The Glorious Adventures of the Sunshine Queen by Geraldine McCaughrean Page B

sword, a cloak, a baby’s cot, a turban, a paste tiara. Their owners had hocked them, hoping to buy them back when happier times came along. But a year had passed, and now the pawnbroker was free to sell them—a wedding ring, a watch, a Sunday suit, a saddle—for whatever anyone would pay.
    Chad Powers found himself a galvanized bucket: he was working up a sideshow trick with electricity and a silver dollar.
    Elder Slater seized on some old poacher traps and a length of chain and carried them back to the ship triumphant, rattling them at passersby and shouting: “ Behold the hooks and snares of the Devil! Will you be caught in the Evil One’s traps and be torn by demons for all eternity? Repent before it’s too late!” His gray hatchet face was almost cheerful.
    Meanwhile, down the road, Medora bought magnesium ribbon for her Photopia. Elijah bought a new pair of boots, Miss May March more coffee beans for her complexion. Everett found a Chinese launderer to sponge the worst of the mud and grime off his Prince Albert coat and pinstripe trousers without him having to part with them. Miss Loucien bought milk of magnesia for indigestion. “This baby must be real clever: it weighs on breakfast like the ’cyclopaedia Britannica ,” she told the apothecary with a wince. “You coming to the show tonight?”
    Everett sent another telegram to Olive Town, asking for news. He called in too at the offices of the Inquirer and placed an advertisement:
    CALLING AT ALL PORTS
DOWNRIVER OF WOODPILE
THE BRIGHT LIGHTS THEATER
AND SHOWBOAT COMPANY
C IRCUS, THEATER, AND MUSIC HALL
ALL IN ONE
A SHOW FOR ALL THE FAMILY UNDER THE DIRECTION OF CYRIL CREW
    He believed in the power of advertising, but most of all he was hoping that his brother—wherever Cyril was—might pick up a copy of the Inquirer , see his own name, and realize how much he was missed.
    After that, Everett went to invest the bulk of the profits in emergency repairs. At present, the Sunshine Queen was simply drifting downstream without benefit of a paddle wheel, her feeble boiler power going only to fuel the calliope. Thanks to her rudder (and Elijah’s feet), she was steerable. But without the gigantic, romantic wheel rolling at her rear, she lacked her bygone glamour. More important, she lacked the ability to speed up, slow down, turn around, or sail against the current.
    George, the barber-surgeon, after buying a bottle of antiseptic, went to get himself a shave because, wherever he went, he liked to size up the competition. He dreamed of arriving one day in a place with no barbershop. There he would come to a halt, living in a two-room apartment over the shop, with real steel sinks and a hot-towel machine. Somewhere people believed in the science of phrenology and the benefit of a vigorous automated massage.
    It turned out he and the Woodpile barber knew each other from school days, and they ended up drinking lemonade together and snickering at newspaper advertisements for the new safety razor. Both agreed that it would never catch on.
    â€œSeen that paddler tied up at the dock?” inquired the Woodpile man.
    â€œReckon I’m ridin’ it,” said George, who clipped his sentences as short as he clipped hair.
    â€œHuh! You’ll be lucky! That boat won’ be goin’ no place,” said the local barber. He was more the chatty breed of hairdresser and could not wait to recount the story of the last time the Sunshine Queen had visited town. George listened, watching his own face in the mirror losing color till it matched the towel around his neck.
    â€œIt’s not even the money they’ll be after—more revenge for getting gypped,” the other man was saying. “I pity anyone aboard. . . .”
    â€œThat right?” said George, buttoning his vest and reaching out a furtive finger toward his jacket slung over the next chair.
    â€œWe-e-ell. There’s some powerful nasty men