A swath of brown-black hair falls from his cap, long enough to touch his peaky nose. Curiously, his face bears the dark streaks of those who work in the black gangs. He isn’t employed by White Star Line, though, so there’s no reason for him to be dusted with coal.

“Has Little Sister seen a boiler room?”

“No.” It’s hard to keep the bitterness from my voice.

“The ones here are much cleaner than the ones on Atlantic Steam.”

“How do you know that?”

A sly smile draws up his face. He cocks his head back, as if to get the full measure of me. “I will show you. Come.”

I follow Drummer back to Scotland Road, curiosity pulling me one way, unease pulling me the other. After falling down the coal hole, boiler rooms top my list of places to avoid, right up there with sewer tunnels and dark basements. But as distasteful as I find it, I want to see the hovel Jamie chose over his family. Over daylight, for cod’s sake.

Drummer’s eyes track the slatted road, and his arms swing like the corded beads of his whirling drum when he walks. The man is a ball of energy, like the sun, and just being around him warms me.

“Before I joined Atlantic Steam, I worked with the Titanic’s lead fireman on the SS Viscount. The night before we sailed, I ran into him at a bar, and we took a pint together. I told him I was crossing on the Titanic, and he asked if I would help him, well, soothe over the men, like I did on the Viscount.”

“Why do they need soothing?”

“Catholics and Protestants do not get along. Music puts men in good spirits. Plus, work gets done faster.”

“You mean White Star Line hired you?”

“Of course not. But it is my honor to help my friend. He will let you visit, too. But first, you need to put on sea slops.”

I shiver as the memory of the coal hole looms larger. “Actually, I avoid dark and small places.”

“Ah. Do not worry, Little Sister. The ceilings are very high, and there is much light.”

I find Room 14 empty. Before anyone returns, I slip out of my kimono and into my seaman’s garb. Then Drummer leads me to a door into Boiler Casing 6 off Scotland Road.

He appraises my plain cap, then takes off his own, which is embroidered with the Atlantic Steam Company insignia. “Wear this one.”

The cap droops over my ears and makes me look like an official Johnny.

A few passengers watch us disappear into the wall. We must look like we know what we’re doing, because no one protests.