A vast ceiling of skylights crisscrossed high above, mostly intact, so the blinding sleet was reduced to surprise cascades of ice dropping through scattered empty panes. Where the outer arches held their sturdy glass, the inner curve was more sheltered, busy with boats and too many people yelling over the wind as they struggled to rope the boats into a giant raft, able to rise and fall together without wrecking each other. Outside, the storm was ramping toward maximum. The sky had melded with the sea in a canvas of total white. My hands on Melville’s tiller ached with cold. We’d made it just in time.

Rousseau stood spread-legged at one end of the balcony, ignoring a constant drenching as waves broke along the inner wall, counting the boats and passengers wrestling through the arches. Even his big voice was lost in the din and wind screech. He’d fallen back on hand signals—where to land and unload—urging each boat on around the curve to tie up, making room for the next in line. I looked again for Sea Sprite. A glimpse of blue in the shredded mist? Maybe. Could only pray she was still working her way in behind me.

Below Melville’s hull, I made out the dark bulk of an escalator, its top rail just below her extended keel. Had to rock at idle till there was a slot to pull in parallel to the landing. Breakers put out the bumpers and leaped off to tie up. Jandi and Jenn piled out of the cabin the minute we bumped alongside, eager to regain solid ground.

“Hola!” Rivera elbowed her way to the edge, waving joyfully and trailing a bunch of Macys. “We’ve been waiting!”

Jandi yodeled a greeting and charged into their arms. A hero’s welcome.

Jenn came to hug me. “We made it!” She took in the gathering of boats and rafts, the faraway skylights, the curving march of the arches. “This place is . . . wow! Awesome!”

“Yeah!” I caught her arm as a swell rocked Melville against the landing and nearly spilled her. “Can you help unload?”

“But . . . where’s Daniel?”

“On his way. He had to . . .” Too much to explain.

“There he is!” Breakers called, as Sea Sprite shuddered through the arch wall.

Sprite had had rough handling since she’d left the Lagoon. A dozen or so bullet holes pocked her hull, along with broad dents and oily blotches along her water line. Ice coated her deck and Daniel’s hair.

“That’s the last!” Rousseau crowed. “We’re home!”

Those few who could hear him raised a cheer.

“Now! Everyone inside to the upper levels! Take shelter!”

Already the water rolling through the atrium was breaking over the docking ledge. People snatched at crates and luggage to haul them back from the edge. We still had a Cat 6 to live through.