There was no time to think, or speak, or pause for breath—Emmeline and Thing simply ran as hard as they could. The satchel jiggled up and down on Emmeline’s back, and from the tinkling sound, she suspected something inside it had been broken. Not the hydrogen sulfide, she thought mournfully. She’d hate to lose that.

“This way!” Thing shouted every few steps, or “No! This way!” as they tried to dodge as many peering eyes as they could. They tore past a line of dozing people on deck chairs and bumped right into a heavily laden waiter with a tray of drinks as they raced around a corner without looking.

“Sorry!” yelled Emmeline.

“Shut it! Whoop!” shouted Thing. “No talkin’!”

“S-sorry!” she whispered. She risked a glance back over her shoulder, but all she could see were some people helping the waiter up and picking his tray off the ground. Nobody was shouting their names or chasing them, and maybe, just maybe—

WAAAaaaaaaauuuaaaaAAAAAAauuuuuuuaaaaaAAAAAaauuuuu…

“What on earth is that?” gasped Emmeline as they rounded another corner.

“Siren,” answered Thing. “For—whoop—fire, or ’mergency, or whatever.”

“There’s a fire?” exclaimed Emmeline.

Thing shot her a look. “Just get in there, an’ put a sock in it,” he muttered, shoving her toward a canvas-covered lifeboat, which seemed, to Emmeline’s eye, rather insecurely lashed to the side of the deck. A small corner of the canvas was loose, and it was short work to make the hole large enough for them both to clamber through.

“We’re the emergency, aren’t we?” she asked quietly once they were hidden.

“Bingo,” whispered Thing. “Now button it.” They crawled beneath a pile of coiled-up rope and spare canvas, and listened closely to what was going on outside. They heard whistles and shouting and lots of pounding, thundering feet.

“What the blazes is going on?” they heard. It sounded like Clarence. “My wife is in an hysterical condition! I demand…” His voice faded away as he lumbered past.

“I’m sure I saw them go this way!” shouted another voice. “Come on!” Emmeline shrank down as small as she could, barely daring to think in case she did it too loudly. Thing was having a horrible time trying to breathe quietly—his tiny, mournful whoops sounded so painful that Emmeline felt very sorry for him. She caught his eye and he nodded, giving her a thumbs-up, but she knew he was lying.

Eventually, the hullabaloo died down. Thing’s lungs rattled, and his face was a strange color, even under the canvas, where everything looked odd.

“Think I might—whoop—think I might go an’ have a look-see, right? You stay put.” Thing moved, ever so slowly, toward the edge of the lifeboat, making straight for the loose flap of canvas.

“No—wait!” Emmeline could already feel her heart hammering in her throat.

“It’s fine!” whispered Thing. “Jus’ keep yer cool, okay?”

Emmeline watched as Thing gingerly peeled back the canvas covering their hiding place. He blinked a bit in the light, and carefully he poked his head up just enough to see over the side. He looked around in all directions, and finally he stuck his head right out. Then he ducked back inside the boat and held out his hand to Emmeline.

“C’mon! Coast’s clear, for now. Get a wriggle on!” But before Emmeline could move, a large, dark shape blocked out the light behind Thing, and she shrank back into the corner of the boat, too scared to scream.

“Not so fast, young’un,” came a low, rumbling voice. Thing jerked and ducked down out of the way of a pair of strong, thick-fingered hands that burst through the gap in the canvas, grabbing and grasping and searching for him.

“Aaargh!” Thing yelled. “Do somethin’!”

“Like what?” Emmeline shouted.

“Anythin’!” Thing kicked out at the searching hands, but Emmeline heard the man chuckle. He knew he had them trapped.

Emmeline’s eyes fell on a heavy wooden oar lying in the bottom of the lifeboat. She grasped it with both hands and gave it to Thing, who immediately began using it to bash, rather inelegantly but quite effectively, at the man’s hairy knuckles.

“Oi!” they heard him yell. “You little brats!”

“ ’At’s right!” shouted Thing. “Take that, ya big lummox!”

Emmeline, meanwhile, was rifling through her satchel. Her fingers rattled their way between her bottles—gratefully she realized her hydrogen sulfide was safe and sound—until she reached the bottom compartment, where her emergency supplies were stored. She found what she was looking for and grabbed it.

“What the ’eck is that?” gasped Thing, turning just long enough to glance at a small, round object in Emmeline’s hands. The man had recovered well and was almost inside the boat now. The whole thing was rocking on its mooring, in serious danger of plunging away from the side of the ship and crashing into the sea a hundred feet below.

“Hold your breath!” Emmeline whispered, her eyes on the man. She recognized him as the bald-headed creature who’d flung her belongings into the sea, and her resolve strengthened.

“What?” yelled Thing, but it was too late for Emmeline to repeat herself.

Quickly she squeezed the object in her hand. She felt the crunch when the inner pocket burst, mixing the chemicals together. It grew warm in her hand as she readied herself to throw it.

Now! This was her chance. The man leaned into the lifeboat again, roaring. His eyes were on Thing and the oar, so he didn’t even see when Emmeline, quick as a flash, threw the object in her hand straight into his open mouth.

“Yurg!” he gurgled. “Yaaaarg!” A horrendous stench filled the air as the stink bomb started to fizz, making a yellow, disgusting foam gush all over the man’s face. It filled up his mouth and started to bubble out of his nose, and within a second or two his whole head was covered. The man dragged himself back out of the lifeboat, and Emmeline saw him stagger down the deck a few feet, trying desperately to get the stink bomb out of his mouth.

“That is foul! What is that?” Thing looked like he was going to throw up. The smell was like old underwear and rotten cheese and bad breath, except a million times worse. Emmeline was quite proud of the final product, but she didn’t have time to hang around admiring her handiwork.

“Come on! We’ve got to go, right now. He won’t be long in getting rid of it.”

Thing chucked the oar back into the bottom of the boat. Emmeline helped pull him up and out over the side, and soon they were back on deck again.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emmeline watched as Stink Bomb tried to shout, but it ended in a fit of coughing as the stench got caught in his throat. He took a few steps in their direction but soon fell to his knees, retching.

“Come on!” Emmeline took off, heading for the nearest staircase, and Thing was hot on her heels. They kept their ears wide open for any sign of pursuit as they went. Up and up they ran, dodging everyone they met, hiding when they could, and taking detours if they had to, neither of them with any idea where they were going. Eventually they began to realize that if Stink Bomb didn’t catch up with them, exhaustion was bound to. They’d been running for what seemed like hours, and now they were running out of places to go.

“We can’t go back to the storeroom, can we?” gasped Emmeline as they paused to catch their breath. Thing could only whoop sadly in reply as they set off once more. She took that as a no.

They were approaching what looked like a dead end. They’d taken a turn, and then another, blindly, and now they were running along a service gantry, where passengers weren’t supposed to go. It led to a large piece of what looked like meteorological equipment, with a huge, round face and lots of levers, welded to a small balcony that was ringed by a low railing, and there was no way to get down from it unless you were a monkey or had wings.

“What are we going to do now?” wailed Emmeline, leaning out over the balcony. All she could see were layers and layers of ship and the crashing, freezing sea far below. She clambered up onto the railing, shaking off a horrible image of herself falling, like a broken doll, into the water, but it was impossible to reach the balcony beneath them. She looked up, straining to see if there was anything—anything—that they could swing from or climb, but nothing was close enough. The next deck up looked miles away. Their only choice was to go back—or jump.

“You little blighters!” Emmeline and Thing whirled around to see Stink Bomb at the other end of the gantry, accompanied by another man, who was equally big and nasty-looking. There were hints of foam still lingering on his face, and as he spoke, a large yellow bubble sneaked out of his nose and popped, loudly and wetly. This seemed to make him even angrier, and he roared, flexing his arms as though getting ready to rip their heads off. Emmeline felt Thing’s hand slip into hers, and he tried to get her to stand behind him. His breath was glooping through his lungs, whooping all the way, and his whole body shook with effort and exhaustion.

“Hey! Up here!” came a voice. Emmeline started, and Thing stared at her, confusion all over his face.

“What was—”

“Up here! Come on!”

Together, Emmeline and Thing took a few careful steps back, keeping their eyes on their pursuers. Stink Bomb started to pound his way down the gantry, growling, his every footstep like an earthquake.

Emmeline stopped walking when she felt the edge of the balcony at her back.

“About time!” came the voice again, this time from just above their heads.

Emmeline looked up. A young man, dressed in a white shirt and waistcoat, and wearing a sturdy-looking leather body harness, was hanging from a rope. He had curly black hair, dark eyes, an urgent smile, and a white flower stuck through his buttonhole—and his arms were outstretched to them.

Quick as a heartbeat, Thing threw Emmeline at the dangling man, who helped her—and her satchel—clamber onto his back. Just as the roar of their stink-bombed enemy got loud enough to set Emmeline’s teeth on edge, Thing leaped from the balcony straight into the man’s arms—and, with a sickening lurch, they started to rise through the air.

Emmeline clamped her eyes shut and prayed she wouldn’t throw up.