“Well, then make me your seventh.” I felt a dozen stares on me. “Or tell me who else can I ask,” I added.

“How old are you, boy?”

I scratched my jaw, pretending to think. “Fifteen, I think? I don’t know—what day’s it?”

Just as I’d hoped, a discussion arose about the day. Was it July thirty-first? Or was it already August?

A few of the men were still watching me and I didn’t know why—because I hadn’t found a mess? Because they knew I was a girl? Panic shortened my breath. I turned to a black man wearing a kerchief as an arm sling. “Where can I find a mess that’ll take me on?”

He lifted his unbound shoulder. “Might try asking the king of England. Anybody know where’s King George?” he called out.

“Here! I am here, my faithful subjects!” someone piped in the dimness. Laughter rippled across the deck.

I forced myself to appear calm. If I didn’t settle this now, I was finished. I needed allies or I wouldn’t stand a chance. “You have to help me. I have to find a spot in a mess.”

“I’ll take you on, whelp,” someone said behind me.

I whirled. A man came forward from the gloom of the stern cabin with an exaggerated stride. A swagger I recognized instantly.

Tom Hackett was no longer the barrel-chested boatswain I’d met on the Ambrosia. Like every other man here, he’d wasted away, his burliness worn down to big bones that had little to carry. Nevertheless, it was still him. He was still scowl-faced. Still had the mulish lift of his jaw and the look in his eyes like he’d steal your fingers if you shook his hand. Seeing him in prison didn’t surprise me—but this was a prison for patriots, and that he had not been.

“I need a sixth,” he said, looking me up and down. “I think you’ll do.”

“You can’t take him, Hackett,” said Turtle. “He’s no officer.”

Hackett moved toward him. “You got a point, Turtle. But we need a brat to fetch things for us and whatnot, and this scrap won’t take up much space. Anyway, there en’t time to debate it, so let’s just call it settled.”

That did settle it. Turtle muttered something and wandered off. To my relief, the last of my audience lost interest in me.

Hackett crossed his arms. “My, my, Little Salt. You seen better days.”

“And you haven’t?”

“Never. Never better days than these.” His jaw ticked higher, his eyes flashing. I could see the surprise and the questions he was holding inside. “Well, Salty. Here you are, blest to be on the Jersey with the rest of us. It en’t ideal conditions, as you can see, but you’ll get used to it. Either that, or you’ll die.”

“I’m not dying.”

“Is that right?”

I stared at him. He didn’t know how strong I was, but I’d show him. I’d show myself. I had given up everything for a new beginning. I wasn’t going to roll over now.