“Why?” he mutters, slapping at his head, though I think the question is directed at someone with more influence than me.

I use the banister to help me up the last few steps. The angle of the tilt to head is so severe now that climbing the stairs seems to defy physics.

We exit through a port-side door onto the Promenade Deck. The water churns with wriggling flashes of white that remind me of a shoal of mullet.

But they aren’t fish. They’re people. People who are freezing right in front of us. How did they get down there? Did they jump? Perhaps they planned to swim toward one of the lifeboats. But once that icy water touches you, it’s a race against time. Our frigid swim through E-Deck was balmy compared with the open sea, the water slightly warmed from having passed through the boiler rooms.

At the rail, a man in a baker’s uniform flings deck chairs into the ocean.

“Need help, mate?” With his good arm, Jamie helps the baker throw the last of the makeshift floats, then nudges me forward. Up another staircase, we top the Boat Deck again.

I cry out, though my breath only vents as a hoarse whisper. Most of the bow has sunk. Water engulfs the forecastle and is steadily creeping up to the bridge. Oddly, the ship no longer tilts to starboard, but to port.

The davits are empty, their ropes swaying in the risen water. Several lifeboats are rowing away, despite being half-empty.

No wonder people jumped into the water. The Titanic will soon founder, and like barnacles on a diving whale, we’ll all be going along for the ride if we don’t bail out soon. At least in the water, we can make for a lifeboat—until we stiffen up like icicles.

“Move,” Jamie growls, cradling his left arm. “The collapsibles might still be there.”

A terrier streaks past us, followed by a dachshund and a pair of sheepdogs. “Where did they come from?”

“Dunno. But they’re headed to higher ground.”

“Maybe we should follow them.” I watch as they climb toward the stern.

“No.” Jamie tugs me away. “Any collapsible would be this way.” He nods to the sunken bow.

I plant my feet. “But I don’t see any boats. We’d be jumping into the pot.”

“Move your damn pins,” Jamie orders.

We pick our way down the sloping deck, every step a pain. But at least moving forces the blood to circulate.

The lights have grown dimmer, the yellow glow fading to orange and casting grim shadows on Jamie’s face. Steam fogs out of our mouths, reminding me that at least a few parts of us are still warm.

People fly by, headed to the stern. I throw Jamie a scowl. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”