Behemoth

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.

The problem was how to get them there without being spotted.

Alek and Dylan had tried their best to buy disguises at the Grand Bazaar, but the results hadn’t been entirely successful. Bauer looked too fancy, like one of the hotel doormen, and Klopp’s voluminous robes had turned him into a silken airship.

“We don’t have to pass for Ottomans,” Alek said. “We’re just going through the lobby and into a taxi, then straight to the warehouse. Hardly anyone will see us.”

“Then why aren’t you dressed like a Hapsburg prince, young master?” Klopp pulled the fez from his head. “Seeing as how these anarchists already know your name.”

“They’re not anarchists,” Alek said for the hundredth time. “Anarchists want to destroy all government. The Committee just wants to replace the sultan with an elected parliament.”

“It’s all the same nasty business,” Klopp said, shaking his head. “Murdering one’s masters. Have you forgotten those Serb boys throwing bombs at your parents?”

Alek bridled at Klopp’s impertinence, but kept his anger in check. The old man had a dim view of revolutions in general, and Lilit’s chatter about women’s equality had hardly helped.

But meeting Zaven and the iron golems would put Klopp at ease. Nothing brought a smile to his face like the sight of a new walker.

“The Germans were behind that attack, Master Klopp. And allying with the Committee is our only way to strike back at them.”

“I suppose you’re right, young master.”

“Indeed,” Alek said simply. He looked at Bauer, who promptly nodded his head.

Dylan, however, was proving more difficult to convince. He’d taken an instant dislike to Lilit, and refused to tell Alek anything about his mission in Istanbul, saying only that it was too secret to share with “a bunch of daft anarchists.”

Still, it was enough that Dylan was here in Istanbul, ready to help. Something about the boy’s brisk confidence made Alek remember that providence was on his side.

“We have to bring the beastie,” Dylan said in English, pulling on a silk jacket. His clothes fit perfectly—he’d spent an hour alone with the tailor getting them just right. “Dr. Barlow says it can be quite useful.”

“But all it does is babble,” Alek said, pulling his most important cargo—a small, heavy satchel—onto his shoulder. “Did she explain exactly how it’s meant to help?”

Dylan opened the birdcage, and Bovril scampered over and jumped inside. “Only that we should listen to it. Because it’s quite … perspicacious.”

Alek frowned. “I’m afraid that word is beyond my English.”

“Aye. It’s beyond mine, too.” Dylan reached into the birdcage and scratched the creature’s chin. “But you’re a cute wee beastie, aren’t you?”

“Perspicacious,” the creature said.

When Klopp was finally ready, Alek used the switchboard to call for a steam elevator. A few minutes later the four of them were downstairs and headed across the lobby.

The hotel was bustling, and no one stared at their clothes or asked why they were carrying toolboxes. Alek dropped the key off at the desk, and the doorman saluted smartly as he led them all outside. One thing could be said for Istanbul, people minded their own business here.

Several of the city’s scarab beetle taxis were waiting, and Alek chose the largest. It had two ranks of passenger seats, the rearmost big enough for Klopp’s ample frame. Alek climbed into the front rank with Deryn, then handed the pilot some coins and told him the name of Zaven’s neighborhood.

The man gave him a nod, and then they were off.

Above the noises of the street, Alek heard a rumbling from the birdcage. It was Bovril imitating the walker’s engine. He leaned down to shush the beast, then slipped the small, heavy satchel under the seat.

“A lot of soldiers about,” Bauer said. “Is it always this way?”

Alek looked up, frowning. The walker was striding down a wide avenue lined with tall trees. Ottoman soldiers stood on either side, forming themselves into double ranks. Most were in dress uniforms.

“I’ve never seen this many,” he said. “Perhaps it’s a parade.”

The taxi was slowing now, the traffic growing heavier. Ahead of them a cargo walker in the shape of a water buffalo began to belch black smoke, and Klopp made a rude comment about poor maintenance. Hot steam clouds billowed from the surrounding engines, until the four of them were all tugging at their new clothes.

“Sir,” Bauer said softly, “something’s going on up there.”

Alek peered through the water buffalo’s exhaust. A hundred meters ahead a squad of soldiers was stopping every vehicle that passed.

“A checkpoint,” Alek said.

“Foreigners are meant to carry passports in this country,” Klopp said softly.

“Should we get out and walk?” Alek said.

Klopp shook his head. “That’ll just make them curious. We’re carrying these toolboxes … and a birdcage, for heaven’s sake.”

“Right,” Alek sighed. “Well, then, we’re tourists who’ve left our passports at our hotel. And if that doesn’t work, we can bribe them.”

“And if bribery doesn’t work?” Klopp asked.

Alek frowned. They were carrying too much to run, and there were too many soldiers here to start a fight.

“Let me guess,” Dylan said in English. “You’re thinking about bribing them. They’ll refuse. No soldier takes a bribe with so many captains about.”

Alek swore softly. It was true—officers with tall plumed hats were everywhere.

“Can’t you pilot this contraption?” Dylan asked.

Alek peered over the pilot’s shoulder at the strange controls. “With six legs? Not me, but Klopp can handle anything.”

Dylan gave him a grin. “Enough with your blether, then. When it comes time, I’ll give the pilot a heave, and you and Bauer shove Master Klopp in front of the saunters!”

“I suppose that sounds simple enough,” Alek said.

But of course it wasn’t simple at all.

The next five minutes were quite excruciating. The line oozed along like heavy engine oil, while Klopp listed every conceivable disaster under his breath. But finally the belching water buffalo ahead of them passed the checkpoint, and the taxi strode into place.

A soldier stepped forward and gave them all a long, puzzled look. He held his hand out, saying something in Turkish.

“I’m sorry,” Alek said, “but we don’t speak your language.”

The man offered a polite bow, and said in excellent German, “Passports, then, please.”

“Ah.” Alek made a show of checking his pockets. “I seem to have forgotten mine.”

Klopp and Bauer followed suit, patting their silk robes and frowning.

The soldier raised an eyebrow, then turned to his squad and lifted a hand in the air.

“Oh, blisters!” Dylan cried, grabbing the startled pilot under his armpits and lifting him up. “Do it now!”

As Dylan dropped the man over the side of the taxi, Alek helped Bauer shove Klopp toward the front seat. He felt as heavy as a hogshead of wine, but a moment later he was sitting at the controls, his hands gripping the saunters.

The taxi reared up like a stallion on its four hind legs, scattering the guards around them. Then it bolted forward, sparks flying from its metal feet. Past the crowded checkpoint the avenue was clear, and soon Klopp had the machine at full gallop.

The soldiers cried out, unshouldering their rifles, and soon gunshots echoed around the taxi. Alek ducked, feeling as though his teeth were being shaken from his head. Dylan’s arms were wrapped around Klopp’s waist to keep them both from flying out of the taxi. Bauer had his hands on the toolboxes, and Alek reached down to secure the small satchel on the floor.

The only sound from the birdcage was Bovril’s maniacal laughter.

“Hold on tight!” Klopp shouted, and leaned the taxi into a tight turn. Its six insectlike feet skidded along the cobblestones, making a sound like sabers dragged along a brick wall.

Alek stuck his head up. This side street was narrower, and pedestrians were scattering as the taxi’s beetle jaws hurtled toward them.

“Don’t kill anyone, Klopp!” he shouted, just as the machine’s right foreleg clipped a stack of barrels. One barrel split as the stack tumbled, and the sharp scent of vinegar sprayed into the air. At the next turn the taxi began to skid again, threatening to slide sideways through the large windows of a butcher shop, but Klopp wrestled it back under control.

“Where am I going?” he cried.

Alek pulled Zaven’s hand-drawn map from his pocket, and made a rough calculation. “Head left when you can, and slow down. No one’s behind us yet.”

Klopp nodded, and brought the machine down into a six-legged canter. The next street was lined with mechanical parts shops and crowded with cargo walkers. No one looked twice at the taxi.

“I don’t know how you can stand these daft contraptions,” Dylan said, sitting up straight in his seat. “They’re pure murder when they go fast!”

“Wasn’t this your idea?” Alek asked.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“For the moment. They’ll be after us soon enough.”

The taxi made its way deeper into the industrial part of town, with Klopp following Alek’s guesses. The markings of the Committee’s mix of languages soon filled the walls. But streets signs were rare here, and nothing matched the few avenues labeled on Zaven’s map.

“This is all quite familiar,” Alek said to Klopp. “We’re close.”

“That might be a problem, sir,” Bauer said. “Didn’t you tell the cabbie where we were headed?”

“I told him what neighborhood.”

“The Ottomans must have questioned him by now. They’ll be here soon.”

“You’re right, Hans. We have to hurry.” Alek turned to Klopp. “Zaven’s warehouse has a view of the whole city. We should be able to see it from higher ground.”

Klopp nodded, turning whenever a road led upward. Finally the taxi eased to a halt at the crest of a hill, and Alek saw the cluster of warehouses, with Zaven’s apartments nestled on top.

“That’s it! Maybe half a kilometer!”

“Do you hear that sound?” Dylan asked.

Alek listened. Even with the taxi idling, it was there—a buzzing at the edge of his awareness. He looked around, but there was nothing in sight except cargo walkers and a clockwork messenger cart.

“It’s not down here,” Dylan said quietly, staring at the sky.

Alek looked up and saw it.…

A gyrothopter hovering directly overhead.