Marek and Kaśka win tickets to a mystery party on a ship and step into an evening of absurd guests, strange rules, and a surprise they are not ready for.
A warm evening was settling over the Oder, and Marek was still trying to pry Kaśka away from the flat.
"It’s Saturday," he groaned, turning in a tight, theatrical circle. "At least let’s go to a bar. Or dress up as pirates. Something with commitment."
Kaśka lifted her mug of tea and gave him a long, sceptical look. "We dressed up as pirates last week. You ended up with a frying pan on your head and an unpaid bill."
Marek opened his mouth to argue, but the doorbell cut him off. A courier stood in the doorway with an envelope the colour of old gold. Inside were two tickets, thick and glossy, stamped in looping black letters: Ship of Weirdness: The Mad Hatter’s Ball.
Marek stared at them as if they had been delivered by fate itself.
"This," he said, solemnly, "is a sign. We are meant to go."
An hour later Kaśka was wearing a pink beret she did not trust and Marek had crowned himself with a hat shaped like a pizza slice. At the marina, they were greeted by a hostess who looked as though a flamingo had a career in catering. She swept an arm toward the gangplank and smiled with unsettling confidence.
"One rule," she said. "No rules."
That should have sounded stupid. Instead, it sounded dangerous.
The moment they stepped aboard, the ship gave them a world with its own logic. On the dance floor, ducks in tiny melons were spinning beside striped zebras. The speakers poured out salsa so hot it seemed to steam. Waiters in sequinned jackets were tossing tarts through the air like they were auditioning for a very expensive disaster.
Marek squeezed Kaśka’s hand. "I knew this would be an improvement on tea."
Before she could answer, the lights dropped to a murky blue. A crackle burst from the loudspeakers, followed by the captain’s voice, rich with theatrical delight.
"Dear passengers," it boomed, "we are approaching the craziest highlight of the cruise. Please prepare your hats for the SURPRISE."
Confetti rained from the ceiling. So did something else.
Marek felt it land on his head with a cold, slippery plop. He blinked, reached up, and looked at his fingers. Above him, the ceiling was beginning to change into something that looked far less like a ceiling and far more like a trap.
Then someone shouted from the stern.
Every head on the ship turned at once, and before Marek or Kaśka could ask what was happening, the crowd surged in that direction, pulling them with it toward whatever was waiting in the dark.