Behemoth

TWENTY-THREE

As expected, no one was guarding the count’s stateroom.

Deryn opened the door to the sight of Volger leaning halfway out his window, trying to get a better view of the sultan’s magnificent walker. Before she’d left the navigation room, Deryn had seen the elephant-shaped machine approaching across the airfield. It was even larger than the Dauntless, its howdah as ornate as a lady’s hat on Derby Day.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said to Volger’s backside, “but you have a visitor.”

As the wildcount extracted himself from the window, Deryn checked the empty corridor and closed the door behind them.

“A visitor?” Volger said. “How interesting.”

The reporter stepped forward and thrust out his hand. “Eddie Malone, reporter for the New York World.”

Count Volger said nothing, eyeing Malone up and down.

“He has a message from Alek,” Deryn said.

Volger’s face froze for a moment. “Alek? Where is he?”

“Right here in Istanbul.” Malone pulled out his battered notebook. “He told me about you being a prisoner aboard this ship. Are you being well treated, sir?”

Volger didn’t answer, his expression still one of shock.

“Blisters, Malone!” Deryn swore. “We haven’t got time for you to do a barking interview. Can your wee beastie please just deliver the message!”

“Alek said it was private, just for the count.”

Deryn groaned with frustration. “Alek won’t mind me hearing whatever he has to say. Right, your countship?”

Volger regarded the bullfrog with an expression of infinite distaste, but he gave the reporter a nod.

Malone took the beastie from his shoulder and set it on the desk. He scratched beneath its chin, tapping a sort of code with his fingertip. “Okay, Rusty. Repeat.”

The frog began to speak in Alek’s voice. “I can’t be sure if this is really you, Count, but I have to trust this man. We’re still here in Istanbul, you see, which I’m sure upsets you greatly. But we’ve met some friends—allies, I suppose you’d call them. I’ll say more about that when we meet face-to-face.”

Deryn frowned. Allies? What was Alek blethering about?

“Mr. Malone tells me that the Leviathan is still here as well,” the beastie continued. “If you and Hoffman can escape, you can join us! We’re at a hotel in the old city, with a name like my mother’s. We’ll stay here as long as we can.”

At this, Count Volger softly groaned, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Oh, and I apologize for making you listen to this abomination. But I need your help, Count, more than ever. Please try to join us. Um, end message, I suppose.”

The bullfrog went silent.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions, sir?” Malone said, his pen at the ready.

Count Volger didn’t answer, but sank into his desk chair, staring hatefully at the frog. “I suppose that’s really him?”

“It sounds like Alek, right enough,” Deryn said. “And the beasties can only repeat what they’ve heard.”

“Then why was he speaking in English?” Volger asked.

“My name’s not Rosencrantz,” Eddie Malone said. “I wasn’t going to carry a message I didn’t understand.”

“That little fool,” the count said quietly, shaking his head. “What’s he playing at now?”

Eddie Malone picked up the bullfrog and placed it on his shoulder, a frown on his face. “You don’t sound glad to hear from this fellow. He seemed to think highly of you.”

“Do you know what he was talking about?” Volger asked Malone. “Who these new ‘allies’ of his are?”

The man shrugged. “He was being cagey about it. Istanbul is full of secret societies and conspiracies. There was a revolution just six years ago.”

“So he’s fallen in with anarchists? Splendid.”

“Anarchists?” Deryn frowned. “Alek’s not completely daft, you know!”

Volger waved his hand at the bullfrog. “I believe this proves that he is. All he had to do was leave Istanbul, then find somewhere to hide.”

“Aye, but why would he do that?” Deryn said. “You and his da kept him cooped up his whole life, like a budgie in a fancy cage, and now he’s finally free. Did you really think he’d find some hole to hide in?”

“The situation would seem to call for it.”

“But Alek can’t keep running forever,” she cried. “He needs allies, like he had on this ship before the barking war got in the way. He needs somewhere to belong. But I will say this—I’m glad he ran away from the likes of you, even if he’s joined the barking Monkey Luddite Brigade! At least he can find his own way now!”

Count Volger stared at her for a long moment, and Deryn realized that she’d let her voice go all squeaky. That was what came of thinking too hard about Alek—it turned her pure dead girly sometimes.

“This Alek fellow just gets more and more interesting,” Malone said, pen scratching against his pad. “Can you give me a bit more background on him?”

“No!” Deryn and Volger said together.

The cast off alert sounded, and Deryn heard footsteps scrambling in the corridor outside. She swore—the captain had ordered a fast ascent. They had to make it down the peninsula before sunset, or her landing party would be keelhaul dropping in the dark.

“We have to go now,” she said, dragging Malone toward the door. “They’ll be coming for his countship soon, to help with the engines.”

“What about my interview?”

“If they catch us in here, you’ll be interviewing a barking hangman!” Deryn eased open the door, peeking out and waiting for the corridor to clear.

“Mr. Sharp,” Count Volger said from behind her. “I hope you understand that this complicates things.”

She looked over her shoulder. “What are you blethering about?”

“I need to rejoin Alek and talk him out of this madness. And that means escaping from this ship. Hoffman and I shall need your help with that.”

“Have you gone barking mad as well?” she cried. “I’m not a traitor … not that much of one, anyway.”

“Perhaps, but if you don’t help us, I shall be forced to reveal your little secret.”

Deryn froze.

“I had begun to suspect during our fencing lessons,” the count said coolly. “There’s something about the way you stand. And your outbursts on Alek’s behalf have also been revealing. But really it was the look on your face just now that removed all doubt.”

“I don’t know … what you’re talking about,” she said. The words came out ridiculously low, like a wee boy trying to sound like a man.

“Neither do I,” Eddie Malone said, his pen flying across the page. “But this is sure getting interesting.”

“So if you want to continue serving on this ship, Mr. Sharp, I think you will be helping us to escape.” A cruel smile spread across Count Volger’s face. “Or shall I give our reporter friend here the news?”

Deryn’s head was spinning like mad. She’d lived this moment in a hundred nightmares, but now the moment had arrived like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. And from barking Count Volger, of all people.

Suddenly Deryn hated all sneaky, clever people.

She bit her lip, forcing her thoughts into focus. She was Midshipman Dylan Sharp, a decorated officer in His Majesty’s Air Service, not some ninny about to lose her head. Whatever she said now, she could scheme her way out of this later.

“All right, then,” she spat. “I’ll help you escape.”

Volger drummed his fingers. “It’ll have to be tomorrow night, before the Leviathan leaves Istanbul for good.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll be glad to see the back side of you!”

With that, she dragged Eddie Malone out the door.

Three hours later Deryn found herself staring out the Leviathan’s open cargo door, a heavy pack on her back and a rocky expanse rolling past below.

She sighed. Might as well jump now, without a barking rope.

No matter how she thought the matter through, everything was hopeless and ruined. The count had guessed her secret, and he’d done so right smack in front of a reporter. Her first command was about to begin, but her career was practically over.

“Don’t worry, lad,” the bosun said from beside her. “It’s never as far as it looks.”

She nodded, wishing that it was something piffling like a keelhaul drop that had her jittery. Gravity was something you could beat; all it took was hydrogen, hot air, or even a bit of rope. But being a girl was a miserable, never-ending struggle.

“I’m fine, Mr. Rigby. Just can’t wait to get started.” She turned toward her men. “How about you lot?”

The three men in her landing party put on brave faces, but their eyes stayed glued to the passing landscape. As the Sphinx drew closer, the airship slowed, turning into the stiff breeze coming off the ocean. But the officers couldn’t come to a full halt without giving the sultan and his men too clear a view of the ground beneath them.

A bit cheeky, committing espionage right in front of a nation’s sovereign.

The bosun consulted his watch. “Twenty seconds, I’d say.”

“Clip your lines!” Deryn ordered. Her heart was starting to race now, driving out her gloomy thoughts. Volger and his threats could get stuffed. She could always toss him out his stateroom window.

The terrain was rising beneath the ship now, turning from trees to scrub grass and rock, then finally sand. To her right was the Sphinx, a natural formation thrusting up like an ancient statue of some pagan god.

“Get ready, lads.” She shouted, “Three, two, one …” … and jumped.

The rope hissed through her safety clip, angry and piping hot in the sea breeze. She heard her comrades descending around her, a chorus of whirring cables slicing through the air.

The ground came up fast, and Deryn snapped on a second clip. The friction doubled, jerking her into a slower fall. But solid rock and scrub grass still blurred beneath her, too fast for comfort.

Then she felt it, a sway in her line. The airship was slowing just a squick. Her rope swung forward with her momentum, then began a slow swing backward, so that her position was almost static with the ground below.

“Now!” Deryn cried, and pulled her second clip from the line.

She dropped fast, hitting hard sand and loose, flat rocks that crunched and powdered under her boots. The impact shook her spine, but she stumbled along, managing to keep her feet. The rest of the cable whipped through her safety clip, smacked her hand spitefully, then skipped across the beach toward the sunset.

As the Leviathan slid away into the distance, its engine noise faded into the crash of the waves. Deryn felt her gloom descend again, along with a lonely feeling of being left behind.

She turned around, counting three other figures on the ridge. At least none of her command had been dragged into the sea.

“Everyone all right?” she called.

“Aye, sir!” two calls from the growing darkness, followed by a soft groan.

It was Matthews, ten yards away and still not on his feet. Deryn scrambled across the loose rocks, and found him curled into a tight ball.

“It’s my ankle, sir,” he said, teeth clenched. “I’ve turned it.”

“All right. Let’s see if you can stand.” Deryn waved for the other men, then shrugged out of her heavy pack. She knelt and checked the glass case that held the vitriolic barnacles; it hadn’t broken.

When Airmen Spencer and Robins had made their way over, she had them lift Matthews to his feet. But the moment his weight settled on the twisted right ankle, he cried out in pain.

“Set him down,” she ordered, then let out a slow breath.

The man’s ankle was stuffed. There was no way he could walk two miles across the rocky peninsula and back.

“You’ll have to wait here, Matthews.”

“Aye, sir. But when are they picking us up?”

Deryn hesitated. Of the four of them, only she knew exactly when the Leviathan would return to the Sphinx. That way, if the men were captured, the Ottomans couldn’t set a trap for the airship.

As for Deryn herself, well, she was a decorated hero, wasn’t she? The Ottomans would never drag the truth from her.

“I can’t tell you, Matthews. Just wait here, and don’t let anyone see you.” The man winced in pain again, and she added, “Trust me, the captain won’t leave us behind.”

They knelt and divided the four packs among the three of them, giving Matthews most of the water and a little bully beef. Then Deryn, Robins, and Spencer headed down the ridge toward the strait, leaving him all alone.

A few minutes into her first command, and she was already one man down.