"You will not live that long, my little matelot, to order me what to do." Jacques feigned a menacing step toward him. Startled, de Fontenay edged backward, and Jacques erupted with laughter, then turned back to Winston. "You see, Anglais? Cowards are all the same. Remember when you wanted to kill me? You were point-blank, and you failed. Now this little putain has the same idea." He seized Winston's jerkin. "Give me one of your guns, Anglais, or I will take it with my own hands."
"No!" At the other end of the citadel Katherine stood holding the pistol she had brought. She was gripping it with both hands, rock steady, aimed at them. Slowly she moved down the porch. "I'd like to just be rid of you both. Which one of you should I kill?"
The old boucanier stared at her as she approached, then at Winston. "Your Anglaise has gone mad."
"I was on that English ship you two are so proud of attacking." She directed the flintlock toward Winston. "Hugh, the woman you remember killing—she was my mother."
The night flared with the report of a pistol, and Jacques flinched in surprise. He glanced down curiously at the splotch of red blossoming against the side of his silk shirt, then looked up at de Fontenay.
"That was a serious mistake, my little ami. One you will not live long enough to regret."
The smoking pistol de Fontenay held dropped noisily onto the boards at his feet, while he raised the other. "I said give to me the keys, Jacques. Or I will kill you, I swear it."
"You think I can be killed? By you? Jamais. " He laughed, then suddenly reached out and wrenched away the pistol Katherine was holding, shoving her aside. With a smile he aimed it directly at de Fontenay's chest. "Now, mon ami . . ."
There was a dead click, then silence. It had misfired.
"I don't want this, Jacques, truly." De Fontenay started to tremble, and abruptly the other pistol he held exploded with a pink arrow of flame.