"Val"—he could hear her move uneasily—"remember that old saying: 'Pieces of eight—Ralestones' fate?"
"All good families have curses," he reminded her.
"And good families can have—can have accidents, too."
There could be no answer to that. Nor did Val feel like answering. The savage pain in his legs and back had given way to a kind of numbness. A chill not caused by the dank air crawled up his body. What—what if his injuries were worse than he had thought? What if—if—
The dripping of the water seemed louder, and it no longer fell with the same rhythm. Ricky must be counting money from the bag. He could hear the clink of metal against stone as she dropped a piece.
"Don't lose it," he muttered foggily.
"Lose what?"
"Your pieces of eight."
"What do you mean?"
"You just dropped a piece."