Goliath

sends them to Los Angeles. He’s practically a motion picture star!”

“So Hearst has a movie deal with him?”

The reporter shook her head. “Villa’s contract is with Mutual Films. But I suppose the chief wants to horn in. Crafty, isn’t he?”

“A bit too crafty for my liking,” Deryn muttered. If Hearst was such a peace lover, why was he sending weapons into Mexico? Or did he only care about making newsreels?

“There’s something above us, sir,” one of the riggers called. “Up on the cliffs!”

Deryn looked up. A column of smoke was rising from the edge of the canyon. She closed her eyes to listen over the shouts of the men below, and heard it—the rumble of a Clanker engine.

Did the rebels have a walking machine up there? She’d seen nothing from the air, though any number of walkers might have hidden in the rocky terrain.

“And that way, sir!” called another man. Deryn turned and saw a second cloud of engine smoke rising from the far side of the canyon. There was dust rising as well, a sure sign of legs in motion. The tiny manta airships might have only Gatling guns, but walkers could carry heavy cannon.

Deryn pulled out her command whistle and blew for a message lizard. “We’re being surrounded, and the officers down on the bridge can’t see it!”

“But why would General Villa betray us?” Miss Rogers asked. “He wants those guns we’re bringing him.”

“He might also want the Leviathan!” Deryn cried. “It’s one of the biggest airships in all of Europe. Think how powerful it would make him here in Mexico!”

#8221;gers waved a hand. “But Mr. Hearst just wants a dramatic story. If the rebels destroy us, he’ll get no story at all!”

“Aye, but has anyone explained that to the barking rebels?”

“These are civilized rebels, young man. They have movie deals!”

“That’s no guarantee of sanity!” Deryn felt the tug of a message lizard pulling on her trouser leg. She knelt and said, “Bridge, this is Middy Sharp. Walkers on the cliffs above us, at least two. Could be an ambush! End message.”

The beastie scampered away, but it would take at least a minute to reach the bridge. By then the vast topside of the Leviathan would be in the sights of the walkers’ guns, as easy to hit as a cricket field.

She spun around, checking on the manta ships. They didn’t seem to be closing in. Not yet, anyway.

“If only I could send up a scout,” Deryn muttered. But all the Huxleys were stowed in the ship’s gut to protect them from the winds of high speed.

“Sir,” said the rigger beside her. “Mr. Rigby sent up a pair of gliding wings, in case the captain wanted you on the ground. You could use those.”

“Aye, but I need to go up to—,” Deryn began, but then she saw the dust rising from the ground crew’s feet. It was climbing the sides of the canyon, carried by an updraft. . . .

“Get me those wings!” she shouted. “Now!”

As the man ran off, she watched the airflow in the canyon. The wind was rushing into the entrance, straight into the Leviathan’s nose. If Deryn took off dead ahead, she might gain enough altitude to rise above the cliff walls.

“I still say you’re being entirely too suspicious,” Miss Rogers said.

Deryn ignored her, turning to the crossbow crew. “If we blow even a squick of ballast, cut this cable. Don’t wait for orders!”

“Aye, sir.”

Two men arrived, gliding wings in hand, and Deryn struggled into the rig. She borrowed a pair of semaphore flags, then paced off ten yards from the bow, ready to take a running start. There was only one problem.

The mooring tower was in the way.

“Oh, sod it.” She spread her arms and ran toward the edge. “Watch out!”

The riggers and Miss Rogers ducked beneath the wings, and Deryn sped past them and leapt from the edge of the bow, straight into the wind. The tower reared up before her, but she wrenched herself to starboard, barely clearing the metal struts.

Veering right had pulled her out of the headwind, and she went circling downward. But with another hard jerk the air filled the gliding wings again. She rose a little, climbing just above the canyon walls.

One of the walkers was in sight n—a two-legged machine the size of Alek’s old Cyklop Stormwalker. It had the boxy look of a German contraption, and was rumbling straight toward the cliff edge.

Deryn pulled her wings hard toward it, but she slipped beneath the cliff tops again. She was flying straight into a wall of stone. . . .

At the last moment she swung her weight back, and the wings climbed hard, almost stalling in midair. Her momentum carried her the last few yards, and Deryn alighted on the edge of the rocky cliff. Her boots slipped on loose stone, but somehow she kept her feet.

The walking machine towered over her, its head bending down as if to take a closer look. The huge maw of a gun pointed straight at her.

“Barking spiders!” she said.

It wasn’t a gun at all—it was a moving-picture camera. She heard the whir and snap of it capturing her image a dozen times a second.

The wind shifted, pulling her back toward the cliff’s edge. Deryn spun about and took a look across the canyon. The other walker was just the same, a two-legged camera platform.

The rebels wanted to film the Leviathan, not destroy it.

Her message lizard would be at the bridge any moment now, and if the captain grew alarmed and dropped ballast, the landing ropes would rip through the hands of a hundred untrained men below. Worse, a few would hang on to be carried up into the sky, then fall back upon their fellows from a thousand feet. If General Villa didn’t want to destroy the Leviathan now, he certainly would after that.

“THE WALKER SHOOTS DERYN.”

Deryn spun the gliding wings about and threw herself back off the cliff.

“Those men on the ropes look quite sharp,” Captain Hobbes said. “And this canyon keeps the wind steady enough.”

None of the officers answered. They were spread out across the bridge, each at a different window, watching for signs of treachery. Bovril shifted nervously on Alek’s shoulder, scenting disquiet in the air.

Outside, the rebels were hard at work, staking ropes into the hard ground and tying them onto metal posts driven straight into the rock. The lines trembled as the Leviathan winched itself down, its huge shadow spreading meter by meter across the canyon floor. The captain hadn’t vented any hydrogen, in case a quick takeoff were necessary. To Alek it felt as though the airbeast were fighting the ropes, like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.

“Do you really think these rebels will help us?” he asked Dr. Barlow.

“I should hope so, after putting us through all this bother.” She sniffed. “I’m sure Mr. Heart as thly wanted a bit of drama for his newsreel.”

“Newsreel,” her loris said softly, then hmphed.

“And to think I trusted that man,” Mr. Tesla said. He’d been in a dark mood since the breakdown, especially after the engine pod had reported that Hearst’s fuel was to blame.

“He may want peace,” Dr. Barlow said. “But conflict sells newspapers.”

“I’ve heard of this Pancho Villa fellow, haven’t I?” Alek asked.

“He’s in all the papers at the moment.” Mr. Tesla stared out the window at the ground men. “His name is Francisco Villa, but he goes by the nickname Pancho because he’s a friend of the poor. He seizes wealthy plantations and gives them to the peasants.”