I smiled. Me and Hackett were the same. A little rotten, but not all rotten. The fight for America’s independence had drawn us both in, giving us a way to be better than we really were. That was the best thing about noble ideas like freedom—anybody could get behind them.

I dozed off. When I stirred, I was on my side and Hackett was leaning over me, blocking the rain. “Move, you old wolf,” I said, pushing him away. “You’re crowding me.”

“How do you feel? Any better?”

“Shut up, will you? And back off before I catch your fleas.”

“You sound better.”

I didn’t feel it, but I didn’t say so. I’d slept the entire day. Night was falling and a new storm had come in. Raindrops exploded furiously against the planks. Only a couple dozen other prisoners were still out, most hovering near the marines who were rummaging through a delivery crate. As soon as they finished, I knew they’d call us below for the night.

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.