Behemoth l-2

by Scott Westerfeld

  As she drew, the whirr and clatter of the machines echoed around her, the sounds blending like the crash of distant waves. Deryn wondered how the Clankers managed it, translating questions into scatterings of holes in paper. Did every wee sliver of knowledge have its own number? The system was probably quicker than wandering through the ceiling-high shelves, but what other books might she have found, doing it herself?

  She looked up at the calculating engines that covered the walls, and wondered what they were up to. Did they record every question that the librarians had been asked? And if so, who looked at the results? Deryn remembered the eyes peering at her through the slats of the throne room wall, and began to drum her fingers.

  Surely in all this tumult of information, no one would notice a few questions about the tragedy that had started this whole barking war.

  Finally her clockwork machine scuttled back, like a dog with a fetched bone. It was weighted down with half a dozen books, all of them heavy and bound with cracked old leather.

  She picked a few up and leafed through the gilt-edged pages. Some were in Clanker, others in a flowing script she’d seen on many of the signs outside, but one had hardly any words at all, only names, dates, and coats of arms. On its cover was the Hapsburg crest, and a Latin phrase she remembered from the first time Alek and Dr. Barlow had met.

  Bella gerant alii, tu Felix Austria, nube.

  “Let others wage war,” the first part meant.

  “Barking spiders,” Deryn said softly to herself—there were a lot of Hapsburgs. The book was thick enough to stun a hippoesque, and the entries stretched back eight hundred years. But Alek was only fifteen; he’d have to be at the end.

  She turned to the last pages and soon found him: “Aleksandar, Prinz von Hohenberg,” along with his birth date and the names of his parents—Franz Ferdinand and Sophie Chotek.

  “Sophie,” Deryn murmured, leaning back and smiling to herself.

  She left the stack of books on the table and headed back toward the revolving doors. After a quick trip down the marble stairs outside, she approached the first of a rank of six-legged taxis, all of them in the shape of giant beetles. Deryn reached into her pocket for the remaining coins.

  “Sophie Hotel?” she asked. “Hotel” was the same in English or Clanker.

  The pilot frowned, then asked, “Hotel Hagia Sophia?”

  Deryn nodded happily. That sounded close enough—it had to be the one.

  The taxi pilot inspected her handful of coins, then hooked a thumb toward the back seat. Deryn jumped aboard, for once enjoying the rumble of a Clanker engine beneath her. After tracking Alek down in a city of millions, she deserved to ride instead of walk.

  THIRTY

  The Hotel Hagia Sophia was pure dead fancy.

  Deryn shook her head. She might have expected to find Alek in a place like this. The lobby alone was three stories high and lit by two gas chandeliers and a giant stained-glass skylight. Uniformed bellmen guided their clockwork luggage carriers through the bustling crowd. Marble staircases spiraled their way to the mezzanines and balconies, while steam elevators huffed into the air like sky rockets taking flight.

  Even if Alek had chosen this hotel to match his mother’s name, Deryn wondered if he might have found another clue to use—one that would have led somewhere a bit less … princely. The Germans were still looking for him, after all.

  Of course, that meant that Alek wouldn’t be listed under his own name. So how was she going to get a message to him?

  Deryn stood there, hoping to catch a glance of Alek, Bauer, or Master Klopp in the lobby. But the crowd was full of unfamiliar faces, and soon Deryn felt the eyes of a white-gloved bellman on her. Her stolen uniform was rumpled and dirty from sleeping in the alley, and she stuck out like a clump of clart on a fancy china plate. She had only a few coins left, surely not enough to pay for a room, not here.

  Perhaps she could buy coffee and some lunch. Judging by what she’d had for breakfast, there were worse places than Istanbul to crawl ashore half starved.

  Deryn took a seat at a small table in the hotel dining room, making sure she had a view of the lobby doors. The waiter understood no English, but spoke Clanker no better than she did. He returned with a pot of strong coffee and a menu, and before long Deryn was feasting again, this time on lamb chopped into a hash with nuts and sultanas, covered with a plum jelly as dark as an old bruise.

  She ate slowly, keeping her eyes on the hotel’s main doors.

  People came and went, most of them well-heeled old Clankers. The man at the table next to hers wore a monocle and a handlebar mustache, and was reading a German newspaper. When he left, Deryn reached over and snatched it up. She leafed through the pages to conceal that she was stalling with her food.

  The last page was all photographs—the latest fashions, new clockwork house servants, and well-dressed ladies at a roller-skating parlor. Nothing earth-shattering, until Deryn’s eyes fell upon three photos across the bottom of the page. One was the Leviathan flying over the city, another was the Dauntless kneeling in the street after its rampage, and the last showed two men under guard.…

  It was Matthews and Spencer, the survivors of her disastrous first command.

  She squinted at the caption, annoyed that Alek hadn’t taught her any Clanker spelling. These three pictures together could hardly be good news. The Leviathan would be leaving Istanbul under a dark cloud today.

  Unless the Ottomans had been angry enough to order the airship away early.

  Deryn frowned. Count Volger had planned to escape last night, hadn’t he? After her almost sleepless night, she’d forgotten all about him.

  She lowered the newspaper, looking more closely at the stuffy old Clankers in the lobby. None had Volger’s tall, lean frame and gray mustache. But the wildcount wouldn’t have needed a trip to the library to learn Alek’s mother’s name. Maybe he and Hoffman were already upstairs, having a cup of tea with Alek and the others!

  Just then Deryn noticed a young couple coming in through the lobby doors. They were dressed like locals, and the girl was perhaps eighteen and quite beautiful, with long dark hair in tight braids.

  Deryn swallowed—the boy was Alek! She’d hardly recognized him in his tunic and tasseled fez. Not that he could wander about Istanbul in an Austrian piloting uniform, but somehow she hadn’t expected him to look so... Ottoman.

  Alek drew to a halt, his eyes searching the lobby, but Deryn snapped the newspaper up in front of her face.

  Who was this strange girl? One of his new allies? Suddenly that word took on an entirely new meaning in Deryn’s head.

  A moment later Alek and the girl headed toward the elevators, and Deryn leapt to her feet. Whoever this girl was, Deryn couldn’t afford to miss this chance. She slapped her remaining coins onto the table and headed after them.

  An elevator opened up before the two, the attendant ushering them inside. Deryn waved her newspaper, and the attendant nodded, holding the door. Alek and the girl were talking intently in Clanker, and hardly noticed when she stepped in beside them.

  As the door slid closed, Deryn opened the paper, pretending to read.

  “Nice weather we’re having,” she said in English.

  Alek turned toward her, a baffled expression on his face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  “Dylan,” she said politely. “In case you’ve forgotten.”

  “God’s wounds! It is you! But what are you—”

  “It’s a long story,” Deryn said, glancing at the girl. “And a bit secret, actually.”

  “Ah, of course—introductions are in order,” he said, then glanced at the elevator man. “Or will be … quite soon.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  Alek led them to a set of double doors that opened onto a vast room, all silk and tassels, with its own balcony and a shiny brass switchboard for calling servants. There was no bed in sight, just a pair of French doors half opened to reveal yet another room.
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br />   Deryn noticed the other girl’s eyes widen, and she felt a squick of relief. Apparently this girl had never been here before either.

  “Almost as fancy as your castle,” Deryn said.

  “And with rather better service. There’s someone here you should meet, Dylan.” Alek turned and called out, “Guten tag, Bovril!”

  “Guten tag!” came a voice from nowhere, and then a wee beastie waddled from behind the curtains. It looked like a cross between a butler monkey and some kind of cuddly toy, all huge eyes and tiny, clever hands.

  “Barking spiders,” Deryn breathed. She’d forgotten all about Dr. Barlow’s missing beastie. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Mr. Sharp,” the beastie said sarcastically.

  She blinked. “How in blazes does it know me?”

  “An intriguing question,” Alek said. “Bovril seems to have been listening while it was still in the egg. But it also heard your voice from that reporter’s awful bullfrog.”

  “You mean that bum-rag was recording us?”

  Alek nodded, and Deryn softly swore. What of Volger’s threats had the bullfrog repeated?

  The strange girl didn’t seem surprised to see Bovril at all. She pulled a bag of peanuts from her pocket, and the beastie crawled over to her and began to eat them.

  Deryn remembered her conversation with Dr. Barlow aboard the sultan’s airyacht. The lady boffin had been quite vague about the creature’s purpose. Deryn still didn’t know what “perspicacious” meant, and there was all that business about nascent fixation, which had sounded a bit sinister, even if baby ducks did it too.

  She’d have to keep an eye on this beastie.

  “You named it Bovril?” she asked Alek.

  “I named it, in fact,” said the girl in slow, careful English. “This silly boy kept calling it ‘the creature.’”

  “But you’re not supposed to name beasties! If you get too attached, you can’t use them properly.”

  “Use them?” Lilit asked. “What a horrid way to think of animals.”

  Deryn rolled her eyes. Had Alek taken up with Monkey Luddites now? “Aye, lassie, and you’ve never eaten meat?”

  The girl frowned. “Well, of course I have. But that seems different, somehow.”

  “Only because you’re used to it. And why in blazes did you name it Bovril, anyway? That’s a sort of beef tea!”

  The girl shrugged. “I thought it should have an English name. And Bovril is the only English thing I like.”

  “It’s Scottish, actually,” Deryn muttered.

  “Speaking of names, I’ve been quite rude.” Alek bowed a little. “Lilit, this is Midshipman Dylan Sharp.”

  “Midshipman?” she asked. “You must be from the Leviathan.”

  “Aye,” Deryn said, giving Alek a hard look. “Though I was meaning to keep that a secret.”

  “Secret,” Bovril repeated, then made a chuckling noise.

  “Don’t worry,” Alek said. “Lilit and I have no secrets from each other.”

  Deryn stared at the boy, hoping that wasn’t true. He couldn’t have told this girl who his parents were, could he?

  “But where’s Volger?” Alek asked. “You must have escaped with him.”

  “I didn’t escape at all, you ninny. I’m here for a …” She glanced at Lilit. “A secret mission. I’ve no idea where his countship is.”

  “But the bullfrog said you were going to help Volger escape!”

  Deryn raised an eyebrow, wondering what else the bullfrog had repeated. Of course, Eddie Malone hadn’t understood Volger’s threats, and neither would Alek.

  “Mr. Sharp,” the creature said again, still chuckling.

  She ignored it. “I was planning to help him and Hoffman escape, but then I was given a mission. Maybe they managed on their own.” Deryn held up the newspaper. “But I reckon they didn’t have time.”

  Alek took the paper from her and squinted at the captions. “‘The Leviathan had been granted leave to stay in the capital for four extra days, but the night before last the brave Ottoman army discovered Darwinist saboteurs in the Dardanelles. All were killed or captured. In his outrage at this affront, His Excellency the sultan has demanded that the airship leave the capital immediately.’”

  He let the paper drop.

  “Aye, I thought so,” Deryn said. “Volger was planning on escaping last night, but if the ship was sent away yesterday …”

  “Then he’s gone,” Alek said softly.

  Deryn nodded, realizing that the Leviathan was gone too.

  “Where will they take him? London?”

  “No. They’ll head back down to the Mediterranean,” Deryn said. “Patrol duty.”

  Of course, it would be much more than patrol. The airship would be awaiting the behemoth’s arrival. There would be weeks of training missions, practice in guiding the huge beastie through narrow straits. Battle drills and midnight alerts. And here she was, stuck in this alien city, all alone except for Alek and his men, the perspicacious loris, and this unknown girl.

  “But, Dylan,” Alek said, “if you didn’t escape, then why are you here?”

  “Don’t you see?” Lilit spoke up. “That’s a German sailor’s uniform—a disguise.” She turned to Deryn. “You were one of the saboteurs, weren’t you?”

  Deryn frowned. The lassie was quick, wasn’t she?

  “Aye, I’m the only one they didn’t catch. Those three poor blighters were my men.”

  Alek sat down in a tasseled chair, swearing softly in Clanker. “I’m sorry about your men, Dylan.”

  “Aye, me too. And I’m sorry about Volger,” said Deryn, though she wasn’t sure if she meant it. The wildcount was too much of a clever-boots for her liking. “He really did mean to join you.”

  Alek nodded slowly, staring at the floor. For a moment he looked younger than his fifteen years, like a wee boy. But he gathered himself and looked up at her.

  “Well, I suppose you’ll have to do, Dylan. You’re a fine soldier, after all. I’m sure the Committee will be happy to have you.”

  “What are you talking about? What committee?”

  “The Committee for Union and Progress. They seek to overthrow the sultan.”

  Deryn glanced at Lilit, then back at Alek, her eyes widening. Overthrow the sultan? What if Count Volger had been right, and Alek had joined some daft bunch of anarchists? And Monkey Luddite anarchists at that!

  “Alek,” said Lilit softly, “you can’t go telling this boy our secrets. Not till he’s met Nene, at least.”

  Alek waved her protests away. “You can trust Dylan. He’s known for ages who my father was, and he never betrayed me to his officers.”

  Deryn’s jaw dropped. Alek had already told this anarchist lassie about his parents? But he’d been in Istanbul only three barking days!

  Suddenly she wondered if she should just walk out the door. She’d seen a dozen cargo ships flying British flags. Maybe one would take her out to the Mediterranean and back to sanity.

  Why had she abandoned her sworn duty for some barking prince?

  “Besides,” Alek said, standing up and putting a hand on Deryn’s shoulder, “fate has delivered Dylan here to Istanbul. Clearly he’s meant to help us!”

  Deryn and Lilit looked at each other, and they both rolled their eyes.

  Alek ignored their skeptical looks. “Listen to me, Dylan. You Darwinists want to keep the Ottomans out of the war, right? It’s the whole reason Dr. Barlow brought us all this way.”

  “Aye, but that’s all gone pear-shaped. Everything we’ve done has only pushed the sultan into the Germans’ hands.”

  “Perhaps,” Alek said. “But what if the sultan were overthrown? Since the last revolution, the rebels here have despised the Germans. They’d never join the Clanker side.”

  “The British are just as bad,” Lilit said. “All the great powers take advantage of us. But it’s true enough, we don’t want anything to do with your war. We just want the sultan gone.”

  D
eryn stared at the girl, wondering whether to trust her. Alek apparently did, having blathered all his secrets. But what if he was wrong?

  Well, in that case he needed someone he could trust.

  “Great powers,” muttered Bovril, then went back to eating peanuts.

  Deryn let out a slow sigh. She’d come to Istanbul to help Alek, after all, and here he was, asking for help. But this was so much bigger than anything she’d expected.

  If the sultan could be tossed out of his palace, then The Straits would stay open and the Russian army wouldn’t starve. The Clankers’ grand plan to extend their influence into Asia would be stopped in its tracks.

  This was a chance not just to help Alek but to change the course of the whole barking war. Perhaps it was her duty to stay right here.

  “All right, then,” she said. “I’ll do what I can.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  “I do look rather Turkish, don’t I?” Klopp said, regarding himself in the mirror.

  Alek hesitated a moment, struggling for words. The man didn’t look like a Turk at all—more like a zeppelin wrapped in blue silk with a tasseled nose cone.

  “Perhaps without the fez, sir,” Bauer suggested.

  “You might be right, Hans,” Alek said. “A turban would be better.”

  “Fez!” proclaimed Bovril, who was sitting on Dylan’s shoulder eating plums.

  “The fez is good,” Dylan said. The boy’s German was getting better, but he still missed words here and there.

  “How does one put on a turban?” Klopp asked, but no one knew.

  Bauer and Klopp had been stuck in the hotel for almost a week now, and it had been slowly driving them mad. A cage was still a cage, however luxurious. But at last they were going out, headed to Zaven’s warehouse to inspect the walkers of the Committee.