Wink and Olly are pretending to be fine gentlemen, holding their glasses with an arm behind their backs and haughtily pursing their mouths. Ming Lai wears a contented smile, fist around his flute. Tao elbows Fong, who’s already drinking his champagne. Fong grumbles at the spilled drops but lifts his glass.

Drummer swipes his eyes with his sleeve. “Thanks to you and your sister, my wife and I can see the dragon boat races this summer.”

When Jamie gets to me, he murmurs, “To you, Sis.”

We clink. As the fizzy liquid paints a warm stripe down my throat, I can’t help feeling that that’s the kind of speech you give before you say farewell. He’s preparing to say goodbye to his mates. Why else would he tell his “old friends” he will never forget them?

Though the thought of separating Jamie from the Johnnies rips a hole in my sails, maybe the two boots are at last treading the same path.

After dinner, the men take the lads to the General Room to hear music, while Jamie goes to find Charlotte. I make my way up to the poop deck, hoping to find Bo.

My heart floats in my chest, buoyed by the possibility that Jamie is coming around.

Folks, tightly wrapped, cluster at the rails, their laughter salting the air. The QM is not on shift, but another uniform stands as straight as a fin, watching the road of foam break from that staggering blue. With so much ocean around us, the commotion we cause seems insubstantial, a nick in the sand. The Titanic, for all her splendor, is really just a tiny fish swimming in a pond that won’t remember her from the next one that comes along.

On the rearmost bench, a familiar figure sketches a toddler squirming in his father’s arms while his mother watches. Though the toddy’s face is twisted in outrage, Bo draws him with a mischievous smile.

The mother takes the portrait with a grateful nod. “It’s perfect. Darling, look.” She shows the picture to the child, whose watery eyes grow big. Before leaving, the father gives Bo a penny, and Bo nods his thanks.

I slide in next to him. “Have you ever drawn a self-portrait?”

He stretches his fists over his head, and his back cracks. “Pictures cannot do justice.”

I grin. “Wagtail.”

Something out to sea catches his eye. “See that circle? The bigger fish create a whirlpool, helping to stir up the smaller fish. Makes them easier to catch. We call that a kiss from Tin Hau, the goddess of shipwrecks and sailors. It means good luck is on the way. Maybe for you.” He rubs his sooty fingers with a rag. “Tin Hau is generous, but quick to anger. Some believed she sent the monsoon to destroy our village because we had taken too much from the sea.”

“Was that why you left home?”