Then Bo’s eyes float to mine, which suddenly feel hot and in danger of melting. I throw my arms around the fisherman, squeezing him tight, as if trying to leave a permanent impression. I loosen my grip, and he gazes down at me, like a sailor taking his last look at land.

“It is not the end of us, Stowaway. Not if I can help it.”

I lift my face to Bo’s, and he kisses me with a fierceness that speaks of survival and wishes for a future. A sliver of a smile appears on his face and sears itself into my heart.

Taking the wooden whale from my pocket, I press it to his fingers. “Return it to me.”

“I will.”

Then he’s gone, like the last notes of a song that ends too soon.

Jamie herds the Johnnies to the door, and we step into the night. The population on the Boat Deck has tripled, and so has the hysteria, some expressed in loud voices, some in silent tears.

A loud hiss precedes a streak of light that bursts into a shower of sparkles, momentarily shutting off the stars. People gasp and cry out. A child points. A man holds his praying hands to the sky.

Olly twists up his neck. “What was that?”

“Emergency flare,” says Jamie, pulling him toward the closest lifeboat, the newlywed boat. “They’re signaling our distress. Come on, lads.”

I shiver inside my coat. I can’t help thinking that the flare is a last cry of desperation. We’re the only ones out here. Unless heaven holds out a hand for us to climb into, half the people here will perish. Then again, maybe the flare is a good sign. Surely the crew has used their wireless. Perhaps help has arrived, and the flare simply pinpoints our location.

As if to reassure me, music begins to play from somewhere. I recognize the swingy, plucking rhythm of ragtime. People smile. Maybe the situation is not so grave after all.

In the newlywed boat, about thirty people have already boarded, mostly women but also a few men.

An officer raises his hands at the crowd. “Hold! No more passengers.”

Jamie scrambles over to him. “Can you take us, mate? We’ve got a woman, two children, and an injured man.”

I frown at Jamie, sick at the thought of leaving him behind. But Wink and Olly squeeze in closer to me, and I know they need me more.

The officer glances at the lot of us. “No.”

“But it’s only half-full!” Jamie protests.

“Prepare to release the falls,” the officer yells at the crewman tending the pulley.

I gather Wink and Olly, one in each arm, and push them forward. “Excuse me, sir?” I project my voice, trying to make myself heard over the din of people and the ocean. “These children are my charges. Please let us board. There’s ample space, and—”