“We will both go with you,” Nicolas says. “I will not abandon my friend.”

Norrington snorts. “You are a fool, then. Come along.”

He waves to his men, who lead us at gunpoint through the trees.

“There is a spot ahead,” the ghost says as he follows. “Once we are past the trees and before we reach the cart. His men will bind your hands and feet at the cart. You do not want that.”

I only half listen to the ghost. I’m trying to figure out how to communicate with Nicolas, but I cannot get his attention. He’s looking from side to side. At first, I think he expects trouble. Then I realize he is looking for a chance to escape, and I relax. We are thinking the same thing, even if we cannot properly communicate.

As the ghost said, Norrington relaxes once we’ve agreed. He’s leading the way, tramping along the path, paying no attention to us. His two men have relaxed as well. Oh, they do not lower the guns pointed at us, but they’ve taken to taunting Nicolas, saying they cannot wait to see him swing, how they’ll bring their families for the entertainment.

Nicolas does not even seem to hear them. He’s surveying the woods. When the trees close in, he uses the excuse to brush against me. His hand slides into mine, and he taps my finger. He’s trying to tell me something—lay out a plan—but I do not understand. No matter. I will follow his lead. The forest ends just ahead. Once we are out, we can see the lay of the land and—

“Down!” Nicolas shouts, and he shoves me hard into the thick forest.

One of the two men starts to shout, but he’s drowned out by a crack of gunfire. Gunfire that comes from somewhere in the forest.

Nicolas half pushes and half drags me until I understand what is happening. An ambush. Someone is shooting—either at us or Norrington and his men. They fire back, but they’re armed with short-range pistols firing blindly into the forest.

“Go! Go!” Nicolas whispers, as if I’m not already on all fours, crawling as fast as I can through the thick underbrush.

Behind us, Norrington shouts and snarls at his men. He thinks one of Nicolas’s confederates is out there, firing at us. I glance around for the ghost and spot him back with the others. He’s looking about wildly, trying to find us. I want to get his attention—he can guide us out of here—but there’s no way of doing that without also getting the attention of someone with a gun.

We keep going until we reach a patch of thick broad-leaf plants. I wave to it, and Nicolas nods, and we hide ourselves in the patch.

“Is it your confederates?” I whisper in Nicolas’s ear.

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. Someone loyal to his cause may have known of Norrington’s plans and intercepted. It could also be a trap from Norrington himself. He pretends to be taking us to the authorities, only to have us murdered by assassins, and even his own men could honestly attest to that.