Lizzy Overland was hard pressed to remember the last time she'd seen her grandfather as animated as he had been upon seeing the drawing. She helped ease him into one of the chairs at the dining table, before bringing him a cup of tea. He sipped from the cup as she sat down opposite him, eager to know more. Even Toothless, her grandfather's German Shepherd had been swept up in the wave of sudden excitement.

"Are you okay, Papa?" her face showing her concern.

Her grandfather, Hamish Overland collected his thoughts for a moment before he finally spoke: "Yes... I just never imagined I'd ever see that drawing again."

"Did you see it on display when you were younger?" Lizzy enquired.

"No." Hamish shook his head, emitting a soft chuckle. "That drawing was of me."

His granddaughter studied his face sceptically. "You think that was you, Papa?"

"It was me, dear! Wasn't I a catch?" He asked with a wry grin. "On the wall behind me, there's a photo of me when I first went to Coney Island, I would've been around the same age as I was in the drawing." The monochrome photograph in question depicted a youth perched against the railing of the pier at Coney Island, the resemblance to the young man in the drawing was unmistakeable, as was the resemblance with Hamish. Lizzy's gaze returned to her grandfather.

"I didn't know you were on the Titanic."

"Neither did your father... For a long time I wanted to forget about what happened." Lizzy returned to her seat and took Hamish's hand, hearing the sadness creep into her grandfather's voice. "I didn't talk about it for so long that eventually there didn't seem to be any reason to talk about it all... but, maybe this is his way of telling me it's time."

"Who?"

Hamish smiled fondly, staring into space. "My first love." Lizzy took the opportunity to bring their lunch across to the table, and set down Toothless' bowl, which the dog tucked into eagerly. She also extracted a small tape recorder from her grandfather's desk and indicated it to him, which he nodded his consent to. With a fresh tape in place she sat it down on the table and began recording.
"For the record-" he paused to clear his throat. "-before arriving in America, my name was Hamish Haddock. In 1912, I travelled as a passenger with my father on the R.M.S. Titanic... and during the maiden voyage I met a man who changed my life." He paused to mentally prepare himself. "It's been eighty-four years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used, the sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called 'the ship of dreams', and it was... it really was..."

April 10th 1912

R.M.S. Titanic towered over the White Star Line dock like a leviathan. A black wall of iron and steel rose from the water, as if it had grown from the depths of the harbour. Stacked atop the dark hull in contrast was a brilliant white superstructure, filled with windows and open-air promenade decks. Increasing the ship's height were four buff-yellow funnels that were again topped in black like a set of smart, expensive hats. Titanic was the second of three planned super liners, and was the largest moving object in the world.

The liner dwarfed those who manned her decks, and the flurry of activity on the dock below. Passengers, spectators and White Star Line personnel were busy preparing for departure, all the while as luggage and cargo were carefully loaded into the ship's holds for the maiden voyage to New York.

A trio of automobiles pushed their way through the throng, their horns blaring to announce their presence. Leading the group was a 1912 Renault enclosed limousine, which looked resplendent in a gleaming black and white colour scheme. The Renault slowed to a stop and a footman stepped down, opening the door for the passengers who were sat behind the driver. The first to step out into the crowd was 18-year-old Hamish Haddock the 3rd, a thinly-built boy with stylish long auburn hair which was swept back at the sides. His intelligent green eyes blinked against the glare of the sun, before they focussed on the ship which dominated his field of vision. His grip tightened on the hat he held in his right hand.

Behind him his father, Stoick Haddock, exited the vehicle. Stoick was a bear of a man in his late forties, his build betrayed his heritage as a man who'd worked many a long day in his life, whilst his attire revealed the fact that he'd been considerably successful at what he'd done. A smile beamed on the older man's face, tucked between a rich red moustache and beard. He marvelled at the ocean liner before him.

"It looks bigger than the Mauritania." Hamish observed in a Scottish brogue, aware of his father's presence.

"It's nearly one-hundred feet longer, and has 20,000 tonnes of Haddock steel in it's construction." Stoick beamed.

Then we know who to hold accountable if something goes wrong. The younger man mused sardonically. "In which parts?" he turned slightly back towards his father in enquiry.

"Only the best." The Scotsman boasted.

"Sir!" A White Star Line porter appeared from the crowd. "You'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, it's around that way, Sir!" he indicated further along the dock.

Stoick fumbled in his pocket of his jacket. "I put my faith in you, good man." he replied as he placed a small pile of coins in the porter's hand, causing the man's eyes to practically shoot out of his skull. "Now kindly see my man."

"Oh yes, Sir! My pleasure, Sir! If I can do anything at all-" the porter was cut off as Stoick's valet, Spicer Lovejoy placed a firm hand on the eager man's shoulder, directing him towards the Rambler Four Touring which contained the Haddocks' luggage.
Lovejoy was a stern-faced Englishman in his late fifties, who effortlessly conveyed the warmth and appearance of an undertaker.

As Lovejoy set the porter to work, a man emerged from the final car of the group, a 1909 Benz Landaulet.
With pale skin, slick black hair and a long thin nose he had the air of nobility about him. Cosmo Pitchiner had worked his way up to a position of prominence within Haddock Steel, and would be joining his employer on the voyage to America.

Pitchiner appeared at Stoick's side, his almost-yellow hazel eyes fixated on his gold pocket watch. "We'd better hurry, Mr. Haddock." He observed in a clipped English accent, around them whistles around the dock began to sound. With Stoick taking the lead, the three of them walked towards the First Class gangway, which was propped against the open door leading into the Reception Room on Titanic's D-Deck.

It was the ship of dreams... to everyone else, to me it was a slave ship... taking me to America in chains. Outwardly I was everything a well brought-up boy should be. Inside... I was screaming.

Outside, the Titanic's funnel whistles blared out the final call to board. Inside the Itchen Tavern the air stank of smoke, sweat and beer. Jackson Overland was currently poised over an intense card game between himself, his friend Fabrizio and two Swedes. Jackson was an upbeat man just shy of twenty, with long ruffled chestnut-coloured hair and a matching set of eyes, set above a mouth that often bore a mischievous smile.
Fabrizio De Rossi, closer to thirty was an olive-skinned Italian with neat black hair. A pair of dark eyes and a slight stubble added a slightly exotic quality to him.

Jack listened as the older Swede berated the younger in his native tongue. Overland didn't understand the language, but he suspected that the argument had something to do with the fact that the younger man had bet both of the Swedes' berth tickets.

"Jack, you are pazzo! You bet everything we have!" Fabrizio was apoplectic.

"When you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose." Jack responded sagely in an American accent. The two Swedes argued further before Overland looked at the younger of the two. "Sven?"

"Ett." Sven responded, trading one car from his hand for another from the deck. Jack also took the opportunity to trade a card, taking care not to reveal his hand.

"Alright, moment of truth. Somebody's life is about to change." the American looked between the three other card players. "Fabrizio?"

Fabrizio placed his cards down on the table silently.

"Niente?"

"Niente." the Italian confirmed.

"Olaf?" Olaf set his cards down on the table as well, dejected. "Nothing." Jack cast his gaze over to the player to his right. "Sven?" the Swede laid out his hand, two pairs. The American winced. "Uh-oh, two pair. I'm sorry, Fabrizio."

"Que sorry? Ma fa'n culo! You bet all our money!" he was beside himself, mortified.

"I'm sorry, you're not gonna see your Mom again for a long time..." he paused. "...because we're going to America! Full house, boys!" He bellowed excitedly, slamming his winning hand on the table. Fabrizio, unable to contain his excitement scooped up the tickets and began to dance about.

Jack had barely started to gather up his winnings when Olaf reached across the table and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, angrily shouting something which was lost by the language barrier. With a curled fist primed, Jack closed his left eye in anticipation.

The blow landed square on Sven's jaw, sending him tumbling out of his chair and onto the floor. Jack couldn't help but laugh as the older Swede continued to admonish his companion.

"C'mon!"

"Figlio di puttana!" Fabrizio beamed.

"I'm going home!" Jack exclaimed as he kissed the tickets. A moment later Fabrizio grabbed him in a bear hug. "I'm going home!"

"I go to America!" Fabrizio cheered.

"No mate!" the pubkeeper shouted, drowning out their elation. "Titanic go to America, in five minutes!" He laughed, pointing at the clock on the wall behind him.

"Shit!" Jack's brain went into action, he unfurled his hat as Fabrizio ducked down to scoop up their winnings. "C'mon! Here! Here!" The American shouted, holding the hat beneath the rim of the table, coins, cards and a pocket watch falling into the welcoming darkness.

The streets of Southampton and the docks shot by as Jack and Fabrizio charged to their new destination.

"We're riding it high style now! We're a couple of regular swells!" he shouted as they ducked under a gangway. "Practically goddamn royalty, ragazzo mio!"

"You see? Is my destinio! Like I told you. I go to L'America to be a millionaire!" Fabrizio's mouth, imagination and feet raced... almost head-first into a cart being pulled by two massive horses. The creatures neighed in alarm as the two men of the world ducked out of the way.

"Woah! Woah!" Jack sent out a deflecting hand.

"Bastardo!" Fabrizio shouted at the driver, before shouting back at his companion. "Quel pazzo!"

"Maybe, but I've got the tickets!" Overland bellowed excitedly as they charged along the dock, running parallel to the ship's enormous black hull. "C'mon! I thought you were fast!" Jack and Fabrizio finally arrived at the gangway to the Third Class entrance on E-Deck, which was already clear of the ship by a clear three feet. "Woah! Hold on! Wait! Wait!" Jack shouted as they crossed the gangway, approaching a bewildered looking officer. "Wait! Wait! We're passengers! Passengers!"

The officer took a moment to study their tickets. "Have you been through the inspection queue?"

"Of course! Anyway, we don't have any lice we're Americans, both of us!"

The officer seemed doubtful, but with time against him he finally nodded. "Right, come aboard!" Jumping the gap, Jack and Fabrizio resumed their dash through the Reception Room and into Titanic's interior. People of all ages, races and nations crowded through the tight white-painted corridors of Third Class, all the while as Jack smiled like a loon, high on the euphoria of winning the game, the run, and managing to make it on board just in time.

"We're the luckiest sons of bitches in the world, you know that?"

A final trumpeting whistle blast echoed across Southampton as Titanic's great mooring lines were cast off. Every port-side rail, bulwark and Promenade was crowded with passengers as they waved to the gathered crowd below. Rushing out onto the Third Class promenade on the Poop Deck, Jack and Fabrizio joined the jovial throng.

"Goodbye!" Jack called out, waving out to the people beneath them. From all around they could hear the triumphant and cheerful chirps and hoots from other ships as the great vessel slipped away from the Dock.

"You know somebody?" Fabrizio asked, confused.

"Of course not! That's not the point!" Jack turned back to wave. "Goodbye, I'll miss you!"

"Goodbye!" Fabrizio joined in. "I'll never forget you!"

Seven decks below, beneath the water's surface, the three colossal propellers attached to Titanic's stern began to rotate, churning up the silt on the bed of the harbour. The efforts of the ship's giant reciprocating engines sent a low, constant vibration through the deck beneath their feet. It wasn't long at all before the liner had begun to move forwards, leaving Southampton and England behind it.

With the well-wishers fading into the distance, Jack and Fabrizio returned below to locate their cabin. Like many of their fellow passengers, the white labyrinthine corridors were proving a challenge to navigate.

"G-60?" The American paused, looking down an off-shoot at a junction. The wooden sign hung above them declared that cabins G-40 through G-58 could be found down that passage. Unsuccessful, the two pressed further on. "Excuse me!" Jack offered as he ducked past a female passenger. A new junction had presented itself to him, one he hoped would be their accommodation. "G-60?" He swept his eyes from one side of the new corridor to the other. Finally, G-60 loomed into view on his left. "Oh! Right here!" He shouted for Fabrizio's benefit. The Italian, meanwhile, appeared to have caught his eyes on an attractive blonde woman in sensible dress.

The cabin was fitted with two bunk beds, and very little else. Already making themselves at home were two men of Nordic descent, who Jack assumed were friends of Sven and Olaf. Stretching out a hand, the American greeted the two Swedes. "Hey! How you doing? Jack. Nice to meet you."

The men traded confused looks with each other as Fabrizio finally entered, dumping his bag on the top bed of the unoccupied berths. "I'm Jack Overland, nice to meet you! How you doing?" The American turned, just in time to see the Italian clambering up top. "Who says you get top bunk?!" He playfully tickled his companion as the two Swedes looked on.

"This is your private Promenade Deck, sir. Would you be requiring anything?" The steward politely enquired as Stoick inspected the space that was attached to cabin B-52. The room was trimmed in dark wood with white panels, evoking the look of a Tudor manor house. Populating the space were potted ferns and wicker furniture, as well as wooden trellises wrapped with vines.

B-52 was one of the three cabins that comprised one of the ship's "Millionaires' Suites", and would be home for Stoick and Hiccup for the next several days. The allocation of the suite had been a gift from the White Star Line as a final thank you for the steel used in the liner's construction.

Meeting with Stoick's approval, he gave the steward a curt nod to dismiss him. "Excuse me."

The Sitting Room to B-52 was predominantly dark walnut, with gold finishing details. Gold ornate wall sconces flagged the doors, and more good detailing could be found festooning the fireplace and mirror surround above the mantel. A large marble panel formed the back panel of the fireplace, housing an electric fire with a panel of brass. The furnishings featured walnut that matched the walls and floral fabrics that matched the carpet. The room as a whole felt like it had been borrowed from a French château.

Hamish sat awkwardly, almost uncomfortably in one of the floral chairs by the fire as he watched his luggage and his father's being loaded into their respective cabins. Meanwhile, Pitchiner was sat casually on the chaise longue, indulging in a glass of a champagne the steward had offered on their arrival.

Acting as a conductor to the activity before them was Lovejoy, directing the porters to take each item to the correct destination.

"Put it in there, in the wardrobe." The valet instructed as a man carried one of Stoick's heavy suitcases. A fiercer expression of focus appeared when the elder Haddock's safe entered the Sitting Room. The large item was square at the base but more of a cuboid in shape, painted a light green, and affixed with a brass-coloured handle and tumbler. "Er, put it in the wardrobe."

The large Scotsman appeared in the doorway leading to the private Promenade, glancing around approvingly before fixating on his son.

"A far cry from what I had when I was your age, Hamish. Quite excellent, aren't they?"

"They are." Hamish tried his best to sound more enthusiastic than he felt.

"Once again, thank you for the invitation Mr. Haddock." Pitchiner raised his glass in salute to his employer.

"You earned this with your hard work for the company." Stoick nodded. "I hope your cabin meets with your approval?"

"Very satisfactory." He nodded with a thin smile, making Hamish wonder... not for the first time... if he was being more than a little bit insincere.

At Cherbourg, a woman came aboard named Margaret Brown, but we all called her Molly. History would call her "the unsinkable" Molly Brown. Her husband struck gold some place out west, and she was what father called "new money".

Dusk settled on the Titanic as the First Class passengers made their way to dinner. As Hamish and Stoick stepped out of one of the ship's electric lifts that were situated behind the First Class Grand Staircase, they spotted a woman of large build and even larger personality carrying several items of matching luggage, a porter quickly following in her wake.
She was in her mid-forties and dressed in a smart maroon ensemble with a black fur draped across her shoulders, and topped with a wide brown feathered hat with red flowers. A vivid shade of scarlet lipstick graced lips on a face that seemed friendly and outgoing, and hinted at a personality to be reckoned with.

"Well I wasn't about to wait all day for you, sonny!" She playfully admonished as she set her luggage down on the carpet of the D-Deck Reception. "Here, if you think you can manage." She passed the items to the porter, and resumed her journey to the lift that the steel magnate and his son had vacated. The elder Haddock briefly gave a look of disdain to Hamish as they continued walking.