Behemoth

FORTY-THREE

The next morning Alek was allowed to visit Volger.

As his guard let him into the wildcount’s stateroom, Alek noticed that the door wasn’t locked. Alek himself had been treated politely the night before, more like a guest than a prisoner. Perhaps the tension between his men and their Darwinist captors had thawed a little in the last month.

Count Volger looked comfortable enough. He was at his desk eating a breakfast of soft-boiled eggs and toast, and didn’t bother to stand when Alek arrived. He simply nodded and said, “Prince Aleksandar.”

Alek bowed. “Count.”

Volger went back to scraping butter onto a piece of toast.

Standing there waiting, Alek felt like a schoolboy called in for punishment. He had never been to school, of course, but somehow adults—whether tutors, parents, or grandmotherly revolutionaries like Nene—all wore their disappointment in the same way. Surely headmasters weren’t so different.

Finally Alek sighed and said, “It might save time if I began.”

“As you wish.”

“You want to tell me that I’m a fool for having been captured again. That it was mad to involve myself in Ottoman politics. By now I could be safely hidden in the wilds.”

Count Volger nodded. “Yes, there is that.”

The man went back to scraping his piece of toast, seemingly intent on covering every square millimeter with butter.

“In not taking your advice, I risked my life and the life of my men,” Alek continued. “Dr. Busk says that Klopp is recovering well enough, but I led him and Bauer into an all-out battle. Things could have turned out worse.”

“Much worse,” Volger said, then fell silent again.

“Let’s see … Ah, I’ve also thrown away everything my father left me. The castle, all your plans, and finally his gold.” Alek reached inside his piloting coat and felt for a hard lump sewed into a corner of the lining. He tore the fabric, pulled out what remained of the gold, and tossed it onto the table.

After a month of buying spices and mechanikal parts, the bar had been mostly shaved away. All that was left was the round Hapsburg crest stamped at its center, like a thick, roughly made coin.

Volger blinked, and Alek let himself smile. At least he’d finally provoked a reaction.

“Did you finance this revolution entirely on your own?”

“Only the finishing touches—a little spice on top.” Alek shrugged. “Revolutions are expensive, it seems.”

“I wouldn’t know. I avoid them on principle.”

“Of course,” Alek said. “That’s what you’re really angry about, isn’t it? That I overturned the natural order and deposed a fellow royal? That I forgot that revolutionaries want to overthrow all aristocrats, including me and you?”

Volger took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully, then poured himself more coffee. “There is that, too, I suppose. But there’s one thing you’ve forgotten.”

Alek wondered for a moment what his final failure might be, but then gave up. He took a cup from the windowsill, filled it with coffee, and sat down across the desk from Volger.

“Enlighten me.”

“You also saved my life.”

Alek frowned. “I did what?”

“If you had disappeared into the wilds as you were meant to, that Tesla cannon would have sent me and Hoffman to the bottom of the sea, along with the rest of this ship’s crew.” The count stared into his coffee cup. “I owe you my life. Quite an annoying turn of events.”

Alek hid his surprise by taking a sip of coffee. It was true—Count Volger had been saved along with the Leviathan. But was the man really thanking him for joining the Committee’s revolution?

“This doesn’t mean that you are any less of an idiot, of course,” Volger added.

“Of course not,” Alek said, a bit relieved.

“And there is also the matter of your newfound celebrity.” Volger opened a drawer, pulled out a newspaper, and dropped it onto the desk.

Alek picked it up. It was in English—New York World, read the masthead. And there on the first page was a photograph of Alek, above a long article by “Istanbul Bureau Chief” Eddie Malone.

Alek let the newspaper fall back onto the table. He’d never seen a photograph of himself before, and the effect was distinctly disagreeable. Like looking into a frozen mirror.

“Are my ears really that large?”

“Almost. What on earth were you thinking?”

Alek lifted his cup, staring at the glimmering black reflection on the coffee’s surface. He had steeled himself to face any amount of scorn from Volger, but not for this. As the newspaper’s name declared, the whole world was gawking at him now. His family secrets were out there for anyone to read.

“That reporter, Malone, he knew too much about the Committee’s plans. An interview was the only way to distract him.” Alek dared another glance at the photo, and noticed the caption—THE MISSING HEIR. “So that’s why the crew have been so polite to me. They know who I am now.”

“Not just the crew, Alek. Britain has a consulate in New York, of course. Even their bumbling diplomats could hardly have missed this. Lord Churchill himself sent that newspaper to Captain Hobbes, carried by some sort of beastly eagle.”

“But how in blazes did you get it?”

“Dr. Barlow and I have been sharing information for some time now.” The wildcount leaned back in his chair. “She is proving to be a most interesting woman.”

Alek stared at the man, a slight shudder passing through him.

“Don’t worry, Alek, I haven’t told her all my secrets. How is your friend Dylan, by the way?”

“Dylan? He’s … quite astounding, at times.” Alek sighed. “In a way it’s because of him that I let myself be captured again.”

Volger’s coffee cup froze halfway to his lips. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dylan convinced me it was safer to give myself up than to escape. There were a dozen Ottoman walkers headed toward us, I suppose. But it was more than that. He seems to think that I belong on this ship.” Alek sighed. “Not that it matters. Once we’re back in Britain, they’ll put me in a cage.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that just yet.” The wildcount glanced at the windows. “Haven’t you noticed?”

Alek looked out the window. Last night when he’d grown too tired to stay awake, the airship had been headed back down the strait, guiding the behemoth back toward the Mediterranean Sea. But now there were mountains passing by, tipped with orange from the rising sun. Their long shadows stretched through the mist, trailing toward his left.

“Are we headed east?”

Volger clucked his tongue. “That took you some time. I’m sure your friend Dylan would have noticed right away.”

“No doubt. But why are we headed for Asia? The war’s back in Europe.”

“When this war began, the German navy had ships in every ocean. The Goeben and the Breslau aren’t the only ones that the British have been searching for.”

“Do you know where in Asia we’re going?”

“Alas, Dr. Barlow hasn’t been forthcoming on the matter. But I suspect we will be in Tokyo sooner or later. Japan declared war against Germany four weeks ago.”

“Of course.” Alek stared out at the mountains passing by. The Japanese had been Darwinists since signing a cooperation pact with the British in 1902. But it was astounding to think that the war ignited by his parents’ death had already outgrown Europe, and now encompassed the entire globe.

“This detour is inconvenient, but it keeps you out of that cage a little longer,” Volger said. “Austria-Hungary is not faring well against the great fighting bears of Russia. The time for you to reveal yourself may be sooner than I thought.” He prodded the newspaper as if it were a dead fish. “That is, to reveal what little you haven’t already.”

Alek pulled the scroll case from his pocket. “You mean this?”

“I was afraid to ask if you still had it.”

“As if I would have lost it!” Alek said angrily, then realized that he had, in fact, lost it once already. But since the taxi incident, he’d kept the letter with him at all times.

The night before, the airman who’d searched him in the cargo bay had found the scroll case and opened it. But the letter’s ornate Latin script had meant nothing to him, and he had politely returned it.

“I’m not a complete fool, Volger. In fact, this letter is why I ignored your advice and stayed in Istanbul.”

“What do you mean, Your Highness?”

“A pointless feud among my family started this war, so it’s up to me to stop it.” He held up the case. “This is the will of heaven, which tells me what I’m meant to do. Not skulk in hiding but take my rightful place and put an end to this war!”

Volger stared at him for a long moment, then steepled his fingers.

“That letter is no guarantee that you’ll take the throne.”

“I know all that. But the pope’s word must count for something.”

“Ah, I had forgotten.” The wildcount turned away. “You’ve been in a land of heathens and heretics. You haven’t heard the news from the Vatican.”

“News?”

“The Holy Father is dead.”

Alek stared at the man.

“They say the war was hard on him,” Volger continued. “He wanted peace too much. Of course, what he wanted doesn’t matter now.”

“But … this letter represents the will of heaven. The Vatican will still confirm that it’s real, won’t they?”

“One would think so. Of course, someone there told the Germans about your father’s visit.” The man spread his hands. “We must hope that this someone doesn’t have the new pope’s ear.”

Alek turned to stare out the window, trying to make sense of Volger’s news.

After his parents’ death, the whole world had gone mad, as if his family tragedy had broken history itself. But in Istanbul, somehow, things had started to fall back into place. The Committee’s revolution, Dylan arriving with the behemoth in his wake, all of it revealed that it was up to Alek to stop the war, to put matters right. For the first time in his life, he had felt a certainty in all his actions, as if providence were guiding him.

But now the world was turning upside down again. Fate was taking him not back toward the center of the war but away from his homeland and his people, away from everything he had been born to do. And the letter in his hand, the only thing his father had left him that Alek hadn’t thrown away, might now be worthless.

What mad providence was this?