rubbed his throat. “Check the charges. Any of them. You’ll find sand.”

Darrow’s eyes flicked toward the gun deck, then back to the fort. The sea was calm. The wind was fair. And in the distance, the fort’s gates swung open.

Aidan saw them. Rows of soldiers marching out, muskets glinting. Cannon being rolled into view. The trap, sprung early.

They had seconds. Maybe less.

“Captain,” Aidan said. “We have to turn. Now.”

Darrow stared at him, and in that stare Aidan saw everything—the suspicion, the rage, the cold calculation of a man who trusted no one. And then, slowly, Darrow nodded.