When we started talking again, we didn’t stop. We were nowhere close to exhausting our stories. As we sat side by side on the stern bench, with the moonlight dusting our shoulders, he told me about his half brothers, who were serving in Loyalist militia units, and how his political views had only caused more strife between him and his father. Then I told him about how, when the diving was going poorly, Mercy and I sometimes pretended to drink tea deep inside the galleys of sunken wrecks.

“Did you just say you dive wrecks?” He brushed the loose hair behind his ear, peering at me. “You actually dive them—and you enjoy it?”

“Yes! Every new dive is an adventure. It’s dangerous, but that’s part of why it’s thrilling. Sometimes I feel like the thing I’m searching for—a spoon, a Spanish dollar, or whatever—I feel like it’s calling to me. Like it wants to be found. It’s the best feeling.”

“I will take your word for it.”

I laughed. “You’d like it. The seventh fathom, especially. That’s my favorite fathom.”

“You have a favorite fathom,” he said in disbelief. “Hold on—you dive to seven fathoms below?”

“Yes, of course. Saints, Asa. Ships don’t sink in five feet of water. I dive down to seven fathoms. Ten, twelve, thirteen. Fourteen, when I drop with the anchor or a rock, but I get nosebleeds and headaches, so I don’t often do that.”

He muttered something in French. “I am astonished. Tell me, Comet. What makes the seventh fathom such a good depth?”

“Well, it’s—” I smiled, getting an idea. “Close your eyes. I’ll take you there now.”

His eyebrows lifted. Then he leaned back against the window and shut his eyes. “Very well. Take me.”

My pulse sped at his words and I couldn’t resist pausing a moment to study him. He had a keen mind. A mind for midnight thinking, Mercy would’ve said. As he waited with his eyes closed, I could feel it quietly working.

Before he could catch me looking, I leaned back and closed my eyes. Then I drew a big breath and began. “Imagine you’re on a boat that’s bobbing under a bright sun. There’s not a cloud in the sky above you, not even a wisp, and everywhere you look, clear water’s dancing with light. You fill your lungs with air, as much as they’ll hold, and then you draw a little more—then you dive.

“You break into cool water and the sound of bubbles fills your ears as the heat of the day vanishes from your skin. Then quiet rushes in and your thoughts grow louder, louder, louder, till all you hear is yourself and the deep hum of the sea. If you stretch out like an arrow and kick, the first fathom’s over quick.