The QM’s mouth becomes a gash. I can feel the men’s eyes follow me as I stroll to the stairwell, taking big, unhurried steps to get me there faster without looking like I’m in a rush.

On the way back to our room, I stop at a water fountain to rinse my face, which is sticky with sweat and apple juice. That was too close. I can hardly perform for Mr. Stewart if I’m locked in a brig. From now on, I swear to keep my chin tucked.

The sight of Olly and Wink sorting a dragon’s pile of money into neat stacks on their top bunk makes me forget all about the QM and the Master-of-Big-Arms. There’s no way Jamie and Bo could’ve made more than that, short of holding up the purser’s office.

“Are you in trouble?” asks Wink.

“Not yet,” I mumble, running my fingers through a mound of change.

Olly holds up a gold coin. “Cats, someone gave you a sovereign!” He starts counting on his fingers, muttering numbers.

Wink takes the coin and bites into it. “It’s real.” His eyes narrow. “You sure you’re not rich?”

I snort. “Rich in talent is what I am. When Jamie and I used to put on performances, we didn’t have a boatful of millionaires watching us. We’d be happy to get a few shillings.”

Olly slaps his hands against the mattress, and the coins jingle. “Two pounds, four shillings.”

Wink takes a turn counting it, too.

A smile bends my lips as I imagine the looks on Jamie’s and Bo’s faces when I tell them. Oh ho! You don’t just send talent like this back to England, now, do you, Jamie! “Seems that hackle feather brought prosperity. Stick with me, and you’ll always have Luck.” I wink at the lads.

I give them each five shillings, and Olly’s face splits open. He pours the coins from hand to hand. “I’m going to buy a Panama hat.” He glances at Wink’s foot, hanging over the side of the bed. “And you should buy boots that don’t look like they came out of a cow’s butt.”

Wink kicks him. “You came out of a cow’s butt.”

I rummage through Jamie’s seabag for a pair of socks and peel one off for the boys. “This is for your money.” I stuff my share into the other.

Wink puts his five shillings into their sock and hands it to Olly. But Olly closes his hand around his coins. “What if I want to buy something?”

“Like what?” Wink’s face screws up, putting me in mind of an angry dumpling.

“I’d like to put in for the sweeps—”

“Waste of money,” grumbles Wink.

“Or maybe get a souvenir. I hear they got spoons, pens, and wallets at the barbershop.”