Behemoth

Orient-Express come in right along the water?”

“I suppose,” Alek said stiffly. “But we were quite tired when we arrived, and it was a dark night.”

The man looked amused again—this was hopeless. Next, Malone would tell him that the moon was full, or that the Orient-Express never arrived at night.

But what did it matter? He didn’t believe a word Alek was saying anyway. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.

“It’s odd, seeing that creature here,” Alek said, pointing at the bullfrog. “I didn’t know the Ottomans allowed Darwinist abominations in their country.”

“Oh, you just have to know who to bribe.” The man laughed. “And I wouldn’t go anywhere without Rusty. He’s got a much better memory than me.”

Alek’s eyes widened. “He … remembers things?”

“Sure. Ever seen one of those message lizards?”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“Well, Rusty is a close relation. Except he’s all brain and no hop.” The man patted the bullfrog on its head, and the beady eyes blinked. “He can listen to an hour’s worth of conversation and repeat it back to you, word for word.”

Alek frowned, wondering if the newborn creature back at the hotel was some sort of recording beast. “Is this animal memorizing what we’re saying right now?”

The reporter shrugged. “In as much as you’re saying anything at all.”

“As I said, we’ve just arrived.”

“Well, at least your English is easy on the ears.” The man laughed again. “It’s like you’ve been practicing up, just for me.”

“You’re too kind,” Alek said. For the past two weeks, of course, he’d spoken more English than German. “And you have a sharp ear. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Sure. Why not?” The reporter licked his pen.

“Do you think the Ottomans will join the Clankers in this war?”

Malone shrugged again. “I doubt the Germans care, one way or the other. They’re here for the long term. Defeat the Darwinists in Europe, then expand across the whole world. They’re already extending the Express to Baghdad.”

Alek had heard his father say the same, that the Orient-Express had been built to spread Clanker influence into the Middle East, and then deeper into the heart of Asia.

Malone gestured up at the propaganda poster behind Alek. “All they want now is for the Ottomans to close the Dardanelles, so the Russians can’t ship food in from the south.”

“It’s easier to starve a man than to fight him,” Alek said. “But can the Ottomans hold the strait against the British navy?”

“Surface ships can’t make it past the mines and the cannon, and they have nets to keep the krakens out. That’s everything but airships, and the Ottomans may get one of those soon.”

“Pardon me?”

Malone’s face brightened. “That’s a sight you’ll definitely want to see. The Leviathan, one of the great hydrogen breathers, is here in Istanbul.”

“It’s still … I mean, there’s a British airship here? Isn’t that a bit odd, with a war going on?”

“I’ll say it is. And what’s odder still, the British are thinking of giving it to the sultan!” Malone shook his head. “Seems the Germans donated a pair of ironclads to the Ottomans, and the British want to up the ante. The sultan himself will be taking a joyride tomorrow, along with some of us reporters.”

Alek was almost too stunned to speak. That the Leviathan might be handed over to a Clanker power was absurd. But if the airship hadn’t left yet, then Count Volger was still in Istanbul.

“Are you going on this … joyride?”

Malone beamed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ve got hydrogen breathers in the U.S., but nothing half that big. Just watch the skies tomorrow, and you’ll see what I mean!”

Alek stared hard at the man. If he was right about the Leviathan, then Volger might have another chance to escape. Of course, Volger thought that Alek and the others had already disappeared into the wilds.

It was madness to trust this strange American, but Alek had to take the chance. “Perhaps you could do something for me,” he said quietly. “There’s a message I want delivered to that ship.”

Malone’s eyebrows rose. “Sounds interesting.”

“But you can’t put any of this in your newspaper.”

“I can’t promise that. But remember, my paper’s way off in New York City, and I use messenger terns to file my stories. Anything I write will take four days to get back to New York, and it’ll take another day or so for the news to find its way back here. See what I mean?”

Alek nodded. If Volger really could escape, five days would be plenty of time for them to disappear.

“All right, then.” Alek took a slow breath. “There’s a man aboard the Leviathan, a prisoner.”

Malone’s scribbling pen came to a halt. “A German fellow, I presume?”

“No. Austrian. His name is …”

Alek’s voice faded—the gaslights were suddenly sputtering around them, the room plunging into darkness.

“What’s happening?” Bauer hissed.

Malone held up a hand. “Don’t worry. It’s just a shadow play.”

The coffeehouse went silent, and soon the back wall was flickering to life. Alek realized that it wasn’t a wall at all but a thin screen of paper with powerful gaslights burning behind it.

Dark forms came into focus on the paper screen, shadows in the shapes of monsters and men.

Alek’s eyes widened. One of his aunts in Prague had collected shadow puppets from Indonesia, leather creations with moving arms and legs, like marionettes with sticks instead of strings. But the shadows here danced in perfect clockwork patterns. They were Clanker puppets, moved not by hand but by machines concealed behind the wall.

The hidden actors spoke in what sounded like Turkish, but the story was easy enough to understand. Across the bottom of the screen, waves rose and fell, and a sea creature bounded among them, a Darwinist monster with flailing tentacles and huge teeth. It approached a ship where two men stood on deck talking, unaware of the kraken coming for them. Alek caught the name Churchill among the unfamiliar words.

Then suddenly the creature leapt from the waves, snatching one of the men and dragging him into the water. Oddly, the other man only laughed.…

Alek jumped as someone squeezed his arm. It was Bauer, who nodded at a pair of German soldiers making their way through the coffeehouse. The two were going from table to table, checking faces against a photograph in their hands.

“We should go, Fritz,” Bauer whispered.

“They’re here for someone else,” Alek said firmly. No photograph of him had ever been taken.

Malone had noticed their nervous glances, and turned to look at the German soldiers. He leaned forward to whisper, “If you two are busy, perhaps we should meet tomorrow. Noon, at the gateway to the Blue Mosque?”

Alek began to explain that there was no need to leave, but then one of the soldiers stiffened. He glanced down at the photograph in his hands, then up at Alek.

“Impossible,” Alek breathed. Then he realized that the soldier wasn’t looking at him after all.

He was looking at Bauer.