At last, the coastline of Tortuga appears. I find it difficult to swallow. I order a stop in the port.

Carpentier smiles.

That was my last card. I have no more aces up my sleeve. I have never been so nervous in my life. The Anarkhia is there. I am convinced of it.

However, she is nowhere to be seen. If I am wrong, I have signed my death sentence, and Gibs's too. If Carpentier does not kill me to get his revenge, Marcelin will do it.

Night is already well under way when we dock. The captain follows me everywhere. My lungs feel as though they are being squeezed in a clamp in my chest.

Fuck you Florence, where are you?

At this late hour, the docks are even busier than usual. The bystanders are in a fever of agitation. French soldiers are teeming everywhere.

"But what is going on here?" Carpentier asks. "If this is one of your dastardly plans, Kelly..."

"Don't you threaten me, Captain," I answer. "I have nothing to do with this."

Can it be? Is my mermaid behind all this excitement? Deep down, I know the answer. It should still my mind.

No.

I have to stuff my hands into my coat to hide my trembling. I am terrified. And I am not alone in this. People all around us look shocked. The inhabitants of the island wander from the port to the town centre looking for an answer. Scraps of conversation tell us of the origin of this nocturnal turmoil.

A massacre. Many dead. A revolt. A bloodbath.

I don't need to hear any more. I know where to go. I take Cook, Carpentier, Luc and Baptiste towards Marcelin's inn. The usual slaves who line the streets of Tortuga have given way to a whole garrison of the island's soldiers. I should not be here, among all these guards. No matter. They appear to have other fish to fry. Marcelin's brothel is well guarded. Impossible to get near it.

From the corner of my eye, I see a woman in tears in the recess of an adjoining alleyway. I go towards her. I recognize her. She is a young prostitute from the establishment that Rick adored.

"What happened here?" I ask with my sternest voice.

By way of an explanation, all I obtain is an even stronger bout of tears.

"Answer me," I insist, shaking her. "What happened?"

The poor girl is visibly in a state of shock. I do not have time to pity her. I must know.

"Gibs, grab her, hold her up, we shall get her to talk whether she likes it or not."

The whore struggles feebly while Cook holds her arms so that she is facing me. Carpentier is watching the scene behind my back, clearly frightened of the way things are going. Luc takes a quick look behind him to make sure that our behaviour is not attracting the attention of the ten or so soldiers who are on patrol in the main street. They wanted to play at being freebooters. I'll show them what it really means to be a pirate. The girl's black hair falls across her bloodied face. She does not appear to be wounded.

"Gather your thoughts and tell us all! And don't you leave out a single detail."

No answer. I slap her face and she whimpers. I have hit her hard enough to bring her out of her torpor, but not hard enough to really hurt her.

"Calm down, Kelly," says Carpentier, seething. "The poor woman hasn't done anything."

"Shut up," I say as I turn towards him.

Rattled by my sudden aggressiveness, he steps backward.

"Tell me or I will stick you like a pig," I add, unsheathing my dagger and placing it at the girl's throat.

I can see the distress in her eyes. It tears me apart to know that I have caused it. But just as I have done on other occasions, I bury this painful feeling and concentrate on my objective. The Anarkhia. Florence.

"Speak," I rail, pressing the blade into her skin.

"They... they came..." she reels off, shaking. "Men and women. Slaves and pirates. They turned the brothel upside down. The patrons ran off, but, but... Marcelin... He would not take it lying down. There was a fight. I hid under a table. I saw it all."

"Tell me!" I am impatient now.

"There was fighting. They had sabres. They cut anything that moved to pieces. They got Marcelin. It was... a woman. She opened his shirt..."

Florence.

"She skinned him alive... His chest," she pants. "Then she stuck her blade in his ... in his throat. All of them... all of them... they are all dead. But there is worse."

"What could be worse?" I ask, releasing the pressure of my dagger.

"It was a festive evening. A pig was roasting in the fireplace..."

And she once again has a fit of uncontrollable sobbing.

"And?"

"After that... after that... the woman threw a document in the fire. And they left the establishment. But she... she saw me. Their woman leader. She knelt down near me. I thought... I thought... that she was going to kill me."

"What did she do?"

"She held out her hand. She asked if I wanted to go with them. I was petrified and I hid even further back. They had to leave in a hurry. The customers had gone to fetch the soldiers. There was a skirmish outside. Some of the pirates were killed. Many guards died too. I ran away before they..."

Another flood of tears. With a movement of my head, I order Gibs to let go of her. The prostitute collapses into the stinking gutter.

"Are your men responsible for this?" Carpentier is worried and as white as a sheet.

"Aye," I reply simply. "Cook, you must get near enough to the entrance to see who has been killed. Carpentier, you come with me. I must see it with my own eyes."

Gibs obeys me without a word, followed by Baptiste.

"You can't be serious," Carpentier objects. "It must be a real carnage in there. I don't want to see it."

"I do."

"You have a twisted mind, Kelly!" He mocks me through his teeth.

I ignore his insult and go round the inn towards the back door. A French gendarme is vomiting the contents of his stomach on the pavement.

"Keep him busy," I order Carpentier and Luc. "I'll only be a minute."

I don't bother to check that the former customs officer is obeying my orders. I only intend to have a peep in the main room. What I discover astounds me. It is horrific.

Foul. Truly vile.

Is Sirena really capable of this?

The music of the mandolins and the laughter have been replaced by the buzzing of flies. Blood covers the walls, witness to the savagery of the Anarkhia's mercenaries. Men's corpses lie all over the floor. Marcelin's lifeless body is laid out on a table. His head has been severed from his trunk. It has been placed on the counter, in place of the pig's head. Sirena has dishonoured him even further by placing an apple between his teeth.

I make the most of the fact that there are no officers in the main room to get near the fireplace. The shred of parchment burned by Florence is not completely consumed. It is impossible for me to decipher the letters and the meanings of the words. On the other hand, I recognize the script. It is Olivier Basselin's handwriting. Her father. Florence has freed me of my debt towards Marcelin. No-one will know the role I played in the kidnapping of the daughter of the Marquis des Acres. I was right. She did it for the love of me.

The horror.

For me.

I walk unsteadily back towards Luc, Carpentier and the soldier.

"It is terrible," I admit.

The young gendarme lifts his head and wipes his mouth soiled with vomit on his sleeve. All too aware that he has failed in his duty as a guard, he sends us packing.

"You have nothing to do here, leave!"

Carpentier and I move away from the massacre, with the captain's faithful friend still behind us. Cook joins us a few minutes later with Baptiste.

"I saw a Black on the floor."

"Bappé?"

"No, Mustelier's slave."

"Who else?"

"I don't know. Too many people. Didn't want anyone to notice me."

"Let us go back to the Vindicta," I suggest. "We can find out about the brigs that arrived on the peninsula during the day. If the attack on the brother took place only a few hours ago, that means that the Anarkhia is still around here."

They all agree. All the better.

I have absolutely no intention of going back on board Carpentier's sloop. My vessel is still in the vicinity and I believe I know where they have moored it so as not to attract attention. Leng had shown me that little creek in the north of the island, many year ago. It will take me several hours on foot to reach it, in the middle of the night, on a stretch of levelled land between the plantations. No matter. I must act with haste if I am to arrive before they weigh anchor.

She did this for me! I do not really know what it means. Is my heart trumpeting because of the killing? Or is it the joy of being right? Florence is trying to protect me. To set me free.

Cook knows me only too well. He has understood what I intend to do. At the slightest opportunity, we must try to part company with our friends from Louisiana.

Nothing will prevent me from finding her.