Kit finally lifted his arms and spoke in Portuguese. The wagon rolled to a halt near him. Roughly dressed men began unloading it. An enormous bear of a man hammered the terrifying stakes into the ground. Sailors piled wood high around them. Kit spoke earnestly in Latin to the skies as though she and Kynan didn't even exist. The wreckage of Margo's raft was added to the pile, along with everything else which had survived. She checked the slant of the sun. Any time now, surely ...

If the gate opened again.

Or if Kit didn't die any moment, shadowing himself.

If, if, if...

She noticed sweat on his face and began to tremble. Malcolm's skin had taken on a ghastly hue. He produced a coil of rope and bound one of Margo's wrists securely.

"Pretend I've tied your other wrist behind you once you're at the stake," he hissed in her ear. Then he dragged her toward the pile of wood.

Margo screamed and struggled. He caught her wrists and lifted her off the ground, doggedly climbing the stacked wood and shoving her against the stake. Margo begged for mercy, sliding to her knees and clutching his robes. He sobbed out something in Portuguese and snatched her back to her feet, then dragged her hands behind her. He jerked her wrists behind the stake. Margo screamed again. The audience hung on their every movement like hypnotized sports fans. Margo felt sick. Malcolm wound the rope around her hand without looping it around her wrist. All she had to do was let go and she'd be free. Margo slumped against the stake as though tightly bound and gave in to wretched sobs.

Kit dragged Kynan Rhys Gower to the stake. From her vantage point, she could see that Kit repeated the same procedure with the Welshman's wrists. Kynan was white to the lips. He held his head high and intoned something in a loud voice, speaking in his own native tongue. He might have been heaping curses on the Portuguese or praying to God to let this mad scheme work.

Kit stumbled back down the piled wood and turned to face them. He lifted both hands, a crucifix clenched in one fist. He began to chant in Latin. Whatever it was, it went on and on. Sweat beaded up on his lips and dripped down his chin. Malcolm kept darting nervous glances in the direction Margo thought the gate ought to lie.

Nothing was happening.

The sun sank lower, vanishing behind the distant peaks of the Drakensbergs. The crash of waves was loud in her ears. Seabirds screamed overhead. It's not opening, oh God, it isn't going to open ... On the ground below the pyre, Kit sank to his knees and bowed his head. Malcolm followed suit. The rest of the company went to their knees as well. Torches crackled in the growing twilight. Still no gate opened. Kit couldn't delay this, much longer. The military governor was staring at him, darting uneasy glances toward the as-yet unlit pyre. A few glimmering stars appeared in the darkening sky.

Then the bones behind Margo's ear began to vibrate.

She caught her breath on a sob

Then let out an ear-piercing shriek.

At the first buzz of the gate, Malcolm went giddy with relief. Then Margo screamed. He started and whirled to stare at her. Even Kit Jumped.

"HEAR ME!" Margo shouted. "I CALL UPON THE POWERS OF HELL!"

Malcolm staggered to his feet, holding up his crucifix. The soldier who spoke a little English began to shout that she was calling upon the Evil One himself.

Kit ran toward the pyre, snatching a torch from a dumbfounded farmer. "Minion of hell!" he cried. "Cease thy conjuring! I command thee in the name of Christ!"

Margo shouted at him to stuff it. Then she started ranting. "You will all die hideous deaths if you lay that torch to this pyre! I call on Beelzebub! I call on Satan, Lucifer, St. Nick."

St. Nick?

From Malcolm's vantage point, Kit nearly lost it. With masterful skill, he converted sudden laughter into a cough and a cry of pain. He sank to his knees, gasping and clutching his chest as though her curses were having real effect. Semi-hysterical images flitted briefly through Malcolm's head, threatening to loose his own laughter

But Margo was still shouting.

And the soldiers nearest her were swearing in terror, pointing their crossbows right at her. Oh shit ...

Malcolm flung himself between the crossbows and the still-unlit pyre. "No! Do not interfere in God's work!"

"But Father-"one of them cried, ashen and sweating in the descending gloom.

The vibration of the gate had grown so painful several farmers and sailors had dropped their weapons. They clutched their ears, staring wildly around for the appearance of the most profoundly expected demons. Malcolm lifted his own crucifix and advanced toward the piled wood. Kit outdid himself. He twisted on the ground, then crawled to his knees, coughing and holding up his own crucifix.

In a voice faint with terror, Kit cried, "I command thee, in the name of Christ, begone Satan! God will protect us!"

"Satan will eat your entrails for lunch!" Margo screamed right back.

One of the shaking farmers let out a wail of terror, and hurled his torch straight onto the pyre. Wood shavings crackled and roared into flame. Margo screamed, then shrieked at the poor farmer, "St. Nick will have your guts for sausages!"

Kit, not to be outdone, rose tottering to his feet and lifted both arms, trembling so violently even Malcolm was halfway convinced he was about to fall down again. "Jesu Christo! Open the gates of hell itself! Send these minions of damnation to their deaths!"

Then Kit hurled his own torch like a thrown javelin -- straight at the source of the sound that wasn't a sound.

Twenty-five yards down the beach, a crack appeared in the fabric of reality. The torch sailed straight through it. Someone behind Malcolm screamed. Someone else began chanting hail Marys. Another man began to sob. Half the Portuguese broke and ran for town, wailing in terror. The gate dilated open, pulsing savagely in the mad rhythm of an unstable string.

"NOW!" Kit yelled.

Margo flung herself down the pile of burning wood, jumping right through the flames. Kynan Rhys Gower followed with a wild yell. Malcolm caught a blur of motion

The huge blacksmith had aimed his weapon at Margo's back.

Malcolm lunged forward. He knocked the barrel of the smith's rifled wheel lock upward just as the piece discharged. The smith roared. Malcolm dodged away. --Then delivered a snap kick that flattened an arquebusier trying to fire on Margo.

Then he ran through the confused, shaken crowd. "Kit! Run!"

The time scout dove at the fire instead, snatching something out of it, then whirled, knocking aside a white-faced soldier just before his arquebus went off with a roar. A lead ball slammed into the beach less than a foot short of Margo's flying feet. The soldier snarled and charged. Kit brushed him to the ground. The man screamed. Malcolm caught the glint of push daggers in the firelight. Nothing like Aikido and a push-dagger blade to ruin your whole day.

Someone else levelled a crossbow at Kit's back.

Malcolm delivered a flying kick that knocked the man to the sand, then he was past and running for the gate.

"Kit!" he yelled. "It's disintegrating!"

Margo reached the gate first. It shrank savagely to a pinpoint. She sobbed out something Malcolm couldn't quite hear. Kynan skidded to a halt beside her. The gate roared open again. Kynan glanced back and shouted. Malcolm looked wildly over one shoulder. Behind them, Amaro had taken a careful bead on Margo with his crossbow. Malcolm couldn't do anything to stop him and Kit was out of position-

Kynan yelled and flung himself between Margo and the arbalestier. The Welshman knocked her to the ground with a sweeping blow, shoving her out of harm's way. The slap of the steel spring was a hideous sound. Kynan screamed and collapsed like a punctured balloon. A steel shaft thick as Malcolm's thumb slammed through Kynan's body instead of Margo's chest.