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But my burning boat told me the Enforcers didn’t know about Keane’s plans yet. They wouldn’t have destroyed the only other way off the island if their own was under threat.
A speck of light appeared in a patch of trees up ahead.
I stopped and crouched, Graham joining me behind the bushes.
I peered through the foliage. “There’s someone down there.”
“Keane?” asked Graham.
A voice cut through the quiet night. “This place is dreadful. I’m sure there’s nothing to find here but barbarians and mushrooms.”
“Keep your pistol ready,” said another man.
They came closer, crashing through the undergrowth as if they wanted the whole island to hear.
We hid quietly in the bushes and waited for them to pass. The flames of their torches became smaller as the men walked away.
Graham leaned close and whispered in my ear. “We can use them to find the boat.”
“But I’m not sure they’re even on their way—” I stopped, realizing what he meant. “That might work.”
“The problem is that they’re most likely looking for me,” he said. “I can’t be recognized.”
“They wouldn’t look twice if you were an outlaw,” I whispered.
“But I’m not.”
“They won’t know that.” I peeked over the bushes, searching for the torches, but they’d moved out of sight. “You know I’d do it, but there aren’t women here, remember?”
“Maybe that’s not common knowledge. We didn’t know.”
“But they’re Enforcers. They’ll know. Just trust me, okay?”
He sighed in resignation. “I always have.”
“Then take off your shirt,” I said.
“What?”
“You’ll be more convincing.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he lifted the shirt over his head.
I dug into the ground with my fingers, coating them with mud. I reached for his face and smeared the mud over his cheeks, forehead, and chin.
He shut his eyes and mouth while I painted with my fingers. One last stroke down the bridge of his nose and I was done. On impulse, I stamped two handprints on his bare chest.
“There,” I said. “Perfectly uncivilized.”
His eyebrows lowered and his eyes became solemn. “If something goes wrong, I want to tell you”—he paused and started again—“I want to thank you for all you’ve done.”
A tug of guilt pulled at me, but I kept my mouth shut.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to my cheek. “Sorry about the mud.” He brushed off my face. “And sorry about . . . that.”
It took me a moment to come to my senses. “Do you know what to say?”
He smiled. “I have an idea.”
