I try to be a good captain. I try to prove that I’ve earned my rank, young as I am. I visit the men. I make sure their spirits stay as high as I can get them without turning to alcohol. Hell, I even visit the damn smuggler.

He grins every time he sees me, like some crazed alleycat. I try not to talk to him too much. Haven’t even learned his name. He’s just not worth the energy.

“Say, Captain,” he calls at me one morning. “I do believe I’m to be let out today?”

“That’s right.” I pause in front of his cell. Our gaol is an abandoned barn, and the cell is a stable. “I have special instructions concerning Locksley for you tonight.”

He lounges back on his cot, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I’m listening.”

“He’ll come for you at sunset,” I say. “You’re not to speak to him. He won’t speak to you. Ferry him across, drop him off, and wait for him to come back. Ferry him back here. Then come see me. We’ll talk.”

“Riveting. It shall be an adventure for the ages.”

I shake my head and turn away.

That evening, I don my wool hood and cloak and tie a scarf around my mouth. He shouldn’t be able to recognize me. He barely knows me, after all.

I go to the gaol.

The smuggler is waiting for me, leaning against the bars with that smug little smile. “You must be the infamous Locksley.”

I nod and unlock his cell. He stretches his arms above his head, eyes darting over my form from head to toe, then follows me out.

We walk down through the gloaming to the docks. He doesn’t speak much, and his footsteps are almost unnaturally quiet. As tall as he is, he seems to blend into the darkness.

It’s eerie. I keep a close eye on him.

“You’re very loud for a spy,” he murmurs once we’re at the dock.

I don’t reply. I’m not a fool.

“You need softer shoes.” He considers for a moment, then nods. “I’m going to get you moccasins.”

“You don’t know my shoe size.” I make my voice deliberately lower. I just can’t help it. He’s infuriating.

“About six inches, wide toe. Weak arches.”

I startle. And ignore him. I pointedly ignore him.

The smuggler pulls a small boat next to the dock. A few boxes and casks sit in the middle of the boat— the illegal wares he’s planning to sell to the British. “Get in.”

I vault over the side and take a seat in the bow. He sits opposite, picking up a set of oars, then unties the boat and pushes off.

The night is silent around us. The oars cut through the water like it’s air, making barely a sound. The smuggler keeps his eyes ahead, never wavering, yet looking as if he’s done this a million times. I can see his muscles flex beneath his shirt— he’s clearly much stronger than I’d given him credit for.

The lights of New York City appear in the distance. After another hour or so, he pulls us into a small, dark dock.

I’m so relieved to be done with this. I get out of the boat and pull myself onto the dock.

“Good luck,” the smuggler says quietly.

I nod to him. He pulls himself up and then hides in the shadows without another word.

I head into the city. There are few people out this late, except for the occasional troop of redcoats.

I follow a pair of them at a distance. They chat with each other, not seeming to be paying much attention to their surroundings. They end up heading to a small barracks near the docks, a place my superiors have been scouting for weeks, and where they believe the spy to be reporting to.

I pull my scarf off and lower my hood, so as to look less suspicious. Then I pull out a pipe and take a seat on the docks, awaiting an opportunity.

Not too many soldiers go in and out, but there are very few lights on. The entire top floor is dark, and only a couple of candles light the windows below.

I casually stand and stretch, extinguishing my pipe, and walk around to the back of the building. The door isn’t guarded— or, it is, but the redcoat is currently about fifty feet away from the door, relieving himself.

I make a quiet dash for it. Despite what the smuggler said, I know how to be quiet. The guard doesn’t notice me.

I duck into the darkened house. There are a few cots lining the walls, upon which redcoats are sleeping with rifles at their sides. I straighten, adopting a more casual position while still keeping my steps stealthy, and look around for an office of some sort. I spot a small flight of stairs at the end of the room, leading up to a darkened door.

I creep up them, testing each one for creaks. One soldier near the stairs stirs in his sleep, but just turns over, one arm flopping over the edge of the cot, and I make it up to the door without issue.

I push it open and step inside. It’s a dark study with a small desk and not much else.

I open the desk drawers cautiously, feeling around inside. I find a couple of ledgers, as well as a small stack of letters.

I pull a stump of a candle out of my pocket and, after a few strikes from my flint, manage to get it to light. I sit down behind the desk and spread the letters out. Most are general reports from around the city, but three are signed with only an S, and appear to be complete gibberish.

I take the S letters and slip them into my leather satchel. Then I extinguish the candle and put it back in my pocket and make my way back downstairs. I make it to the door without trouble.

In the street again, I put my scarf and hood back up, then turn to head back to the smuggler’s boat.

“Hey!”

I glance back, trying to appear casual. The redcoat guard who had been at the door is staring at me.

“What are you doing out of uniform?”

I can make this work.

“I—” I pull my scarf down and duck my head, pretending to be bashful. “I was headed down to the… you know…”

His expression wavers, then he relaxes a little, looking embarrassed. “I won’t write you up. But just… It’s unprofessional.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

He waves me off, returning to his post. I hurry back down to the docks, hoping to avoid any further interactions. I was lucky that the guard was so relaxed.

The smuggler is still there when I get back, though his boat has been relieved of the casks. I climb in and wait for him to take me back.

“Find what you needed?” he asks when we’re a little ways off shore.

I nod.

“Guess you won’t need me after tonight, then.”

“No,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“Good. Then I suppose once I drop you off, you can go write up my official pardon.”

“That’s Captain Lockland’s job, not mine.”

He grins at me, his eyes shining in the dim moonlight. “I know.”

Shit.

He raises a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry.”

“You don’t understand,” I say in my own voice, pulling the scarf down. “No one can know.”

“It’s not as if I have anyone to tell.”

“You could sell me out.” He will sell me out. Locksley, my alias, is fairly well known to the British. And they want him dead.

“I’m not interested in politics, Lockland,” he says. “I don’t get mixed up in affairs so messy. I sell my wares. I keep a low profile. I don’t take sides.”

I shake my head. “I can’t trust you.”

“I could have sold you out as soon as we reached the city,” he says quietly, his voice the most serious I’ve heard it. “You could have been captured in five minutes. But I didn’t.”

“You knew?” The question bursts out of me.

“Of course I knew— same height, same baby blue eyes, same footprint and gait. I knew the moment you fetched me.”

“You noticed all that.” I’m intrigued. I lean in.

He turns away. “I’m vigilant. I have to be.”

I still can’t let him go. He knows too much.

But he also notices too much. More than I do, even. This is the first time I’ve spoken to someone as both Captain Lockland and Locksley. No one’s ever caught on before.

My thoughts go back to an earlier letter from Major General Philip Schuyler. If you can, have Locksley begin training a network. We need more spies in the New York Colony.

“How unfortunate for you.” I pull my scarf off, smiling.

“Unfortunate?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Unfortunate for someone who doesn’t want to be mixed up in this war.” My smile widens. “Because you just got drafted into the Continental Army.”

He stops rowing.

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice,” I say flatly. “I need men like you. Men to be spies. I’ve been looking, testing my men, but none of them have even come close to you.”

“I am not going to be your spy. Not a chance. You can’t force me.”

He’s unfortunately right on that account. I could hang him for smuggling, but my conscience won’t let me, now that I’ve promised to let him off.

“I’ll pay,” I say softly.

He grimaces. “How much?”

“I give you room and board, for one,” I say, raising a finger. “And not a soldier’s tent. My lodgings. You’ll be treated like an officer. And as for the payment… how does a commission of a hundred dollars a month sound?”

That’s my commission. That’s what the Major General sends me to use for “Locksley” and his spy ring. But I don’t do this for the money.

“Continental dollars are worthless.”

I make a face. “It’s all I have. When we win the war, they won’t be.”

“If you win the war.”

“With spies like you, we could,” I say softly. “You’re talented. Don’t keep wasting that talent smuggling liquor.”

“I like what I do. I’m good at it.”

I grab his hands, holding his eyes.

“We need men like you,” I whisper. “If we’re going to win this war, we need solid intelligence. We need men with good heads on their shoulders and good eyes in those heads. You have both those things. Please. I’m begging you.” I hate to beg him. But I need this. I need him to start working on the next stage of Locksley’s development— a real network, which could make real progress.

He considers me carefully, staring into my eyes. After a moment, he sits back.

“I want a better boat.”

I sit back in utter relief and start laughing. The smuggler rolls his eyes and begins to row again.

I have a spy. A real spy. And letters from the British, to boot.

It’s been a very good night for Locksley.