every ghetto in this city. Almost fifty in all; enough to sweep away the sultan’s metal elephants. We could have done so six years ago, but we were not united then.”
“And now, sir?” Bauer asked.
“Like a fist!” Zaven said, demonstrating with both hands. “Even the Young Turks have rejoined us, thanks to all the Germans marching about.”
“And thanks to the Spider, too, of course,” Lilit said.
Alek looked at her. “The Spider?”
“Shall we show them?” Lilit asked, but didn’t wait for her father to answer. She ran to a large metal door in the courtyard wall, and jumped up to grab a chain hanging beside it. As she climbed it, her weight drew the chain down, and the door began to slide grudgingly upward.
A huge machine stood in the shadows.
Alek had no idea what it was for, but could see why Lilit had called it the Spider. A dark mass of machinery rested at its center, from which eight long jointed arms thrust out. A snarl of conveyor belts led into the core, like on a harvesting combine.
“Is that some sort of walking contraption?” Dylan asked in English.
“They called it ‘the Spider,’” Alek translated, then shook his head. “But it doesn’t look as though it can walk.”
“This is no mere war machine,” Zaven proclaimed. “But a far more powerful engine of progress. Lilit, show our guests!”
Lilit stepped through the doorway, almost disappearing in the shadows beneath the machine’s bulk. A panel of dials and levers flickered to life, showing her in silhouette. She worked the controls, and a moment later the paving stones of the courtyard were rumbling beneath Alek’s feet.
The eight arms began to move, stirring the air like the hands of an orchestra conductor, their manipulator claws making fine adjustments to the conveyor belts and other parts of the machine.
“It does look a bit like a spideresque,” Dylan said. “One of the big ones that weaves parachutes.”
Zaven nodded vigorously, answering her in his flawless English. “The Spider has woven the threads that hold our revolution together. Did you know, lad, that the word ‘text’ comes from the Latin word for weaving?”
“Text?” Alek said. “What does that have to do with … ?”
His voice faded as he saw a flicker of white within the gloom. A roll of paper was unspooling along one of the belts, disappearing into the machine’s dark center. The arms began to whirl through the air, carrying about trays of metal pieces, pouring buckets of black liquid, then cutting and folding the paper with long, nimble fingers.
“Barking spiders,” Dylan snorted. “It’s a printing press.”
“A Spider with a bark, indeed,” Zaven said. “Far mightier than any sword!”
The machine whirred and spun for another minute, then slowed and darkened again. When Lilit emerged from the shadows, she was carrying a stack of neatly folded leaflets covered with inscrutable symbols.
Zaven lifted one up. “Ah, yes, my article on the subject of women being allowed to vote. Can you read Armenian?”
Alek raised an eyebrow. “Alas, no.”
“How unfortunate. But the real message is just here.” Zaven pointed at a row of symbols across the bottom of the page—stars, crescents, and crosses that looked like mere decoration.
“A secret code,” Alek murmured, recalling the markings on the alley walls. With the profusion of newspapers sold on the streets of Istanbul, one more in a hodgepodge of languages wouldn’t attract much notice. But for those who knew the code …
He felt Bovril tugging on his trouser leg. The beast was stepping from one foot to the other.
Alek closed his eyes, and felt the slightest tremor through his boots.
“What’s that rumbling?”
“It feels like walkers, sir,” Bauer said. “Big ones.”
“Have they found us?” Alek asked.
“Fah. It’s just the sultan’s parade, for the end of Ramazan.” Zaven swept one hand toward the stairs. “Perhaps you would all join my family on the roof. Our balcony has an excellent view.”
THIRTY-THREE
The Ottoman war elephants paraded down the distant tree-lined avenue, leaving footprints of shattered cobblestones. Their crescent flags snapped in the wind, and their trunks—tipped with machine guns—swayed between long, barbed tusks. They turned in formation, as precise as marching soldiers, heading away toward the docks.
Deryn breathed a sigh of relief, handing the field glasses back to Alek.
“Mr. Zaven’s right. They’re not coming this way.”
“This must be the parade they were getting ready for,” Alek said, then handed the glasses to Klopp.
Deryn nodded in agreement. If she understood him rightly, Klopp was guessing the metal elephants weighed a hundred and fifty tons each. Clanker tons were a bit larger than British ones, she recalled, but the point was clear enough.
Those elephants were barking big.
“Aye, cannon,” Deryn murmured, watching the shimmer from the steel turrets on the elephants’ backs. The cannon were the important bit, after all.
Klopp and Alek went on talking in indecipherable Clanker, so Deryn strolled to the far corner of the balcony to stretch her legs. Her bum was still sore from the wild ride in the taxi, which had been worse than any galloping horse. She didn’t understand how Clankers could ride about in machines all day—they way they moved was just dead
“Are you injured?” came Lilit’s voice from just behind her, making Deryn jump a bit. The girl was always sneaking up on her.
“I’m fine,” Deryn said, then pointed down at the war elephants. “I was just wondering, do they often parade about like that, smashing up the streets?”
The girl shook her head. “They usually stay out of the city. The sultan is showing his strength.”
“That’s for certain. Pardon me for saying so, miss, but you can’t beat them. Those walkers carry cannon, and yours have only got claws and fists. It’d be like taking boxing gloves to a pistol duel!”
“The world is built on elephants, my grandmother always says.” Lilit let out a sigh. “It is an old law—our walkers can’t be armed, not like the sultan’s. But at least we’ve scared him. His army wouldn’t be tearing up the streets if he weren’t nervous!”
“Aye, he might be nervous, but that also means he’s ready for you.”
“The last revolution was only six years ago,” Lilit said. “He is always ready.”
Deryn was about to say how cheery a thought that was, but an odd buzzing sound had filled the air. She turned to see a bizarre contraption headed across the balcony. It waddled along on pudgy legs, a cross between a reptile and a four-poster bed, buzzing like a windup toy.
“What in blazes is
“That,” Lilit said with a smile, “is my grandmother.”
As they walked back toward the others, Deryn saw a mass of gray hair sprouting from the white sheets. It
