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  The bottom five steps were completely submerged as Alfie, Paddy, Sophie, and Juliana dragged one another up the staircase across from the office.

  Paddy brought up the rear, ushering the girls ahead of him. “I can’t believe you came for me,” he said in wonder.

  “It’s my fault you were arrested in the first place,” Juliana declared.

  Paddy’s eyes were wide. “But I’m nothing to you! I’m nothing to anybody!”

  Sophie turned on him, splashing Alfie in the process. “What a terrible thing to say! You’re our friend!”

  “And you’d do the same for us,” Alfie added.

  I would, you know, Paddy agreed silently. Before poor Daniel, Paddy had never even had a friend. Nor had he expected to have another after Daniel died. Yet here were these three, willing to brave icy water on a ship in distress in order to help him. What a time and place to discover there was something to live for!

  Sophie felt her shivering abate as she cleared the fifth step. But her slippers still splashed in a thin trickle from above. “There’s water on D Deck!” she breathed.

  “That’s impossible!” Alfie exclaimed.

  “Then why is it coming down the stairs?”

  “But —” All at once, Alfie had the answer. “The bow has taken on so much sea that the watertight compartments are filling to the top! This is spillover!”

  “But the ship can’t actually sink,” Juliana argued, “can it?”

  Alfie repeated his father’s words. “I think we’re going to find out. It’s a good thing we went for Paddy when we did. The brig will be swamped in no time. Hurry!”

  The girls rushed ahead, but Paddy ground to a halt halfway up the flight, his expression inscrutable.

  “Did you not hear me, Paddy? The bow is being pulled down! We’ve got to get higher and aft!”

  “I can’t leave them,” said Paddy, speaking as much to himself as to the others.

  “Leave who?” Alfie puffed.

  “Gilhooley and Seamus.”

  The young steward goggled. “The gangsters?”

  “I can’t let them drown.”

  “Why ever not?” Alfie demanded. “They killed your friend! They nearly killed you! They deserve to be in that cell! Whatever misfortune befalls them there, they brought it upon themselves!”

  Paddy nodded. “Right you are. They deserve to die. But not like this — not penned up like rats in a cage. That’s no fate for anyone.”

  Alfie grabbed his friend by the shoulders. “Do you expect they’ll show you gratitude for saving their lives? The moment you let them out, they’ll murder you as soon as shake your hand!”

  “Stay with the girls,” Paddy told him. “Get them to safety. I’ll come find you if I can.” And he waded back into the flood that was inundating E Deck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  RMS TITANIC

  MONDAY, APRIL 15, 1912, 12:09 A.M.

  By the time Paddy reentered the master-at-arms’ office, the water was lapping at his shoulders, and not much lower on the two prisoners.

  “If you’ve come to watch us drown,” Gilhooley sneered, “you might take stock of your runty self. You’ll be kissing fish before we are!”

  Without a word, Paddy reached for the hairpins he had pocketed. Drawing a deep breath, he ducked under and went to work on the lock on the second cell door.

  Totally immersed in the frigid water, Paddy felt paralysis creeping over his muscles, hampering his movements. Salt stung his eyes, and he fought to keep them open, as he struggled to maneuver his cramping fingers. Lack of oxygen darkened his vision, and he broke to the surface, gasping for air.

  He caught a glimpse of Gilhooley and his man staring in utter disbelief that help should come from such a quarter. But he cared nothing for them. It was not Daniel’s killers he was endeavoring to free. These were two human lives.

  Back underwater he plunged, trying to regain the delicate touch that enabled him to navigate the guts of the keyhole through the hairpins. Paddy had been picking locks practically since the cradle. But never before had he attempted the feat with numb hands, burning eyes, and lungs starved for breath.

  When he came up next, panting wildly, the water was at his nostrils, and he had to stand on tiptoe, sucking air. Alfie’s right, he thought, his mind reeling. Why am I wasting precious time on these worthless men? In another few minutes, the room will be full to the ceiling….

  Yet down he went once more, probing furiously. So deadened by cold were his extremities that he almost missed the silent click. In a single motion, he pulled open the lock and straightened up to breathe. But just as he was about to open his mouth, the awful realization came to him.

  I’m still underwater!

  The office was awash over his head.

  The panic was immediate and total. His brain begged for air, and he fought an impulse to inhale that screamed from every corner of his body and soul. Seawater in the lungs meant near-certain drowning. But if he couldn’t breathe, he would surely pass out, which would achieve the same result.

  The cell door was kicked wide, knocking him off his feet. He sprawled, part falling, part floating, until his shoulder struck something hard.

  He forced his eyes open. The desk!

  Delirious from oxygen deprivation, he struggled onto the desk. Blackness danced at the edges of his vision. He was passing out….

  No! Not when I’m so close …

  Mustering what little strength he had left, Paddy pulled himself upright. His head broke the surface, and he wheezed hungrily, breathing in draft after draft of the sweetest air he would ever taste.

  Barely eight inches separated the rising flood from the ceiling. Paddy could see Gilhooley and Seamus behind him, their heads bobbing as they struggled to swim out of the brig. Paddy filled his lungs once more and jumped off the desk. The salt water buoyed his weight, so that a few bounds carried him out of the office to the swamped staircase.

  He scrambled up the steps until he was free of the water, splashing through the trickle toward D Deck. He had just made it to the top when Gilhooley’s voice reached him.

  “Lad — come back!”

  Paddy kept on running. Come back? Not likely, and it wasn’t just because the gangster and his henchman had already tried to murder him once on this voyage.

  Maybe the White Star Line believed the Titanic was unsinkable, but Paddy knew better. Daniel had sketched out what might sink her. And Daniel was the smartest person Paddy had ever known.

  The question was this: Had a mindless mass of floating ice somehow put the solution on Daniel’s mysterious drawing into action?

  There was no time to ponder that now. Paddy Burns had no formal education, but the streets of Belfast had been a course of study in the school of survival.

  He had a feeling that the coming hours would test him like he’d never been tested before.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  RMS TITANIC

  MONDAY, APRIL 15, 1912, 12:05 A.M.

  Cocooned in the first-class comforts of stateroom A-17, Robert Master son had no idea that the Titanic was filling with water. A Deck seemed rock solid beneath him — indeed, more solid by far than the worthless legs that he used to stand upon it.

  Besides, his mind was awhirl with the events on the forecastle. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had attempted to resume the work that had been interrupted by his accident. The fact that he had failed — alas, that was a technicality.

  Jack the Ripper was reborn! And when the doctor in New York restored his legs …

  His every impulse was to prowl the ship and finish what he’d started tonight. The young steward had already paid for his meddling with a broken head. What was left of him was going over the side. And that horrible girl with him.

  But now was not the time. People were up and about, no doubt excited at seeing ice scattered about the deck. Weak-minded fools! To become overset by a silly iceberg when there were great matters afoot.

  No, the stateroom w
as the right place for him at the present. If an officer came knocking at his door to investigate the girl’s wild tale, he could claim he’d been here since dinner. It would be his word against hers, and she was a mere female. Everyone knew that women were vaporish and unreliable. And who would believe that a poor cripple could be guilty of attempted murder?

  He settled back in an armchair. In an hour or two, all this excitement would die down. That was when he’d take his revenge.

  Once more, the night would belong to Jack the Ripper.

  EPILOGUE

  RMS TITANIC

  MONDAY, APRIL 15, 1912, 12:09 A.M.

  The Titanic lay at a dead stop in the Atlantic, her three active funnels bellowing as the great liner let off pent-up steam.

  On the bridge, Captain Smith and Thomas Andrews returned from a quick sounding of the ship. Now they faced each other. Their quiet voices belied the shock and dread both men were feeling after their tour of inspection.

  Smith checked the designer’s hastily compiled notes. “We have water in the forepeak, both forward holds and mail room, and Number 5 and 6 Boiler Rooms. It’s contained in five, but everything forward is flooded.”

  Andrews nodded grimly. “That would indicate a gash of” — he performed a mental calculation — “three hundred feet in length.”

  The captain looked into Andrews’s eyes. “And this means …?”

  There was a brief flash of emotion in the shipbuilder’s normally placid gaze. “She can float with any two watertight compartments flooded. Even with three of the first five. She can survive a head-on collision that annihilates her first four compartments entirely.” He squared his shoulders. “But what we have is the first five compartments ripped open and weighing us down. In time, the bow will sink so low that the fifth will overflow into the sixth, which will eventually overflow into the seventh, and so on. It is a mathematical certainty.”

  “What are you saying, man?”

  Thomas Andrews drew in a deep breath. “The Titanic is doomed.”

  About the Author

  GORDON KORMAN started writing novels when he was about the same age as the characters in this book, with his first novel, This Can’t Be Happening at Macdonald Hall!, published when he was fourteen. Since then, his novels have sold millions of copies around the world. Most recently, he is the author of Swindle, Zoobreak, and Framed, the trilogies Island, Everest, Dive, and Kidnapped, and the series On the Run. His other novels include No More Dead Dogs and Son of the Mob. He lives in New York with his family, and can be found on the web at www.gordonkorman.com.

  Other Books By

  LOOK FOR MORE ADVENTURE FROM

  GORDON KORMAN

  TITANIC

  BOOK ONE: UNSINKABLE

  BOOK TWO: COLLISION COURSE

  BOOK THREE: S.O.S.

  KIDNAPPED

  BOOK ONE: THE ABDUCTION

  BOOK TWO: THE SEARCH

  BOOK THREE: THE RESCUE

  ON THE RUN

  BOOK ONE: CHASING THE FALCONERS

  BOOK TWO: THE FUGITIVE FACTOR

  BOOK THREE: NOW YOU SEE THEM, NOW YOU DON’T

  BOOK FOUR: THE STOWAWAY SOLUTION

  BOOK FIVE: PUBLIC ENEMIES

  BOOK SIX: HUNTING THE HUNTER

  DIVE

  BOOK ONE: THE DISCOVERY

  BOOK TWO: THE DEEP

  BOOK THREE: THE DANGER

  EVEREST

  BOOK ONE: THE CONTEST

  BOOK TWO: THE CLIMB

  BOOK THREE: THE SUMMIT

  ISLAND

  BOOK ONE: SHIPWRECK

  BOOK TWO: SURVIVAL

  BOOK THREE: ESCAPE

  Copyright

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  Copyright © 2011 by Gordon Korman.

  Cover art by Vasilije Ristovic

  Cover design by Tim Hall

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First printing, August 2011

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  eISBN: 978-0-545-38932-7