Goliath

Alek and Deryn returned his bow.

“We’ve just arrived here, sirs,” Alek said slowly. “We have no money, but we can pay with gold.”

The man looked embarrassed at this forwardness, but Alek could only bow again, holding out Volger’s cavalry uniform.

“If you could make this fit me.”

The other tailor took the jacket by the shoulders and shook it open. “Of course.”

“And my friend needs a dress shirt in the British naval fashion, by this afternoon.”

“We have many shirts for British gentlemen, if we make alterations.” The man turned to Deryn. “May we measure you, sir?”

She glanced at the marine guards waiting just outside—close enough to hear any exclamations of surprise.

“I’m afraid not,” Alek said. “He has a . . . skin condition. Perhaps you could measure me, and adjust a little.”

The tailor frowned. “But you are shorter, sir.”

“Not that much shorter,” Alek said, and heard Bovril chuckling.

The tailor bowed gracefully, then extended a length of string between his hands. Alek took off his jacket and turned around, holding out his arms wide.

Deryn leaned back to watch, wearing the first smile Alek had seen on her face in days.

After the measurements were done, the tailors told Alek and Deryn to return in two hours. Deryn unerringly tracked down the moving food stall they’d seen earlier, and soon they were seated on a long bench that faced the cooks, shoulder to shoulder with the other customers. The marine guards took up station just behind the stall, watching from a distance.

A dozen pots of noodles bubbled on the boilers, which Deryn said were burning an oil made from fabricated peanuts. The fuel let off a sweet scent that mingled with the briny smell of salmon slices edged with orange, a black vinegar sauce in small bowls, and tiny dried fish curled into silver half-moons.

As Deryn pantomimed for the cooks, Alek realized how hungry he was. He watched the other customers eating with chopsticks, wishing he’d brought a fork and knife from the Leviathan’s mess.

“Did you hear?” Deryn asked. “The meeting’s been moved to the Imperial Hotel.”

“Why a hotel?”

“It’s got a barking theater! Seems the ambassador wants to show the whole world that the great Nikola Tesla has changed sides.” Deryn inspected her chopsticks. “Maybe that will get the Clankers quaking in their boots.”

“Hopefully,” Alek said. Two bowls were set before them, full of tangled noodles half covered in a thick broth. Atop the noodles sat a spoonful of white mush and a cluster of tiny orange spheres, as translucent as rubies. A plate of fresh salmon was set before Bovril.

As the beast started in, Alek stared at his dish. “What have you ordered us?”

“No idea,” Deryn said, picking up a wooden spoon. “It looked good, so I pointed at it.”

Alek lifted his chopsticks and attempted to pick up one of the pearly orange spheres. The first exploded, but he managed to get a second into his mouth. It popped like a tiny balloon between his teeth, tasting of salt and fish.

“It’s like oversize caviar.”

“Which is what?” Deryn asked.

“Fish eggs.”

She frowned, but the revelation didn’t slow her eating.

Alek tasted the white substance, which turned out to be pickled radishes chopped into mush. There were also slivers of a pearly fruit, as tangy as lemon rind. He swirled his chopsticks in the bowl, mixing the sharp flavors of radishes, citrus, and fish eggs with the thick buckwheat noodles.

As he ate, Alek finally took a proper look at the slowly passing city. The rooftops of Tokyo curved and swelled like ocean waves, terra-cotta tiles rippling their surfaces. Miniature potted trees crowded the windows, growing in twisted shapes that mirrored the strokes of calligraphy decorating every shop. Canopies of vines overhead spilled pink blossoms onto the ground, and the hanging paper lanternsseemed to be everywhere, bobbing in the breeze.

“Quite beautiful, considering,” Alek said.

“Considering what?”

“That the same culture fabricated those horrid kappa.”

“Less horrid than a phosphorous shell, if you ask me.”

Alek shrugged, not in the mood to revisit the argument he’d had with Tesla. “You’re right. Killing is ugly, whatever shape it takes. That’s why we have to stop this war.”

“It isn’t up to you to fix the world, Alek. Maybe your parents’ murder set it off, but the world was ready enough with war machines and beasties!” She stared into her bowl, twirling noodles onto her chopsticks. “A fight would have happened one way or another.”

“None of that changes the fact that my family started it.”

Deryn turned to face him. “You can’t blame a match for a house made of straw, Alek.”

“A nice turn of phrase.” All that was left of Alek’s meal was broth. The other customers seemed to think nothing of drinking from their bowls, so he lifted his with both hands. “But it doesn’t change what I have to do.”

Deryn watched him drink, then said simply, “What if you can’t stop it?”

“You saw what we did in Istanbul. Our revolution kept them out of the war!”

“It was their revolution, Alek. We just helped a bit.”

“Of course, but Mr. Tesla can do much more. Destiny brought me to Siberia to meet him, so clearly his plan has to work!”

Deryn sighed. “What if destiny doesn’t care?”

“Why can’t you admit that providence has guided my course at every turn?” Alek counted the points on his fingers. “My father prepared a refuge for me in the Alps, in the very same valley where the Leviathan crashed! Then, after I escaped, I wound up back on your ship—just as it was headed for the siege of Tsingtao. And that brought me to the wastes of Siberia in time to meet Tesla. All those connections have to mean something!”

Deryn opened her mouth to argue, then hesitated, a half smile crossing her face. “So you must think that we’re meant to be together.”

Alek blinked. “What?”

“I told you how I wound up on the Leviathan. If a freak storm hadn’t carried me halfway across Britain, I’d be serving on the Minotaur with Jaspert. Never would have met you, then.”

“Well, I suppose not.”

“And when we crashed, and you came to help us on those silly snowshoes, you walked straigh up to where I was lying in the snow.” Her smile grew broader. “You saved me, first thing.”

“Only from a frostbitten bum.” Alek stared into the empty bowl before him; a fish egg was stuck to one side. He picked it up with his chopsticks and regarded it.

“And when you jumped ship in Istanbul, you thought you’d got away from me.” Deryn gave a snort. “Not likely.”

“You do have a habit of showing up.”

“Must be rough for you. Having your destiny mixed up with a barking commoner’s!” She shoveled in her last mouthful of noodles, chuckling to herself.

Alek frowned. In two days of brooding it somehow hadn’t crossed his mind that without Deryn Sharp the Ottoman Revolution might have failed, and Alek certainly would never have come back aboard the Leviathan. Thus he wouldn’t have met Tesla, and would be no closer to stopping the