Goliath

But then Alek’s nose caught the familiar scent….

“Clart,” said Bovril from inside his coat.

“Indeed.” Alek breathed in the effluence of a hundred interlocked species, all of it mixed in the gut of a living airship. He shielded his eyes and looked up to see the underside of the Leviathan a hundred meters above, its ballast tubes swelling. The downpour built around him, its roar joined by the plaintive hissing of the blaze.

Someone aboard must have been looking back, watching the jitney disappear into a tiny flicker against the city lights. Someone had seen the attack and had told the bridge crew to come about.

“Mr. Sharp,” said Bovril, then had a chuckle.

The heat of the fire was gone now, and Alek found himself soaking wet in a cold autumn wind. He cast aside the ruined sable coat, and Bovril scampered up onto his shoulder. The downpour was fading quickly now, and the Leviathan was growing smaller overhead. With its ballast spilled, it was climbing rapidly into the air, safe from any more rocket attacks.

“Two birds with one stone,” Alek murmured, then looked about the roof. Dr. Busk was tending to Mr. Tesla and one of the jitney crewmen, but no one seemed seriously hurt. He heard the siren of a fire brigade from the streets below.

“Look over here, Your Majesty!” Eddie Malone was backing up, his free hand shielding his camera from the last of the falling ballast. He was taking a photograph of the crashed jitney, with Alek as the star.

It was pointless scowling, Alek supposed. He dutifully set his jaw. The camera flashed, and he was blinking away spots. When he could see again, he noticed how close Malone was to the edge of the roof.

An odd realization struck Alek. As the jitney had been crashing, he’d saved Malone from falling. If Alek hadn’t seen him, or their fingers had slipped, the man might have slid to his doom. Then Deryn’s secret would be safe again.

But Alek had saved Malone, just as he’d failed to say a word in her defense. It was as though he couldn’t stop betraying her.

Then, quite suddenly, a simple and perfect idea entered his mind. Not letting himself think twice, Alek crossed the slick, broken deck of the jitney, until he was close enough to the reporter to speak softly. The camera flashed again.

“I saved your life during the crash,” Alek said. “Didn’t I, Mr. Malone?”

The man thought for a second, then nodded. “I suppose you did. Thanks for that!”

“You’re welcome. Would you consider that payment for, say, not publishing what you know about Deryn?”

Malone laughed. “Not likely, Your Majesty.”

“I didn’t think so.” Alek smiled, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Luckily, I have a backup plan.”

THIRTY-FOUR

The nightmare had come again.

It was the same as always—the heat, the smell of propane, the awful crackle of ropes snapping. Then falling to the ground, pushed from the gondola by her da, and watching him soar away, burning in midair.

Deryn had known the dream was coming from the moment she’d closed her eyes. After all, she’d been watching as the rocket had climbed up from the dark water and struck the jitney, setting one of its flimsy balloons alight. The dreadful image hadn’t left her mind even when the messenger eagle had arrived half an hour later, carrying the news that all hands had survived.

So she’d lain there all night, drifting in and out of conflagrations.

As the sun rose at last, Deryn flung the covers from herself. It was no use pretending to sleep. Today was going to be its own nightmare.

“All hands” meant Eddie Malone was still alive. He’d no doubt made it to the offices of the World with his airgirl story in hand. The Leviathan was docked only forty miles from New York City. Once the British consulate spotted the story, the news would make its way here by the fastest messenger eagle they could find.

At least the captain was off the ship. Deryn doubted that the first officer would have the nerve to toss her into the brig without orders.

Still, the looks on her shipmates’ faces would be bad enough.

Twisted knee or not, Deryn decided to wear a decent uniform for when the officers came calling. She had just dressed when a knock came at her door.

She stood there, staring out the window. Was this it, then? The end of everything she’d worked for?

“Come in,” she said softly. But it was only the lady boffin, her loris, and Tazza.

“Good morning, Mr. Sharp.”

Deryn didn’t answer, just stuck out her hand for Tazza to nuzzle.

Dr. Barlow frowned. “Are you unwell, Mr. Sharp? You look a bit peaked.”

“It’s just… I had a bad night’s sleep.”

“Poor dear. Our welcome to New York was unsettling, wasn’t it? But at least we had a bit of luck.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Deryn sighed. “Of course, if that bumrag Eddie Malone had been a bit less lucky, I might be happier.”

“Ah, I see.” Dr. Barlow pulled out the chair from Deryn’s desk and sat. “You find this morning’s news dismaying.”

Deryn swallowed. “News?”

“Of course. The whole ship is abuzz with the story.” Smiling, the lady boffin produced a neatly folded newspaper from her handbag.

“So it’s—it’s already…,” Deryn sputtered. “And the officers sent you?”

“No one sent anyone, young man.” Dr. Barlow handed the paper over.

Deryn spread it out, her heart thudding in her chest, the bees inside her kneecap awake and angry. In the middle of the front page was a photograph of Alek looking sodden before the wrecked sky jitney, and below that a huge headline said:

SECRET HEIR TO AUSTRIA’S THRONE SURVIVES ROCKET ATTACK

Little wonder that the attempt on Alek’s life was the main story. And as her eyes traveled across the page, Deryn found articles asking whether German agents had been involved, asking whether they’d also meant to kill Nikola Tesla, and about an election for the city’s mayor.

^{“FRONT PAGE.”}

There was, however, not a single word on the subject of Deryn Sharp.

She flipped through the next few pages, finding photographs of the Leviathan over Tokyo, the airship’s encounter with Pancho Villa, and the German ambassador denouncing the great inventor’s threats against the Clanker Powers. There was even a somewhat mad allegorical illustration of Tesla taming the Darwinist and Clanker Powers with electricity.

But still no mad airgirl.

Deryn groaned. “Malone’s just waiting, isn’t he?”

“I think you’re missing the point, young man. The first headline says it all.”

Deryn turned back to the front page, and stared.

“‘The Secret Heir to Austria’s Throne,’” she murmured, the words finally sinking in. “But how did Eddie Malone find out about the pope’s letter?”

Dr. Barlow tutted. “The pope’s letter? Hah! I suspected you knew about all this!”

“Aye, ma’am. Alek told me back in Istanbul.”