Goliath

Leviathan, and her upheld torch glowed with both soft bioluminescence and a shimmering electrikal coil.

“The Statue of Liberty.” Volger turned from the sight. “A few newsreels of you shaking hands with Tesla is one thing. But to stand beside him while he goes into raptures about this weapon seems unwise.”

“You still don’t think Goliath will work?”

“I spoke with Dr. Barlow this evening, and she says no.” Volger’s voice dropped. “But what if it does work, Alek? What if he uses it on a city?”

“I told you. He’s promised not to attack Austria.”

“So you’ll happily preside over the destruction of Berlin? Or Munich?”

Alek shook his head. “I’m not presiding over anything. I’m helping to publicize Tesla’s weapon so that he won’t have to use it. The Germans will sue for peace when they realize what he can do. They aren’t mad, you know.”

“The kaiser’s rule is absolute. He can be as mad as he likes. Your tie is crooked.”

Alek sighed, adjusting his necktie in the reflection of the window glass. “You have a bad habit of listing everything that can possibly go wrong, Volger.”

“I have always considered that a good habit.”

Alek ignored this, staring at himself. It was refreshing to have proper clothes again. Mr. Hearst might have sabotaged the Leviathan, but at least he’d thrown a few decent dinner jackets into the bargain.

The floor shifted a bit beneath Alek’s feet—the airship was turning north again. He leaned closer to the window and saw Manhattan ahead. A cluster of buildings erupted from the island’s southern tip, some of them almost two hundred meters tall, as high as the steel towers of Berlin.

Alek imagined the dark sky above them bursting into flame, the buildings’ glowing windows shattering, their metal frames twisting.

“Tesla will use his machine if he needs to, whether I stand with him or not.”

“Exactly,” Volger said. “So why not step aside? Is mass murder what you want to be remembered for, Your Serene Highness?”

“Of course not. But a chance of peace is more important to me than my reputation.”

Volger let out a low hissing sigh. “Perhaps that’s a good thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dr. Barlow also mentioned Dylan to me—or rather, Deryn. It seems the doctor knows the girl’s secret now.”

“Deryn must have told her. The truth is coming out tomorrow at any rate, so it hardly matters now.”

“Dr. Barlow seems to think it does. She says that the captain and this ship will be humiliated, the Admiralty outraged. And more important, your friend will become a point of German propaganda. The proud British Empire sending fifteen-year-old girls to fight their battles? Quite embarrassing.”

“Deryn is hardly an embarrassment.”

“They will make her into one. You would do well to keep your name out of the scandal. Tesla will thank you for it.”

Alek set his jaw and didn’t answer, watching the city draw nearer. From a thousand feet up he could see a grid of streets traced out in the glowing dots of electrikal gas lamps. The piers were thronging with people gathered to watch the great airship’s approach.

Would everyone really turn on Deryn, once they knew? Perhaps the officers of the Leviathan, and of course the Admiralty. But surely lots of women would understand why she’d done it.

Of course, women couldn’t vote.

The Klaxon rang in a long-short pattern, the signal for high-altitude docking. Volger pulled on his cavalry jacket, then held out an overcoat for Alek, gleaming dark sable from among Mr. Hearst’s many gifts.

Alek didn’t move, staring into Bovril’s large eyes.

“Are you worried about Deryn?” Volger asked.

“Of course. And also . . .” He couldn’t finish.

“This won’t be pleasant for her. But if you insist on helping Tesla, it’s best your reputation intact for a bit longer.”

Alek nodded, not saying the rest of what he’d realized. He and Volger were headed off into a whirlwind of diplomacy and publicity, while the Leviathan would be refueled at a proper airfield in New Jersey, leaving the country in only twenty-four hours. When would he see Deryn again?

They’d never said a proper good-bye. . . .

He closed his eyes, feeling the rumble of the engines, the faint tug of deceleration as the ship approached Manhattan.

“Let’s go,” he murmured; then he picked up Bovril and headed for the door.

“Might I have a few words, Your Highness?”

Alek turned. Miss Adela Rogers was dressed in a dark red winter coat; the fox around her shoulders was a fabricated pink. Its fur ruffled in the wind of the open cargo bay.

“A few more, you mean?” Alek asked. He had spent two hours with the woman the day before, recounting the Leviathan’s rescue of Tesla in Siberia. He’d borrowed from Deryn’s version, of course, given that Alek had slept through the whole thing.

“Our interview was delightful.” Miss Rogers stepped closer, her voice lowering. “But I forgot to ask you one thing. How do you feel about the danger you’re in?”

Alek frowned. “Danger?”

Miss Rogers’s gaze drifted over Alek’s shoulder. Among the others waiting in the cargo bay were four of the ship’s marines. They were armed with rifles and cutlasses, and one had a hydrogen sniffer on a leash.

“As you can see, the captain is concerned,” she said. “There are German agents in New York, after all.”

“There were more in Istanbul,” Alek said. “Not to mention Austria. I’ve managed so far.”

She scribbled in her notepad. “Mmm, quite brave.”

“Quite,” Bovril said. “He can be as mad as he likes.”

“Are those critters’ sentences getting longer?” Miss Rogers asked.

Alek shrugged, though it was true.

The gears of the cargo door growled into motion, and as it opened, the wind began to swirl, bringing in the salt smell of the harbor. Alek pulled his coat tighter, and Bovril shivered on his shoulder.

Through the widening door Alek saw the air jitney approaching. Four small hot-air balloons glowed beneath the passenger platform, and three vertical propellers thrust out from its sides. The jitney was big enough for no more than a dozen passengers. Alek and Miss Rogers were headed ashore tonight with Mr. Tesla, Count Volger, Eddie Malone, Dr. Busk, Captain Hobbes, and four marines. Dr. Barlow had announced that she did not wish to be photographed with Tesla, and was waiting until the Leviathan landed in New Jersey before she disembarked.

The jitney slowed to a halt ten meters away, and its gangplank to unfold. The lifting propellers swayed a bit, their angles in lazy orbits, like juggler’s plates spinning on sticks.

“I shall be glad to have my feet on solid ground,” Miss Rogers said.

“I’ve been happy in the air,” Alek replied, then saw her scribbling down his words, and resolved to remain silent.

The gangplank connected with the cargo bay with a clunk, and the riggers set to work binding it fast. Then, without ceremony or good-byes, the shore party hustled across to the jitney.

A moment later Alek was watching the Leviathan slip away.

The others crowded onto the far side of the platform, gawking at the Woolworth Building, the world’s tallest, and the rest of Manhattan. But Alek stared back at the airship.

“Happy in the air,” Bovril said.

Alek stroked its chin. “Sometimes you should be called the obvious loris.”

As the beast had a chuckle at this, Alek felt the jitney lifting a bit beneath his feet, unbalanced by the scrum