Authors: Gordon Korman
But just as it was futile to predict the patterns of weather that brought, alternately, torrential rain and parching drought to the family’s estate outside London, so was it to attempt to understand the mind of the seventeenth Earl of Glamford.
“Isn’t she beautiful, Julie?” her father crowed.
That she was. And vast. As the biplane drew nearer, the
Titanic’s
sheer size began to reveal itself. Her immense black hull seemed more like an offshore
island than anything man-made. And what an island! Sleek and very long, with a polished deck that shined nearly as bright as the whitecaps, topped by a gleaming superstructure that was, by itself, one of the largest and most modern buildings in the world.
“Shall we go for a closer look?” Her father pushed forward on the yoke, and suddenly, they were falling.
No, not falling —
diving,
the circle formed by the propeller’s motion fixed on the
Titanic
far below.
“Papa!” Juliana wheeled around to stare in horror at the pilot’s seat behind her. Her father’s expression was pure bliss.
Juliana felt her ears pop and pop again as the great ship grew larger and larger. By the time they were within 200 feet of the mast, her astounding length filled Juliana’s field of vision. On the poop deck, a terrified dockworker was waving and bellowing.
A common laborer shouting at Rodney Glamm as if the earl were a lunatic escaped from an asylum! Juliana would have been offended — if she hadn’t toyed with the thought herself more than once.
And still their wild descent continued.
The earl was in his glory. “What do you say we provide the men with a little entertainment?”
Father and daughter swooped down over the pride of the White Star Line until they were perhaps 50 feet
above the top of the
Titanic’s
gigantic smokestacks. Just when Juliana was sure they were about to be dashed to bits, her father pulled back on the stick to bring the aeroplane out of its dive. The craft shook for a moment and then leveled off, taking them directly over the four funnels.
All at once, a deep roar assailed her ears, and a blast of torrid air exploded from the forward stack. Juliana’s lungs filled with smoke. She began to cough convulsively. The world around them disappeared, replaced by an acrid black cloud.
But that was not the part that terrified her.
The flying machine dropped, sucked into the down-draft. Frantically, the earl wrestled with the stick in a desperate attempt to pilot the small craft out of harm’s way. The biplane heeled over on its side, the double wing passing within a few feet of a catastrophic collision. Juliana saw the enormous smokestack swinging up at her, a giant swatting at a pesky insect. Then, just as suddenly, the pilot regained control, and they climbed out of danger, soaring up and away from the
Titanic
and Southampton.
Even the swashbuckling Earl of Glamford was shaken by the near miss. “Well, that was a bit of excitement, wasn’t it, Julie?”
Juliana held on to the seat strap until the thumping
of her heart slowed to the point where she could resume breathing. She peered longingly over her shoulder at the immense bulk of the
Titanic,
dominating the seaport and the English coast.
The rock-solid deck of the largest ocean liner in the world — right now, that seemed like a pretty safe place to Juliana Glamm.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOUTHAMPTON
S
ATURDAY,
A
PRIL
6, 1912, 1:45 P.M.
Rich people were mad as March hares.
Of course, Paddy had not met very many wealthy people except to reach into their pockets. But the gymnasium provided for the first-class passengers aboard the
Titanic
was enough to prove that the swells were barmy.
There was a bicycle that was mounted on a stand so the wheels never touched the deck. You could pedal until your legs turned to gruel and not move a single inch.
If I was lucky enough never to have to lift a finger in my life, I wouldn’t build some fancy contraption to make me just as tired as everybody else, that’s for certain!
He had been sleeping on the exercise mats in the gymnasium’s equipment locker for the past four nights — ever since the cargo crane had deposited
him aboard the ship. He hadn’t planned on being here, but he had to admit it wasn’t a bad life. Only a skeleton crew had sailed the
Titanic
down from Belfast, so Paddy had the largest ocean liner in the world pretty much to himself.
Living on the nearly empty
Titanic
was a sight easier than trying to survive on the cruel streets of Belfast. There was plenty of food in the galley, and judging from the size of the cavernous pantries and iceboxes, there was going to be a whole lot more — enough to feed an army. Why, when these shelves were full, even Mrs. O’Dell’s meat pies would seem like the meager scraps he and Daniel used to scrounge from dustbins.
Daniel. Just the name was enough to suck the air out of Paddy, and to turn this glittering dream ship into the black dust of the coal that powered her. Daniel was gone, murdered by the Gilhooleys, leaving Paddy with his heartbreak and a string of “if onlys.” If only he had chosen a different pocket to pick; if only he hadn’t tried to spend that banknote; if only Daniel had been there to talk some sense into him, instead of back in their print shop home, trying to devise a way to sink the
Titanic
for Thomas Andrews.
Paddy felt the drawing beneath his shirt. All he had of Daniel — and all he would ever have. He had
examined the diagram, which seemed to show the
Titanic
with a thick jagged stripe down the length of her hull. Paddy wasn’t sure how this was supposed to sink the unsinkable. It didn’t matter. Daniel was dead. And besides, Mr. Andrews had built the mightiest ship in creation. No accident, no storm, no force of nature could destroy this floating wonderland.
The sheer length of her equaled the distance from their print shop to the River Lagan. The luxury, the modern inventions, would cause the swankiest toff in Belfast to open up wide eyes. The lights ran with real electricity, and there were electric elevators in case you were too rich to walk up the stairs. There was something called a Marconi room, where wireless messages could be sent to other ships and even all the way to shore. There was a heated swimming bath, a squash court, and a Turkish steam room where you could go and sweat — although why anyone would want to do that was beyond Paddy.
For the past few days, he had explored the great ship from prow to stern, making a mental note of every hatch, closet, nook, and cranny that might serve as a hiding place, should the need arise. Everywhere he looked, there was something dazzling. The two grand staircases were massive, solid wood, intricately carved, each topped with a spectacular stained-glass
dome. It was like being in church just walking up the stairs. The first-class dining saloon was so huge, so fancy, and so gorgeous, Paddy couldn’t imagine anyone being able to think about food. Given a choice, the Pope himself would abandon the Vatican in favor of going back and forth between England and America aboard the
Titanic.
The experience of being on board was so exhilarating, Paddy would have agreed to live there forever. But he knew the
Titanic
would not remain so empty and free much longer. Already he was noticing more luggage and cargo, and there was definitely an increase of activity on the ship. No longer could he sneak up on deck and peer curiously at England, the country he’d heard so much about but had never dreamed he’d actually see. And even in the vessel’s belly, he’d been hearing footsteps and had been forced to take sudden refuge in some of his hiding places. There was no way he could allow himself to be spotted. His ragged clothes would give away the fact that he did not belong in such opulent surroundings.
That was a problem. When the ship was full, he was going to have to be able to fit in. In this way, life aboard the
Titanic
was no different from his old life on the streets of Belfast. What he needed, he had to steal.
The laundry on F Deck was enormous, with dozens of cauldrons that would soon be boiling with soapy water. Paddy looked around. The drying racks were bare, and there was nothing in the hampers. There would be no laundering to do until the passengers and the sailing crew were aboard. He frowned in frustration. Where could a fellow outfit himself in this place?
He was about to leave when he spied a small door in the corner of the compartment. It was not like the wood-paneled entrances in the swankier parts of the ship. This was more like the hatches on the steerage cabins — the lowest class of service on board. He ventured over to investigate. An unfastened padlock hung from the hasp.
Gingerly, he eased the door open and peered inside. The room was filled with crew uniforms, black and bleached white, hanging from a series of racks. He chose a heavy cable-knit sweater bearing the crest of the White Star Line, but abandoned it in favor of a black half coat. Perfect. He’d look a proper sailor in this monkey jacket.
He selected the smallest size — a luxury in itself, that. Beggars had to take whatever castoffs they could find. He peeled off his battered coat and the shirt underneath, which was little more than a rag and
smelled none too fresh. He kicked out of his hobnail boots and ruefully noticed his toes poking out of sweaty stockings. His breeches were next — torn, muddy, and too tight. He would not miss those.
As soon as the starched uniform shirt touched his skin, Paddy became aware of a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. So this was how rich people felt all the time. Clean, comfortable — a little stiff, perhaps, especially the collar. But it was going to be easy to get used to. He stepped into the trousers and shrugged the black vest and jacket over this gleaming shirt. He caught sight of his reflection in the pier glass and had to fight down the instinct to flee from this stranger in the room.
Lord Almighty, if only Daniel could see me here, looking like the Prince of Wales!
It was a pity to have to step into his tattered boots again, but there were no shoes available. He popped a peaked cap on his head and stuck a bow tie in his pocket. It would probably take him until America to learn how to tie it.
There was a desk at the entrance to the main passageway. Upon it sat a large ledger, pen, and inkwell so the crew members could sign for their uniforms. What a stroke of luck that he’d blundered in here before the clerk came on duty.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the main door opened, and voices reached him from the passageway.
Panicking, he looked around. To make it back to the laundry, he’d have to run out into the open — and his
Titanic
adventure would be over before it began. Desperately, he kicked his discarded clothing underneath the rack and dashed into the changing booth against the bulkhead. He pulled the curtain shut and stepped up onto the stool to keep his boots out of view.
Another way in which life aboard the
Titanic
was similar to Belfast: He was still hiding, still holding his breath, and still praying that he wouldn’t be discovered.
“Boy, when I saw you standing on the dock waiting for me, I near jumped off the deck and dashed my brains at your feet!” John Huggins told his son in the uniform room. His voice was deep and scratchy from years of stoking coal in countless boiler rooms.
“I only wish I’d had some better news for you,” Alfie said sadly.
The big man ruffled his hair. “Try not to be so hard on your ma. She was never cut out for the kind of life I gave her. She was always lonely, with her head
in the clouds. Proper helpless, she was.” He brightened. “But she surely did right by you. I’ve got to give her credit for that.”
“Right by me!” Alfie exclaimed, outraged. “She shuffled off and left me without a penny to bless myself with!”
“But she made a man of you,” his father argued. “The kind of man who had the sense to get hired by White Star so we could sail together. Your old da never would have thought of that. Clever of you, that was.”
Alfie was sheepish. “I had to lie about my age. I told them I was sixteen.”
“You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Now find a jacket that fits you. You look like you’ve lost your hands.”
Alfie was nervous. “Shouldn’t we wait for the clerk?”
“You’re not taking anything, just exchanging,” John Huggins explained. “It’s already signed for. Now I’ve got to get back to work. She may be the most modern ship ever built, but the boilers won’t mind themselves. Imagine that.”
Conflicting emotions mingled in Alfie’s gut as he watched his father disappear into the passageway. He was happy to be sailing with Da, but the man was
practically a stranger. He’d been away at sea for a large part of Alfie’s fifteen years. Ma was his real parent — and now
she
was gone. He had no idea if he’d ever lay eyes on her again.
Besides, it wasn’t as if the Huggins men would be working side by side. As a fireman, Da would be down in the bowels of the ship, shoveling coal into the
Titanic’s
twenty-nine boilers. As a junior steward assigned to first class, Alfie’s duties would keep him many decks above.