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It was large, made of flashy bright coppery metal, but shaped like a round top-heavy tub. Its hull was bulbous, and widened out to support platforms along the main deck. There were four decks, and it had three smokestacks, but they were set side by side across the width of the ship. There were no windows on the upper decks and few doors, though there was an open promenade. Some of the windows were lit, and she saw two men walking along the third deck, just turning in to an open hatch. There was no gangplank down, and as she drew closer she saw the ship wasn't tied up to the pier, it was standing at anchor a short distance from it. The name on the bow was SOVEREIGN.

Emilie threw a look back at the dock. More men were gathering with lamps, agitated shadows searching the crates and barrel stacks, darting into every corner. Swearing to herself, Emilie swam toward the other ship.

She had to swim out and around the bow, to get to the side facing away from the lighted pier. I can't do this much longer. If there was no way to climb up to the deck, she was going to have to find a piling to cling to. The cold water sapped her strength, and she didn't think she could swim anywhere else after this, not without a rest.

But for once, the first time in three days, luck was with her.

The ship had a cradle for a launch or lifeboat that had been lowered down the side, and sat just above the water. The boat was gone; someone must have taken it to go to shore. The cradle had a small platform with a ladder leading up the side to an open gate in the railing.

Emilie didn't know how exhausted she was until she tried to climb up onto the platform. Her soaked clothes weighed twice as much as she did, at least, and her arms ached with the strain by the time she dragged herself onto the narrow metal shelf. She lay there for a while, breathing hard and dripping, rivulets of water running away across the platform. But it was warmer out of the water than it was in.

After a time her breathing returned to normal, and the metal platform began to feel cold and very uncomfortable. She sat up and started to wring out her clothes as best she could. Listening hard, she could still hear muted commotion from the docks, but she had a refuge for the moment, and that was all that mattered. She could stay here until the men on the dock stopped looking for her, then swim back to shore.

She heard the putt-putt-putt of a small-boat motor. "Oh, no," Emilie muttered weakly. Out of the kettle, into the coals. What were the chances that it was this ship's launch, returning? After the events of the past night, she thought the chances were rather good.

She had had time to rest and to let several pounds of water drain out of her clothes, so tackling the ladder wasn't as difficult as it would have been earlier. The motor boat was drawing closer somewhere out in the dark, and that spurred her on.

She dragged herself up onto the polished wooden planks of the deck, and staggered upright. She started toward the nearest hatch, a heavy door with a thick crystal porthole. It stood open a little, and she cautiously peeked inside. It led into a wide interior corridor running parallel to the deck, lined with fine dark wood, the floor covered with a thick patterned carpet. An electric ceramic sconce about midway down provided wan light, enough to show her the richness of the brass fixtures and fittings. This must be someone's private steam yacht, she thought, startled. Not a good place to be caught if she didn't want to be mistaken for a thief again.

Emilie heard the boat motor sputter and turned. The launch was entering the slip, the light on its bow giving her enough of a glimpse of the occupants to see that there were several figures in dark clothing aboard. This isn't the best place to hide but it's the only one I've got. She wiggled through the doorway without moving the hatch and started down the corridor.

She was still dripping, but fortunately the dark pattern of the carpet didn't show it. Anxious and feeling exactly like the unwelcome, uninvited intruder she was, she took the first turn to a cross passage.

The lights were brighter here, which made her feel horribly exposed. She hurried past cabin doors, but they were all closed, and she was afraid to walk in on someone sleeping, or worse, awake. She passed a narrow stairwell, hesitated, then decided to stay on this deck.

Then the passage opened out into a lounge. It had deep upholstered couches built back against the walls, and glass-fronted bookcases, and a white porcelain heating stove. There was a partially open door at the back. She hurried over to peek inside, and saw it was a steward's cubby, with a gas ring, a tap, and storage cabinets. As a hiding place, it was a good possibility. Surely it was too late at night for someone to want to sit in the lounge and call for a steward—

Footsteps sounded from somewhere nearby, and Emilie whipped into the cubby and pushed the door nearly to, leaving a slim gap. She crouched down on the tile floor, wrapped her arms around her knees, and tried to make her breathing silent.