“What do you think you’re doing?” the sergeant calls. “Get back . . .”

I ignore him, grabbing the same huge wooden ax that Valentino swung at my head just yesterday. “Aldo, grab the strongest, thickest weapon you can—”

“Like this?” Aldo has lifted a broadsword from the rack, one of the few weapons not made of wood.

“Perfect. Let’s go.” Aldo can barely lift the sword, so he drags it in the sand behind him as we return to the log.

The audience buzzes with speculation about what we’re going to do. I expect to hear DeLuca’s booming voice, ordering us to desist, but he doesn’t even bother to repeat his earlier protest.

I lay the tip of the battle-ax sideways against the sand, and then thrust it beneath the log until it will go no farther. Aldo does the same with his broadsword. I hope that sword is made of quality steel, or this will never work. “On three!” I yell. “One, two, three.”

We lever our weapons upward, and the log shifts. I strain against my ax. The log shifts a little more. I press my foot against it. Aldo mirrors me on his end, and together we push and heave and kick. The log rolls over and thumps into the sand.

The crowd erupts with cheering.

With our battle-ax and broadsword, we lever the log all the way across. We’re slow about it, slower than any team thus far, but eventually our log reaches the flag marker. We drop our weapons, leaving them in the sand.

Aldo and I exchange a quick grin of triumph as we dash for the hurdles. My legs are rubbery, my vision blurry with sweat and exhaustion, but I’m hopeful now. Maybe we can do this.

Several of the hurdles are too tall for us to jump, and we must use our hands to push up and swing our legs over. The last one is too tall for Aldo to do even that, so I make a show of bowing formally, getting down on one knee like a supplicant, and offering my bent knee to him as a stepping stool. Aldo gapes at me a moment, an odd wonder blooming on his face, before he steps onto my proffered knee.

The crowd loves it; several whistle as Aldo hops up and over.

“Any ideas for a wild net climb?” I ask between breaths.

“I practically grew up on a ship,” he says breathlessly. “Let me go first.”

Aldo launches for the net, lands on all fours, then swings around the edge so that he’s hanging underneath.

The crowd looses a collective gasp.

He spiders up the net from below, hands and legs moving so fast he’s a blur. As he nears the top, he lowers his legs so that he’s hanging. He swings back and forth, back and forth, and once he’s picked up enough momentum, he whips his body up and around, landing neatly on the platform.

Valentino yells, “Nice work, Aldo!” as the crowd whoops and hollers.