Bagger bobbed to the right, then weaved to the left. Charlie struggled to keep up with the quick changes in direction.

“While you’re moving, throw some fakes to get your opponent to drop his guard and give you a target.” Bagger threw two short jabs. One high. One low.

Charlie’s eyes widened. He failed to block the jabs and stumbled over his own feet in a panicked retreat.

The laughter around the circle grew louder as Bagger pressed forward, continuing to throw fake jabs, while Charlie scurried back.

“Always look for an opening.” Bagger threw another jab to Charlie’s chest, and Charlie dropped his guard.

“Then strike!” Bagger lunged forward and threw a reverse to Charlie’s head, stopping inches from his nose.

“No!” Charlie dropped to the ground and covered his head with his arms. “Please don’t hit me again. Please. No more.”

The laughter stopped, and Thomas rushed to Charlie’s side. “Mouse, you all right?” He placed a hand on his friend’s back.

Charlie recoiled from his touch.

“I didn’t hit him,” Bagger said. “I swear. I didn’t even touch him.”

Slowly, Charlie looked up from the protection of his arms. The soldiers standing around the circle stared down at him with expressions ranging from confused concern to unabashed amusement. A mortified blush burned away all traces of Charlie’s ashen complexion.

George knelt before him. “What happened, Mouse?”

His hands still trembling, Charlie struggled to take off the gloves.

“Are you hurt?” Frederick asked.

Charlie threw his gloves aside. “I don’t want to talk about it!” Pushing to his feet, he shoved his way through the crowd and ran back to the tunnels.

Worry creased Bagger’s forehead as he watched Charlie leave. “I think we’re done for today, boys.”

“I don’t get to fight Eton?” George asked.

“Not today,” Bagger answered, taking off his gloves.

“Come on, Bagger,” George pleaded. “We’ll be fast, I promise. It’ll only take two hits. Me hitting Eton, and Eton hitting the dirt.”

“I said, not today.”

NINETEEN

TENSION IN THE crew’s dugout worsened after Bagger’s failed boxing lesson. Charlie refused to talk to anyone but the crew’s new canary, and everyone’s mood soured when heavy rains kept them trapped in the tunnels for the next two days. George couldn’t sit still. When he wasn’t pacing the length of the small dugout, his fingers drummed on the table like they were sending out frantic messages in Morse code.

“Can’t we just box in here?” he asked Bagger on day three of their weather-imposed confinement.

“There’s not enough room,” Bagger answered without looking up from his breakfast.

“If we move the table into the tunnel, there would be.”

With an exasperated sigh, Frederick glanced up from his notebook. “Would you please just shut up?”

George stopped pacing. “What’s wrong, Eton? You afraid to fight me?”

“No. I’m just tired of hearing your mouth run.”

“Then why don’t you try and stop it?” George tapped a finger to his chin. “Come on. I’ll even give you the first hit.”