Leviathan

pilot.”

“What?”

“You think I’ve never wrecked a walker?” Klopp laughed. “It’s all part of learning the craft, young master.”

Alek blinked, not sure if the man was kidding.

A metal plink rang through the cabin. Klopp looked up as another, then more, followed, like a hailstorm slowly building.

“Flechettes,” Dr. Barlow said.

“Let’s hope they get those zeppelins,” Klopp said softly. “Otherwise Count Volger will be very unhappy with us.”

“I’ll take a look outside,” Alek said. “We might be able to stand up and rejoin the fight.”

Klopp shook his head. “Not likely, young master. Stay here till the battle’s over.”

“That sounds like wise advise,” Dr. Barlow said in German.

But the rain of flechettes was tapering off, and Alek heard the sound of airship engines close by.

“I have to see what’s going on,” he said. “We’ve still got a working machine gun!”

“STANDING FIRM.”

Klopp tried to argue, but Alek ignored him, shoveling a few handfuls of snow aside and shimmying out the viewport.

The sunlit snow was blinding for a moment, except for the dark crater left by the zeppelin’s aerial bomb. Almost a direct hit. The Stormwalker’s trail of footprints went straight into the blackened hole, then zigzagged to where the machine lay in a crumpled heap.

Alek flexed his hands, remembering his struggle to keep the walker upright. He’d almost done it. But almost meant nothing now. The engine casing was cracked; hot oil steamed out onto the snow. One giant metal leg was twisted wrong. The machine couldn’t possibly stand again.

He tore his eyes away, scanning the sky. The Kondor that had bombed them was barely a hundred meters away. It was flying just above the snow, its gasbag fluttering, full of holes from the flechette attack.

Shouts came from up on its topside. Two airmen had seen him, and were swinging a machine gun around.

Then Alek realized where he was standing—right in front of the walker’s breastplate, the Hapsburg coat of arms proclaiming exactly who and what he was …

An utter fool.

Before he could move, the Kondor’s machine gun erupted. Bullets rang from the walker’s steel hull and kicked up snow around his feet. Alek froze, waiting for hot metal to rip through his flesh.

But then the air began to crinkle around the zeppelin. The dazzling flash of the machine gun was spreading, shimmering down the airship’s flanks. Too late, the German airmen realized what was happening. The gun fell silent.

But the flame was a living thing now, dancing in the hydrogen spilled from the torn skin. The Kondor dropped, its gondola thudding against the snow. The gasbag crumpled, squeezing more hydrogen from the holes, and a hundred fiery geysers erupted.

Alek squinted and covered his face. The whole airship glowed from within as it rose up, carried back into the sky by its own heat. The aluminum skeleton inside was melting. The Kondor twisted, then broke in the middle, a huge mushroom of fire bellowing from the split.

And then the two halves were swirling downward again.

They seemed to hit the ground gently, but the snow shrieked and hissed as melted metal and burning hydrogen turned it to steam. White clouds billowed around the two halves of wreckage, and Alek heard awful cries over the roar of flame.

“You Clankers really should use air guns.”

Alek turned. “Dylan! Are you all right?”

“AS THE KONDOR BURNS.”

“Aye, you know me,” the boy said. His forehead was bandaged, his eyes bright as he watched the inferno. “A bit of smelling salts and I’m back on my feet.” He smiled, then swayed a bit.

Alek put an arm around the boy’s shoulders to steady him, but their eyes were drawn to the dying airship again.

“Horrible, isn’t it?” Alek whispered.

“Too much like my nightmares.” Dylan looked around. “Look, the other one’s scampering.”

Alek turned. The second zeppelin was in the distance, headed away. A few of the Leviathan’s larger hawks were giving chase, harrying the crew on its back. But soon it had slipped over the mountains, making for the floating hangars on Lake Constance.

“We beat them,” Dylan said with a weary smile.

“Maybe. But now they know where we are.”

Alek looked at the Stormwalker again—broken and silent, except for a hiss where hot oil was leaking onto the snow. If Klopp couldn’t fix it, the Germans would have two prizes waiting when they returned: the wounded Leviathan and the missing prince of Hohenberg.

“When they come back,” he said, “they’ll bring more than a pair of Kondors.”

“Aye, maybe.” Dylan clapped his shoulder. “But don’t worry, Alek. We’ll be ready for them.”

“Perhaps the Darwinists can help us,” Klopp said.

Alek looked up from the engine hatch, where he was passing tools to Hoffman. The transmission wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Every drop of oil was spilled, but none of the gears had cracked.

The real problem was standing up again. One of the walker’s knees was twisted. It might have the strength to walk, but scrambling to its feet was a different matter.

Alek shook his head. “I doubt they have any creatures strong enough to lift a walker.”

“They have one,” Klopp said, gazing at the vast bulk of the airship. “When that godforsaken beast goes up, we can run cables to the Stormwalker. Like lifting a puppet on strings.”

“A thirty-five-ton puppet?” Alek wished that Dr. Barlow were still here; she would know the Leviathan’s lifting capacity. But she and Dylan had headed off to check her precious eggs.

“Why not?” Klopp said, looking back at the castle. “They’ve got all the food they could ask for.”

Across the glacier the Stormwalker’s abandoned cargo was swarming with birds. The Darwinists had sent a work party to chop open the boxes and barrels, and hungry flocks had soon descended.

The Leviathan’s creatures seemed to know there was no time to lose.

“Young master?” Hoffman said quietly. “Here comes trouble.”

Alek looked up and saw a figure in a fur coat coming across the snow. He felt his mouth go dry.

Count Volger wore a cold expression. One hand was clenched around the pommel of his sword.

“Do you know what you’ve done to us?” he said.

Alek’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“It was my—,” Klopp started.

“Be silent.” Volger held up a hand. “Yes, you should have knocked this young idiot on the head to keep him out