Little Lion by Ann Hood Page B

much, and he returned to the end of the deck where most of the other women and children huddled.
    As she neared, Maisie saw that Alexander wasn’t the only one going overboard. Many men climbed over the railing and lowered themselves on ropes toward the sea. And, she realized, they were all holding wooden buckets.
    At the railing, she peered below. A dozen or more men were swinging from ropes, just above the gray sea, filling the buckets with seawater, then handing them up the rope to the next man, who handed it to the next man, until it reached the top. Waiting men took the buckets of water and ran to douse the flames with it. She thought about fire hoses and fire hydrants and fire extinguishers and all the things that worked to put out fires in her world. These buckets of seawater seemed small and ineffective in comparison.
    Maisie swallowed hard, the taste of smoke burning her tongue and throat. Would these men with their buckets be able to save the
Thunderbolt
and her passengers?
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    Hours passed.
    The frantic voices of the men struggling to put out the fire mixed with the cries of babies and the sounds of the crackling flames and wood splitting. The smoke grew darker and thicker. Maisie watched, mesmerized, as the men worked, continuously filling the buckets with water and passing them up, up the large ship’s ropes to the deck. Alexander stayed in his position about midway on the rope, hanging on until a bucket reached him, then somehow taking the bucket and passing it to the man above him while still clutching the rope. Soot and cinders covered his face and hair and hands and clothes. But the men seemed not to notice. They just kept working to get the fire under control.
    Eventually Felix sat down, pressed close against the others across the deck. Beside him, a woman prayed softly. He leaned against her slightly, letting her words wash over him and comfort him as he drifted into a fitful sleep. He woke with a start, looking around confused.
    Then he saw that the fire still raged. The men still struggled to put it out. And his sister still stood watching them. Dawn streaked beautiful colors across the sky. Lavenders and pinks that looked blurry in the smoky air around him, but somehow pretty just the same. He could still see the crescent moon and Venus twinkling beside it. Alexander had shown him that just the other night when they sat up here looking at the stars. Felix had thought the bright light twinkling next to the moon was a star, too.
No, no,
Alexander had told him.
She’s a planet. Venus.
    The woman who had prayed during the night now handed Felix a bowl.
    â€œSip some broth,” she told him in an accent he couldn’t recognize.
    The bowl, brought from below by one of the sailors, was being passed from person to person. Usually Felix refused to share cups or spoons or anything with strangers. But cold and hungry, he took the bowl gratefully and sipped. The broth tasted delicious, like chicken soup without any of the veggies or noodles. He wanted to drink it down but knew it was meant for everyone.
    Felix passed it to the next person. Then, like everybody else, he waited.
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    That afternoon, word spread across the deck that the bucket brigade had almost completely put out the fire. The passengers, all of them stinking of smoke and trembling with fear, let out a whoop of thanks. Still, the men had to continue with their bucket brigade for several more hours before the captain appeared before the crowd. His cheeks had turned bright red from the heat of the fire, and his face was smeared black with soot. He looked exhausted but joyful.
    â€œAll of you can return to your cabins and thank the lord for rescuing the
Thunderbolt
.”
    â€œAmen!” the crowd said in unison.
    â€œI think, sir,” a young, pretty woman said, “we should thank the men who saved us as well.”
    This time the crowd’s