Bassinger? She forced herself to turn and look around the

deck, though every movement was an agony. No Bassinger.

The deck was littered with shattered glass blown from the

windows of the pilot house, and there were little fires licking

at the wooden planks of the deck from the broken, overturned

lanterns. Her gaze lifted and shock plummeted through her.

„Oh, my God.“

The pilot house that had formerly perched on the Texas

deck had vanished, one of the tall smokestacks was gone

entirely, and the other was broken and spewing a thick cloud

of scalding steam. The railing at the front of the boat was

aflame and she could hear a crackling roar from the hurricane

deck that denoted a larger fire raging below. The boilers, she

thought. Robert had said something about the faulty boilers on

the Mary L, she remembered vaguely. They must have

exploded when Bassinger had ordered the added steam.

The rail was pressing heavily on her lower body and she

tried to push it off her before she realized it was impossible.

She would have to cut the rawhide strap before she would be

able to move the railing.

The riverboat suddenly gave a lurch that sent a thrill of fear

through her. The Mary L was taking on water. It wouldn’t be

long before it began to sink and she was bound helplessly to

the rail.

The broken glass!

She carefully edged sideways until she could reach a

pointed sliver of glass and pick it up with her thumb and

forefinger. The glass sliced through her flesh and blood

spurted. She dropped the glass. Blast it! She tried again and

managed to keep her grip on the sliver this time. Carefully she

began to saw through the rawhide thong binding her to the rail.

Who was that screaming? It was a chorus of voices, men,

women, and children in an agony of terror.

There was something she should remember, but she

couldn’t seem to think. The frayed rawhide thong snapped and

she pushed the heavy railing off her legs. Now for the ropes

binding her wrists. She would need a larger piece of glass.

The passengers! Bassinger had said he had locked the

doors of the staterooms. They were prisoners caught in the fire

and death below. She had no time to saw through the ropes.

The fires from the lanterns… The flames could burn

through the ropes far quicker than she could cut through them

with pieces of glass.

Faster but more painful. There were several burns on her

wrists and forearms before she managed to rid herself of the

ropes. She wouldn’t think about it; the burns hurt no more than

the stripes on her back.

Then she was on her feet, running toward the stairs. A

thicker haze of smoke lay over the deck below and she could

barely make out the door to the grand saloon as she made her

way toward it. She stumbled. There was something in her

way…

Bracken. His.eyes were open and staring, a two-foot jagged

sword of glass penetrating his breast. Silver took a deep breath

and swallowed hard. She mustn’t be squeamish. He was in the

way. She grabbed Bracken’s legs, tugging and pulling until he

was clear of the door.

The riverboat was now listing heavily to the starboard and

she had difficulty keeping her balance as she ran into the grand

saloon. The Mary L was structured much like the Rose, the

doors of the passenger cabins opening on either side of the

common room, she noticed with relief. But thank God, it was

much, much smaller and the shouts and pounding appeared to

be coming entirely from behind the ten doors on this side of

the saloon. „I’m coming,“ she called desperately. „It’s all right,

I’ll get you out.“

But how? She had no key and no tool to open those locked

doors.

Well, there were plenty of tools on the boiler deck.

If there was still a boiler deck.

Still, it was her only chance. She turned and ran from the

saloon and then down the steps to the boiler deck.

There were no fires on this deck; the entire deck was

flooded with at least three feet of muddy river water.

Nothing was left of the boilers but jagged fangs of metal…

Bodies floated like garish bits of flotsam…

Horribly scalded bodies…

Silver closed her eyes for a moment, unable to bear the

sight. Men should not look like this in death. There should be

dignity.

She opened her eyes and forced herself to look around. Her

sick horror would not save the people locked in those cabins.

It was river water not water from the burst boilers that was

now flooding the deck. It should be safe to go down and look

around. She jumped down onto the deck and waded through

the water, averting her gaze from the gruesome carnage around

her. A moment later she had located a crowbar, grabbed it, and

was hurriedly wading back toward the stairs.

Then she was running up the steps, down the deck, and into

the saloon. She inserted the crowbar into the doorjamb of the

first door. „It will only be a moment. I have something now.“

It took so long, she thought in despair. Why wasn’t she

stronger? The wood finally splintered and the door swung

open. A young woman wearing a flowered pink peignoir and

carrying a small child ran out into the saloon as tears ran down

her cheeks. „We’re all going to die!“ she sobbed, clutching the

child desperately.

„No.“ Silver was already working on the next’ door. „Help

me!“

„But we’re going to die.“

„You may be stupid enough to die here, but I intend to

live,“ Silver said impatiently. „Now, help – “

„Silver!“ Nicholas’s voice!

Relief surged through Silver. Nicholas was strong. Nicholas

would help her. „Here! In the saloon, Nicholas.“

Then he was beside her, his face blackened by smoke, his

white shirt grimy and stained. „You’re very dirty,“ she said

vaguely. „Help me, Nicholas, there’s not much time.“

He stood there, looking at her, an odd radiance shining

beneath the grime. „You’re dirty too.“ His index finger

reached out to gently touch her sooty cheek. „I thought you

were dead.“

„I will be if you don’t help me get these poor people out of

their cabins.“ She pried desperately with the crowbar.

„Bassinger locked them all in and this damn boat is sinking…“

„Stand back.“ He took the crowbar and broke the lock with

one slicing blow. „Valentin is in a rowboat tied to the stern of

the hurricane deck and Mikhail is picking up survivors in

another boat.“ He was going from door to door swiftly

breaking the locks. Passengers were streaming from the cabins

into the saloon; the smoke was thickening. „Get to the boat at

the stern and off the Mary L,“ he shouted.

There were cries of relief and a rush toward the door of the

saloon as the freed passengers dashed toward safety*

Silver stood and watched as the saloon emptied. Two more

doors.

„Dammit, Silver, get out of here,“ Nicholas said harshly,

glancing over his shoulder.

She shook her head.

He broke the lock and moved to the last door. „You’ve

done your part. You can’t help here. Why the hell don’t you

get off the boat?“

Two men dressed only in their long underwear rushed by

her and out of the saloon.

„I can’t leave,“ she said simply. „Not while you’re still

here.“ It all seemed very clear, even through the haze of pain

and exhaustion enveloping her. She could not leave when

Nicholas stayed. She could not live if Nicholas died.

Then the last door was open and Nicholas was running