I smiled. Then I snatched up my petticoats in one hand and my purse in the other and ran toward the shipyard. I didn’t slow down until I reached the ropewalk.

  Sewel was waiting at the river’s edge with a skiff. He chipped at the gravel by his feet with an oar, like all of creation made him angry. Beyond him, a thick fog cloaked the river. Illuminated by moonlight, it looked strange. Almost glowing.

  “Well, Francisca,” Sewel said as I walked up. He propped the oar against the skiff and spread his arms. “Here I am. What devilment have you got planned for me?”

  My knees felt soft. My heart like a rattle. But I had to see this through.

  I pulled the white stocking from my purse. “See this?” I swallowed, searching for strength in my voice. “It’s filled with jewels. This is what you want. Isn’t it?”

  He crossed his thick arms. “Perhaps.”

  “You get in that skiff and I’ll toss it to you—but only if you promise you’ll leave. You cross this river and never come after me again, Sewel. Never.”

  “That really filled with jewels?”

  “More than you could hope to see in your sorry life.”

  As the silence stretched, I sensed the greed rising in him. The mountains of rum and tobacco he was thinking could be his. “I take that and go away—that’s your offer?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Hmm.” He nodded. “I could do that. But what am I supposed to do with Asa Latimer’s body?”

  I bolted to the skiff, crashing against the gunwale. A figure lay in the well, covered in blankets. “No!”

  Sewel rushed up behind me. Before I could react, he heaved me over, throwing me on top of the blankets, which gave way beneath me. I clawed at them, tearing the dark wool aside.

  Straw.

  Not Asa.

  A sob broke from my lips.

  The skiff jolted. I spun. Sewel had his shoulder bent to it as he drove it off the gravel and into the river—taking me with it.

  He vaulted aboard agilely, like a man half his age, the skiff rocking with his weight.

  I scurried back to the prow, stepping on my hem in my terror. “Where is he, Sewel?” I yelled. I dove for my purse and found the jackknife. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you!”

  “Stop yelling, Francisca.” His gaze fell to the knife. “And put that away. I got one of those too—only mine’s bigger and I know how to use it.”

  Sick. I felt sick with rage. “You think you’re the only one who can slit a throat?”

  “Lord, Fran. Calm yourself. I don’t know where Asa Latimer is. Never laid eyes on him.”

  I didn’t understand. “You don’t—you don’t know him?”

  “No.” He grinned. “He served his purpose, though.”

  He’d tricked me. He’d used the one name I’d mentioned at the gardens. But I only felt relief—blessed, blessed relief that Asa was safe.

  Sewel set the oars in their locks and dug the blades into the river, heaving his big body forward and then back. “Might as well put that down and settle yourself. You won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

  I didn’t put the knife down.

  Sewel’s big shoulders lifted. “Guess that’s how this is gonna be.” He stroked the oars again. Water trickled. Wood whined. In the fog, every sound seemed louder as I watched Manhattan’s shores grow farther away.

  My eyes fell to the stocking, which rested on the straw at the bottom of the well. I’d dropped it when Sewel threw me in. In the murky light, it looked pale as a fish belly in dark water.

  This shouldn’t have happened. Sewel was supposed to have taken it and left for Long Island on the skiff. He was supposed to have been caught by Duncan, or by gunboat patrols, and searched—then the false spy letter should’ve dealt the fatal blow.

  I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be making my way back to see Townsend. When the sun rose tomorrow, I should’ve been starting my new life. A life of truth.

  When only fog surrounded us, Sewel shipped the oars and gave the skiff to the river. “This is better, en’t it?” I said nothing. “I think so.” He rummaged in a leather satchel and uncorked a bottle. He tipped it back and drank, sighing loudly. “I didn’t want to trick you, Francisca, but you’d never have come otherwise.”

  “What do you want, Sewel?”

  “A bag of precious stones made a fine start, I must say. But I want more. I want justice.” He drank deeply. “I want revenge. Amends. Reparations.” He tipped the bottle again and went on. “I want pain. I want you, weeping. You, begging.” Another deep tilt, and long sigh. “I think I want blood, Francisca. You sorry you asked?”

  I was sorry. I couldn’t even speak.

  He finished the bottle and tossed it aside. Then he eased his head back and gazed at the sky, staring and staring, like he’d locked eyes with God. “It’s time to put that knife away now,” he said after a while, his voice dropping to a depth that put ice in my veins. “Toss it aside or I’ll come get it.”

  Quickly, I hid the knife in the folds of my petticoat and pulled my pocket watch over my head, tossing that down instead.

  It clunked against the planks.

  “Thank you, Miss Coates.” He wasn’t slurring yet, but I knew soon he would be. I’d been in this situation a hundred times. “Remember our last time together?”

  “You think I could forget?” I snapped. The fog was beginning to play with my mind, making me feel like I was inside the past, the blankness like a canvas for my memories to paint. I saw rain sizzling on surging seas. Lightning bolts slicing through thunderheads. Sewel’s face hovering over me.

  “You disappeared that night,” he said now. “But I knew you didn’t die. I knew you ran. I knew it in here.” He thumped his heart. “I knew ’cause I taught you to be strong.”

  “You taught me nothing. All you did was hurt me and scare me.”

  He lifted his head, finding me with his eyes. “You tested me. You never learnt your place. That’s why I had to be rough with you.”

  “I forgot my place? You’re my stepfather and you—you—” Hot spit flooded my mouth. I swallowed. Breathed. Pushed away the feeling of his hands on me.

  He sat up. “You want to talk right and wrong? How about the time you tried to send me to a watery grave?”

  Right then, I knew no amount of talking would ever change anything. He was evil. We’d never understand each other. “I’ve never known anyone with such a twisted mind as yours, Sewel.”

  “Yours is the twisted mind. But we’ll remedy it right now.” He leaned down and plucked the stocking up. His knife flashed as he sliced off the knot at the top. The stocking fell, jewels bursting out as it struck the well. Sewel stared at the precious items strewn over the hay. Necklaces and broaches. Bracelets and elaborate hairpins. “My God…you weren’t lyin’.” He picked up a necklace. “Pretty little thing.” In the whiteness of the fog, the rubies looked red as holly berries. He held the necklace over the rail and let go. It disappeared with a soft plunk. “Time to dive, Frannie.”

  A lifetime went by. Then I heard myself laugh. “You think I’m afraid of going in there?”

  “I don’t care how you feel about it. Get in there.”

  I came to my knees at the gunwale, keeping the knife in my left hand, hidden from him. Necklaces and rings crunched under me as I leaned over the edge and stared down. The water looked calmer than I’d ever seen it. Through wisps of fog, my reflection stared back at me. I didn’t look like Emmeline Coates or Francisca Tasker. I didn’t know whose face was in the water.

  “You know I won’t be able to find it,” I said, my voice trembling. I heard all the blunted edges in it again. All the fear and fury of my past. “This gown will pull me under. Even if I could swim, I won’t be able to see anything in the dark and the current’ll sweep me away.”

  “What a shame for you. Get in. I won’t say it again.”

  This was a nightmare. Just another nightmare of Sewel. I firmed my grip on the knife. Then a sound tickled my ear.

  A voice was calling in the distance. So faint, I thought I’d imagined it. Then I heard it again. Not just one man’s voice—several.

  “I gave you ample time,” Sewel said, and the skiff rocked as he pushed himself up.

  I had only one move now. I dove at him, aiming the knife at his neck. He lurched aside. The blade sank into his shoulder. He roared with pain and swung, his fist crashing into my temple.

  I flew back and my head cracked against wood.

  “Damn it, Francisca! You bring me to this!” he yelled. His face appeared over me. His hands closed on my throat, squeezing. “This is your doing!”

  I fumbled through the wet straw for the knife I’d dropped. I couldn’t get any air. I felt myself fading. Floating away into darkness.

  Sewel’s head snapped up. Dazed, I heard the voices in the fog again. He released me and moved away.

  I rolled to my side and grabbed my throat. It felt broken. I couldn’t swallow or draw breath. My lungs spasmed, starved for air, death a quiet grip on my body that refused to let go.

  Sewel was frantically loading ball and shot into a pistol.

  “What in the hell have you done?”

  “Ahoy!” someone yelled. “Who’s there? State your name!”

  The gunboat sliced through the fog like a spear. So close I could see the buttons on the coats of the marines standing at the bow. There were three of them, and they raised muskets in perfect unison, as though in a drill.

  “Bring to, or we will shoot!” yelled the one in the middle.

  Sewel ducked behind the gunwale, curses spitting from his mouth.

  “You’re going to hang,” I rasped.

  “No, Fran. That I will not do.” He peered over the gunwale and fired.

  The sound of the discharge exploded in my ears. I slammed my hands over them and hunkered down. The marines fired back, raising a thunderous noise. Wood popped and shattered all around me. The skiff shuddered and shook. I curled into a ball and prayed for my life.

  At last, silence returned. Gun smoke seeped into my eyes and my nose. Scratched in my throat. I’d gone numb everywhere else. I couldn’t even tell if I’d been struck by a bullet.

  Water. The river was pouring in through holes and soaking my petticoats.

  “Stand down!” yelled a voice. “Or we’ll blow you to pieces!”

  I squinted, trying to see through wafting fog and smoke. Sewel was on his back, furiously reloading the pistol.

  I dug through the well, my hands pushing aside wet straw as I searched for my pocket watch. Everything else I could blame on Sewel—the murderer, spy, kidnapper who’d brought me out here. But the code sheet in my watch could destroy me, Townsend, and our entire ring of spies. Possibly much more.

  Instead of the watch, my fingers found the jackknife. The instant I grabbed it, boarding hooks bit into the wood beside me with sharp thunks.

  “Haul!” someone yelled. Startlingly close. “Bring in the line!”

  The skiff jerked as the lines went taut. Lantern light spilled through the splintered holes in the hull. Sewel sat up, resting his back against it, giving the destroyed wood only a passing glance.

  “Throw your weapons over or we’ll blow you out of the water!” yelled one of the marines, even as they hauled us in like a fish on a line.

  “I don’t much like either choice,” Sewel said.

  “It doesn’t matter, Sewel. You’re dead.”

  He looked at me. “I been dead longer than you’ve been alive.” He heaved himself up and aimed the pistol.

  Cracks exploded into the night. His body jerked back. His shoulder tore off. His hand disappeared in a bloody spray. Other pieces of him burst and broke.

  The gunboat struck the skiff with a loud crunch. What was left of Sewel toppled into the river with a splash.

  Men vaulted over me. Blurs. They landed in the skiff with explosions of water. I saw the flash of a musket stock coming at my head and reacted, burying the knife into the nearest limb. Then my head snapped back and darkness took me.

  The smell of sickness brought me back. I stirred awake and found myself on the floor of a ship’s cabin, my face pressed to the dirty wool blanket that held the offending odor. Weak daylight floated in through a porthole. Two berths were fixed into the curve of the bulkhead.

  Duncan sat on the lower one, elbows on his knees, my pocket watch dangling from his hands. He swung it back and forth as he watched me stir. Next to his black shoes, a lone candle burned a tall flame.

  Inch by painful inch, I raised myself to sitting.

  Nothing felt right. My head felt broken, my neck stiff. My pulse shrieked in my ears. I rubbed one hand over my aching throat. “Duncan?”

  I didn’t recognize the look on his face. Disgust? Fury? Or was it heartbreak?

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you were struck. It was dark and things happened quickly. The marines saw a threat to my life and reacted.”

  I didn’t understand. A threat to his life? Then I noticed the bandage around his thigh. Blood had seeped through it, a scarlet bloom. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

  “You didn’t what? Didn’t intend to stab me? As far as I can tell, your only error was stabbing me in the leg instead of in the back. But you did that too, didn’t you?”

  I couldn’t disagree. I had stabbed him in the back. I’d done it as I’d smiled at him and danced with him and kissed him.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “A while.”

  “Since the beginning?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” His eyes glossed with tears. “Was it always your plan?”

  “No. When we first met, I wasn’t thinking I’d…”

  “Use me? Betray me?” He turned away, hiding his face in shadow.

  I wanted to comfort him and apologize for the damage I’d done. It hurt me that I’d hurt him. But he’d said himself that a certain coldness was required in matters of war. And we were enemies now. True enemies. There was no confusion or murkiness anymore.

  “I found this.” He picked something up off the mattress. A paper. It was the message I’d hoped would frame Sewel as a spy. “I believe this is written in your hand.”

  Water had damaged it. Chunks were missing and the ink had smeared in places. But it was still a fine-looking spy letter—and it had done what I’d intended. Duncan thought it was real.

  “I found the one hidden in this as well,” he said, holding up my watch, “but it was already dissolving into pulp. I always wondered at your attachment to this, even being your father’s. I suppose I should’ve wondered more.”

  He held the fake spy message to the candle, letting one corner catch. Then he dropped it on the planks between us and I watched the flame turn it into ashes and smoke.

  I looked up, trying to understand.

  “Tell me whom you’re working with. Surely not that oaf on the river. Is it Latimer? Did he make you do this?”

  “No.”

  “Give me a name, Emmeline. Give me anything that will help.”

  “No. I’m not going to help you.”

  He stood and stalked away, but there was nowhere to go. He turned back. “Can’t you see I’m trying to protect you? We can survive this and still have a life together.”

  I stared at him. He still wanted to marry me? “Not a life I want.”

  “A life you—a life you want? What could you possibly want that I cannot give you?”

  “Independence,” I said, but it was even bigger than that. It was what I couldn’t give him. I didn’t love him.

  “Are you serious? I don’t know who you are anymore.”

  “You never did.”

  His eyes went stone cold. “Have you any idea what you’re doing?”

  “Yes.” For the first time, in a very long time, I did. I’d chosen truth. I wasn’t going back. “I’ve never felt surer.”

  Without another word, he left the cabin.

  My eyes fell to the quivering candle flame. I watched it grow long and steady again; then I touched my head. I had a lump like a stone at my hairline. My vision blurred.

  I’d swum with deadly sharks and stolen from deadlier men. I’d survived hurricanes, war, and even love—but I didn’t know if I’d survive this.

  I pulled myself off the floorboards, my legs shaking as I stood. The cabin spun around me. My hand shot to the bulwark, bracing. I breathed in. Smelled pine tar and bilgewater.

  The door swung open and two redcoats hurried inside.

  One carried shears; the other, a length of rope. They were big men, filling the cabin with their bright regimentals and shocked stares. They obviously hadn’t expected to find a young lady in a tattered gown, bleeding from a head wound.

  “We have orders to cut your hair,” said the one with the rope. He cleared his throat and raised the rope higher. “If you resist, I shall be forced to use this.”

  I swallowed thickly against the fear clamping my throat. I had an idea what this meant. “I won’t resist.” I straightened off the bulwark and stepped forward, trying not to sway. “Go ahead. Cut it.”

  The man with the shears hesitated, then gathered my hair in a clumsy swipe and sliced. My long locks came away in his hand. He blinked like he was confused, then tossed them down and carried on hastily, cutting so close at times he nicked my scalp and left my eyes watering.

  As my dark curls tumbled to the floor, years of dance assemblies and fine dinners flashed before my eyes. I shut them and imagined I was feeling Mama’s gentle hands on me instead of this stranger’s. Mama, singing in Spanish as she teased out my tangles with the patience of an entire ocean.

  What would she think of this? I’d promised her I’d find a safe, respectable life—and done the exact opposite.

  “Why?” whispered the man with the rope. I opened my eyes. The candle on the floor guttered and popped, making his shadow writhe behind him. He licked his lips. “Why are you here? Are you—are you a spy?”