Leviathan

“Constable Winthrop?” it babbled.

“Hang on another minute!” she pleaded. The lizard made a tut-tut noise, sounding just like Mr. Rigby when the middies were squabbling. She hoped it wouldn’t start jabbering. Message lizards could babble old snatches of conversation when they were nervous. You never knew what embarrassments they’d repeat.

The ground men pulled the Huxley steady and drew it quickly down.

She unstrapped herself from the pilot’s rig and saluted the chief constable. “Midshipman Sharp reporting with the captain’s lizard, sir.”

“That was a smart landing, young man.”

“Thank you, sir,” Deryn said, wondering how to ask the constable to pass this sentiment on to Mr. Rigby. But the man was already tugging the lizard from her shoulder. The beastie started to babble about landing ropes and wind speeds, rattling off instructions faster than a dozen signalmen.

The constable didn’t look as though he understood half of what the lizard was saying, but Fitzroy would be here soon to help. She spotted his ascender landing not far away, and was pleased that she’d beaten him down.

The airship’s shadow fell across them then, and men began to scramble in all directions. This was no time to dally. Fitzroy was in charge here; it was Deryn’s job to prepare the boffin’s cargo for loading.

She saluted the chief constable again, glanced up at the airship looming overhead, and took off for the zoo at a run.

SIXTEEN

His Majesty’s London Zoo was squawking like a bag of budgies on fire. Deryn skidded to a halt at the entry gate, stunned by the tumult of hoots and roars and shrieks.

To her right a troop of monkeys clung to the bars of their cage, howling into the air. Past them a netted enclosure was full of agitated birds, a blizzard of plumage and noise. Across a wide moat a giant elephantine stamped the ground nervously, sending tremors through Deryn’s boots.

“Barking spiders,” she swore softly.

She’d made Jaspert take her to the London Zoo five weeks ago, fresh off the train from Glasgow. But on that visit she’d heard nothing like this ruckus.

Obviously the Leviathan had put the beasties in a state.

Deryn wondered how the airship must smell to the natural animals. Like a giant predator coming to gobble them up? Or some long-lost evolutionary cousin? Or did its tangle of fabricated species make them think a whole island was floating past overhead?

“Are you my airman?” a voice called.

Deryn turned to see a woman wearing a long traveling coat, a valise in one hand.

“Pardon me, ma’am?”

“I was promised an airman,” the woman said. “And you appear to be in uniform. Or are you simply here to throw peanuts at the monkeys?”

Deryn blinked, then realized that the woman was wearing a black bowler.

“Oh … you’re the boffin?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Guilty as charged. But my acquaintances call me Dr. Barlow.”

Deryn blushed, bowing a little. “Midshipman Dylan Sharp, at your service.”

“So you are my airman. Excellent.” The woman held out the valise. “If you would be a dear, I’ll just fetch my traveling companion.”

Deryn took the bag and bowed again. “Of course, ma’am. Sorry to be so thick. It’s just that … no one told me you were a lady.”

Dr. Barlow laughed. “Not to worry, young man. The subject has occasionally been debated.”

With that she turned away and disappeared through the gatehouse door, leaving Deryn holding the heavy valise and wondering if she was seeing things. She’d never heard of a lady boffin before—or a female diplomat, for that matter. The only women who tangled with foreign affairs were spies, she’d always reckoned.

But Dr. Barlow didn’t quite have the air of a spy. She seemed a bit too loud for a job like that.

“Careful now, gentlemen,” her voice boomed from the gatehouse.

Emerging from the door were two young boffins in white coats, carrying a long box between them. The men didn’t introduce themselves to Deryn. They were too focused on taking small, cautious steps, as though the box were packed with gunpowder and good china. Sprigs of packing straw poked out between the boards.

No wonder the Leviathan was landing smack in the middle of London—this mysterious cargo was too fragile to stick on a horse cart.

Deryn stepped forward to lend a hand, but hesitated when she felt a squick of heat rising from the box.

“Is something alive in there?” she asked.

“That’s a military secret,” said the younger of the two boffins.

Before Deryn could answer, Dr. Barlow burst from the gatehouse, pulled along by the oddest fabricated beastie that Deryn had ever seen.

The creature looked like a sleek tan dog with a long snout, and tiger stripes on its rump. Straining against the leash, it stretched out to sniff Deryn’s offered hand. As she stroked its head, the beastie leaned back on its strong hind legs and hopped once in place.

Did the animal have a squick of kangaroo in its life thread?

“Tazza seems to like you,” Dr. Barlow said. “Odd. He’s usually shy.”

“He’s very … enthusiastic,” Deryn said. “But what in blazes is he for?”

“For?” Dr. Barlow frowned. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Sharp?”

“Well, he doesn’t look like a hydrogen sniffer. Is he some sort of tigeresque guard dog?”

“Oh, heavens!” The woman laughed. “Tazza isn’t fabricated, and he isn’t for anything. Except that I hate traveling without him.”

Deryn pulled her hand away and took a step back. “You mean, that beastie’s natural?”

“He’s a perfectly healthy thylacine.” Dr. Barlow reached down to scratch between the bouncing creature’s ears. “Commonly known as the Tasmanian tiger. Though we find the comparison to cats a bit infuriating, don’t we Tazza?”

The thylacine yawned, its long jaws opening as wide as an alligator’s.

Dr. Barlow had to be joking. The creature didn’t look natural in the least. And she was taking it along as a pet? Tazza looked heavy enough to displace at least one unlucky midshipman.

But it seemed undiplomatic to point that out, so Deryn cleared her throat and said, “Maybe we should get onto the field, ma’am. The ship’ll be down soon.”

Dr. Barlow gestured to a steamer trunk resting by the gatehouse door. A covered birdcage was sitting on top. “If you’d be so kind, Mr. Sharp.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Deryn sighed. She tucked the valise under one arm and lifted the birdcage in that hand. The trunk weighed almost as much as she did (another middy gone), but Deryn managed to lift one end and drag it along. The four of them—and Tazza the thylacine— headed back into the park, the boffins carrying the box at a snail’s pace.

As they made their way toward the airship, Deryn grumbled under her breath. It was one thing giving up her berth for a renowned boffin on a secret mission, but if some daft beastie named Tazza was going to take her place, the world had gone completely barking spiders.