Reaching the forward section of the Promenade, I look out onto the spade-shaped forecastle, which is crowded with bollards, winches, and spools of rope. A massive anchor lies at the end, an iron pulling us toward some giant magnet in America. Up the mast, one of the lookouts rubs his arms. Jamie said the crow’s nest is the worst place to be stuck, always either too cold or too hot, and as tedious as stirring tea with your eyes. Those lookouts must have very good vision. Neither one even wears binoculars.

Spray mists my skin as the Titanic plows the ocean. The sun hovers breathlessly above the horizon, a sovereign held by invisible fingers. Without warning, the coin seems to instantly vanish into some deep pocket.

I rub my eyes. How did I miss the sun’s fall? The heavens have played another trick on me.

My heart sags in my chest. First Mum, then Ba. And now Jamie. How can he reject me, the only remaining member of his family? We used to be inseparable, learning early on that two were better than one when one of us climbed out of the crib using the other as a stepstool. Ba and Mum taught us that family came first, but with them gone, maybe he’s looking for a new one.

I sniff, my nose running because of more than just the sudden cold.

By the time I ascend to the Boat Deck, the sky is the blue-black of a crow’s wing, lit by a feather of a moon. If Jamie is here idling with the stars, he’ll never beat me. But the canvas on the third lifeboat is pulled tight as a drum.

Fine, Brother. Give it your best shot.

A rustling picks up my ears. It’s coming from the next lifeboat down. I squint into the dark. A bit of the canvas is folded back, so neatly I almost miss it.

Jamie is here. I approach the lifeboat, my feet light. “Is the view better from this one?”

The canvas mostly covers Jamie’s form, though in the dim glow of the electric lights, I can see his elbow sticking out from where his hands prop up his head. I lift the canvas.

But it’s not Jamie’s face staring back at me.

16

Bo’s surprised face gazes up, and I bite my tongue to keep from screaming. “What are you doing here?”

“I ask you the same.”

“Where’s Jamie?”

He snorts. “Not here.”

“Anyone else in there?” I lift the canvas higher.

Bo yanks it back and continues in his careful English, “No. Now go, Stowaway, before someone sees.” He lies back again, re-covering himself with the canvas.

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

His face becomes cunning. “Why? You worry he will win?”

“Of course not,” I lie. “I worry about the bad influences around him.”