Scott Westerfeld - Behemoth

Volger silenced her with an upheld hand, then glanced up at the message tubes in the cabin. A lizard was poking its head from one, and the count clapped his hands once to scare it off.

“Those godless things are everywhere,” he muttered. “Always listening.”

Deryn rolled her eyes. The other Clankers were even more twitchy about beasties than Alek. They seemed to think that everything living aboard the airship was out to get them.

“Aye, sir. But lizards only carry messages. They don’t eavesdrop.”

“And how can you be sure of that?”

Now, that was a daft question. Message lizards might repeat snatches of conversation by accident now and then, especially when they’d been recently dazzled by a Tesla cannon. But that wasn’t the same as eavesdropping, was it?

Then she remembered how Count Volger had pretended not to speak English when he’d come aboard, in hopes of overhearing secrets. And how Dr. Barlow had pulled the same trick on the Clankers, pretending not to know any German. No wonder those two were always suspicious of everyone—they were both sneaky-beaks themselves.

“Those lizards have got brains no bigger than walnuts,” she said. “I don’t reckon they’d make very good spies.”

“Perhaps not.” The count sat down at his desk, which was covered with maps and scrawled notes, a sheathed sword serving as a paperweight. “And what about your brains, Mr. Sharp? You’re clever enough to be a spy, aren’t you?”

“What, me? I told you, Alek sent me here!”

“And how do I know that? Last night I was informed that Alek was hurt in the battle, but I haven’t been allowed to see him or Master Klopp. And now I receive this ‘secret’ message from Alek, courtesy of a boy who held him hostage?”

“But he …,” Deryn began, then groaned with frustration. This was what she got for doing favors for Clankers. “He’s my friend. He trusts me, even if you don’t.”

“Prove it.”

“Well, of course he does! He told me his little secret, didn’t he?”

Count Volger’s eyes narrowed at her a moment, then he stared down at the sword on the table. “His secret?”

“Aye, he told me who he …,” Deryn began, but a slow realization was creeping over her. What if Alek had never mentioned to Volger that he’d spilled the beans to her? Finding out now might give the man a wee startle. “You know, his big secret?”

The air hissed as Volger whirled around, sunlight flashing on steel, the chair spinning across the floor and sending Tazza leaping to his feet. The sword suddenly stretched from Volger’s hand, its cold, naked tip at Deryn’s throat.

“Tell me what secret,” the wildcount demanded. “Now.”

“A-about his parents!” she sputtered. “His father and mother were assassinated, which is what started this barking war! And he’s a prince or something!”

“Who else knows this?”

“Just me!” she squeaked, but the metal prodded her. “Um, and Dr. Barlow. But no one else, I swear!”

He glared at her for an endless moment, his eyes prying their way into hers. Tazza let out a low growl.

Finally the wildcount pulled the saber a few inches back. “Why haven’t you informed your captain?”

“Because Alek made us promise.” Deryn stared at the sword point. “I thought you knew he’d told us!”

Count Volger lowered the sword. “Obviously I did not.”

“Well, that’s not my fault!” Deryn cried. “Maybe it’s you he doesn’t trust!”

The man looked at the floor. “Perhaps.”

“And you didn’t have to cut my barking head off!”

Volger gave her a thin smile as he righted the overturned chair. “It was only to get your attention. And I used a dull edge. Surely you know a fencing saber when you see one?”

Deryn reached out and grabbed the weapon’s blade. She swore—it was the very saber she’d practiced with yesterday, no sharper than a butter knife.

Count Volger sat heavily, shaking his head as he cleaned the sword with a pocket handkerchief and then sheathed it again. “That boy will be the death of me.”

“At least Alek trusts someone!” Deryn said. “The rest of you Dummkopf s, you’re all as mad as a box of frogs! Lying and sneaking and … scared of message lizards . With all your scheming it’s no wonder the world’s in a barking great war!”

Tazza growled again, then made his strange little yelp, hopping on his hind legs. Deryn knelt to calm him down, and to hide her burning eyes from Count Volger.

“Is Alek really hurt?” the man asked.

“Aye. But it’s only a bruised rib.”

“Why won’t they let me see him or Klopp?”

“Because of what Master Klopp did during the battle,” Deryn said, stroking Tazza’s flank. “He turned the ship around just before the Tesla cannon fired. Without orders.”

Volger snorted. “So this is why your captain has summoned me? To discuss the chain of command?”

She glared up at him. “He might reckon it was mutiny—a hanging offense!”

“An absurd notion, unless he wants his ship to drift forever.”

Deryn took a slow, deep breath and petted Tazza again. It was true—the Leviathan still needed the Clankers and their engines. More so than ever, with the airbeast acting up.

“I suppose the captain just wants to make a point,” she said. “But that’s not what I’m here about.”

“Ah, yes. Your secret message.”

Deryn gave the man a hard look. “Well, maybe you don’t care one way or the other. But Alek thinks those two ironclads are headed for Constantinople, just like us!”

Volger raised an eyebrow at that, then pointed to the fallen chair.

“Sit down, boy, and tell me everything.”

“Hear that?” Corporal Bauer asked.

Alek wiped his hands on an oily rag, listening. The air trembled with the distant clamor of an engine coming to life, sputtering at first, then settling into a low and steady roar.

He stared at the tangle of gears before him and said to his men, “Three against one, and Klopp has his engine working first!”

“Hate to say so, sir.” Bauer spread his grease-blackened hands. “But you and I aren’t much help.”

Master Hoffman clapped the gunner on his back and laughed. “I’ll make an engineer of you one day, Bauer. It’s that one who’s hopeless.” He glanced at Mr. Hirst, who was watching them glumly from the engine pod strut, his hands perfectly clean.

“What’s this about?” the man asked.

Alek switched to English. “Nothing, Mr. Hirst. Just that it sounds as though Klopp has beaten us.”

“So it would seem,” the man said, and fell back into silence.

It was late afternoon, less than forty-eight hours after the unlucky encounter with the Breslau and the Goeben . Alek, his men Hoffman and Bauer, and Hirst had been assigned to the starboard pod, while Master Klopp was over on the port side, under armed guard, with Count Volger translating for him.

Since the incident with the air pistol, it had been decided that Klopp and Mr. Hirst would no longer share the same engine pod. Alek was not under guard, but he suspected that was only because of the bandages wrapped around his injured rib. Every time he lifted a wrench, he winced in pain.

But no one was locked in the brig, at least. True to her word, Dr. Barlow had convinced the captain to accept reality—without Klopp’s help, the airship would drift on the winds. Or worse, the great airbeast might take them on a journey of its own choosing.

The captain’s goodwill had come with certain conditions, however. The five Austrians were to stay aboard the Leviathan until the Darwinists understood their new engines fully, however long that took.