Behemoth

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much—,” Alek began, but Dr. Barlow was already out the door and gone.

  Deryn stood silently a moment, wondering where to start. With the Clankers’ lightning contraption? Or how Newkirk had almost burnt to a crisp? Or the possibility that Alek would be court-martialed and hanged?

  Then her eyes fell on his bandages, and an awful feeling went through her. If the gun had been pointed a few inches higher, Alek might be dead.

  “Does getting shot hurt much?” she asked.

  “Like a mule kicked me.”

  “Hmm. I’ve never been daft enough to let that happen.”

  “Nor have I.” Alek smiled weakly. “But it feels about right.”

  The two were silent again, Deryn wondering how things had gone pear-shaped so fast. Before Newkirk had spotted the ironclads, she’d been hoping that Alek would wind up staying on the Leviathan somehow. But she hadn’t meant lying wounded in bed, or clapped in irons for mutiny, or both.

  “This is the second time someone’s shot at me,” Alek said. “Remember those gunners on the zeppelin?”

  Deryn nodded slowly. Back in the Alps, the daft prince had stepped out into the middle of a battle, right in front of a machine gun. Only a hydrogen leak had saved him, the German gunners setting their own airship aflame.

  “Perhaps I wasn’t meant to die that day,” he said. “Or last night, either.”

  “Aye, or perhaps you were just barking lucky.”

  “I suppose,” Alek said. “Do you really think they’ll hang us?”

  Deryn thought a moment, then shrugged. “There aren’t any rules for something like this, I reckon. We’ve never had Clankers aboard before. But they’ll listen to the lady boffin, because of her grandfather’s name.”

  Alek grimaced again. Deryn wondered if it was his wound, or being reminded that Dr. Barlow was related to old Charles Darwin himself. Even after serving on a living airship, the Clankers were still superstitious about life threads and fabrication.

  “I wish we had mutinied,” Alek said. “And ended that pointless battle before it started. Klopp and I thought about stopping the engines and making it look like a malfunction.”

  “Well, thinking isn’t the same as doing,” Deryn said, slumping onto the chair. She’d entertained madder ideas than mutiny. Like telling Alek that she was a girl, or giving Dr. Barlow a smack—the latter more than once. The trick was never to let what you were thinking slip out into the world.

  “And anyway,” she continued, “I haven’t heard about this mutiny business, so the officers must be keeping dead quiet. Maybe the captain wants to let you off without looking soft. Everyone thinks it was the airbeast who turned us around, for fear of that Clanker cannon.”

  “The beast did turn us around. It must have smelled the lightning—it knew we’d all burn.”

  Deryn shuddered again, as she did every time she thought of how close they’d come. She could still see the Huxley, blazing in midair just like Da’s balloon.

  “But Newkirk isn’t dead,” she told herself softly.

  “Pardon me?”

  Deryn cleared her throat. She didn’t want to wind up with her voice squeaking like a girl’s. “I said, the engines are dead. And the airbeast has gone bonkers, and thinks it’s still running away from that Tesla thingie. We’re halfway to Africa!”

  Alek swore. “I suppose those ironclads are already there.”

  “What, in Africa?”

  “No, Dummkopf—Constantinople.” He pointed at the desk in the room. “There’s a map in that drawer. Kindly fetch it for me.”

  “Aye, your princeliness,” Deryn said, hauling herself up to get the map. It was just like Alek, to be thinking of maps and schemes while lying wounded, guilty of a hanging offense.

  She sat on the bed beside him, smoothing out the roll of paper. It was labeled in Clanker writing, but she could see it was the Mediterranean.

  “The ironclads were headed north into the Aegean,” Alek said. “See?”

  Deryn traced the Leviathan’s course from southern Italy with one finger, until she found the spot where they’d fought the Goeben and Breslau—almost due south of Constantinople.

  “Aye, they were headed that way.” She pointed at the Dardanelles, the narrow stretch of water that led to the ancient city. “But if they head north, they’ll be trapped in the strait, like a fly in a bottle.”

  “What if they plan to stay there?”

  Deryn shook her head. “The Ottoman Empire is still neutral, and ships at war can’t hang about in a neutral port. Dr. Barlow says we’re only allowed to stay in Constantinople for twenty-four hours. It must be the same for the Germans.”

  “But didn’t she also say that the Ottomans were angry with the British? For stealing their warship?”

  “Well, aye,” Deryn said, then muttered, “but that’s just borrowing, really.”

  To be truthful, though, it had been a bit like stealing. Britain had just completed a new dreadnought for the Ottoman navy, along with a huge companion creature, some new sort of kraken. Both the warship and the creature had already been paid for, but when the war had begun, the First Lord of the Admiralty had decided to keep the ship and its beastie, at least until the conflict ended.

  Borrowing or stealing, it had caused the diplomatic ruckus that Dr. Barlow and the Leviathan had been sent to sort out. Somehow the mysterious eggs in the engine room were meant to help.

  “So the Ottomans might decide to let the ironclads stay,” Alek said. “Just to get back at your Lord Churchill.”

  “Well, that would make everything trickier, wouldn’t it?”

  Alek nodded. “It would mean even more Germans in Constantinople. It might even bring the Ottomans over to the Clanker side! The Goeben’s Tesla cannon is pretty convincing.”

  “Aye, it convinced me,” Deryn said. She wouldn’t fancy sharing the same city with that contraption.

  “And what happens if the Ottomans close the Dardanelles to British shipping?”

  Deryn swallowed. The fighting bears of the Russian army needed lots of food, most of which was brought in by ship. If they were cut off from their Darwinist allies, the Russians would have a long, hungry winter.

  “But are you sure that’s where the ironclads were headed?”

  “No. Not yet.” He raised his dark gaze from the map. “Dylan, can you do me a favor? A secret favor?”

  She swallowed. “That depends on what it is.”

  “I need you to deliver a message.”

  “Barking bloody princes,” she muttered, pulling Tazza along the airship’s corridors.

  She’d hardly slept a wink last night, what with looking after Newkirk, and the thylacine needed to go for a walk soon. On top of which, Deryn still had to check on Dr. Barlow’s precious eggs. But instead of attending to her duties, here she was delivering secret messages for the Clankers.

  Aiding the enemy in wartime. How was that for mutiny?

  As she drew closer to the cabin, Deryn began to formulate excuses and explanations—“I was just asking our count friend if he needed anything.” “I was on a secret mission from the captain.” “Someone had to keep an eye on those mutinous Clankers, and this was the best way!”—all of them barking pathetic.

  She knew the real reason she’d said yes to Alek. He’d looked so helpless lying there, pale and bandaged, not knowing if they were going to hang him tomorrow at dawn. It had only made the way she felt harder to ignore.

  Deryn took a deep breath, and rapped on the stateroom door.

  After a long moment it opened to reveal a tall man in a formal uniform. He stared down his sharp nose at her and Tazza, not saying a word. Deryn wondered if she should bow, because he was a count and all. But Alek was a prince, which sounded more important, and no one ever bowed to him.

  “What is it?” the man finally asked.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr.…, um, Count Volger. I’m Midshipman Dylan Sharp.”

  “I know who you are.”
>
  “Right. Because Alek and I, we’ve been fencing and that. We’re friends.”

  “You’re that idiot boy who put a knife to Alek’s throat.”

  Deryn swallowed, willing her tongue to untangle. She’d only been pretending when she’d taken Alek hostage back in the Alps, to force the Clankers to negotiate instead of blowing up the airship.

  But under the man’s imperious gaze, the explanation wouldn’t come.

  “Aye, that was me,” she managed. “But it was only to get your attention.”

  “You succeeded.”

  “And I used the dull edge of that knife, just to be safe!” She looked both ways down the corridor. “Do you suppose I could come in?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got a message from Alek. A secret one.”

  With those words Count Volger’s stony countenance shifted a squick. His left eyebrow arched, then finally he stepped back. A moment later she and Tazza were inside the room, the thylacine sniffing at the man’s boots.

  “What is this creature?” he asked, taking another step backward.

  “Oh, that’s just Tazza. He’s harmless,” Deryn said, then remembered the damage he’d done to the lady boffin’s cabin. “Well, unless you’re a set of curtains, which, um, you’re clearly not.”

  She cleared her throat, feeling like a ninny. The man’s cold, haughty manner had started her babbling.

  “Will it repeat our words?”

  “What, Tazza, talk?” Deryn stifled a laugh. “He’s no message lizard. He’s a natural beastie, a thylacine from Tasmania. Dr. Barlow has him as a traveling companion, though, as you can see, he’s mostly my responsibility. Anyway, I’ve got a message from—”

  Volger silenced her with an upheld hand, then glanced up at the message tubes in the cabin. A lizard was poking its head from one, and the count clapped his hands once to scare it off.

  “Those godless things are everywhere,” he muttered. “Always listening.”

  Deryn rolled her eyes. The other Clankers were even more twitchy about beasties than Alek. They seemed to think that everything living aboard the airship was out to get them.

  “Aye, sir. But lizards only carry messages. They don’t eavesdrop.”

  “And how can you be sure of that?”

  Now, that was a daft question. Message lizards might repeat snatches of conversation by accident now and then, especially when they’d been recently dazzled by a Tesla cannon. But that wasn’t the same as eavesdropping, was it?

  Then she remembered how Count Volger had pretended not to speak English when he’d come aboard, in hopes of overhearing secrets. And how Dr. Barlow had pulled the same trick on the Clankers, pretending not to know any German. No wonder those two were always suspicious of everyone—they were both sneaky-beaks themselves.

  “Those lizards have got brains no bigger than walnuts,” she said. “I don’t reckon they’d make very good spies.”

  “Perhaps not.” The count sat down at his desk, which was covered with maps and scrawled notes, a sheathed sword serving as a paperweight. “And what about your brains, Mr. Sharp? You’re clever enough to be a spy, aren’t you?”

  “What, me? I told you, Alek sent me here!”

  “And how do I know that? Last night I was informed that Alek was hurt in the battle, but I haven’t been allowed to see him or Master Klopp. And now I receive this ‘secret’ message from Alek, courtesy of a boy who held him hostage?”

  “But he …,” Deryn began, then groaned with frustration. This was what she got for doing favors for Clankers. “He’s my friend. He trusts me, even if you don’t.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Well, of course he does! He told me his little secret, didn’t he?”

  Count Volger’s eyes narrowed at her a moment, then he stared down at the sword on the table. “His secret?”

  “Aye, he told me who he …,” Deryn began, but a slow realization was creeping over her. What if Alek had never mentioned to Volger that he’d spilled the beans to her? Finding out now might give the man a wee startle. “You know, his big secret?”

  The air hissed as Volger whirled around, sunlight flashing on steel, the chair spinning across the floor and sending Tazza leaping to his feet. The sword suddenly stretched from Volger’s hand, its cold, naked tip at Deryn’s throat.

  “Tell me what secret,” the wildcount demanded. “Now.”

  “A-about his parents!” she sputtered. “His father and mother were assassinated, which is what started this barking war! And he’s a prince or something!”

  “Who else knows this?”

  “Just me!” she squeaked, but the metal prodded her. “Um, and Dr. Barlow. But no one else, I swear!”

  He glared at her for an endless moment, his eyes prying their way into hers. Tazza let out a low growl.

  Finally the wildcount pulled the saber a few inches back. “Why haven’t you informed your captain?”

  “Because Alek made us promise.” Deryn stared at the sword point. “I thought you knew he’d told us!”

  Count Volger lowered the sword. “Obviously I did not.”

  “Well, that’s not my fault!” Deryn cried. “Maybe it’s you he doesn’t trust!”

  The man looked at the floor. “Perhaps.”

  “And you didn’t have to cut my barking head off!”

  Volger gave her a thin smile as he righted the overturned chair. “It was only to get your attention. And I used a dull edge. Surely you know a fencing saber when you see one?”

  Deryn reached out and grabbed the weapon’s blade. She swore—it was the very saber she’d practiced with yesterday, no sharper than a butter knife.

  Count Volger sat heavily, shaking his head as he cleaned the sword with a pocket handkerchief and then sheathed it again. “That boy will be the death of me.”

  “At least Alek trusts someone!” Deryn said. “The rest of you Dummkopfs, you’re all as mad as a box of frogs! Lying and sneaking and … scared of message lizards. With all your scheming it’s no wonder the world’s in a barking great war!”

  Tazza growled again, then made his strange little yelp, hopping on his hind legs. Deryn knelt to calm him down, and to hide her burning eyes from Count Volger.

  “Is Alek really hurt?” the man asked.

  “Aye. But it’s only a bruised rib.”

  “Why won’t they let me see him or Klopp?”

  “Because of what Master Klopp did during the battle,” Deryn said, stroking Tazza’s flank. “He turned the ship around just before the Tesla cannon fired. Without orders.”

  Volger snorted. “So this is why your captain has summoned me? To discuss the chain of command?”

  She glared up at him. “He might reckon it was mutiny—a hanging offense!”

  “An absurd notion, unless he wants his ship to drift forever.”

  Deryn took a slow, deep breath and petted Tazza again. It was true—the Leviathan still needed the Clankers and their engines. More so than ever, with the airbeast acting up.

  “I suppose the captain just wants to make a point,” she said. “But that’s not what I’m here about.”

  “Ah, yes. Your secret message.”

  Deryn gave the man a hard look. “Well, maybe you don’t care one way or the other. But Alek thinks those two ironclads are headed for Constantinople, just like us!”

  Volger raised an eyebrow at that, then pointed to the fallen chair.

  “Sit down, boy, and tell me everything.”

  “Hear that?” Corporal Bauer asked.

  Alek wiped his hands on an oily rag, listening. The air trembled with the distant clamor of an engine coming to life, sputtering at first, then settling into a low and steady roar.

  He stared at the tangle of gears before him and said to his men, “Three against one, and Klopp has his engine working first!”

  “Hate to say so, sir.” Bauer spread his grease-blackened hands. “But you and I aren’t much help.”

  Master Hoffman clapped the gunner on
his back and laughed. “I’ll make an engineer of you one day, Bauer. It’s that one who’s hopeless.” He glanced at Mr. Hirst, who was watching them glumly from the engine pod strut, his hands perfectly clean.

  “What’s this about?” the man asked.

  Alek switched to English. “Nothing, Mr. Hirst. Just that it sounds as though Klopp has beaten us.”

  “So it would seem,” the man said, and fell back into silence.

  It was late afternoon, less than forty-eight hours after the unlucky encounter with the Breslau and the Goeben. Alek, his men Hoffman and Bauer, and Hirst had been assigned to the starboard pod, while Master Klopp was over on the port side, under armed guard, with Count Volger translating for him.

  Since the incident with the air pistol, it had been decided that Klopp and Mr. Hirst would no longer share the same engine pod. Alek was not under guard, but he suspected that was only because of the bandages wrapped around his injured rib. Every time he lifted a wrench, he winced in pain.

  But no one was locked in the brig, at least. True to her word, Dr. Barlow had convinced the captain to accept reality—without Klopp’s help, the airship would drift on the winds. Or worse, the great airbeast might take them on a journey of its own choosing.

  The captain’s goodwill had come with certain conditions, however. The five Austrians were to stay aboard the Leviathan until the Darwinists understood their new engines fully, however long that took.

  Alek suspected they wouldn’t be getting off in Constantinople.

  Half an hour later, the starboard engine finally sparked to life. As smoke poured from the exhaust pipes, Master Hoffman engaged the gears, and the propeller began to spin.

  Alek closed his eyes, reveling in the steady thrum of pistons. Freedom might not be any closer, but at least the airship was whole again.

  “Feeling all right, sir?” Bauer asked.

  Alek took a deep breath of sea air. “Just happy to be under way.”

  “Feels good to have an engine rumbling underfoot again, doesn’t it?” Hoffman nodded at Mr. Hirst. “And maybe our sulky friend here has finally picked up a few tricks.”