Behemoth

“Aye, I’m the only one they didn’t catch. Those three poor blighters were my men.”

Alek sat down in a tasseled chair, swearing softly in Clanker. “I’m sorry about your men, Dylan.”

“Aye, me too. And I’m sorry about Volger,” said Deryn, though she wasn’t sure if she meant it. The wildcount was too much of a clever-boots for her liking. “He really did mean to join you.”

Alek nodded slowly, staring at the floor. For a moment he looked younger than his fifteen years, like a wee boy. But he gathered himself and looked up at her.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to do, Dylan. You’re a fine soldier, after all. I’m sure the Committee will be happy to have you.”

“What are you talking about? What committee?”

“The Committee for Union and Progress. They seek to overthrow the sultan.”

Deryn glanced at Lilit, then back at Alek, her eyes widening. Overthrow the sultan? What if Count Volger had been right, and Alek had joined some daft bunch of anarchists? And Monkey Luddite anarchists at that!

“Alek,” said Lilit softly, “you can’t go telling this boy our secrets. Not till he’s met Nene, at least.”

Alek waved her protests away. “You can trust Dylan. He’s known for ages who my father was, and he never betrayed me to his officers.”

Deryn’s jaw dropped. Alek had already told this anarchist lassie about his parents? But he’d been in Istanbul only three barking days!

Suddenly she wondered if she should just walk out the door. She’d seen a dozen cargo ships flying British flags. Maybe one would take her out to the Mediterranean and back to sanity.

Why had she abandoned her sworn duty for some barking prince?

“Besides,” Alek said, standing up and putting a hand on Deryn’s shoulder, “fate has delivered Dylan here to Istanbul. Clearly he’s meant to help us!”

Deryn and Lilit looked at each other, and they both rolled their eyes.

Alek ignored their skeptical looks. “Listen to me, Dylan. You Darwinists want to keep the Ottomans out of the war, right? It’s the whole reason Dr. Barlow brought us all this way.”

“Aye, but that’s all gone pear-shaped. Everything we’ve done has only pushed the sultan into the Germans’ hands.”

“Perhaps,” Alek said. “But what if the sultan were overthrown? Since the last revolution, the rebels here have despised the Germans. They’d never join the Clanker side.”

“The British are just as bad,” Lilit said. “All the great powers take advantage of us. But it’s true enough, we don’t want anything to do with your war. We just want the sultan gone.”

Deryn stared at the girl, wondering whether to trust her. Alek apparently did, having blathered all his secrets. But what if he was wrong?

Well, in that case he needed someone he could trust.

“Great powers,” muttered Bovril, then went back to eating peanuts.

Deryn let out a slow sigh. She’d come to Istanbul to help Alek, after all, and here he was, asking for help. But this was so much bigger than anything she’d expected.

If the sultan could be tossed out of his palace, then The Straits would stay open and the Russian army wouldn’t starve. The Clankers’ grand plan to extend their influence into Asia would be stopped in its tracks.

This was a chance not just to help Alek but to change the course of the whole barking war. Perhaps it was her duty to stay right here.

“All right, then,” she said. “I’ll do what I can.”

THIRTY-ONE

“I do look rather Turkish, don’t I?” Klopp said, regarding himself in the mirror.

Alek hesitated a moment, struggling for words. The man didn’t look like a Turk at all—more like a zeppelin wrapped in blue silk with a tasseled nose cone.

“Perhaps without the fez, sir,” Bauer suggested.

“You might be right, Hans,” Alek said. “A turban would be better.”

“Fez!” proclaimed Bovril, who was sitting on Dylan’s shoulder eating plums.

“The fez is good,” Dylan said. The boy’s German was getting better, but he still missed words here and there.

“How does one put on a turban?” Klopp asked, but no one knew.

Bauer and Klopp had been stuck in the hotel for almost a week now, and it had been slowly driving them mad. A cage was still a cage, however luxurious. But at last they were going out, headed to Zaven’s warehouse to inspect the walkers of the Committee.

The problem was how to get them there without being spotted.

Alek and Dylan had tried their best to buy disguises at the Grand Bazaar, but the results hadn’t been entirely successful. Bauer looked too fancy, like one of the hotel doormen, and Klopp’s voluminous robes had turned him into a silken airship.

“We don’t have to pass for Ottomans,” Alek said. “We’re just going through the lobby and into a taxi, then straight to the warehouse. Hardly anyone will see us.”

“Then why aren’t you dressed like a Hapsburg prince, young master?” Klopp pulled the fez from his head. “Seeing as how these anarchists already know your name.”

“They’re not anarchists,” Alek said for the hundredth time. “Anarchists want to destroy all government. The Committee just wants to replace the sultan with an elected parliament.”

“It’s all the same nasty business,” Klopp said, shaking his head. “Murdering one’s masters. Have you forgotten those Serb boys throwing bombs at your parents?”

Alek bridled at Klopp’s impertinence, but kept his anger in check. The old man had a dim view of revolutions in general, and Lilit’s chatter about women’s equality had hardly helped.

But meeting Zaven and the iron golems would put Klopp at ease. Nothing brought a smile to his face like the sight of a new walker.

“The Germans were behind that attack, Master Klopp. And allying with the Committee is our only way to strike back at them.”

“I suppose you’re right, young master.”

“Indeed,” Alek said simply. He looked at Bauer, who promptly nodded his head.

Dylan, however, was proving more difficult to convince. He’d taken an instant dislike to Lilit, and refused to tell Alek anything about his mission in Istanbul, saying only that it was too secret to share with “a bunch of daft anarchists.”

Still, it was enough that Dylan was here in Istanbul, ready to help. Something about the boy’s brisk confidence made Alek remember that providence was on his side.

“We have to bring the beastie,” Dylan said in English, pulling on a silk jacket. His clothes fit perfectly—he’d spent an hour alone with the tailor getting them just right. “Dr. Barlow says it can be quite useful.”

“But all it does is babble,” Alek said, pulling his most important cargo—a small, heavy satchel—onto his shoulder. “Did she explain exactly how it’s meant to help?”

Dylan opened the birdcage, and Bovril scampered over and jumped inside. “Only that we should listen to it. Because it’s quite … perspicacious.”

Alek frowned. “I’m afraid that word is beyond my English.”

“Aye. It’s beyond mine, too.” Dylan reached into the birdcage and scratched the creature’s chin. “But you’re a cute wee beastie, aren’t you?”

“Perspicacious,” the creature said.