I pulled my legs in close, my heartbeat speeding up. “Remember Asa Lane, Hackett?”

“Mm-hmm. I do.” He turned to me. “I remember you going moony-face around him. Are you gonna tell me about the mistakes you wish you could go back and fix?”

“I guess I don’t have to anymore. And better to be moony-faced than scowly-faced.”

“I’ll say. You know, my own mother used to shut her eyes when she kissed me?”

He was trying to make me laugh, but I was too tired, and a thick feeling had stuck in my throat that wasn’t humor. “You’re a good man, Hackett.”

For a few seconds, I listened to the rain hammer on the deck.

“Didn’t used to be.”

“But you are now, and that makes it even better.”

He sniffed. “Hush, now. You’re scaring me with such talk.” He must’ve been really scared, ’cause he curled over his pipe and played me a quiet song, risking trouble with the guards. I shut my eyes and listened to the flute and the thunder and the rain, all weaving around each other.

“Tasker? Francis Tasker!” I struggled up from a thick tiredness. “Anybody know a Francis Tasker?” asked one of the marines unloading supplies.

“Me.” I convinced my body to stand. “That’s me.” I slipped through the circle of men, Hackett right behind me. “I’m Francis Tasker.”

“Somebody sent you vittles, Tasker,” said the smug-faced marine I knew as Nanton. Rain poured from the corners of his cocked hat in small waterfalls. He hoisted a linen sack from the crate and dropped it on the deck with a thump. He smirked. “Have a look at what we’ll be enjoying on your behalf.” He crouched and fumbled with the twine at the top, struggling to untie it in the rain and wind.

“Looks like oats,” said one of the other marines.

“Beans,” said another. “Everybody always sends beans.”

Nanton lost patience and used his sword to slice off the top of the sack; then he peered into it. “Well, damn my eyes.” He laughed and stood. “On second thought, Tasker, you can keep this generous gift yourself.” He kicked the bag, which toppled over.

Sand spilled across the deck. Fine white sand.

Enough to stand on with both feet.

Asa.

I looked toward the river. With night falling and the sheets of rain, I couldn’t see anything—not Manhattan’s shores on the other side, nor any ships moored or cruising by—but he was out there. I knew it. He had to be.

“What is this?” Hackett stared at the sand. It was already washing away, disappearing into the deck’s seams.

“A message,” I said. “It’s a message, Hackett.”

His eyes went wide. “Well, well. Here we go.”

He knew exactly what I meant to do.

“Play me something, will you? And make it loud.”

“With pleasure, Little Salt.” He bowed. “It has been my honor.” He strode away and brought the flute to his lips, the first notes bursting into the air.