I rush forward and hook my hands over the edge of the platform, which has lifted to waist level. Climbing onto it from the side closest to the water, I scoop up my skirts, praying my added weight won’t topple the whole thing. I imagine myself light as a bird, the way I do when we walk the rope.

I flatten myself and roll under the car. But something is wrong. Something has caught me. My jacket! The back of my sleeve has snagged on a nail. I sharply yank my shoulder, and I hear the fabric rip. Then I scoot under the car, trying my best to melt into the rough wood.

The platform sways, and seagulls caw as they fly by. I heave in air. The scents of motor oil and my own fear fill my nose. At any moment, I expect the platform to stop. I listen for exclamations, or constables blowing whistles.

But the platform continues its ascent. So far, no one is yelling, except for my unfortunate victim. God save her from the plague. I press my cheek to the wood. From what I can see, no one is looking at me.

Then I see her. A child around five years old with stringy yellow hair and eyes as wide as planets is pointing at me.

I’m just an illusion, kid. Forget what you saw.

The steady pull of the crane snatches her from my view. New worries flood my mind as the platform swings over the Titanic’s well deck, ready for its descent into the cargo hatch. What if the shaft to the Titanic’s belly does not feature a wall ladder on which I can escape? I’ll need to exit before reaching the storage area in the bowels of the ship, where surely men will be waiting to unload the car.

The platform slows as it nears the hatch, and my stomach turns loops. Glimpsing a crewman, I shrink back. He could see me if he thought to look under the car.

His face glistens with sweat and wonder as he walks the length of the platform, taking in the vehicle. “She’s a looker. The French know how to make ’em. Thirty-five miles an hour—can you believe it?”

I close my eyes and hold my breath, as if that could hide me from view. Even my blood stops pumping.

He completes his circuit. “Bring her down.”

The grinding of a motor and the clink of a chain unspooling herald my descent into the jaws of destiny. Sounds echo off the shaft closing around me, and the light changes.

Rolling out from under the car, I scramble to the edge of the platform and look wildly around for a ladder. It’s on the other side. My wet fingers slip against the glossy car frame as I swing myself into the seat and scoot across. To my horror, before I can grab a rung, the wall ends.