Titanic: April 1912 by Kathleen Duey

entrance. He had to get to the third-class cabins in the stern to tell Karolina and her aunt to get up to the boat deck. There was every chance that the captain would decide to move passengers from the Titanic to another ship. If there was panic, passengers could easily get trampled on the main stairways—or trapped belowdecks by the crush of frightened people.
    Gavin crossed the third-class open space. The floor was dry here. No one was using the big, unfurnished room now; none of the passengers felt like taking a walk this late at night. Gavin tried to think clearly, mapping a route in his mind. He knew D-deck better than any other since that was where he had spent most of his time aboard the Titanic. But there was no way to get to the stern from here unless he went upward. He started up the stairs in the corner of the open room, taking them two at a time.
    At the top, he emerged into the freezing night air. He was breathing hard. It took him a moment to realize that the roar of steam from the funnels had stopped. He could hear the band playing somewhere above him. It was a lively tune and it seemed out of place, like music from a dream. He crossed the forward well deck, slowing to a walk, trying to catch his breath. There were officers on the bridge. He could hear them shouting orders.
    Gavin went up the steps to C-deck, then, without pausing, headed straight on toward B-deck. There was no other way to get to Karolina’s room fast enough.
    He pulled open the door to the first-class corridor, expecting to see dozens of people frantically packing their bags and cases. But it was almost empty, and he saw no stacked luggage at all.
    Gavin walked so fast, he was almost running. He passed a few people talking quietly as they headed toward the Boat-deck. He kept his face averted, out of habit. Unauthorized intrusion into first class was strictly against the rules.
    â€œSteward?”
    Gavin turned to see a man in formal evening attire standing in the doorway of one of the staterooms. Behind him, a woman in a dressing gown looked out anxiously. Gavin could see the orange-red glow of their electric heater behind them. “I’m not a steward, sir,” he admitted.
    â€œDo you know what has happened? Our steward brought us these.” The man held out two life belts, their stiff cork cores making them awkward for him to hold.
    â€œI think you should put them on, sir,” Gavin said carefully. “And then go up to the boat deck.”
    â€œBut it’s so cold,” the man’s wife said from behind him. “Do we have to go up there?”
    Gavin shrugged. “It would probably be safest, ma’am.”
    The man dismissed Gavin with a wave, then turned and ushered his wife back inside their room. Gavin could hear them talking as he walked away.
    Crossing the broad hallway that brought him to the Grand Staircase, he saw people milling around on the landing. The music was louder here, and he realized the band was just outside.
    Gavin started down the beautiful staircase, easily passing through the scattered families and couples who looked almost more excited than frightened. After C-deck, there were more people coming up from below. Walking against the crowd, Gavin stayed near the ornate balustrade, his shoulder brushing the polished paneling.
    Here, everyone was remarkably calm. No one carried baggage, but most of the women were dressed in a bulky hodgepodge of expensive clothing. No one was dragging trunks or shouldering bundles of goods here. Some of the women wore mismatched jewelry, no doubt figuring it was safer on them than in their rooms or with the purser.
    â€œEveryone please don your life belts and remain calm,” a voice shouted from above. Gavin turned to see an officer in his dark, well-cut uniform. “If you will all just please come up to the boat deck now.”
    Gavin kept going downward, passing the last of the crowd, finding himself suddenly alone on the stairs. This