The Rosetta Maru

 

THE ROSETTA MARU WAS ENORMOUS, nearly as big as the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse. As I stood staring up at the ship, I saw her lifeboats way up on the very top deck. That was my destination.

It wasn’t nearly as difficult to sneak onboard as you’d think. First of all, the docks are absolute bedlam and it’s all anyone can do to keep track of themselves, let alone anybody else. I was in luck because there were several families traveling. I attached myself to the largest, noisiest one. I think there were seven children, maybe six. It was hard to tell. I trailed at their coattails as they followed their parents up the ramp. As soon as we’d cleared the boarding area, I scooted off to find myself a lifeboat.

And the ship had lifts—lifts! How grand was that? I made my way to one and punched the button to open the door.

The lift attendant did a bit of a double take, but I did my Lady Throckmorton bit, which worked. He took me to the uppermost deck. I waited till the lift’s door had closed, then began working my way forward until I reached the railing.

The entire city of London spread out before me like an enormous map. I stopped to watch all the people moving about, as tiny as ants. The salty breeze picked up, sending a spray of drizzle smack into my face. I looked up at the sky, where clouds like big purple bruises were rolling together. I needed to find cover. And quickly.

I hurried to the lifeboats, giving a small squeak of dismay when I realized they were all up high, like cradles hanging out over the railing. How on earth was I to get up there?

Like a monkey, that’s how. And I’d never be able to lug my bag up there. I’d have to find somewhere to stash it down here on the deck where no one would find it.

 

Well, getting into the lifeboat without taking an unplanned swim was quite a challenge, but I made it, safe and sound. It was a little colder than I thought it would be, but I decided to ignore the chill air and pretend I was quite cozy. It helped to think of it as a little cave I’d built for myself, like Henry and I used to do when we were younger. Thinking of Henry made me feel surprisingly lonely, so I pushed that thought aside. (I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.)