I envision for him a path where there is no falling. Only lightness, air, and wings. Tuning out the gasps and murmurs, I focus on pulling Jamie toward me, like a kite on a string. One step, two, three, four—a bobble, but he holds on—five, six, seven, eight, nine—he smiles as he nears—ten. He hops off the rail and lands beside me.

People clap, but Drummer tosses off a few drumbeats, and the crowd silences again.

Now people know what to expect. From here, it will grow harder.

“Ready,” I tell Jamie, and he nods. Climbing the rail again, he takes the first step.

I alight behind him, and we step in time. When we reach the middle, he sinks into a lunge.

Visualizing a brick staircase, I step onto Jamie’s calf and place my hands on his shoulders. “Yut-yee-som.” In one smooth motion, I leap onto his shoulders and hold my crouched position.

The ship rocks, or maybe it’s Jamie, but we hang on, with him poised under me like a crane wearing a sunhat.

Below us, the QM sucks in a breath, his hand flying to his chest. I imagine him as one of the brass instruments installed on the docking bridge, a telegraph perhaps, with its open face and jaunty hardware.

“God almighty, they’ll kill themselves!” cries someone.

Life is a balancing act, and the better you get at juggling, the better you get at living. You could be killed walking down the street, but you don’t let that fear stop you. You just practice until the fear is no longer part of the equation.

Of course, to the audience, the fear is everything. People want to see you in jeopardy; they want to feel the terror they imagine you must feel and then experience the sweet relief when you reach the end without falling.

Well, maybe the fear isn’t everything. Watching an acrobat is also just brilliant fun.

Time to move. I zero in on the rail, visualizing it as solid and wide as the quay at Southampton. After another “yut-yee-som,” I finish the leapfrog over Jamie.

Light as a bubble, I land on the rail with my feet in a line.

More clapping punctures the air. I breathe, and we make our way back to the starboard end and jump off.

“Bravo!”

“How’d they do that?”

“Saints almighty, they must have wings.”

Drummer drums, and we prepare for the next trick. Jamie gives me a smile. We never encourage each other out loud, because fate has big ears.

Tao hands me a cup and saucer, which I make an elaborate show of placing on my head.

“No! Is he going to?”

“Blimey, of course he’s going to.”

Still tucked into one corner of A-Deck, Charlotte Fine stands as still and resolute as a lady waiting for her sailor to come home from sea.

Steady now, Jamie. “Ready,” I tell him.