Behemoth

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.”

SEVEN

“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.”

“Let’s hope so,” Alek said, smiling. Since the battle, Bauer and Hoffman had taken a dislike to the Leviathan’s chief engineer. After all, the two had been at Alek’s side since the awful night his parents had died, and had given up their careers to protect him. They hadn’t taken kindly to Mr. Hirst shooting at him and Master Klopp, mutiny or not.

Soon both engines were working in tandem, and the Leviathan set a northward course again. The water’s surface slid by beneath them faster and faster, until the airship had left behind its escort of hungry seagulls and curious dolphins.

Moving air tasted better, Alek decided. The airbeast had let itself drift most of the day, matching the speed and direction of the wind, wrapping everything in a dead calm. But now that they were under power, the salt air was sharp and alive against his face, driving away the feeling of being imprisoned.

“One of those talking things,” Bauer said, frowning.

Alek turned to see a message lizard making its way across the airship’s skin, and sighed. It was probably Dr. Barlow putting him on egg duty again.

But when the lizard opened its mouth, it spoke with the master coxswain’s voice. “The captain wishes the pleasure of your company on the bridge, at your earliest convenience.”

Bauer and Hoffman looked at Alek, recognizing the English word “captain.”

“Wants to see me at my earliest convenience,” he translated, and Bauer gave a snort. There wasn’t much convenient about climbing down to the gondola with a bruised rib.

But Alek found himself smiling as he wiped engine grease from his hands. This was the first time any of them had been invited to the bridge. Since coming aboard, he’d wondered how the officers controlled the airship’s interwoven complements of men, fabricated animals, and machines. Was it like a German land dreadnought, with the bridge crew directly controlling the engines and cannon? Or an oceangoing ship, with orders dispatched to the boiler rooms and weapon stations?

Alek turned to Mr. Hirst. “I leave you to it, sir.”

The man nodded a bit stiffly. He’d never apologized for shooting Alek, and none of the officers had ever admitted that Klopp had saved the ship. But as they’d started work that morning, Hirst had quietly turned out his pockets, showing that he wasn’t carrying a pistol anymore.

That was something, at least.

Alek found Volger waiting for him on the gondola’s main staircase.