James Grippando - Leapholes

"So, we have to go… where?"

"Back to the William Brown."

"You mean that ship that sank when it hit the iceberg? The case that got you all wet?"

Hezekiah nodded. "For you, that is the most important case in all these books. The judge will use that case to decide whether you are guilty or innocent."

"How can an old case about a sinking ship help the judge decide whether I'm responsible for those people who died from a disease like

"You'll understand when we get there." Hezekiah went to the closet and draped a heavy black cloak around his shoulders. It was the kind of winter garment that Ryan would have expected to see on a man from the nineteenth century. Then Hezekiah found a long wool coat and gave it to Ryan. "Better wear this," he said. "Nighttime in the North Atlantic isn't exactly Miami Beach."

Ryan still didn't believe that they were actually going anywhere. But he pulled on the coat, just in case. It fit perfectly.

"Are you ready?" said Hezekiah.

Ryan took a deep breath and strapped on his VLE helmet. "Ready."

"Then off we go."

Ryan landed hard on the wooden deck of a ship. A cold wind was howling, and the icy spray of the North Atlantic broke over the rail. On the opposite side of the deck, men and women were screaming and shouting. They ran in every direction, eyes filled with terror. Almost immediately, Ryan was chilled to the core, shivering in the night air.

"Look out!" someone shouted from above.

Ryan quickly rolled to his left. Hezekiah came crashing down on the deck beside him. If Ryan hadn't moved out of the way, he would have been flattened by the old man.

Ryan said, "Do you have to make these landings so rough?"

"How else am I going to convince you that this is real?"

"It's not real. You said it yourself. It's a virtual legal environment."

"Sure it is," said Hezekiah.

Another wave broke over the bow, soaking Ryan and Hezekiah with sea water.

"That was virtually freezing," said Hezekiah.

Ryan rose to his feet, shaking water from his coat. He was about to say something, then stopped short at the sight of a ring-shaped life preserver hanging on the rail directly in front of him. Hezekiah had warned Ryan about their destination. Still, it gave him goose bumps to see the ship's name printed in bold black letters on the white life preserver.

"The William Brown" said Ryan, reading aloud. It was as if the full ramifications of their journey had finally set in. "We're on a doomed ship."

"Yes, we are," said Hezekiah. "In less than two hours, this vessel will be resting on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean."

Ryan and Hezekiah exchanged a look of concern, but a shrill scream from the other side of the ship sent them scampering to see what was the matter. Ryan went first, followed by Hezekiah.

The William Brown was nothing like the great iron ocean liners of the later steamship era. With three tall masts, large canvas sails, and a long wooden hull, it was fairly typical of the ocean-crossing ships that sailed in the 1840s. Ryan and Hezekiah climbed over boxes, barrels, and other cargo that was strapped to the deck. Above them, the tattered remains of a huge canvas sail flapped in the windstorm like an old shredded bed sheet. The ship was in peril, completely at the storm's mercy as it rolled from one great ocean swell to the next. At times, Ryan could barely stand on his own two feet against the northeasterly gusts. If the wind didn't soon tear away what little was left of the main sail, Ryan feared that the next great gust might take the entire mast down. They had to cross the deck with caution. The planks were slick with foamy sea water. Rain and sleet were coming down harder by the minute. It was like sliding down an icy hill, as the ship was listing badly to the port side. Clearly, the hull had already taken on too much seawater.

Although it was only a short distance, it seemed to take them a very long time to reach the starboard side of the ship. Perhaps a hundred people were already there ahead of them.

They were pushing and shoving, each one trying to out-shout the other. Another huge wave slammed across the bow. Cold, salty water drenched the crowd. It only fueled the sense of panic.

"Order! We must keep order!" a man shouted above the ruckus.

Three young sailors armed with clubs pushed back against the advancing mob. The crew and some volunteers were trying desperately to hoist a lifeboat into position. It was the sailors' job to keep the most unruly passengers at bay.

"Get back, mates!" another sailor shouted. He was speaking to Ryan and Hezekiah, which Ryan didn't realize until the sailor shoved him hard against the wall.

"What happened?" asked Ryan.

"We've hit an iceberg," said the sailor. "The captain has given the order to abandon ship."

"But where do we go?" said Ryan.

"Same place we're all going, mate. To meet our Maker."

Ryan felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, but it was just the weight of the man's words.

"Heave ho!" the sailor shouted. The strongest volunteers had broken into two groups, each of them pulling on a length of thick rope. The pulleys above them creaked and swayed. Slowly, the wooden lifeboat inched downward from its davits. As it neared the deck, the crowd surged forward. It didn't take a genius to see that this lifeboat wasn't nearly large enough to carry everyone to safety. Many would be left behind. It seemed that everyone was willing to fight to be among the lucky few survivors.

The men pulled harder on the ropes. Children clung to their mothers. Sailors moved at the command of their officers. The wind continued to howl. The night air seemed to turn even colder, if that was possible. Ryan wasn't dressed for such brutal weather, and neither were the rest of the passengers. The women were wearing ankle-length dresses, and the men wore heavy coats and capes. The fashion was clearly of another era, which was no surprise. This was, after all, the mid-nineteenth century.

"Grab a line, mates!" a sailor shouted.

Ryan and Hezekiah took hold of the line. They replaced two other men whose hands were bloodied with rope burns. About a dozen volunteers were on their team. At the lead sailor's command, they pulled and released, pulled and released, slowly lowering the lifeboat. It was hovering about five feet above the deck when passengers started climbing up the rail. They grabbed at the ropes and even jumped on top of other passengers. Every last one of them was desperately looking for any possible route to secure a precious place in the lifeboat.

"Order, order!" a sailor shouted. But it was to no avail. In a matter of seconds the situation had turned into utter chaos. The lifeboat was nearly filled before it could even be lowered into position for boarding. Ryan felt the strain on the rope in his hands. With the added weight of passengers, there weren't enough men to secure the boat.

"We can't hold on much longer!" Ryan shouted.

The crowd ignored him. Frightened passengers forced their way forward. There were men as well as women, and even some crying children who had been separated from their parents. They all knew the choices: Get on a lifeboat, or go down with the ship.

"It's overloaded!" someone warned.

Just as those words were spoken, the rope snapped. The main pulley gave way. The lifeboat came crashing down onto the deck. People were screaming. All were frightened. Many were injured, some severely, crushed beneath the weight of the fallen lifeboat.

"Help! Help us, please!"

The men dropped their ropes and ran to the lifeboat. Some tried to help the injured, but many simply fought for their own seat on the boat. The most badly hurt, the ones unable to pick themselves up and slide to safety, were trampled in the human stampede.