"You've got no chance in any case. But if you steal some of these muskets of mine, you'll just manage to kill a lot of people before you have to surrender and be hanged." He watched the fat man emerge from the hatch. "I'd hate to see you hanged, Atiba the Yoruba."
"What's the savage got to say for himself, Cap'n?" The man was carrying a hammer. "Was he plannin' to make off with a few o' those new flintlocks we got up at Nevis?"
"I think he was just exploring, John." The words were in English now. "Help him put the door back and show him how to fix the hinges."
"As you will, Cap'n. But keep an eye on him, will you? He's like to kill the both of us if he takes a mind."
"Katy, keep him covered."
"God, but he's frightening. What were you two talking about?"
"We'd best go into that later." He glanced at Mewes. "John, give him the hammer."
The fat branco reluctantly surrendered the tool, then warily reached to hold the hinges in place. There was a succession of quick, powerful strokes, and the door was aligned and swinging better than before.
"Now go on back to Briggs' plantation. And pray to whatever gods you have that he doesn't find out you were gone tonight." He picked up the broken machete and passed it over. "Take this. You're going to need it."
"You know we will need more than this." Atiba reached for the handle, turned the broken blade in the light, then slipped it into his waistband.