I caught up to Elliot just as he reached the cargo hold. What had once been filled wall to wall with barrels of tea was now almost empty. The few remaining barrels were being rolled to the open hatch to be hefted on deck by a handful of waiting men in their haphazard blanket and coal soot disguises.

“What did he look like?” Elliot said, his face a study of intensity as he searched each of the men’s faces in the moonlight.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Tall? Short? Dressed like a Mohawk or in a different disguise?” Elliot said, his words fast and efficient as he scanned the remaining men.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Tall,” I said. “With blue eyes and no beard. He definitely didn’t have a Mohawk.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “Not the hairstyle. The tribe. Was he wearing something like this?” he asked, grabbing at the rough blanket around his shoulders.

I shook my head, “No. Normal 1800s dress.”

“It’s 1773,” Elliot said, his tone as condescending as it could possibly be.

“Whatever,” I said, throwing my soggy hands in the air so a few drops of water sprayed out. Elliot flinched and stepped farther away from me like I was a snake he didn’t want to bite him as he continued scanning the crowd. “How in the world did you know to bring two buckets of water down with you?” I asked.

“I didn’t,” he said, and he turned to look at me for the first time, an amused smirk on his face.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Elliot said. “So, he was tall. I can work with tall.” With that he turned and hobbled awkwardly toward the small group of men who were just hefting a barrel up toward the waiting hands of their fellow Sons of Liberty. It was then that I noticed the smell that the smoke-filled tunnel had been masking. A blast of what I could only describe as raw sewage hit me full on, and I gagged as I realized why Elliot had smirked like that.

“You threw a chamber pot on me?!” I screamed. Every man in the ship’s hold turned to look at me, but I couldn’t have cared less. I had a right to scream. Elliot had essentially thrown the contents of a toilet used by a boatful of sailors over the top of me.

Elliot turned, a huge grin stretching from ear to ear. “Two chamber pots,” he said. I stared at him in horror.

“I had to put the fire out somehow,” he said. “I probably could have missed you, but”—he paused and shrugged—“where’s the fun in that?”