Leviathan

could hang herself out the windows if she wanted.

As Deryn ran back toward the main gondola, the aluminum walkway trembled under her feet. The whole crew was scrambling, filling the passageways of the ship. She dodged past a squad of men in gastric suits and reached the gut hatch, dropping halfway through for a peek outside.

The icy wind between gondola and airbeast rumbled with an unfamiliar sound. Not the hum of motivator engines—the angry snarl of Clanker technology. A winged shape caught a flash of moonlight in the distance, an Iron Cross painted on its tail.

The German aeroplanes could fly this high after all.

Deryn dropped the rest of the way down, landing hard enough to bang her teeth together. The middies’ battle station was topside with the bats, so she’d need a flight suit to keep from freezing. Deryn’s suit was back in her cabin, but the riggers always had spares hanging in their bunk room. She dodged through the press of men and hydrogen sniffers, looking for a suit with a pair of gloves stuffed into the pockets. There wasn’t time to find goggles; Dr. Barlow’s pigheadedness had delayed her long enough.

As she buttoned the coverall up to her neck, Deryn felt dizzy for a moment. The rush of battle had come too soon after the shock of Dr. Barlow’s near discovery. The lady boffin had promised not to tell, but she didn’t know the whole story—not yet. With those sharp eyes of hers, she’d have to guess the truth eventually.

Deryn took a deep breath and shook her head clear. This wasn’t the time to fret about secrets. The war was finally here.

She gave her safety line a yank to test its strength, then headed for the rigging hatches.

There were at least a half dozen flying machines hunting the Leviathan. They were hard to count, staying in the distance to keep clear of the strafing hawks and their aeroplane nets.

Deryn was halfway to topside, climbing fast in the freezing wind. Men and fabricated animals swarmed the ratlines, the ropes pressing hard against the membrane with their weight.

She heard the motivator engines change pitch, and the world began to tilt. As the airship rolled, Deryn found herself on the underside again, hanging from the ratlines by two hands. The crewmen around her swung from their safety harnesses, but Deryn’s clip dangled unused from her belt.

“Blisters!” she swore, looking up at her aching hands— possibly Mr. Rigby had been right about using safety clips in battle.

She swung her feet, hooking one leg into the ropes to free a hand. The ship rolled harder over, and a message lizard overhead lost its grip. It tumbled past her, shouting random words in a dreadful mix of human voices.

Deryn tore her eyes away from the poor beastie—her fingers had found the safety clip. After snapping it onto a rope, she let herself hang from the harness, resting the burning muscles in her hands.

A roar was building in the air.

From half a mile away a Clanker machine rushed toward her. An engine thundered on each wing, billowing twin trails of smoke. The broad, batlike wings stretched and twisted as the aeroplane came alongside… .

Its machine gun erupted, sweeping the flank of the Leviathan.

Men and beasties scrambled to escape the path of the bullets. Deryn saw a hydrogen sniffer hit, dancing in agony against the ratlines, then flailing madly as it fell. Glowworms sputtered bright green sparks as they were torn apart beneath the skin.

The aeroplane kept coming, thundering straight toward her. Deryn unclipped her harness and slid down as fast as she could. Bullets rippled through the membrane just overhead, like stones splashing into water. The ropes jerked in her grasp, trembling with the airship’s pain.

The gun finally sputtered out, the aeroplane peeling away. But a bright spark flared against the darkness. The gunner had ignited a phosphorous canister. He hoisted it high, the device sparking and smoking as the plane circled back toward the Leviathan.

Deryn’s hands tightened on the ropes, but there was nowhere to climb. The bitter-almond scent of hydrogen filled her lungs. The entire airship was primed to explode.

But then a searchlight swept into view. An aerie of strafing hawks followed its arc, carrying an aeroplane net. Its glistening strands trailed from the birds’ harnesses, binding them together in a web of gossamer.

The hawks turned and wheeled in formation, stretching the glowing lace across the aeroplane’s path… .

The machine crashed into the net, which wrapped around it, spilling fabricated spider acid from its strands. The acid burned through wings and struts and flesh in seconds. Pieces spun off wildly, the plane’s wings folding like scissors in the air.

The Clanker crewmen, the deadly phosphorous canister, and a hundred metal parts tumbled toward the snowy peaks below.

A ragged cheer went up along the airship’s flank, fists raised as the machine fell. The riggers were soon at work patching the membrane, but a few men hung unmoving in their harnesses, lifeless or moaning in pain.

Deryn wasn’t a medic, and she was supposed to be topside by now, but it took her a long moment to start climbing again and leave the bleeding crewmen behind.

There were more aeroplanes out there, she reminded herself, and the flechette bats needed feeding.

Topside was covered with crewmen, guns, and sniffers going barmy with the smell of spilled hydrogen.

Deryn stayed off the crowded dorsal ridge, running along the soft membrane to one side. She reckoned the airbeast wouldn’t notice one wee middy’s footsteps after all those bullets ripping through its side.

The Leviathan’s crew was firing back now, air guns chattering from the dorsal ridge and engine pods, searchlights guiding the strafing hawks out into the darkness. But what the ship really needed was more flechette bats in the air.

When she reached the bow, Newkirk and Rigby were already there, wildly casting handfuls of feed. A few riggers had joined them to make up for the missing middies.

The bosun glared at her, and Deryn spat the words, “Tending to the boffin, sir!”

“Thought as much.” He tossed her a feed bag. “They caught us napping, didn’t they? Didn’t know these blasted Clankers could fly so high!”

Deryn scooped out grain and flechettes as fast as she could. Most of the bats were already airborne in all the ruckus.

“Get down, lads!” someone cried. “One’s coming in!”

An aeroplane was roaring straight toward the bow. Deryn dropped, landing hard on a stray flechette. The main air gun fired, and she felt the whoosh of bolts flying overhead. A host of startled bats streamed up in the bolts’ wake.

Deryn glanced up. The air gun had hit home. The aeroplane shuddered, its engine coughing once. Then it twisted in the air and began to spin out of control, crumpling like paper in a giant hand.

Triumphant cries rose up across the airship’s topside, but Mr. Rigby didn’t pause to cheer. He scrambled to his feet and ran to Newkirk, snapping their safety lines together.

“Come on, Sharp!” he yelled. “Link up! We’re going forward.”

Deryn jumped up and ran after them, clipping her safety line to Newkirk’s. The bosun led them off the dorsal ridge and onto the downward slope of the bow. The last few hundred bats always malingered in the nesting coves, and tonight the Leviathan needed all of her beasties in the air.

The bow skin was tougher than the flank, designed for plowing through storm fronts and squalls. Deryn’s boots skidded on its hard surface, the heavy feed bag pulling her off balance. She swallowed—ropes and ratlines were few and far apart here on the airbeast’s forehead.

The slope grew steeper. Soon Deryn could see all the way down to the blinders stretched across the whale’s