Chapter 253: Keep Yer Hands to Yerself

James went first, [Verdict] cold at his hip, [Counterargument]’s four barrels over his heart, the mask tucked beneath one arm and the wrapped key riding where it had been since dawn.

The passage was wide enough for four men to walk abreast, but its ceiling disappeared beyond the reach of the flame while carved pillars stood in rows that marched away into a darkness that apparently known no visitors for longer than anyone had kept calendars.

He stopped them before they’d made twenty paces. "Right, hold fast. Mark and me lead from here, rest of ye keep your eyes on the floor, hands where God put ’em, and don’t go pokin’ and touchin’ around."

He glanced back at them. "We came down for a serpent and a key. Now some Crown is huntin’ them, and I mean to find out why."

"Aye, then." Mary fell in beside him.

That was all she had to say, and it was enough.

Jim followed with his thumbs hooked through his belt, walking as comfortably as if he’d only been taking his turn around the deck. "Christ alive, look at the lot o’ ye, frettin’ over a mouldy heap o’ stones! I’ve walked into worse places wi’ less sense an’ never once feared a bloody wall in me life."

His eyes kept wandering up toward the darkness overhead, however.

Bran caught him at it immediately. "Tell that to yer own eyes, bach. They’ve been crawlin’ up that darkness as if they’re expectin’ somethin’ up there to come down an’ eat ye."

The merry band moved on, boots scraping across stone made slick by old dust, and with every step their nerves came back a little.

Then Kit found some eye carved into the wall at chest height. The stone around it had been worn smooth by some long-dead hand.

Kit hadn’t left the mural alone, and naturally he wasn’t about to leave this one alone either.

His thumb pressed it.

The stone replied with a grinding hiss.

Before James could turn his head, iron bolts shot from hidden slits in the wall, screaming against the stone as they tore through the space where Kit’s chest had been a heartbeat before.

Barrel moved faster than his size should ever allow. He caught Kit by the back of his coat and dragged him flat against the wall while the bolts finished their flight and clattered harmlessly against the far side.

Kit came up coughing dust and cursing every saint he could remember.

"God’s teeth, what manner o’ temple needs armin’ like a man o’ war?"

Bran bent double with laughter. "One built to keep its gold out o’ the hands o’ thievin’ bastards like yerself, bach. Seems to be workin’ pretty bloody well."

"I’d’ve had me throat slit clean through! I’d be bleedin’ out on the floor if that great bastard hadn’t hauled me clear!"

Barrel hauled him upright without much concern, as though he’d merely pulled a hat from the surf.

James shook his head openly. "Next fool puts a finger on a wall without my leave can explain to Cudjoe why we oughtn’t bother buildin’ him a coffin at all."

Mary snickered. "Wouldn’t need much o’ a coffin for that one, save the timber and bury what’s left in a box for chickens."

"Oi!"

The corridor opened into a round chamber lined with carved niches. Each held some ruined bit of whatever had once belonged there, a cracked bowl, a bundle of rotted cloth, and several dark passages leading farther in.

Mary turned slowly as she took it in. "Whoever built this place meant to have us standin’ here half the bloody day, scratchin’ heads an’ wonderin’ which way the devil meant us to go."

James had his focus on the passages, trying to pick the one least likely to swallow them whole.

In the end, the merry band chose one and went down it.

Jim was halfway through a fresh boast about a widow off Panama who had nearly drowned him twice for the pleasure of his company, and naturally he wasn’t watching his own boots.

The floor vanished beneath him without warning.

A stretch of false stone dropped away, and his story stopped halfway through the word.

Torchlight spilled into the hole after him, showing a pit below packed with pale, thick-bodied serpents. Their scales hissed against the stone as they twisted and struck at the man who had just dropped among them.

Jim’s scream contained considerably more fear than any story he’d told.

James thrusted the torch at Kit and dropped flat at the edge of the pit, catching Jim by the wrist as the man slipped past, the mask still clamped beneath his other arm.

Mary and Ox seized Jim by the belt at the same instant and hauled backward with everything they had, while James was dragged back with him instead of going straight down after him.

"Pull, damn your souls, afore he drags the lot o’ us down with him!"

"Quit barkin’ at me an’ bloody haul, James!"

Between the three of them they dragged Jim from the pit.

He came up gasping, his shirt soaked through with sweat but still with surprisingly enough breath to speak.

"Meant to do it, I did! Had to see how deep the bloody thing went, ’course."

"Not a soul among us believes ye, Jim. Not even ye, if ye’d the wit tae admit it."

Bran rolled her eyes so hard they nearly popped out.

Kit himself was overjoyed he wasn’t the only one with misfortune. "Put it on yer tally, then. Though Christ knows that cursed list a good while back."

"It’ll grow as it pleases, lad. That’s the art of it."

The merry band went on more carefully, torches held low, and the passage cut open into another chamber.

Pillars stood across either side of the chamber, framing a cracked stone basin that was dry as old bone now, though it had plainly been built to hold water once.

More dark passages led away from the chamber.

Mary found the answer.

She crouched near one passage from the left, holding her torch close to the floor.

"This one. Less dust underfoot than all the others put together."

Bran needed no invitation. She strode past the lot of them and into the passage marked, apparently certain that whatever had caught Kit and Jim would have the good sense not to try the same trick on her.

Her boot came down on ground that looked no different from the rest.

A hidden cord snapped beneath it.

A net dropped from a recess overhead and caught her, then hauled her straight off her feet, swung her hard against the wall, and knocked the torch from her hand.

Together with the net came a scatter of pale, long-legged spiders shaken loose from whatever nest they had built in the recess.

A fat black centipede dropped directly down the front of her shirt.

Bran’s scream had nothing ladylike in it.

She hung upside down with her hair loose, cursing first in English and then in whatever older tongue her mother had taught her. Not one of them could have named a word of the second language, but every man there understood its meaning well enough.

"Cut me down, or by God I’ll have every one o’ yer hides for a hearthrug!"

An insect crawled across her cheek, and she nearly screamed the roof down around them.

"Och, Bran, you’ve picked up more passengers than a Havana packet boat." James remarked.

"Could’ve been snakes," Jim nodded, still filthy himself. "Count yerself blessed, lass."

"I’ll count YE blessed if ye don’t cut me down this instant, Jim Mackerel!"

Kit laughed so hard he barely managed to move, then he sawed through the net’s cording.

"Hold still, unless ye fancy me cuttin’ yer stead o’ the rope!"

"I’ll cut somethin’ o’ yers soon as me feet touch stone!"

The net was dismembered, and Kit’s scramble caught Bran in his arms instead of letting her fall onto the stone. She shoved herself free the instant her boots found the floor, still beating some crawling thing from her sleeve with considerable violence.

"I’ll remember whose arms caught me, bach. And I’ll remember it when next you come asking me a favor, so you’d best mind how you spend that kindness."

Kit only grinned wider. "Worth every penny. I’ll be dining on that tale till next year’s gone and buried, and I’ll wager I’ll laugh every time I tell it."

Not a soul needed telling twice to slow down after that.

Every eye searched the walls and floor together, torches held low, and the chatter that had brought them through dwindled to silence.

James shot the whole company one dry judgment, while the corridor changed as they went.

The wind grew cooler and moved more freely against their faces, while the torches stopped finding any ceiling close overhead.

Then the passage widened all at once and seemed to give up trying to contain them.

James lifted his torch as high as his arm would reach.

The flame looked very small against all that darkness. It died before reaching any wall, leaving the space beyond as black and seemingly endless as the sea at midnight.

Kit lips parted open to say some clever remark, as he always did, and for once in his life nothing came out.

Even Jim, who hadn’t allowed a silence to go unfilled all expedition, found no word for it.

James stepped forward to the chamber, the torch flame guttering against a darkness it couldn’t touch, and stopped there.

Whatever waited beyond would have to wait a moment longer yet.