Goliath

As the treetops slowly dropped away, Deryn climbed back up, leveling the pallet again. As they were winched higher, she took a closer look at what was beneath the cargo nettin. It appeared to be nothing but dried beef, slabs and slabs of it all crushed together.

“What does this smell like to you?” she asked Newkirk.

He took a sniff. “Breakfast.”

She nodded. It did smell just like bacon waiting to be tossed into a pan.

“Aye,” she said softly. “But breakfast for what?”

“We’re still traveling west-northwest.” Alek looked at his notes. “On a heading of fifty-five degrees, if my readings can be trusted.”

Volger scowled at the map on his desk. “You must be mistaken, Alek. There’s nothing along that course. No cities or ports, just wilderness.”

“Well . . .” Alek tried to remember how Newkirk had put it. “It might have to do with the earth being round, and this map being flat.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve already plotted a great circle route.” Volger’s index finger swept along a line that curved from the Black Sea to Tokyo. “But we left that behind when we veered north over Omsk.”

Alek sighed. Did everyone but him understand this “great circle” business? Before the Great War had changed everything, Wildcount Volger had been a cavalry officer in the service of Alek’s father. How did he know so much about navigation?

Through the window of Volger’s stateroom, the shadows were stretching out ahead of the Leviathan. The setting sun, at least, agreed that the airship was still angling northward.

“If anything,” Volger said, “we should be headed southwest by now, toward Tsingtao.”

Alek frowned. “The German port in China?”

“Indeed. There are half a dozen Clanker ironclads based there. They threaten Darwinist shipping all across the Pacific, from Australia to the Kingdom of Hawaii. According to the newspapers that Dr. Barlow has so kindly provided me, the Japanese are preparing to lay siege to the city.”

“And they need the Leviathan’s help?”

“Hardly. But Lord Churchill won’t let the Japanese be victorious without British assistance. It wouldn’t be seemly for Asians to defeat a European power all alone.”

Alek groaned. “What a colossal exercise in idiocy. You mean we’ve come all this way just to wave the Union Jack?”

“That was the intent, I’m certain of it. But since the czar’s message arrived, our course has changed.” Volger drummed his fingers on the map. “There must be a clue in that cargo we picked up from the Russians. Has Dylan told you anything about it?”

“I haven’t been able to ask him. He’ngl taking the pallet apart, because of the ballast alert.”

“Because of the what?” the wildcount asked, and Alek found himself smiling. At least he understood something that Volger didn’t.

“Just after we picked up the cargo, an alert sounded—two short rings of the Klaxon. You may remember that happening in the Alps, when we had to throw my father’s gold away.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I shouldn’t have to,” Alek said. Volger had almost doomed them all by smuggling a quarter ton of gold aboard. “A ballast alert means the ship is overweight, and Dylan has been in the cargo bay with Dr. Barlow all afternoon. They must be taking apart the cargo, to find out why it’s heavier than expected.”

“All very logical,” Volger said, then shook his head. “But I still don’t see how one cargo pallet can matter to a ship three hundred meters long. It seems absurd.”

“It isn’t absurd at all. The Leviathan is aerostatic, which means it’s perfectly balanced with the density of the—”

“Thank you, Your Serene Highness.” Volger held up one hand. “But perhaps you could recount your aeronautics lessons another time.”

“You might take an interest, Count,” Alek said stiffly. “Seeing as how aeronautics is keeping you from crashing into the ground at this very moment.”

“Indeed it is. So perhaps we’d best leave it to the experts, eh, Prince?”

Several sharp retorts came to mind, but Alek held his tongue. Why was Volger in such a foul mood? When the Leviathan had first turned east two weeks ago, he’d seemed pleased not to be headed toward Britain and certain imprisonment. The man had gradually adapted to life aboard the Leviathan, exchanging information with Dr. Barlow, even taking a liking to Dylan. But for the last day Volger had seemed cross with everyone.

For that matter, Dylan had stopped delivering breakfast to the wildcount. Had the two of them had a falling- out?

Volger rolled up his map and shoved it into a desk drawer. “Find out what was in the Russian cargo, even if you have to beat it out of that boy.”

“By ‘that boy’ I assume you mean my good friend, Dylan?”

“He’s hardly your friend. You’d be free now if it weren’t for him.”

“That was my choice,” Alek said firmly. Dylan might have argued for Alek to return to the ship, but it was no use blaming anyone. Alek had made the decision himself. “But I’ll ask him what they found. Perhaps you could inquire with Dr. Barlow, since you two are on such good terms.”

Volger shook his head. “That woman tells me only what she finds it convenient for us to know.”

“Then, I don’t suppose there are any clues in your newspapers. Anything ab20;Fe Russians needing help in northern Siberia?”

“Hardly.” Volger pulled a penny paper from the open desk drawer and shoved it at Alek. “But at least that American reporter has stopped writing about you.”

Alek picked up the paper—the New York World. On its front page was a story by Eddie Malone, an American reporter that he and Dylan had met in Istanbul. Malone had learned certain secrets of the revolution, so Alek had traded his life story for the man’s silence. The result was a stream of articles about Alek’s parents’ assassination and his escape from home.

It had all been most distasteful.

But this story wasn’t about Alek. The headline read A DIPLOMATIC DISASTER ABOARD THE DAUNTLESS!

Below those words was a photograph of the Dauntless, the elephant-shaped walker used by the British ambassador in Istanbul. German undercover agents had taken it on a rampage during the Leviathan’s stay there, causing a near-riot for which the British had been blamed. Only Dylan’s quick thinking had saved the situation from total calamity.

“PONDERING.”

“But that was, what, seven weeks ago? Is this what they call news in America?”

“This paper took its time getting to me, but yes, it was old news from the start. Apparently this man Malone has run out of your secrets to spill.”

“Thank heavens,” Alek murmured, following the story to a page inside. Another photograph was printed there: Dylan swinging from the metal trunk of the elephant, flailing at one of the Germans.

“ ‘A Daring Midshipman Handles the Situation,’” he read aloud, smirking. For once it was Dylan in the limelight instead of him. “May I keep this?”

The wildcount didn’t answer—he was glaring at the ceiling, where a message lizard had appeared.

“Prince Aleksandar,” the creature said in Dr. Barlow’s voice. “Mr. Sharp and I would like the pleasure of your company in the cargo bay, if possible.”

“The cargo bay?” Alek said. “Of course, Dr. Barlow. I’ll join you shortly. End message.”