Goliath (Leviathan Trilogy)

by Scott Westerfeld

  “Um, but—but, ma’am,” Deryn sputtered. “I’ll have to—”

  “Dr. Barlow,” Alek broke in, “this is Prince Aleksandar. I know you want young Dylan to look his best, but gentlemee in, R tailoring is hardly your area of expertise. It would be my pleasure to go with him. End message.”

  The beastie waited a moment, then blinked and scuttled away.

  Deryn gave him a long stare, then shook her head. “You’re both daft. I can see to my own clothes, right?”

  “Of course.” Alek pulled at his own threadbare sleeve. “But I could use a bit of tailoring myself.”

  “True. You’re looking a bit less than princely.” Deryn straightened with a sigh. “Well, I have duties to attend to. See you when we get to Tokyo, I suppose.”

  “I suppose so.” He smiled at her.

  Deryn turned and strode back into the engine pod, shouting at the engineers to give Mr. Tesla some peace. Alek stayed out on the boom, staring down at the water a little longer and wondering at what he felt inside.

  Whatever her name was, he had missed his good friend these last few days, rather a lot.

  “A bit of tailoring,” Bovril said thoughtfully. “End message.”

  Alek pulled on another jacket, then scowled at the mirror. His Hapsburg Armor Corp uniform was just as threadbare as the others, shiny at the elbows and missing two buttons. Had he really spent the last weeks walking about in such a disreputable state?

  “This seems unwise,” Count Volger said.

  Alek fingered the jacket’s frayed epaulettes. “I have an ambassador to impress, and I doubt the tailors in Tokyo are expensive.”

  “I’m not talking about the cost, Alek. You’re practically penniless, in any case.” The wildcount glanced out the window—one of the spires of Tokyo was sliding by, alarmingly close to the gondola. “I’m talking about that girl.”

  Alek picked up the silk piloting jacket he’d worn the night of the Ottoman Revolution. “Her name is Deryn.”

  “Whatever she calls herself, you’ve managed to escape her influence at last. Why risk another entanglement?”

  “Deryn isn’t an entanglement.” Alek pulled the jacket on and considered the effect. “She’s a friend, and a useful ally.”

  “Useful? Only in that she’s taken that beast away.”

  Alek didn’t answer. Deryn had dropped by his stateroom the night before to “borrow” Bovril. Alek found that he missed the creature’s weight on his shoulder and its murmurs in his ear. The perspicacious loris had offered comfort when everyone else had betrayed him.

  “You can’t trust her,” Volger said.

  “Nor can I trust you, Count. And Deryn, at least, can tell me what the Leviathan’s officers are thinking.”

  “Tesla does their thinking for them these days. Imagine, trying to requisition this whole ship to take him to America! It’s madness to believe that the Admiralty will allow it.”

  Alek raised an eyebrow. “That was my idea, you know.”

  “Ah, of course.” With a sigh Volger stood up from the desk and went to his traveling trunk. “This is a diplomatic affair, not a costume party.”

  Alek pulled off his Ottoman piloting jacket. “Perhaps it is a bit too colorful for a British ambassador.”

  “You’re taking a risk, believing in Tesla.”

  “He wants peace, and has the power to make it happen.”

  “Let’s hope so, Your Serene Highness. Because if you support him publicly and he turns out to be mad, the whole world will think you’re a fool. Do you think the people of Austria-Hungary will want a young fool for an emperor?”

  Alek’s glare was wasted on Volger, who was rummaging in his trunk. He pulled out a deep blue tunic with a red collar.

  “My Hapsburg House Cavalry uniform.”

  Alek said, “Do you think I’m being a fool?”

  “I think you’re trying to do something good. But doing good is rarely easy, and no weapon has ever stopped a war.” Count Volger handed over the cavalry tunic. “But who knows. Perhaps the great inventor has changed all that.”

  “And you wanted to murder him.” Alek pulled the tunic on. The sleeves were too long, of course, but a decent tailor could fix that. “Or was that whole business just an idle threat to shake me out of my sulk?”

  The wildcount smiled. “Two birds, one stone.”

  The streets of Tokyo teemed with steam trams, pedestrians, and beasts of burden. The morning sun had crested the buildings, but the strings of paper lanterns hanging overhead still glowed. Each was filled with a little swarm of flickering insects, like a handful of stars.

  Alek was always uncomfortable in crowds, and here in Tokyo he felt especially conspicuous. There were no other Europeans about except the pair of marine guards following him. Many of the Japanese men wore western clothing, but the women were dressed in long dresses dyed in indigo and scarlet patterns, with broad silk belts that gathered into bundles on their lower backs. Alek tried to picture Deryn in such a getup, but failed completely.

  The two technologies mixed more elegantly than he’d expected. Streetcars huffed out clouds of steam, but the most crowded were yoked to oxenesques for extra power. A few rickshaws putted along behind diesel two-legged walkers; the rest were pulled by squat, scaly creatures that reminded Alek disturbingly of kappa. Telegraph lines crisscrossed the sky overhead, but messenger lizards scampered along them, and carrier eagles wheeled against the clouds.

  “Are we lost yet?” Deryn asked.

  “Lost,” declared Bovril from her shoulder, then went back to burbling snatches of Japanese.

  Alek sighed, unfolding Dr. Barlowians, and map for the fortieth time since they’d left the airfield. It was exasperating, not being able to read street signs. On top of which, addresses worked differently here in Japan. Instead of the numbers running along the avenues, they went clockwise around city blocks. Pure insanity.

  According to a local scientist friend of Dr. Barlow’s, a whole street of tailors catering to Europeans was hidden somewhere in this madness.

  “I think we’re close,” Alek said. “You don’t suppose those two could help?”

  Deryn glanced at the marine guards shadowing them. “They’re only here to keep you from running away.”

  “Hardly necessary. I’m quite happy to be on the Leviathan these days.”

  Deryn gave a snort. “Aye, thanks to your new boffin pal.”

  “He’s a genius, and he wants to stop this war.”

  “He’s a complete nutter, you mean. Dr. Barlow says his talk of Goliath is daft!”

  “Nutter,” Bovril said with a chuckle.

  “Of course she would say so,” Alek said. “Mr. Tesla is a Clanker scientist, and she’s a Darwinist—and a Darwin to boot! They’re natural enemies.”

  Deryn started to reply, but her head swiveled as a food stall drifted slowly past. The whole thing was drawn, customers and all, by a squat two-legged walker. One of the cooks was chopping thin layers of dough into fine noodles; the others were slicing mushrooms, fish, and eels. The smell of buckwheat and prawns carried on the steam rising from the boilers, along with the tang of vinegar and pickles.

  “Might want some of that later,” Deryn mumbled.

  “Want,” Bovril said.

  Alek smiled. He’d learned in Istanbul that food could always distract Deryn from an argument. But she wasn’t done yet.

  “Have you forgotten what I found in Mr. Tesla’s room?”

  “You found a rock,” Alek said flatly.

  “If it was only a rock, why did he bring it aboard?”

  “He’s a scientist. They like rocks. Didn’t Dr. Barlow know what it was?”

  Deryn shook her head. “She isn’t certain, but it’s all very suspicious. Mr. Tesla’s weapons all use electricity, and it was a sort of . . . cannonball.”

  “No cannonball could destroy half of Siberia, Mr. Sharp.”

  “Mr. Sharp!” Bovril repeated.

  “Perhaps I’ll simply ask him myself.
” Alek gae a snort. “Though he might wonder why you were hiding under his bed at night.”

  “Forget it. If he knows we were spying on him, he won’t trust you.”

  Alek shook his head—as if Deryn could offer advice on trust and friendship. “Once we get to New York and reveal Goliath to the world, I’m sure these minor details will all make sense.”

  “You think the Admiralty will really let us head off to America?”

  “Mr. Tesla can be quite convincing,” Alek said. “Besides, this is my destiny.”

  “Aye,” Deryn said, and snorted. “Your destiny.”

  She was about to say more, when Bovril interrupted. “A bit of tailoring!”

  “The beastie’s right.” Deryn was looking over Alek’s shoulder. “Your destiny is a better-fitting jacket, looks to me.”

  He turned. Beneath the awning of an open shop front whirred a spidery machine, bristling with spindles of thread. Squeezed onto a hanging banner full of Japanese characters were a few recognizable words: WELCOME TO SHIBASAKI TAILORS.

  Alek folded up the map. “For the moment that will do.”

  “Irasshai,” came a call as Alek stepped beneath the awning. Two men stood up from behind sewing machines, one robed in white cotton with a flowered print, the other in a European waistcoat and jacket.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” the robed man said in practiced English.

  Alek and Deryn returned his bow.

  “We’ve just arrived here, sirs,” Alek said slowly. “We have no money, but we can pay with gold.”

  The man looked embarrassed at this forwardness, but Alek could only bow again, holding out Volger’s cavalry uniform.

  “If you could make this fit me.”

  The other tailor took the jacket by the shoulders and shook it open. “Of course.”

  “And my friend needs a dress shirt in the British naval fashion, by this afternoon.”

  “We have many shirts for British gentlemen, if we make alterations.” The man turned to Deryn. “May we measure you, sir?”

  She glanced at the marine guards waiting just outside—close enough to hear any exclamations of surprise.

  “I’m afraid not,” Alek said. “He has a . . . skin condition. Perhaps you could measure me, and adjust a little.”

  The tailor frowned. “But you are shorter, sir.”

  “Not that much shorter,” Alek said, and heard Bovril chuckling.

  The tailor bowed gracefully, then extended a length of string between his hands. Alek took off his jacket and turned around, holding out his arms wide.

  Deryn leaned back to watch, wearing the first smile Alek had seen on her face in days.

  After the measurements were done, the tailors told Alek and Deryn to return in two hours. Deryn unerringly tracked down the moving food stall they’d seen earlier, and soon they were seated on a long bench that faced the cooks, shoulder to shoulder with the other customers. The marine guards took up station just behind the stall, watching from a distance.

  A dozen pots of noodles bubbled on the boilers, which Deryn said were burning an oil made from fabricated peanuts. The fuel let off a sweet scent that mingled with the briny smell of salmon slices edged with orange, a black vinegar sauce in small bowls, and tiny dried fish curled into silver half-moons.

  As Deryn pantomimed for the cooks, Alek realized how hungry he was. He watched the other customers eating with chopsticks, wishing he’d brought a fork and knife from the Leviathan’s mess.

  “Did you hear?” Deryn asked. “The meeting’s been moved to the Imperial Hotel.”

  “Why a hotel?”

  “It’s got a barking theater! Seems the ambassador wants to show the whole world that the great Nikola Tesla has changed sides.” Deryn inspected her chopsticks. “Maybe that will get the Clankers quaking in their boots.”

  “Hopefully,” Alek said. Two bowls were set before them, full of tangled noodles half covered in a thick broth. Atop the noodles sat a spoonful of white mush and a cluster of tiny orange spheres, as translucent as rubies. A plate of fresh salmon was set before Bovril.

  As the beast started in, Alek stared at his dish. “What have you ordered us?”

  “No idea,” Deryn said, picking up a wooden spoon. “It looked good, so I pointed at it.”

  Alek lifted his chopsticks and attempted to pick up one of the pearly orange spheres. The first exploded, but he managed to get a second into his mouth. It popped like a tiny balloon between his teeth, tasting of salt and fish.

  “It’s like oversize caviar.”

  “Which is what?” Deryn asked.

  “Fish eggs.”

  She frowned, but the revelation didn’t slow her eating.

  Alek tasted the white substance, which turned out to be pickled radishes chopped into mush. There were also slivers of a pearly fruit, as tangy as lemon rind. He swirled his chopsticks in the bowl, mixing the sharp flavors of radishes, citrus, and fish eggs with the thick buckwheat noodles.

  As he ate, Alek finally took a proper look at the slowly passing city. The rooftops of Tokyo curved and swelled like ocean waves, terra-cotta tiles rippling their surfaces. Miniature potted trees crowded the windows, growing in twisted shapes that mirrored the strokes of calligraphy decorating every shop. Canopies of vines overhead spilled pink blossoms onto the ground, and the hanging paper lanternsseemed to be everywhere, bobbing in the breeze.

  “Quite beautiful, considering,” Alek said.

  “Considering what?”

  “That the same culture fabricated those horrid kappa.”

  “Less horrid than a phosphorous shell, if you ask me.”

  Alek shrugged, not in the mood to revisit the argument he’d had with Tesla. “You’re right. Killing is ugly, whatever shape it takes. That’s why we have to stop this war.”

  “It isn’t up to you to fix the world, Alek. Maybe your parents’ murder set it off, but the world was ready enough with war machines and beasties!” She stared into her bowl, twirling noodles onto her chopsticks. “A fight would have happened one way or another.”

  “None of that changes the fact that my family started it.”

  Deryn turned to face him. “You can’t blame a match for a house made of straw, Alek.”

  “A nice turn of phrase.” All that was left of Alek’s meal was broth. The other customers seemed to think nothing of drinking from their bowls, so he lifted his with both hands. “But it doesn’t change what I have to do.”

  Deryn watched him drink, then said simply, “What if you can’t stop it?”

  “You saw what we did in Istanbul. Our revolution kept them out of the war!”

  “It was their revolution, Alek. We just helped a bit.”

  “Of course, but Mr. Tesla can do much more. Destiny brought me to Siberia to meet him, so clearly his plan has to work!”

  Deryn sighed. “What if destiny doesn’t care?”

  “Why can’t you admit that providence has guided my course at every turn?” Alek counted the points on his fingers. “My father prepared a refuge for me in the Alps, in the very same valley where the Leviathan crashed! Then, after I escaped, I wound up back on your ship—just as it was headed for the siege of Tsingtao. And that brought me to the wastes of Siberia in time to meet Tesla. All those connections have to mean something!”

  Deryn opened her mouth to argue, then hesitated, a half smile crossing her face. “So you must think that we’re meant to be together.”

  Alek blinked. “What?”

  “I told you how I wound up on the Leviathan. If a freak storm hadn’t carried me halfway across Britain, I’d be serving on the Minotaur with Jaspert. Never would have met you, then.”

  “Well, I suppose not.”

  “And when we crashed, and you came to help us on those silly snowshoes, you walked straigh up to where I was lying in the snow.” Her smile grew broader. “You saved me, first thing.”

  “Only from a frostbitten bum.” Alek stared into the empty bowl before him; a fish egg was stuck to on
e side. He picked it up with his chopsticks and regarded it.

  “And when you jumped ship in Istanbul, you thought you’d got away from me.” Deryn gave a snort. “Not likely.”

  “You do have a habit of showing up.”

  “Must be rough for you. Having your destiny mixed up with a barking commoner’s!” She shoveled in her last mouthful of noodles, chuckling to herself.

  Alek frowned. In two days of brooding it somehow hadn’t crossed his mind that without Deryn Sharp the Ottoman Revolution might have failed, and Alek certainly would never have come back aboard the Leviathan. Thus he wouldn’t have met Tesla, and would be no closer to stopping the war.

  Deryn had been there every step of the way.

  “We are connected, aren’t we?”

  “Aye,” she said, still chewing. “And for us to meet at all, I had to pretend to be a boy. Fancy that.”

  “Barking destiny,” Bovril said, then burped.

  Alek put his hands up in surrender. There were worse things than being connected to Deryn Sharp. In fact, the simple fact that she was smiling sent a wave of relief through him—she was his ally again, his friend. Providence seemed to be saying that she always would be.

  All at once a fist around his heart loosened its grip.

  “It was awful, being at war with you.”

  Deryn laughed. “I missed you, too, daft prince.” She started to say more, but then cast a look over her shoulder at the two marine guards, and sighed. “We should go fetch our clothes. Tesla will be starting in a few hours.”

  Alek nodded. “It should be quite a show.”

  The theater of the Imperial Hotel was filling up; there were at least a hundred in the audience already. Deryn wondered if the Clanker boffin had invited them all, or if the British embassy had, or whether the news was spreading on its own across Tokyo.

  The British ambassador was easy to spot, a man in a posh civilian suit surrounded by admirals and commodores. Not far away a dozen Japanese naval officers wore black tunics and hats with red piping. Deryn recognized other uniforms—French, Russian, even a handful of Italians, though Darwinist Italy had yet to join the war. A gaggle of boffins, European and Japanese, stood about in bowlers, some with recording frogs perched on their shoulders.