“Somewhere with a good rail,” I add.

Jamie grimaces, but Drummer nods. “Consider it done.”

Tao lifts his serene face to me. “What about us? What can two old men do for you?”

Jamie’s nose crinkles. “Well, we haven’t yet figured—”

“Actually, we’ll need you to acquire some props,” I cut in.

Jamie’s eyebrows peak, and Tao asks, “What props?”

“Two cups with saucers.”

Fong’s eyes light up, two glittery gems in a craggy landscape. Perhaps his taste for pilfering can be put to some use.

Tao’s braided beard seems to stiffen into a dagger, and he gives Fong a hard look. “Only if we can put the props back afterward.”

“Definitely,” I answer.

Jamie purses his lips and shakes his head at me.

“What will Bo do?” asks Wink.

All eyes turn to Bo, sitting with his forearms on his thighs. He scowls at the men, an expression that I’m beginning to realize is only a shield. Unlike Jamie or me, he’s uncomfortable with attention, despite pretending to be a wagtail.

Jamie claps Bo on the shoulder. “Bo’s the boss, keeping all you clowns in line. Plus, Valora needs a haircut. Your hair looks like it was cut with a fork and knife, and it’s too long on one side.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s too damn distracting. Remember the blue stone?”

Once I found a pretty blue stone that I put into my pocket and forgot about. Later that day, I fell off the line and got a mouthful of dirt. Ba was livid when he found the stone in my pocket: “Every detail matters when you’re up there.”

I hardly think a bad haircut will unseat me, but if it’ll upset Jamie’s concentration, it’s better to cut it. “Fine, but what does Bo have to do with my hair?”

Bo keeps his eyes tightly focused on the seabags swinging gently on their hooks.

“He’s our barber. There’s a barbershop on E-Deck near Charlotte’s room. They don’t lock the doors. The upper classes have a soirée tonight, so the halls will be empty.”

My throat goes dry, and I gulp a few times to get the juices flowing again.

Olly scratches his nose with a cracker he’s produced from somewhere. “Bo does all of us, except Fong.”

Fong tosses his greasy locks. “I can trim my own hair.”

I wonder why Bo doesn’t cut Fong’s hair. Of all the Johnnies, those two never talk or sit by each other.

“Just do not ask for a shave,” mutters Bo.

The thought of Bo touching my head makes my stomach flip, even though it’s just a silly haircut.

Jamie studies each Johnny in turn. “Men, whether we impress Mr. Stewart or not, whatever we make, we split evenly. It’s how we’ve always done things.”

The men protest. “But you’re doing all the work.”