“They do not look worried,” says Bo, observing Wink and Olly through the mirror. Despite our plan to act casual, the lads look like two pipes about to burst. Bo wipes his face with a towel, but not hard enough to remove his scowl. “We fixed twelve each.”
“Let’s see, twenty-four chairs, at tuppence each, makes forty-eight pence. Divided by twelve pence a shilling... Four shillings is barking brilliant! That’s more than your daily wage.”
With a frown, Jamie crosses his arms, as if bracing for a hit. “What are you up to?”
“I hope you’ve been doing your wake-up drills, because we’re trying out for the circus.”
Olly whoops, and Wink gets so excited, the cards spill in every direction.
Jamie’s jaw descends. “You made more than four shillings? How?”
Olly can’t hold back. “She juggled four bread heels and an apple, while balancing that on her head.” He points to the pineapple, which I laid on Jamie’s bed. A consolation prize.
Bo leans against a bedpost, and a look of wonder crosses his face.
Olly scoops up cards, forgetting to arrange them facing the same way. “You should’ve seen all those nobs, throwing coins like birdseed. It was better than eating marmalade.”
Wink snickered. “You never had marmalade.”
“Snakes, Val. You could’ve gotten us kicked off this boat.”
I tsk my tongue. “Where exactly would they kick us to? There’s nothing but ocean for miles and miles.”
“That may be, but they do have law here. Probably got a brig or something where they put the unruly passengers.”
I remember the Master-of-Big-Arms’s keys. Jamie could be right. His gaze probes me, as if he can actually see the close call I’m reliving in my head. I shut him out with a smile. “Well, unless they’ve got a brig where they put the jugglers, I guess we’re safe.”
Wink giggles, and Jamie’s frown deepens.
“You’re just miffed you didn’t think of it.” I slide off the bunk and come face-to-face with the tiny mole above Jamie’s lip, which, according to Ba, indicates a considerate, thoughtful nature. You wouldn’t know it by the way he’s acting, though, scratching the ground like a rooster in a crate. Jamie can’t refuse a wager, but he also never loses well.
“How much did you make?” Jamie asks.
I don’t answer, enjoying all the clever contortions Jamie’s face seems capable of making. The supper bugle calls, but no one moves.
“Five shillings?” Bo can’t help guessing.
Wink sticks up his thumb.
“Six?” Jamie says.
Wink’s thumb stays up.
“Seven?”
I guess Bo is taking odds and Jamie is taking evens.
“Eight?” Jamie blows into my face.
I push him away. “Have you such little faith in me, Brother? Try two pounds and four shillings.”
Bo coughs and I give him a wink. “Sorry, Wagtail. Looks like you bet on the wrong team.” I turn back to Jamie. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to see a man about an elephant.”
His jaw clicks. “The day’s not done yet.”
With that, he sweeps out of the room.
Dinnertime approaches, andthe lifts are busy. So the Merry Widow removes her coat and slowly climbs the tidal-wave staircase in her blasted pumps.
