Free Unsinkable by Gordon Korman Page A

twenty-four years ago to worry about what might be coming around the corner to clobber him right now. Jack the Ripper aboard the Titanic! What next?
Paddy navigated the E Deck passageway and reached the gangway just as the tender was tying up. He already had all his worldly possessions — the suit on his back and Daniel’s drawing. Too bad he couldn’t have managed a few fat purses from first class. That would have kept him in meat pies for a long time. But he couldn’t risk missing the tender.
His plan was simple: He would pose as a White Star employee escorting the Queenstown passengers ashore, and he would simply never come back.
He melted into the group as the gate was lowered and the stewards began welcoming the new arrivals.
He saw the bodyguard first — a very tall, rough-looking man with impossibly broad shoulders and a broken nose that wandered all over his face. Next, the houndstooth cloak appeared, and above that, cold, cruel eyes deep set in a stone countenance.
The blood drained from Paddy’s body and settled in his trembling feet.
Kevin Gilhooley, the man who had killed Daniel.
The man who wanted Paddy dead.
The irony was shattering. To escape this monster, Paddy had sailed from Belfast to Southampton to Cherbourg to here. Yet all this time, Kevin Gilhooley had been traveling by rail across Ireland to embark on the very same ship.
The man’s eyes locked on him, and widened in surprise and recognition.
In that instant, the Titanic disappeared, and Paddy was back on the streets of Belfast, where the only thing that mattered was staying alive.
He fled. Through passageways, anterooms, and salons he dashed, up and down companion stairs, past unadorned iron hatches and opulent entrances. Behind him, he felt the pursuit in the form of heavy, poundingfootfalls. But he also heard it — shouted instructions between Gilhooley and his henchman.
“He went that way!”
“Don’t let him get away!”
How can the Titanic’s reception party allow two thugs to run rampant all over the ship, threatening a crew member, even an imposter? he wondered as he ran. The answer was obvious. Stewards were trained to cater to the whims of millionaires and the fears of hopeful emigrants. That sort of treatment did not work well with a gangster like Gilhooley. His ilk did as they pleased. And if someone stopped them, it was usually someone even bigger, stronger, and meaner.
Paddy hustled through the third-class dining saloon, rows of long tables, the decor pleasant but spare and severe. The passageway continued for a distance, ending at a half-gate, used aboard ship to divide classes of service.
Paddy leaped over it without stopping. As soon as his feet touched down, he was aware of the plush carpeting. The paneled walls and subtle lighting told the rest of the story. This part of the deck saw first-class traffic.
The swimming pool, Paddy remembered. It’s around here somewhere.
He slipped through an elegant door marked TURKISH BATH and was amazed to find himself in a gorgeous room that looked like an Arabian palace. Lounge chairs lined the dark walls, and a few menreclined, wrapped in huge thirsty towels. Two of them even had towels over their faces. It was a scene of total pampering and relaxation, the kind only a true swell could afford.
The attendant acknowledged Paddy with a nod, and then stepped into the adjoining steam room.
Gruff, angry voices sounded in the passageway outside. His pursuers were almost upon him!
Paddy did the first desperate thing that came to his mind. He jumped onto the nearest unoccupied lounge chair, buried himself from head to toe in warm Turkish towels, and prayed that the attendant hadn’t counted his customers when he’d gone next door.
A moment later, the hatch burst open and Gilhooley and his man stormed into the bath.
“He’s not in here!” the bodyguard growled. “This is some kind of posh bathhouse!”
“The devil he’s not!” Gilhooley roared. He grabbed at the nearest wrapped figure