The scowling man’s gaze wanders to me and loiters, probably trying to see through my veil. The noble angle of his jaw challenges me to run a finger across it, like one might test the edge of a knife for quality. But then his eyes drift away, as if deciding I am not that interesting.

“Bo, Olly’s making up rules,” Wink complains.

“If you kumquats do not stop arguing, we play Old Maid.”

“I’m afraid he’s right. An eight must be played first,” I hear myself say. If these are Jamie’s mates, surely he is close by, though I don’t see any other Chinese around.

“See?” says Olly, before joining Wink and the scowling man, Bo, in staring at me. I scoot back to the armrest so all three are in view and no one is tempted to peek behind my veil.

“How does she know Winds of Change?” asks Wink, switching to Cantonese, which they naturally assume I cannot understand. His delicate cheek begins to twitch.

“Maybe Jamie lied about making it up,” says Olly.

“Jamie wouldn’t lie, you cow’s butt.”

Olly ignores the insult. “Why do you think she’s wearing a veil?”

Wink’s eyes grow large. “Maybe she has warts.”

“Or maybe she doesn’t have a face.”

Bo turns forward with a snort, the ridges of his back flexing visibly even under his peacoat. “Maybe you should both shut up. She’s first class. Too good for you to speak to.”

“If she’s first class, why is she on this deck?”

“Because first class can walk where they want. Stop looking at her.”

The two lads continued gaping.

“I don’t have warts, and if I didn’t have a face, then how could I be looking at your funny mugs?” I say evenly in Cantonese.

Olly’s jaw drops, exposing rows of crooked teeth. Wink slaps a hand over his mouth, as if to hide the state of his cutters. Bo quirks an eyebrow, and I revel in the small triumph of getting a reaction from him.

“I’m looking for James Luck. Know where I can find him?”

They hesitate, and I’m reminded of the two men like water and smoke, Tao and Fong. I’ve heard that sailors are superstitious, but I had no idea they were so distrustful.

Bo’s eyes drift to the well deck, where a crowd has gathered. He stretches up as if to see something, then nods toward the people. “Start there.”

I cover the two paces to the railing and crane my neck. The crowd parts to reveal the back of a young man dressed in sea slops, kneeling as he pets a dog. Is it . . . Jamie?