“Yes,” I rasped, my throat rough with thirst. “The Jersey.”

“You know about the Jersey?”

I looked into his amber eyes, seeing the anguish I had put there. “I know a lot of things that would surprise you.”

“So I’m learning.” He bowed close to my ear. “You are a lady, Emmeline. You would be alone inside it, defenseless on a ship full of criminals and lechers. What do you think will happen when they discover your sex?”

“If you fear for me, then set me free.”

“You’re a threat to king and country.” His forehead bumped mine as he shook his head. “I cannot do that.”

“Then send me to my death.”

“My God, Emmeline. Are you trying to destroy me? Can’t you see that—” He stopped, finally noticing our audience. “If I see any of you looking this way again, I shall put stripes on your backs myself.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the men replied sharply, and dropped their gazes.

Duncan turned to me again. “You’ll regret this,” he said quietly. “You’ll cry for me when you are starving and terrified, but it will be too late.”

I said nothing.

I knew he might be right.

As we neared the dock, the stench of sewage clogged my throat and bile rose up. The shallow waters around the massive hulk were thick with filth and buzzing flies. As I stepped off the tender, my stomach seized. I leaned over and retched emptily, my tears and saliva spotting the planks under my feet.

I straightened. Duncan offered me a kerchief. I took it, almost laughing. Almost crying. “Ever a gentleman.”

“Unless forced otherwise.”

We walked up a steep ramp to the main deck, no other sound but our footfalls. Night was falling, but I could see the black scum coating the Jersey’s hull and I sensed a kind of droning emanating from it, like it was alive. Suffering. At the top of the ramp, a pair of British sentinels came forward. One man held a lamp for the other, whose uniform had finer trimmings.

“How do this evening, Captain Sproat?” Duncan said.

“Splendid, Lieutenant, as always,” said the older man. “What have we here?”

Duncan handed him a sheet of paper. Three letters appeared in my mind, penned in his fine hand.

S-p-y

Had he written them?

“What’s the boy’s name?” Sproat asked, handing the paper back.

“Judas.”

Sproat smiled. “Aren’t they all? You’ve gone to some trouble to bring him here yourself, Lieutenant.”

“I had some time on my hands.”

“Pity you had to spend it on a visit to us.” Sproat looked at me.

I stood a little rounded on instinct, letting the billowing shirt cover me, but I felt my face burn.

“Very well, Lieutenant. He’s our problem now.” Sproat turned to a redcoat. “Take the boy below.”

The man motioned with his bayonet. “This way, rebel.”