Goliath

“Of course.” He looked her up and down. “Though somehow I can’t imagine that.”

“Don’t try, then.”

They both glanced at Bovril, expecting it to weigh in. But the beastie only stared back at them, its large eyes glistening.

After a moment Alek said, “I have to stop this war, Deryn. It’s all that’s kept me going. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“But I’ll do anything in my power to keep them from taking you away.”

She took a shuddering breath, then let her eyes fall closed. “Promise?”

“Anything. As you said in Tokyo, we’re meant to be together.”

Deryn wanted to agree, but she’d promised him she wouldn’t lie, and she wasn’t certain whether that was true. If they were meant to really be together, why had they been born a prince and a commoner? And if they weren’t, why did she feel this way inside?

But finally she nodded. Perhaps the daft prince’s luck would hold and she wouldn’t be hauled off to jail in London. And maybe it would be enough to stay by his side, an ally and a friend.

THIRTY-ONE

The East Coast of the United States had been in view all day, white beaches and salt-sheared trees, marshes and low green hills, a few small islands off the Carolinas. No delays for the last thousand miles, and the Leviathan was drawing near its goal. Deryn could hear the crew beginning to hustle about in the corridors. The sound made her heart sink.

Late tonight Eddie Malone would be at the offices of the New York World, handing in his story about Deryn Sharp, the brave airgirl who had fooled the British Air Service. By tomorrow her secret would be in the World, and by the next day it would be in every newspaper in America.

Deryn was exercising her knee, ignoring the buzzing bees, and readying herself to walk with the cane that lovely old Klopp had made for her. It was lathed from fabricated wood, but topped with a heavy Clankerish brass handle. She had no idea whether the captain would kick her off like a stowaway or throw her into the brig, but whatever happened, she didn’t want to be helpless.

A knock came at the door.

It opened before Deryn could answer, and in strolled the lady boffin, her loris on her shoulder and Tazza in tow. The thylacine bounded over and buried its nuzzle in Deryn’s palm.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sharp.”

“Afternoon, ma’am.” Deryn lifted her cane into the air. “You’ll have to forgive me for not standing.”

“Not to worry. It looks as though Tazza misses you.”

“Don’t you miss me too, ma’am?”

Dr. Barlow sniffed. “What I miss is Tazza being walked at regular intervals. Mr. Newkirk has proven quite unreliable.”

“Sorry to hear that, ma’am. But he’s got my duties as well as his own,” Deryn said, then frowned. There wasn’t much point in bowing and scraping, now that her career was over. “Have you never thought of walking Tazza yourself?”

Dr. Barlow’s eyes widened a bit. “What an odd suggestion.”

“Mighty unsavory,” her loris said.

“Poor beastie.” Deryn stroked the thylacine’s head. “Well, send Mr. Newkirk round, and I’ll tell him he’s a bum-rag.”

“Bum-rag,” Bovril chuckled.

“Such language, Mr. Sharp!” Dr. Barlow exclaimed. “Are you sure you’re feeling quite all right?”

Deryn stared down at her leg. Her uniform fit over the compress, but a lump was still visible. “The cut on my arm’s fine, but Dr. Busk isn’t sure about my knee.”

“So he’s told me.” The lady boffin sat at Deryn’s desk, snapping for Tazza to return to her. “If you’ve torn the ligaments behind the kneecap, your days of climbing the ratlines may well be over.”

Deryn looked away, a sudden burning behind her eyes. Not that she would be let near any ratlines, once the officers knew she was a girl. But it still hurt to think that her ma and aunties could be right, after all. What if she couldn’t be an airman anymore?

“Dr. Busk isn’t sure about that yet, ma’am.”

“No, he is not. But with misfortune may come opportunity.”

“Pardon, ma’am?”

Dr. Barlow stood up again and began to inspect the cabin, sliding a white-gloved fingertip along the woodwork. “Over these past two months you have proven yourself useful, Mr. Sharp. You’re quite handy in unpleasant situations, and most adept at improvisation. You even possess, when not brooding in your sickbed, a certain knack for diplomacy.”

“Aye, I suppose.”

“Let me ask, have you ever thought of serving the British Empire in a more illustrious capacity than scampering about on an airbeast tying knots?”

Deryn rolled her eyes. “It’s a bit more than just tying knots, ma’am.”

“Having seen your talents firsthand, I cannot disagree.” The lady boffin turned to Deryn and smiled. “But if you accept my offer, you shall learn that untying knots—figurative ones, of course—can be even more rewarding.”

“Your offer, ma’am?”

“Am I so unclear?” the lady boffin asked. “I am offering you a position, Mr. Sharp. One outside the confines of the Air Service. Though I assure you, a certain amount of airship travel will be involved.”

“A position, Mr. Sharp,” her loris said, and Bovril made a low whistling noise.

Deryn leaned back into her pillows. Quite suddenly the buzz behind her kneecap had redoubled. “But what sort of position? You’re the… head keeper of the London Zoo, aren’t you?”

“Zookeeper, fah!” Dr. Barlow’s beastie said.

“That is my title, Mr. Sharp. But were you under the impression that our mission to Istanbul was zoological in nature?”

“Er, I suppose not, ma’am.” It occurred to Deryn that she had no idea what Dr. Barlow’s real position was, except that it involved ordering people about and acting superior. She was the great fabricator’s granddaughter, of course, and had been able to requisition the Leviathan right in the middle of a barking war.

“Do you work for anyone in particular, ma’am? Like the Admiralty?”

“Those half-wits? I should think not. The Zoological Society of London is not a government agency, Mr. Sharp. It is, properly speaking, a scientific charity.” Dr. Barlow sat down again, and began to stroke Tazza’s head. “But zoology is the backbone of our empire, and so the Society has many members of high station. Collectively, we are a force to be reckoned with.”

“Aye, I’ve noticed that.” The lady boffin had practically run the ship, until Mr. Tesla had come aboard talking of superweapons. “But what sort of position would your Society have for me? I’m no boffin.”

“Indeed not, but you seem a quick study. And there are times when my scientific work takes me into situations that are, as Mr. Rigby likes to say, quite lively.” Dr. Barlow smiled. “At those times a resourceful personal assistant such as yourself might be useful.”

“Oh?” Deryn narrowed her eyes. “How personal an assistant, ma’am?”

“You would hardly be my valet, Mr. Sharp.” She swept her gaze about the cabin. “Though I see you are in