“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.

I didn’t hesitate—I headed for the bow.

I passed two sentries, but neither of them spared me a glance. Their eyes were locked on Hackett. His flute was beginning to sound half drowned and warbly, but I recognized the song, “Yankee Doodle,” and felt a bubble of laughter push up. I passed another sentry leaving his post, drawn by Hackett’s antics, and finally reached the bow. I climbed onto the lookout platform that had just been abandoned and stood at the very nose of the Jersey.

The wind whipped up, and the swirling rain flew into my eyes. Far, far below, the bay’s waters looked frothy with wind and chop.

It was time. It was time. But I couldn’t resist a look back.

Hackett’s flute had been all but overpowered by the rain. His piping was garbled, every third note flying, but he’d improvised and was dancing as he played, kicking his legs and elbows out like a fool. King George stood, gaping at him, his court wig pale in the stormy dark. Then he swept his gaze over the deck, spotted me, and broke into a mad, capering dance. Red jumped in without hesitation, then Wilkins, then Fire Man. Others came over in curiosity and were immediately swept up, till there were dozens of them, gamboling on their very graves. Singing their spirits out as the rain washed over them.

The British guards laughed and pointed, but I’d never seen anything more beautiful in all my life.

With a final glance at Hackett piping away in the middle of it all, I turned back to my escape. I shuffled to the edge of the platform. Peered down and felt my heart shoot into my throat. Never had I dove from so high. Not even close.