Goliath

this sabotage?

But Mr. Francis had been followed from the first minute he’d come aboard, and the engines were manned at all times. It had to be a coincidence….

Deryn reached the hump above the engines and pulled the message lizard from her jacket. “Starboard engine pod, this is Middy Sharp. Report!”

She set the beastie down, and it scampered toward the pod, making good time. Even with the electrical engines still churning, the wind of the ship’s passage was quickly dying. The airbeast’s cilia never pushed while the Clanker engines were at full-ahead, so they’d been quiet for the better part of ten days. It might take an hour to wake them up again.

“Barking Clankers,” she swore. Those contraptions had made the airbeast lazy.

To the west the Mexican airships were spreading out, taking time to surround their quarry. At this range Deryn could see their full wings and long whiplike tails, definitely based on the life threads of the manta ray. A brace of gasbags beneath the wings provided lift, with the Clanker engines slung in the middle. She recalled something like them from the Manual of Aeronautics, an experimental Italian craft, perhaps.

The manta ships weren’t large; they didn’t even carry a gondola. The crews rode in the ratlines on their backs, rifles in hand. The ships’ only heavy armament was a pair of Gatling guns for each ship, mounted fore and aft.

A line of strafing hawks was streaming out from the Leviathan, but not in attack formation yet. The birds encircled their airship home with a glittering ring of talons.

The starboard engine had stopped belching smoke, and Deryn saw a familiar spiked helmet down in the pod—Master Klopp’s. The Clanker machinery must have been acting up already, then. Since old Klopp’s injury, the engineers never called him to the pods unless things were going pear-shaped.

The message lizard scuttled back up, speaking in the master mechanic’s gruff German. “There’s something wrong with the fuel, Dylan. It tastes funny.”

Deryn frowned. Though she’d seen Klopp dip his finger into fuel and give it a sniff, she’d never seen him taste the stuff.

“The port engine will also be damaged if it keeps running,” the lizard continued. “Tell them to shut down.”

“What’s wrong with that critter?” came a voice from behind her. “Sounds like it’s talking German.”

Deryn sighed as she picked up the lizard. “Yes, Miss Rogers. One of Alek’s men is working down there. That’s a Clanker engine, after all.”

“And you understand German?”

“Well enough. I’ve worked with Master Klopp for more than two months now.”

“What a fine coincidence! You’ve got a German fellow working on your engine that just broke down!”

“Master Klopp is Austrian!” Deryn said, pushing past the woman and heading across the hump.

Miss Rogers followed, notebook in hand. “Mr. Sharp, do you still suspect Mr. Francis of German sympathies? While ignoring the actual Clankers on your ship?”

Deryn waved at the riggers, hoping one would take the reporter away, but they were scrambling to set up an air gun. She swore, storming to the far side of the hump to set the lizard down again.

“Port engine pod,” she told it. “This is Middy Sharp. Klopp says your fuel supply has something wrong with it. Don’t go to speed unless absolutely necessary! End message.”

As she shoved the lizard on its way, she realized the engineers would never obey her orders over the captain’s. Maybe she should have sent the lizard to the bridge instead.

Miss Rogers was scribbling in her notebook. “Fuel supply, eh?”

“Exactly.” Deryn stood up. “That’s the fuel that Mr. Hearst gave us, and it’s damaged our engines right in the middle of an ambush! Now does that sound like a coincidence to you?”

Miss Rogers scratched her nose with her pencil. “Hard to say.”

Deryn looked back at the Mexican airships. One was drawing abreast of the Leviathan, no more than a mile away, a line of semaphore flags running out across its wings.

G-R-E-E-T-I-N-G-S—L-E-V-I-A-T-H-A-N, they said.

“So now you’re being friendly,” she muttered.

“Who is?”

Deryn pointed at the flags. “They’ve sent us greetings.”

Another string followed, and she read them out to the reporter.

E-N-G-I-N-E—T-R-O-U-B-L-E—W-E—C-A-N—H-E-L-P.

“Well, that sounds friendly,” Miss Rogers said.

Deryn frowned. “Maybe so, but this is all a bit convenient. They knew just where to find us, and this is a barking big desert.”

“Young man, this is also a rather big airship.”

Deryn started to retort, but another string of flags was running out. “It says these airships follow the orders of General Villa.”

“Pancho Villa? Well, that’s handy.” The lady reporter scribbled. “The chief thinks quite highly of him.”

Deryn snorted. “No doubt they’re old pals. Now it says they’ve got an airfield nearby, with everything we need to make repairs. And they’re happy to give us a tow.” She squinted at the rest, then swore. “And all they want in return is one little thing.”

“What’s that?”

“A bit of sugar for their hungry beasts.”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Rogers said.

Deryn shook her head, remembering what Alek had told her—Hearst had been delighted when he’d found out the Leviathan was headed across Mexico. And somehow he’d set all this in motion— the doctored fuel, the smuggled arms, the airships stalking them—in a single night.

She looked about. Men and sniffers were streaming up the ratlines now, and a few message lizards as well. She pulled out her command whistle and blew for a lizard. The bridge needed a full report.

“You say you know this General Villa?”

The lady reporter shrugged. “Only by reputation, but I know some of his business partners well enough.”

“All right, then. Stay close to me, and keep your barking eyes open.”

“Young man, you hardly need to tell me that.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

The cilia woke faster than Deryn had expected; maybe the mantas were giving the airbeast a fright. The motivator engines ran on organic batteries, of course, and hadn’t suffered from Hearst’s contaminated fuel. So the Leviathan was soon under its own power again, following the Mexican airships at a wary distance.

Deryn sent a message lizard down to the bridge, relating the news that Hearst and General Villa were on friendly terms. It came back and spoke in Captain Hobbes’s own voice, telling her to take charge of docking. That was usually a rigger’s job, but the captain wanted an officer on the bowhead. If the Leviathan’s hosts made any hostile moves, the ship would drop all ballast and shoot into the air. The mooring cables would have to be cut loose—and fast.

“I’ll be ready, sir,” Deryn said. “End message.”

“That just proves my earlier point,” Miss Rogers said as the creature scuttled away. “If you want something done right, always ask the bell captain.”