Leviathan

He changed the walker’s stride, pushing outward with the feet so that the machine weaved from left to right. Running serpentine, Klopp called this, cutting a path like a snake through the grass.

But the machine’s winding path didn’t feel as graceful as that.

The cannon boomed below him—then a column of dirt and smoke shot into the air just behind the horsemen. Widening circles rippled through the grass like pond water from a stone, and two horses fell sideways, throwing their riders.

A second later a wave of dirt and sheer force struck Alek through the open viewport, and his hands slipped from the saunters. The walker lurched to one side, wheeling toward the stream. Alek grabbed at the controls, twisting them hard, and the Stormwalker came to, staggering but still upright.

The horsemen had gathered into tight formation, about to retreat. But Alek saw them hesitating, wondering if the walker was out of control. Lurching around like this, it probably looked as intimidating as a drunken chicken. He doubted Bauer could reload the cannon unless he could steady the machine.

“THE CHARGE”

Shots crackled again, and something pinged around Alek’s ears, a bullet ricocheting around the metal cabin. No point in coming to a halt—it just made him a better target—so Alek leaned low over the controls, heading straight for the troop of horses.

The riders hesitated for another moment, then wheeled about and galloped back toward the stream, deciding not to pit flesh against metal.

“Sir! It’s Master Klopp!” Bauer’s voice came on the intercom. “Standing up in front of us!”

Alek pulled back on the saunters, just as he had the day before—and again the walker’s right foot planted hard, the machine beginning to tip.

But this time he knew what to do. He twisted the walker sideways, thrusting out one steel leg. Dust exploded across the viewport, and the sound of straining gears and tearing grass filled his ears.

Alek felt the machine regain its balance, the momentum of its charge consumed by the skid.

As the walker settled, Alek heard the belly hatch open below. There were shouts, and the clanking of the chain ladder unrolling. Was that Klopp’s voice? Volger’s?

He wanted to glance down through the cabin hatch, but he stayed at the controls. The dust was clearing before him, and he saw movement in the distance—the flash of helmets and spurs. Perhaps he should fire one of the machine guns into the air, just to keep them in retreat.

“Young master!”

Alek spun around in the pilot’s chair. “Klopp! You’re all right!”

“Well enough.” The man pulled himself up into the cabin. His clothes were torn and bloody.

“Were you hit?”

“Not me. Volger.” Klopp fell into the commander’s chair, panting. “His shoulder—Hoffman’s seeing to it below. But we must go, young master. More will come.”

Alek nodded. “Which way?”

“First back to the stream. The kerosene’s still there.”

“Right. Of course.” The dust was clearing in the viewports, and Alek put his shaking hands on the saunters again. He realized that he’d hoped Klopp would take the controls, but the man was still panting, his face bright red.

“Don’t worry, Alek. You did well.”

Alek swallowed, forcing his hands to push the Stormwalker into a first step. “I almost wrecked it again.”

“Exactly: almost.” Klopp laughed. “Remember how I said everyone falls the first time they try to run?”

Alek scowled as he planted one giant foot on the river-bank. “I could hardly forget.”

“Well, everyone also falls the second time they run, young master!” Klopp’s laughter turned into coughing, then he spat and cleared his throat. “Except for you, it seems. Lucky for us you’re such a Mozart with the saunters.”

Alek kept his eyes ahead, not answering. He didn’t feel proud, having left that rider behind, lying broken in the grass. The man had been a soldier serving the empire. He couldn’t have understood the politics swirling around him any more than those commoners back in Lienz.

But he’d lost his life just the same.

Alek felt himself split into two people, the way he did when he was alone on watch, one part crushing down his despair into its small, hidden place. He blinked away sweat and searched the riverbank for the precious cans of kerosene, hoping that Bauer was watching for horses, and that the cannon was loaded again.

FIFTEEN

Just after morning altitude drills the middies were all at breakfast, chattering about signal scores, the duty roster, and when war would finally come.

Deryn had already finished her eggs and potatoes. She was busy sketching the way the message lizard tubes coiled around the Leviathan’s walls and windows. The beasties always poked their heads out as they waited for messages, like foxes in a burrow.

Then suddenly Midshipman Tyndall, who’d been staring dreamily out the windows, shouted, “Look at that!”

The other middies sprang up, scrambling to the port side of the mess. In the distance, across the patchwork of farmlands and villages, the great city of London was rising into view. They shouted to each other about the ironclads moored on the River Thames, the tangle of converging rail lines, and the elephantine draft animals that choked the roads leading to the capital.

“BLASE ABOUT OLD SIGHTS.”

Deryn stayed in her seat, taking the opportunity to spear one of Middy Fitzroy’s potatoes.

“Haven’t you plook-heads seen London before?” she asked, chewing.

“Not from up here,” Newkirk said. “The Service never lets us big ships fly over cities.”

“Wouldn’t want to scare the Monkey Luddites, would we?” Tyndall said, punching Newkirk’s shoulder.

Newkirk ignored him. “Look! Is that Saint Paul’s?”

“Seen it,” Deryn said, stealing a piece of Tyndall’s bacon. “I flew over these parts in a Huxley once. An interesting story, that.”

“Quit your blethering, Mr. Sharp!” Fitzroy said. “We’ve heard that story enough.”

Deryn flicked a piece of potato at Fitzroy’s dorsal regions. The boy always assumed superior airs, just because his father was an ocean navy captain.

Feeling the projectile hit home, Fitzroy turned from the view and scowled. “We’re the ones who rescued you, remember?”

“What, you sods?” she said. “I don’t remember seeing you at the winch, Mr. Fitzroy.”

“Perhaps not.” He smiled and turned back to the view. “But we watched you float past these very windows, swinging from your Huxley like a pair of trinkets.”

The other middies laughed, and Deryn sprang up from her chair. “I think you might want to rephrase that, Mr.