“Steady there, lad.” Dr. Busk was cutting away Deryn’s trouser leg above the knee. Her flesh looked pale around a purpling bruise.
She stared up at Alek, worry in her eyes. If the leg were broken, carrying off her deception would be impossible.
“Sir!” one of the marines called. “Someone’s coming.”
Dr. Busk didn’t look up. “Some diplomacy, Your Highness, if you please.”
“Of course.” Alek gave Deryn what he hoped was a reassuring nod, then stood and turned. Two large creatures were approaching, sending a ripple through the ground men.
The crowd parted to reveal a pair of gigantic fabricated bulls. They stood at least three meters tall, their horns tipped with metal, their shoulders as broad as train engines. The bulls had riders on their backs, holding steel chains that ran down through silver rings in the beasts’ noses. Behind each rider was mounted a platform with another soldier; one bull carried a Gatling gun, the other a motion picture camera.
Almost lost between the two huge beasts was a man on horseback. He wore riding boots and pale trousers, a small-brimmed hat, and a short brown jacket crossed with two bandoliers of bullets. His clothes looked rumpled, as if he had just arisen from bed, and from above an unkempt, bristly mustache peered two lively brown eyes.
Alek knew only a few words of Spanish, but he bowed and gave it a try.
The man laughed and said in a careful but clear English, “I think you mean ‘
“It is an honor, General,” Alek said, bowing again.
So this was the famous rebel leader, the Robin Hood of Mexican peasants. Alek wondered what the man must think of the wealthy young prince before him, and if he had picked a side in the Great War in Europe.
The pistol on his belt was a Mauser—German made.
“Is your man hurt?” Villa asked.
Alek turned. Deryn was wincing in pain as Dr. Busk applied some sort of compress to her knee. “We hope not, sir.”
“My personal doctor is coming. But please, why did he jump off your ship? He makes us very nervous for a moment.”
“It was the camera walkers.” Alek looked up. “There was some confusion about their purpose.”
The man clicked his tongue. “Ah, I should have known. Last winter one of these walkers captures a whole platoon of
Alek compared the Gatling gun and camera on the two monstrous bulls. “An understandable mistake. It seems an odd machine for an army to travel with.”
The man pointed at the
Alek looked up and saw Mr. Francis and his men filming the encounter through the open windows of the middies’ mess. Here he was in front of the cameras, performing again.
“There seems to be no escaping them,” Alek said. “Can you help us repair our engines?”
The man bowed low in his saddle. “Of course. All part of my deal with Senor Hearst. He sends his apologies for the inconvenience.”
Alek was about to say something unpleasant, but a cry came from Deryn, and he spun about. Dr. Busk was pulling off her jacket now, revealing a red stain running down her left arm. In another moment he would have her shirt off.
Alek turned to General Villa. “Please, sir. If your doctor could be quick. I’m afraid our ship’s surgeon is… a bit incompetent.”
“You are lucky, then. Dr. Azuela is quite experienced with wounds of battle.” Villa pointed at a man coming through the crowd. “Take him to your friend.”
Alek gave a quick bow and raced back to where Deryn sat. He placed a firm hand on Dr. Busk’s shoulder. “General Villa would prefer that his own doctor see to Mr. Sharp.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“He insists, as our host,” Alek hissed softly. “We should not insult him.”
“Most irregular,” Dr. Busk said, but he stood and took a step back. Dr. Azuela was coming through the crowd. A man of less than forty, he was dressed in a tweed suit and string tie, his eyes behind small round glasses.
Alek went to him, wondering how to get Deryn hidden. He looked up at the bright sun, ransacking his brain for a few words of Spanish.
The Mexican doctor glanced at Deryn, then at the
“Can he walk?” he said in excellent English.
“We can’t move him,” Alek said. “Is there some way to get cover?”
“Of course,” the man said, and began to shout orders. Soon the ground men were flinging canvas tarps across the landing lines, putting Deryn in the shadow of a makeshift tent and out of view of the
As they worked, Alek pulled Dr. Busk aside. “General Villa wants a message taken to the captain. He says he’ll do whatever he can to repair the ship.”
“Well, that’s good to hear, I suppose. I’ll send one of the marines.”
Alek shook his head. “He wants an officer to deliver it.”
Dr. Busk frowned, looking at the tarps. “I see. Look after Sharp, will you?”
“Of course, Doctor,” Alek said, turning away with a sigh of relief. The only remaining trick was to keep the rebel doctor from discovering Deryn’s secret, or at least from making a fuss about it.
Halfway back to the makeshift tent, Alek realized that he had lied to three men in as many minutes. And worse, he’d done so rather skillfully.
He shook his head, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach. Deryn had warned him about this, after all, and he’d given his word. This was the battle that she fought every day, and he was part of her deception now.
TWENTY-NINE
When Alek slipped between the swaying tarps, he found only Deryn and Dr. Azuela inside. The ground men had swiftly thrown up a cot for Deryn and a case for the doctor’s instruments. But now they had gone back to their ropes, and the growl of the winches drawing the ship down had started up again. Bovril was wrapped around Deryn’s neck, purring softly.
“Are you all right?”
“I’ve had worse,” Deryn said, but her eyes stayed fixed on the doctor’s fingers as they probed her arm.
“It isn’t broken,” the man said. “But this cut is bad. I need to sew it up. Take off your shirt.”
“I can’t,” Deryn said softly. “My arm won’t move.”
The doctor frowned, feeling carefully along her forearm again. “But a moment ago you made a fist.”
“Just cut the sleeve off,” Alek said, kneeling beside them. “I’ll help you.”
Dr. Azuela’s wary gaze traveled from Deryn to Alek as he reached into his bag. He pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped through the cuff of the middy’s uniform, then up her arm. Her pale skin was slick with blood.
Deryn drew in a sharp breath—the doctor’s free hand had brushed her chest. Azuela frowned, hesitating a moment. Then, with a flash, the scissors had reversed in his hand. The points quivered at her throat.
