Leviathan

others wage war.’ She was saying we don’t have to fight each other.”

“You know Latin?” Dylan laughed. “You’re barking posh, aren’t you?”

Alek frowned, realizing his mistake. “What I am is stupid.”

Dr. Barlow was still testing him, trying to figure out who and what he really was. No smuggler’s son or mountain villager would have understood Latin, but he’d answered her without blinking.

The strange thing was, the phrase she’d uttered was part of an old saying about the Hapsburgs, how they’d gained more lands by marriage than war. Was she a mind reader as well as a scientist?

The sooner he was away from these Darwinists, the better.

TWENTY-SIX

As they walked back toward the hatchway, Dylan said, “The lady boffin must think you’re something special.”

Alek looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“That machine room is supposed to be off-limits.” Dylan leaned closer, whispering, “There’s something barking odd in there.”

Alek didn’t answer, wondering what could possibly qualify as odd in this menagerie of abominations. In the last few hours he’d seen enough uncanny creatures for a lifetime.

“But I suppose it’s all right,” Dylan continued. “Seeing as how you’ve decided to help us.”

“No thanks to you.”

Dylan came to a halt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If it were just you stranded on this glacier, I wouldn’t lift a finger.”

“Well, that’s a bit rude!”

“A bit rude?” Alek sputtered. “I brought you medicines. I saved you from … frostbitten bum. And when I asked you to keep quiet, you set those awful dogs on me!”

“Aye,” Dylan said. “But you were running off.”

“I had to go home!”

“Well, I had to stop you.” Dylan folded his arms. “I took an oath to the Air Service, and to King George, to protect this ship. So I couldn’t go making promises to some intruder I’d just met, could I?”

Alek looked away, his anger suddenly exhausted. “Well, I suppose you were doing your duty.”

“Aye, I suppose so too.” Dylan turned with a huff and started walking again. “And I was going to thank you for not shooting me.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“And special thanks for not burning up the whole ship. Including yourself, you daft bum-rag.”

“I didn’t know the air was full of hydrogen.”

“Couldn’t you smell it?” Dylan laughed. “Those fancy tutors didn’t teach you much useful, did they?”

Alek didn’t argue—among the things he’d learned from his tutors was how to ignore insults. Instead he asked, “So is that hydrogen I’m smelling now?”

“Not in here,” Dylan said. “The digestive tract has regular air, except for a wee bit of extra methane. That’s why it smells like cow farts.”

“My education continues,” Alek said with a sigh.

Dylan gestured up at the pink curved walls. “See those puffy bits between the ribs? Those are hydrogen bladders. And the whole top half of the whale is full of the stuff. What you’re seeing is just the gut—a wee sliver. The beastie’s two hundred feet from top to bottom!”

More than sixty meters—Alek felt a bit unsteady on his feet.

“Makes you feel like a tick on a dog, doesn’t it?” Dylan said, opening the hatch. He hooked his boots around the ladder’s edges and slid down, hitting the deck with a thump.

“A charming image,” Alek muttered, feeling a shiver of relief as he climbed back down into the gondola. It was good to have a sturdy deck under his feet again, even if it was tilted, and walls that were solid instead of membranes and bladders. “But I prefer machines, I’m afraid.”

“Machines!” Dylan cried. “Barking useless. Give me fabricated species any day.”

“Really?” Alek said. “Have your scientists bred anything that can run as fast as a train?”

“No, but have you Clankers ever made a train that can hunt for its own food, or heal itself, or reproduce?”

“Reproduce?” Alek laughed. For a moment he imagined a litter of baby train cars populating a railroad yard, which led his mind to other aspects of the mating process. “Of course not. What a repulsive idea.”

“And trains need tracks to run,” Dylan said, ticking off points on his fingers. “An elephantine can move across any sort of terrain.”

“So can walkers.”

“Walkers are rubbish compared to real beasties! Clumsy as a drunk monkey, and they can’t even get up when they fall!”

Alek snorted, though that last part was true of the bigger dreadnoughts. “Well, if your ‘beasties’ are so wonderful, then how did the Germans shoot you down? With machines.”

Dylan gave him a dark look, pulling off a glove. His bare hand curled into a fist. “Ten to one, and all of them went down too. And I’ll bet they didn’t land as softly.”

Alek realized he’d said too much. Dylan probably knew crewmen who’d been wounded, or even killed, in the crash. For a moment Alek wondered if the boy was going to punch him.

But Dylan simply spat on the floor and turned to stalk away.

“Wait,” Alek called. “I’m sorry.”

The boy stopped but didn’t turn around. “Sorry about what?”

“That your ship’s so badly hurt. And for saying I’d let you starve.”

“Come on,” Dylan said gruffly. “We’ve got eggs to tend to.”

Alek blinked, then hurried to follow. Eggs?

They made their way to a small room on the gondola’s middle deck. It was a mess—machine parts strewn across the floor, along with broken glass and sprigs of hay. It felt oddly warm in here, with a smell like …

“Is that brimstone?” Alek asked.

“The scientific name is sulfur. See here?” Dylan led him to a large box in a corner, which steamed with heat in the cold air. “Eggs have loads of sulfur in them, and most of these are broken, thanks to your German pals.”

Alek blinked in the gloom. The rounded shapes before him looked exactly like … giant eggs.

“What sort of monstrous creature laid these?”

“They weren’t laid, but made in a laboratory. When you create a new beastie, they have to stew for a while. The life threads are in there, building the beasties out of egg muck.”

Alek looked down with distaste. “It all sounds very ungodly.”

Dylan laughed. “The same thing happened when your ma carried you. Every living creature’s got life threads, a whole instruction set in every cell of your body.”

This was clearly pure rubbish, but Alek didn’t dare argue. The last thing he wanted was more disgusting details. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off the gently steaming eggs.

“But what’s going to come out of these?”

Dylan shrugged. “The lady boffin’s not telling.”

The boy slipped his hand into the hay where the giant eggs were nestled, and pulled out a thermometer. He squinted at it, swore softly at the darkness, then drew a tin pipe from his pocket and blew a few notes.

The room grew brighter, and Alek noticed a cluster of the glowing worms hanging from the ceiling by his head.