More men were coming into the room and quickly stripping off their own jackets and shirts. The chair near the door now had a stack of discarded clothing wobbling precariously as the men talked in the hushed voices of conspirators. The first man I’d seen had grabbed a large bucket of ash from inside the blacksmith’s forge, and the men were picking up the soot in handfuls and rubbing it over their faces, arms, and torsos. Another man had appeared with what looked like roughly woven blankets, while yet another produced a box of hatchets. Seeing my opportunity, I stripped off my own shirt, grabbed a handful of ash, and scrubbed at my face and arms, turning myself the same dingy color as the men in front of me.

Satisfied with my coverage, I waited until the room was so full that I wouldn’t be noticed before slipping out and grabbing a blanket that I knew was supposed to represent the Mohawk Indians. The disguise was a lame one and not even culturally accurate, my fact-driven brain was quick to point out. Besides being offensive, the blanket itched as I pulled it over my head. But, I reminded myself, the Sons of Liberty hadn’t chosen this disguise to be accurate, or even to be political; they’d chosen this disguise to identify themselves as being American—not British. Knowing how the rest of history would play out, I found this sadly ironic as I grabbed a hatchet from the basket. That done, I made sure to slip to the edges of the group and back into the shadows. As I stood there waiting for the men to finish donning their ragtag disguises, I said a silent thank-you to whatever committee member had conveniently given me a test simulation where disguises made it easy for me to blend in, despite the fact that my skin was a few shades darker than the men surrounding me. I knew that a few black men had participated in the Boston Tea Party, but even so, the last thing I needed right now was to stand out. Although, I frowned as I followed the Sons of Liberty out into the cold December night, the only participants in the Boston Tea Party were men. So how in the world was Regan going to pull this off? I brushed away all thoughts of Regan as I slipped through the dark streets toward the harbor. It was time to commit treason.

Chapter Ten

Regan