“I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Mr. Stewart,” I hear myself say. My whale is a warm lump against my thigh, reminding me to take control of my destiny. “But perhaps I can offer another option.”

33

If Jamie and I are truly charting our own paths now, the way for me must be forward, not back. Ringling Brothers still holds out a hoop, albeit a shaky one. I just need to find a way through it, Valor without Virtue.

Jamie has stopped breathing. Mr. Stewart is rubbing his pocket watch like a worry stone. The Tiffany lamp casts a shine over his scalp.

“We have two younger brothers traveling with us. Wink and Olly are their names. They were the two collecting coins on the well deck after our performance.”

“Yes, I remember them.” He sounds about as thrilled as if I’d offered him a hairbrush.

“Our mother wished that her sons would be sailors.” I send a silent prayer to Mum to forgive me for the ridiculous lies I’m telling with her good name. Something tells me, though, she’s having a good chuckle up there on her cloud.

Jamie coughs. “Where are you going with this?” he asks in Cantonese through his teeth, pasting on a smile.

“I’ll tell you when I get there,” I reply, before returning to English. “She wished to offer a sacrifice to the sea goddess Tin Hau as a thank-you for the plentiful, er, mackerel harvest that kept her village back in China from starving one summer. So she dedicated her sons to the sea.”

A sigh blows from Jamie’s nostrils, but he props up his expression and nods, his face as earnest as a starched collar.

“Turns out, they have too much of their father in them. Olly has excellent reflexes and would make a good juggler. Wink is naturally small and agile, and with proper training, he could learn to walk the rope, maybe even better than me. You might not have Flying Twins, but what about a Flying Family?”

“But I thought you buried your father alone?”

Belatedly, I remember that Jamie said I took care of Ba by myself. “Er, I was alone. The lads followed after Jamie . . .” My mind stops spinning, like a pinwheel in a fickle breeze, and Jamie picks up the slack.

“After I found work for them with Atlantic Steam,” Jamie smoothly cuts in, “I sent Valora a letter that she should send them along. After all, the work was honest, and they’d be fed.”

Mr. Stewart’s eyes shift to starboard as he digests our concoction. “Well, what about your mother’s wishes?”

“Ah, well, she has me, doesn’t she?” Jamie thumps his chest and points to the ceiling, as if acknowledging Mum up in heaven.