Leviathan

hand rests of the commander’s chair, fighting to breathe.

His father would’ve known what to say in this situation: a short and forceful speech, praising the men for their efforts, urging them to carry on. But Alek could only stare into the forest, blinking away tears.

If he didn’t say something, the emptiness would swallow him.

A burst of gunfire broke out in the trees ahead, cutting through the grind of the engines. The walker twisted to a new heading, and Count Volger jumped to his feet again.

“Horse scouts, I reckon!” Master Klopp said. “They have stables on the Beowulf.”

A shower of bullets rattled against the Stormwalker’s visor, louder than any spray of dirt and pebbles. Alek imagined metal projectiles ripping through the armor and cutting into him, and his heart began to race again.

The awful emptiness lifted a little… .

A huge boom shook the walker in its track, and a billow of smoke rose across the viewport, its choking stench spilling into the cabin. For a moment Alek thought they’d been hit, but then an explosion answered from the distance, followed by the crack of trees and the awful cries of horses.

“That was us!” he murmured. The men below had fired the Stormwalker’s cannon.

As the echoes died, Volger called, “Do you know how to load a Spandau machine gun, Alek?”

Prince Aleksandar knew nothing of the sort, but already his hands were moving to unbuckle his seat straps.

SEVEN

They were just beginning to reel in Deryn when the storm struck.

The ground men had noticed the darkening sky. They were scrambling about the field, securing the hangar tent with extra spikes, getting the recruits under cover. Four men strained at the ascender’s winch, pulling Deryn down steady and fast. A dozen ground crew waited to grab the beast’s tentacles when it was low enough.

But she was still five hundred feet up when the first sheets of rain arrived. The cold drops fell diagonally, hitting her dangling feet even under the cover of the airbeast. Its tentacles coiled tighter, and she wondered how long the medusa would take this pounding before it spilled its hydrogen, hurling itself toward the ground.

“Stay calm, beastie,” Deryn said softly. “They’re bringing us in.”

A wild gust caught the medusa’s airbag, and it billowed like a full sail. Deryn swung out into the full force of the storm, her boy-slops instantly soaked with freezing rain.

Then the cable snapped taut, whipping the beast earthward like a kite without enough string. It dropped toward houses and backyard gardens, down to just above the high prison walls. Directly beneath Deryn people scurried along the wet streets, shoulders hunched, unaware of the monster overhead.

Another gust of wind struck, and the Huxley was forced low enough that Deryn could see the ribs of umbrellas below.

“Oh, beastie. This isn’t good.”

The medusa swelled again, trying to regain its lift, and leveled off a few dozen feet above the rooftops. The cable strained against the wind for a moment, then loosened. The ground men were giving them slack, Deryn reckoned, letting them climb a bit more, like a fisherman trying to keep a catch on the line.

But that extra cable was more weight to carry, and she and the Huxley were both heavy with rain. She could spill the water ballast, but once it was gone, there’d be nothing left to slow their fall if the beastie panicked.

The cable was scraping across the prison’s rooftops now, snapping against shingles and drainpipes. Deryn saw it snag on one of the smoking chimneys, and her eyes widened… .

No wonder the ground men were letting out more cable—they were keeping her away from the prison. If a chimney spark drifted up and reached the Huxley’s airbag, the hydrogen would ignite, the ascender exploding in a massive fireball, rain or no rain.

The cable snagged again, sending a jolt through the Huxley. The creature spooked, its tentacles coiling tight, and dropped again.

Deryn clutched the ballast cord, gritting her teeth. She might survive a wind-tossed landing herself, but the shingled rooftops and backyard fences below would shred the creature to pieces. And it would be all Deryn Sharp’s fault for not warning the ground men when she’d had the chance.

Some air sense.

“Okay, beastie,” she called up. “I may have got you into this mess, but I’m gonna get you out, too. And I’m telling you: Now’s not the time to panic!”

The creature made no promises, but Deryn pulled the ballast cords anyway. The bags snapped open, spilling their water into the storm.

Slowly the airbeast began to climb.

The ground men gave a cheer and set upon the winch, furiously hauling the airbeast in against the wind. The captain was supervising, shouting orders from the back of the all-terrain carriage. The tigeresques looked miserable in the rain, like a pair of house cats standing under a faucet.

With a few more turns of the winch the medusa was over the proving grounds, safely away from the prison’s smoking chimneys.

But then the wind switched direction. The airbeast billowed again, pulled in a half circle toward the other end of the Scrubs.

The Huxley let out a screech above the wind, like the horrible sound when one of Da’s air bladders would spring a leak.

“No, beastie! We’re almost safe!” Deryn shouted.

But the medusa had been tossed about once too often. Its gasbag was contracting, the tentacles coiled as tight as rattlesnakes.

Deryn Sharp smelled the hydrogen spilling into the air, the scent like bitter almonds. She was falling …

But the wind still carried them, changing direction without rhyme or reason. It tossed the airbeast about like a crumpled piece of paper, pulling Deryn behind it.

They had to be heavier than air by now, but in a gale like this, Deryn fancied you could fly a bowler hat on a bit of string.

At the other end of the cable the ground men were watching helplessly, the flight captain ducking as the gyrating cable sliced overhead. If they tried to crank her any closer, they’d pull the airbeast straight down into the ground.

Jaspert was running across the field toward her, cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting something… .

She caught the sound of his voice, but the wind whipped the words away.

Deryn’s feet now dangled a few yards above the ground, which raced by as if she were on horseback. She peeled off her heavy, sodden jacket and tossed it overboard.

The prison loomed close again as the Huxley sped along. Smashing into its walls at this speed would turn her and the airbeast into bloody splotches.

Her fingers scrambled at the pilot’s rig, searching for a way to escape the harness. Deryn reckoned her chances were better dropping onto muddy grass than crashing into a wall. And with her weight gone the Huxley would rise back into the air.

Of course, that clart-rag of a coxswain hadn’t bothered showing her how to unbuckle the rig. The leather straps were swollen with rain, cinched as tight as a duck’s bum. Evidently the Service didn’t trust recruits not to wriggle out in a panic and fall to their deaths.

Then Deryn saw the knot over her head—the cable that bound the airbeast to the ground!