I hope those women move along soon. “The plan is just play along.”

“‘Just play along’ sounds half-baked.”

I inhale so sharply, the bee-swarm veil sticks to my lips. I blow it out in irritation. “If you have a better one, pipe up now. We’re on a schedule.”

“Yip!” Strudel chimes in. Her puff of a tail sways like a lady’s arm powdering her face.

Charlotte combs her manicured fingernails through Strudel’s curly hair. “Don’t worry, Jamie. I’m good at playacting. My great-aunt was an actress.”

Some of my annoyance shifts to her, daring to play peacemaker between the dragon and the phoenix. Jamie needs to relax. How am I supposed to know what the moment will require? He’s just trying to impress Charlotte by showing that he has things under control when he doesn’t.

A crewman strides up from the direction of the women in the fur coats. He looks down his bean-shaped nose at Jamie, who’s straightening Strudel’s leash. “Oy, you ain’t supposed to be here. Go on, now.”

“He has every right to be here.” Charlotte’s buttermilk voice has become frosty. “He is my dog walker.”

“Dog walker?” The crewman glances at the women in the fur coats, who have retreated farther down the Promenade but are still watching us.

A scowl mars Jamie’s smooth face, and his chest moves as if a cinder block has been placed on top of it. Strudel stares up at him, her feet jittering, and I swear that little dog knows just what Jamie’s feeling, too. It isn’t easy having to be defended when your instinct is to defend.

“Are you so light of chores that you must stoop to harassing dog walkers?” I ask.

Charlotte tips up her nose. “Chief Purser McElroy himself assured me Jamie could be here as I required.”

Jamie threads his arms tight, glowering ineffectually at the crewman’s midsection.

The crewman coughs, and his kidney-bean nose turns even redder. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t know.”

Charlotte’s smile swoops down on him. “Now you do. Good day.”

I push my full glass of lemonade at the man. “Please take care of this for me. It’s not to my taste.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” He takes the glass and makes tracks away.

“I’m off,” Jamie says gruffly, avoiding Charlotte’s eyes. “Good luck.”

Strudel tugs him toward the bow. When he passes the women in the fur coats, he ignores them, though if it were me, I would’ve speared them with a good eyeball javelin. Jamie always outclasses me.