Leviathan 01 - Leviathan

by Scott Westerfeld

  “Really?” Alek said. For a boy, Dylan seemed to have had the most extraordinary adventures. For a moment Alek wished he could forget his birthright and become just like him, a common soldier without land or title.

  “It was my first day in the Service,” Dylan began, “and an unexpected storm came up, one of the worst London’s ever seen. Tore up whole buildings from the ground, including—”

  The door suddenly flew open and Dr. Barlow swept in, wielding a map case and a furious expression.

  “The captain is a fool,” she announced. “This ship is full of idiots!”

  Dylan saluted. “But the eggs are warm as toast, ma’am.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring, though meaningless under the circumstances. Back to France he wants to go!” Dr. Barlow spun the map case in her hands, then looked up distractedly. “Ah, Alek. I hope your walking machine is in better shape than this benighted airship.”

  He bowed. “I’m afraid not, Doctor. Master Klopp doesn’t think we can get it standing again.”

  “Is it as bad as that?”

  “I’m afraid so. In fact, I’m here to ask if we can come with you.” Alek looked at his boots. “If you can manage the weight of five extra men, we’d be in your debt.”

  Dr. Barlow tapped the map case against her palm. “Lift won’t be a problem. We’re exhausting our own food as well as yours, giving everything to the animals.” She stared out the window. “And our crew is smaller than it once was.”

  Alek nodded. He’d seen the shrouded bodies outside, and the men laboring to bury them in the iron-hard ice beneath the snow.

  “But France isn’t neutral territory,” she said. “You’ll be taken prisoner.”

  “That’s the favor I’ve come to ask.” Alek took a deep breath. “You’ll be coming down in some random spot, Dylan says. We could slip away the moment you land.”

  “And no one the wiser,” Dylan added.

  Dr. Barlow nodded slowly. “It might work. And we certainly owe you a debt, Alek. But I’m afraid it’s not up to me.”

  “Are you saying the captain won’t look the other way?” Alek said.

  “The captain is an idiot,” she repeated bitterly. “He refuses to complete our mission. He won’t even try! If one can free-balloon to France, surely the Ottoman Empire is possible. It’s simply a question of catching the right wind.” She waved the map case. “The air currents of the Mediterranean are hardly a mystery!”

  “Might be a bit tricky, ma’am,” Dylan said, and cleared his throat. “And technically our destination is still a military secret.”

  Dr. Barlow glared at the eggs. “An utterly meaningless one, at this point.”

  Alek frowned, wondering why the Leviathan was headed to the Ottoman Empire. The Ottomans were devoutly anti-Darwinist, thanks to their Muslim faith. They’d been enemies with Russia for centuries, and the sultan and the kaiser were old friends. Volger always said that sooner or later the Ottomans would join forces with Germany and Austria-Hungary.

  “That’s neutral territory, isn’t it?” he said carefully.

  “For the moment.” Dr. Barlow sighed. “Of course that may change soon, which is why this delay is a disaster. Years of work, wasted.”

  Alek listened to her fume, puzzling over this new development. The Ottoman Empire was the perfect place to disappear. It was a vast and impoverished realm, where a few gold coins could go a long way. There were German agents in abundance there, but at least he wouldn’t be taken prisoner the moment he arrived.

  “If you don’t mind telling me, Dr. Barlow, was your mission one of peace or war?”

  She held his gaze a moment. “I can’t babble all our secrets to you, Alek. But it should be obvious that I am a scientist, not a soldier.”

  “And a diplomat?”

  Dr. Barlow smiled. “We all do our duty.”

  Alek glanced at the box again. What the eggs could have to do with diplomacy was beyond him. But what mattered was that Dr. Barlow would risk anything to get them to the Ottoman Empire….

  Which gave Alek a bold idea.

  “What if I could give you engines, Dr. Barlow?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me?”

  “The Stormwalker has two powerful engines,” he said. “Both in good working order.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Dr. Barlow turned to Dylan. “Is such a thing possible, Mr. Sharp?”

  The boy looked dubious. “I’m sure they’ve got enough power, ma’am. But they’re barking heavy! And that Clanker machinery is a fiddle. Making it work could take ages, and we’re a bit pressed for time.”

  Alek shook his head. “Your crew wouldn’t have to do much. Klopp is the best master of mechaniks in Austria, handpicked by my father. He and Hoffman kept that Stormwalker running for five weeks on a handful of parts. I would imagine they can get a pair of propellers spinning.”

  “Aye, maybe,” Dylan said. “But there’s a bit more to it than just spinning the props.”

  “Then your engineers can help us.” Alek turned to Dr. Barlow. “What about it? Your mission can go forward, and my men and I can escape to a friendly power.”

  “But there is one problem,” the woman said. “We’ll be dependent on you.”

  Alek blinked—he hadn’t thought of that. Control of the engines meant control of the airship.

  “We could train your engineers as we go,” he said. “Please believe me, I enter into this alliance in good faith.”

  “I trust you, Alek,” she said. “But you’re just a boy. How can I be sure your word holds with your men?”

  “Because I’m…,” Alek started, then took a slow breath. “They’ll do what I say. They traded a count for me, remember?”

  “I remember,” she said. “But if I’m going to bargain with you, Alek, I need to know who you really are.”

  “I…I can’t tell you that.”

  “Let me make this easy, then. The best master of mechaniks in all of Austria was part of your father’s household?”

  Alek nodded slowly.

  “And you say you’ve been on the run for five weeks,” she continued. “So your journey began roughly June twenty-eighth?”

  Alek froze. Dr. Barlow had named the night that Volger and Klopp had come for him in his bedroom—the night his parents had died. She must have suspected already, after all the clues he’d let slip. And he’d just handed her the final pieces of the puzzle.

  He tried to deny it, but suddenly he couldn’t speak. Keeping his despair a secret had made it easier to control, but now the emptiness was rising up in him again.

  Dr. Barlow reached out and took his hand. “I’m so sorry, Alek. That must have been awful. So the rumors are true? It was the Germans?”

  He turned away, unable to face her pity. “They’ve hunted us since that first night.”

  “Then we shall have to get you away from here.” She rose, gathering her traveling coat around her. “I shall explain to the captain.”

  “Please, ma’am,” Alek said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Don’t tell anyone else who I am. It might complicate things.”

  Dr. Barlow looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I suppose this can be our secret, for now. The captain will be happy enough with your offer of engines.”

  She opened the door, then turned back. Alek wished she would just leave. The emptiness was welling up now unstoppably, and he didn’t want to cry in front of a woman.

  But all she said was, “Take care of him, Mr. Sharp. I shall return.”

  Alek’s sadness had been obvious from the beginning, Deryn reckoned.

  She’d seen it when he’d woken her up the night of the wreck, his dark green eyes full of sorrow and fear. And yesterday when he’d told her about being an orphan—she should have known from his silences how raw the heartache was.

  But now it was all in the open, tears running down his face, his sobs heavy. Somehow, revealing himself had loosened Alek’s mastery of his sadness.

  �
�Poor boy,” Deryn said softly, kneeling beside him. Alek was huddled against the cargo box, his face buried in his hands.

  “I’m sorry,” he snuffled, looking ashamed.

  “Don’t be daft.” She sat beside him, the box warm at her back. “I went half mad when my da died. Didn’t talk for a month.”

  Alek tried to say something, but failed. A hard swallow wracked his frame, as if his throat were glued shut.

  “Shhh,” Deryn said, and pushed a lock of hair from his face. His cheeks were wet with tears. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

  Not about his crying, nor who he really was. That was obvious now. She’d been a ninny not to see it before. Alek had to be the son of that duke fellow who’d started all this. Deryn remembered the day she’d come aboard the Leviathan, hearing how some aristocrat had got himself killed, riling up the Clankers.

  All this bother over one barking duke, she’d thought so many times. Of course, it probably didn’t seem that way to Alek. Having your parents die was exactly like the world exploding, like a war being declared.

  Deryn remembered after Da’s accident, her mother and the aunties trying to turn her back into a proper girl—skirts, tea parties, all the rest. As if they wanted to erase the old Deryn and everything she’d been. She’d had to fight like mad to stay who she was.

  That was the trick—to keep punching, no matter what.

  “The boffin will get the captain on our side,” Deryn said softly. “And then we’ll be out of here in no time. You’ll see.”

  Not that she was entirely sure that Alek’s engine plan would work. But anything was better than sitting here hoping for a lucky breeze.

  Alek swallowed again, trying to get his voice back.

  “They poisoned them,” he finally managed. “They tried bombs and pistols first, to make it look like Serb anarchists. But it was poison in the end.”

  “And it was just a way to start this war?”

  He nodded. “The Germans thought the war had to come. It was just a question of when—and the sooner the better for them.”

  Deryn started to say that sounded barking crazy, then remembered all the crewmen who’d been so eager for battle. She supposed there was always some sod spoiling for a fight.

  But it still didn’t make sense. “Your family are in charge of Austria, aren’t they?”

  “For the last five hundred years or so, yes.”

  “So if the Germans killed your da, why is Austria helping them instead of giving the kaiser a good kicking? Doesn’t your family know what really happened?”

  “They know—or at least suspect. But my father wasn’t very popular with the rest of the family.”

  “What in blisters did he do wrong?”

  “He married my mother.”

  Deryn raised an eyebrow. She’d seen family squabbles over who the children married, but they usually stopped short of bomb-throwing.

  “Are your relations completely barking mad?”

  “No, we’re rulers of an empire.”

  Deryn reckoned that amounted to pretty much the same thing, but didn’t say so. Talking about it seemed to be helping Alek get control, though, so she asked, “What was so wrong with her?”

  “My mother wasn’t from a ruling house. She wasn’t exactly common, mind you—she had a princess among her ancestors. But to marry into the Hapsburgs you have to be proper royalty.”

  “Well, of course,” Deryn said. Alek’s superior manner suddenly made a lot more sense. She supposed that with his father dead the boy was a duke on his own—or an arch-duke, which sounded even loftier.

  “So when they fell in love,” he said softly, “they had to keep it secret.”

  “Well, that’s dead romantic,” Deryn exclaimed. When Alek gave her a funny look, she lowered her voice a bit and added, “You know, sneaking about.”

  Something like a smile appeared on his face. “Yes, I suppose it was, especially the way my mother told it. She was a lady-in-waiting for Princess Isabella of Croÿ. When my father began to visit, Isabella thought he must be courting one of her daughters. But she could never figure out which one he liked. Then one day he left his watch behind on the tennis courts.”

  Deryn snorted. “Aye. Back home I’m always leaving my watch on the tennis courts.”

  Alek rolled his eyes at her, but kept talking. “So Isabella opened the watch, hoping to find a picture of one of her daughters inside.”

  Deryn’s eyes widened. “And there was a picture of your mother instead!”

  Alek nodded. “Isabella was very cross. She dismissed my mother from service.”

  “That’s a bit rough,” Deryn said. “Losing your job just because some duke fellow likes you!”

  “Losing her ‘job’ was the least of it. My granduncle, the emperor, refused to permit the marriage. He wouldn’t even talk to my father for a year. It rattled the whole empire. The kaiser, the czar, even the Holy Father tried to patch things up.”

  Deryn raised an eyebrow, wondering again if Alek was mad, or simply full of blether. Had he just said that the pope had meddled in his family business?

  “But finally they came to a compromise—a left-handed marriage.”

  “What in blazes does that mean?” she said.

  Alek wiped the tears from his face. “They could marry, but the children could inherit nothing. As far as my granduncle is concerned, I don’t exist.”

  “So you’re not an archduke or anything?”

  He shook his head. “Just a prince.”

  “Only a prince? Blisters, that’s rough!”

  Alek turned to her and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t expect you to understand Dylan.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered. She hadn’t really meant to make fun of him. The family split had cost Alek his parents, after all. “It just sounds a bit odd.”

  “I suppose it is,” he sighed. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  “Of course not.” She struck out her hand. “Like I said, your family’s no business of ours.”

  Alek smiled sadly as they shook. “I wish that were true. But I’m afraid we’ve become the world’s business.”

  Deryn swallowed, womdering what that must be like—to have your family squabble turn into a barking massive war. No wonder the poor boy looked so stricken all the time. Even if none of it was Alek’s doing, tragedies always scattered seeds of guilt in bucketfuls.

  Deryn still replayed Da’s accident in her mind a dozen times a night, imagining what more she could have done to save him, wondering if somehow the fire had been her fault.

  “You know you’re not to blame, right?” she said softly. “I mean, to hear Dr. Barlow tell it, it took a hundred politicians to stuff things up this bad.”

  “But I’m what split my family,” Alek said. I unsettled everything, and that gave the Germans their opening.”

  “You’re more than just that, though.” Deryn took his hand. “You’re the one who came across the ice to save my bum from frostbite.”

  Alek looked at her, wiped his eyes, and smiled. “Maybe that too.”

  “Alek?” came Dr. Barlow’s voice from nowhere, and he boy jumped half into the air.

  Deryn smiled as she stood, pointing at the message lizard up on the ceiling.

  “The captain has agreed with your proposal,” the beastie continued. “Please meet me at your walking machine. We need at least two translators to coordinate our engineers with your men.”

  Alek just sat there staring up at the lizard in horror. Deryn smiled and pulled him up. “It’s waiting for an answer, you dafty.”

  He swallowed, then said in a nervouse voice, “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Dr. Barlow. You should also ask Count Volger for help, He can speak perfectly good English when he wants to. Thank you.”

  “End message,” Deryn added, and the beastie scampered off.

  A shudder went through Alek. “I’m still not used to talking animals, I’m afraid. It seems a bit ungodly, making them so much like human beings.�
��

  Deryn laughed. “Have you never heard of parrots?”

  “That’s quite different,” he said, “They’re meant to speak that way. But I…want to thank you, Dylan.”

  “For what?”

  Alek raised his empty hands, and for a moment Deryn thought he would cry agai. But he only said, “For knowing who I am.”

  He put his arms around her then, a rough embrace that lasted only a moment. Then he turned and hurried from the machine room, headed for the fallen Stormwalker.

  As the door swung shut, Deryn shivered, the strangest feeling creeping though her. Where Alek’s arms had wrapped around her shoulders an odd kind of tingling was left behind—like the crackle along the airship’s skin when distant lightning kindled the sky.

  Deryn put her own arms around herself, but it didn’t feel the same.

  “Barking spiders,” she muttered softly, and turned to check the eggs again.

  The next afternoon’s watch Deryn and Newkirk were posted on the spine.

  Overnight the ship had swelled, the Leviathan’s gut in full roar from the beasties’ day of gorging. Down on the snow the last of the ship’s stores were splayed out, swarmed with feasting birds. Deryn felt her own stomach rumbling with her breakfast of greasy biscuits and coffee. The crew were allowed to eat only what food the animals wouldn’t touch.

  But a few hunger pangs were worth the bounce of the membrane under Deryn’s feet—taut and healthy again. The lumps along the airbeast’s flanks were smoothing out. At around noon the wind had started to drag the lightened ship across the glacier, forcing the riggers to fill the ballast tanks with melted snow.

  But Dr. Busk had said it would be a close thing, lifting the weight of the Clanker engines along with five extra men.

  “He’s moving,” Newkirk said. “He must still be alive.”

  Deryn glanced up at the Huxley. Mr. Rigby had insisted on taking a watch aloft, saying he couldn’t bear his last two middies getting frostbite from long hours in the icy sky, even if it meant sneaking out of the sick bay.

  “We best pull him down soon,” Deryn said. “Dr. Busk will skin us if he freezes up there.”

  “Aye,” Newkirk said, blowing on his hands. “But if he comes down, one of us will have to go back up.”