Behemoth

“I need you to deliver a message.”

SIX

“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