Scott Westerfeld - Behemoth

“I wish we had mutinied,” Alek said. “And ended that pointless battle before it started. Klopp and I thought about stopping the engines and making it look like a malfunction.”

“Well, thinking isn’t the same as doing,” Deryn said, slumping onto the chair. She’d entertained madder ideas than mutiny. Like telling Alek that she was a girl, or giving Dr. Barlow a smack—the latter more than once. The trick was never to let what you were thinking slip out into the world.

“And anyway,” she continued, “I haven’t heard about this mutiny business, so the officers must be keeping dead quiet. Maybe the captain wants to let you off without looking soft. Everyone thinks it was the airbeast who turned us around, for fear of that Clanker cannon.”

“The beast did turn us around. It must have smelled the lightning—it knew we’d all burn.”

Deryn shuddered again, as she did every time she thought of how close they’d come. She could still see the Huxley, blazing in midair just like Da’s balloon.

“But Newkirk isn’t dead,” she told herself softly.

“Pardon me?”

Deryn cleared her throat. She didn’t want to wind up with her voice squeaking like a girl’s. “I said, the engines are dead. And the airbeast has gone bonkers, and thinks it’s still running away from that Tesla thingie. We’re halfway to Africa!”

Alek swore. “I suppose those ironclads are already there.”

“What, in Africa?”

“No, Dummkopf —Constantinople.” He pointed at the desk in the room. “There’s a map in that drawer. Kindly fetch it for me.”

“Aye, your princeliness,” Deryn said, hauling herself up to get the map. It was just like Alek, to be thinking of maps and schemes while lying wounded, guilty of a hanging offense.

She sat on the bed beside him, smoothing out the roll of paper. It was labeled in Clanker writing, but she could see it was the Mediterranean.

“The ironclads were headed north into the Aegean,” Alek said. “See?”

Deryn traced the Leviathan ’s course from southern Italy with one finger, until she found the spot where they’d fought the Goeben and Breslau —almost due south of Constantinople.

“Aye, they were headed that way.” She pointed at the Dardanelles, the narrow stretch of water that led to the ancient city. “But if they head north, they’ll be trapped in the strait, like a fly in a bottle.”

“What if they plan to stay there?”

Deryn shook her head. “The Ottoman Empire is still neutral, and ships at war can’t hang about in a neutral port. Dr. Barlow says we’re only allowed to stay in Constantinople for twenty-four hours. It must be the same for the Germans.”

“But didn’t she also say that the Ottomans were angry with the British? For stealing their warship?”

“Well, aye,” Deryn said, then muttered, “but that’s just borrowing, really.”

To be truthful, though, it had been a bit like stealing. Britain had just completed a new dreadnought for the Ottoman navy, along with a huge companion creature, some new sort of kraken. Both the warship and the creature had already been paid for, but when the war had begun, the First Lord of the Admiralty had decided to keep the ship and its beastie, at least until the conflict ended.

Borrowing or stealing, it had caused the diplomatic ruckus that Dr. Barlow and the Leviathan had been sent to sort out. Somehow the mysterious eggs in the engine room were meant to help.

“So the Ottomans might decide to let the ironclads stay,” Alek said. “Just to get back at your Lord Churchill.”

“Well, that would make everything trickier, wouldn’t it?”

Alek nodded. “It would mean even more Germans in Constantinople. It might even bring the Ottomans over to the Clanker side! The Goeben ’s Tesla cannon is pretty convincing.”

“Aye, it convinced me,” Deryn said. She wouldn’t fancy sharing the same city with that contraption.

“And what happens if the Ottomans close the Dardanelles to British shipping?”

Deryn swallowed. The fighting bears of the Russian army needed lots of food, most of which was brought in by ship. If they were cut off from their Darwinist allies, the Russians would have a long, hungry winter.

“But are you sure that’s where the ironclads were headed?”

“No. Not yet.” He raised his dark gaze from the map. “Dylan, can you do me a favor? A secret favor?”

She swallowed. “That depends on what it is.”

“I need you to deliver a message.”

“Barking bloody princes,” she muttered, pulling Tazza along the airship’s corridors.

She’d hardly slept a wink last night, what with looking after Newkirk, and the thylacine needed to go for a walk soon. On top of which, Deryn still had to check on Dr. Barlow’s precious eggs. But instead of attending to her duties, here she was delivering secret messages for the Clankers.

Aiding the enemy in wartime. How was that for mutiny?

As she drew closer to the cabin, Deryn began to formulate excuses and explanations— “I was just asking our count friend if he needed anything.” “I was on a secret mission from the captain.” “Someone had to keep an eye on those mutinous Clankers, and this was the best way!” —all of them barking pathetic.

She knew the real reason she’d said yes to Alek. He’d looked so helpless lying there, pale and bandaged, not knowing if they were going to hang him tomorrow at dawn. It had only made the way she felt harder to ignore.

Deryn took a deep breath, and rapped on the stateroom door.

After a long moment it opened to reveal a tall man in a formal uniform. He stared down his sharp nose at her and Tazza, not saying a word. Deryn wondered if she should bow, because he was a count and all. But Alek was a prince, which sounded more important, and no one ever bowed to him.

“What is it?” the man finally asked.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr.…, um, Count Volger. I’m Midshipman Dylan Sharp.”

“I know who you are.”

“Right. Because Alek and I, we’ve been fencing and that. We’re friends.”

“You’re that idiot boy who put a knife to Alek’s throat.”

Deryn swallowed, willing her tongue to untangle. She’d only been pretending when she’d taken Alek hostage back in the Alps, to force the Clankers to negotiate instead of blowing up the airship.

But under the man’s imperious gaze, the explanation wouldn’t come.

“Aye, that was me,” she managed. “But it was only to get your attention.”

“You succeeded.”

“And I used the dull edge of that knife, just to be safe!” She looked both ways down the corridor. “Do you suppose I could come in?”

“Why?”

“I’ve got a message from Alek. A secret one.”

With those words Count Volger’s stony countenance shifted a squick. His left eyebrow arched, then finally he stepped back. A moment later she and Tazza were inside the room, the thylacine sniffing at the man’s boots.

“What is this creature?” he asked, taking another step backward.

“Oh, that’s just Tazza. He’s harmless,” Deryn said, then remembered the damage he’d done to the lady boffin’s cabin. “Well, unless you’re a set of curtains, which, um, you’re clearly not.”

She cleared her throat, feeling like a ninny. The man’s cold, haughty manner had started her babbling.

“Will it repeat our words?”

“What, Tazza, talk ?” Deryn stifled a laugh. “He’s no message lizard. He’s a natural beastie, a thylacine from Tasmania. Dr. Barlow has him as a traveling companion, though, as you can see, he’s mostly my responsibility. Anyway, I’ve got a message from—”