music.
‘Tune, sir, tune!’ she said.
‘I used to pipe the Master and Commander of the
RoyalOak
in to formal dinners,’ Mchynlyth said to Everett. ‘And none o’ them “Och Aye the Noo” music-hall tunes: proper pipe music – pibrochs and everything.’
‘Thank you, Mr Mchynlyth,’ Captain Anastasia said. ‘Sen, the floor is yours.’
Sen leaned over the table to Everett. ‘Is you watching closely?’ she asked.
She held the fingers of her right hand in front of Everett’s face and snapped them. An Everness tarot card appeared in them: a man in a striped circus costume on a unicycle, juggling planets. Sen held up a finger on her left hand. When Everett looked back the card had vanished from her right hand.
‘You’ll bring it back,’ he said. ‘It’s only half the trick, making it disappear. The clever bit is bringing it back again. The prestige. I saw the movie. See? I’s watching closely.’
Sen snapped her right hand. She produced not the card, but Everett’s phone.
‘Not closely enough, Everett Singh.’ The rest of the crew applauded. Sharkey looked pale and in pain. ‘But you’re right. It has to come back again. Look in your pocket.’
Everett grinned – Sen had fooled him completely and brilliantly – and from the pocket of his ship shorts produced the card. Everyone applauded. Sen curtsied. ‘That’s for the Hackney train,’ she whispered to Everett as she went back to her seat. ‘If I’d really wanted, I would have had your dilly comptator and you would never have known. Prestige
that
.’
‘Mr Singh?’ Captain Anastasia said. ‘The floor is yours. Entertain us.’
Everett got to his feet. From the moment Mchynlyth picked up his bagpipes he had been dreading this moment. He could make the funniest joke sound like a term report, had people peeping through their fingers if he danced, could clear a room if he sang. But Captain Anastasia’s stern expression said that
Everness
Expected Every Omi and Polone to zhoosh up and let the bona temps roll. It was part of the forgiving. Captain Anastasia had orchestrated this whole dinner complete with party pieces to bring everyone together, knit them back together again. Disunity could kill. But what to do? Apart from cooking, there was one thing, two things he was good at. And he had an idea.
Everett swapped places in the corridor with Mchynlyth. He stripped off the T-shirt Sen had mutilated. He tied it into a soft, firm ball, like the ones he had seen kids play with in his father’s village in India.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Count with me.’ And he flipped the T-shirt ball into the air, caught it on his knee, bounced it into the air again, flipped it up with his foot, catch flip catch flip catch flip. Ten eleven twelve thirteen … Keepy-uppy. Twenty-three twenty-four twenty-five. ‘Now someone ask me to multiply two numbers. Big numbers.’
‘Twenty-four and fifty-three!’ Sen shouted.
‘Big numbers. Like three thousand two hundred andtwenty-seven.’ He caught the ball on the right side of his head, flipped it over to the left.
‘Five thousand and three!’ Sen said.
‘Sixteen million, one hundred and fourteen thousand, six hundred and eighty one,’ Everett said.
‘You just made that up,’ Sen accused.
‘No, it’s the right answer,’ Everett said.
He flipped the ball on to the back of his neck, caught it there, dropped it into his hand. Mchynlyth was writing furiously in a small notebook.
‘Just a wee minute … Aye. He’s right.’
‘How did you do it?’ Sen asked.
‘There’s tricks to it,’ Everett said. ‘Like rounding things up and rounding things down. Five thousand is a lot easier to multiply by than five thousand and three … then I just add three times the first number at the end. And three thousand two hundred and twenty-seven is just over three thousand two hundred and twenty-five. Fives are easy to multiply. Lots of tricks, but mostly I’m just good with numbers.’
‘Impressed, Mr
‘Tune, sir, tune!’ she said.
‘I used to pipe the Master and Commander of the
RoyalOak
in to formal dinners,’ Mchynlyth said to Everett. ‘And none o’ them “Och Aye the Noo” music-hall tunes: proper pipe music – pibrochs and everything.’
‘Thank you, Mr Mchynlyth,’ Captain Anastasia said. ‘Sen, the floor is yours.’
Sen leaned over the table to Everett. ‘Is you watching closely?’ she asked.
She held the fingers of her right hand in front of Everett’s face and snapped them. An Everness tarot card appeared in them: a man in a striped circus costume on a unicycle, juggling planets. Sen held up a finger on her left hand. When Everett looked back the card had vanished from her right hand.
‘You’ll bring it back,’ he said. ‘It’s only half the trick, making it disappear. The clever bit is bringing it back again. The prestige. I saw the movie. See? I’s watching closely.’
Sen snapped her right hand. She produced not the card, but Everett’s phone.
‘Not closely enough, Everett Singh.’ The rest of the crew applauded. Sharkey looked pale and in pain. ‘But you’re right. It has to come back again. Look in your pocket.’
Everett grinned – Sen had fooled him completely and brilliantly – and from the pocket of his ship shorts produced the card. Everyone applauded. Sen curtsied. ‘That’s for the Hackney train,’ she whispered to Everett as she went back to her seat. ‘If I’d really wanted, I would have had your dilly comptator and you would never have known. Prestige
that
.’
‘Mr Singh?’ Captain Anastasia said. ‘The floor is yours. Entertain us.’
Everett got to his feet. From the moment Mchynlyth picked up his bagpipes he had been dreading this moment. He could make the funniest joke sound like a term report, had people peeping through their fingers if he danced, could clear a room if he sang. But Captain Anastasia’s stern expression said that
Everness
Expected Every Omi and Polone to zhoosh up and let the bona temps roll. It was part of the forgiving. Captain Anastasia had orchestrated this whole dinner complete with party pieces to bring everyone together, knit them back together again. Disunity could kill. But what to do? Apart from cooking, there was one thing, two things he was good at. And he had an idea.
Everett swapped places in the corridor with Mchynlyth. He stripped off the T-shirt Sen had mutilated. He tied it into a soft, firm ball, like the ones he had seen kids play with in his father’s village in India.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Count with me.’ And he flipped the T-shirt ball into the air, caught it on his knee, bounced it into the air again, flipped it up with his foot, catch flip catch flip catch flip. Ten eleven twelve thirteen … Keepy-uppy. Twenty-three twenty-four twenty-five. ‘Now someone ask me to multiply two numbers. Big numbers.’
‘Twenty-four and fifty-three!’ Sen shouted.
‘Big numbers. Like three thousand two hundred andtwenty-seven.’ He caught the ball on the right side of his head, flipped it over to the left.
‘Five thousand and three!’ Sen said.
‘Sixteen million, one hundred and fourteen thousand, six hundred and eighty one,’ Everett said.
‘You just made that up,’ Sen accused.
‘No, it’s the right answer,’ Everett said.
He flipped the ball on to the back of his neck, caught it there, dropped it into his hand. Mchynlyth was writing furiously in a small notebook.
‘Just a wee minute … Aye. He’s right.’
‘How did you do it?’ Sen asked.
‘There’s tricks to it,’ Everett said. ‘Like rounding things up and rounding things down. Five thousand is a lot easier to multiply by than five thousand and three … then I just add three times the first number at the end. And three thousand two hundred and twenty-seven is just over three thousand two hundred and twenty-five. Fives are easy to multiply. Lots of tricks, but mostly I’m just good with numbers.’
‘Impressed, Mr
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