Leviathan

TEN

He eased the saunters sideways and felt the Storm-walker’s right foot shift.

“That’s it,” Otto Klopp said. “Slowly now.”

Alek nudged the controls again, and the walker slid a little farther. It was frustrating, maneuvering in tight quarters like this. One bump of the walker’s shoulder could send the whole rotten barn crashing down around them. At least the trembling gauges and levers had begun to make sense. A little more pressure in the knees might help… .

With another nudge he’d done it—the viewport was lined up with a ragged gap in the wall of the barn. The late afternoon sun shone into the cabin, the fields stretching out before them. A harvesting combine rumbled along on twelve legs in the distance, a dozen farmers and a four-legged truck following to collect the bundled grain.

Count Volger put a hand on Alek’s shoulder. “Wait till they’re out of sight.”

“Well, obviously,” Alek said. With his bruises still throbbing, he’d had enough of Volger’s counsel for one day.

The combine made its slow way across the field, finally disappearing behind a low hill. A few workmen straggled behind, black dots on the horizon. Alek soon lost them in the distance, but waited.

Finally Bauer’s voice crackled on the intercom, “That’s the last one gone, sir.”

Corporal Bauer had the uncanny eyesight of an expert gunner. Two weeks ago he’d been on his way to commanding a machine of his own. Master Hoffman had been the Hapsburg Guards’ best engineer. But now the two were nothing more than fugitives.

Alek had slowly come to understand everything his men had given up for him: their ranks, families, and futures. If they were caught, the other four would hang as deserters. Prince Aleksandar himself would disappear more quietly, of course, for the good of the empire. The last thing a nation at war needed was uncertainty about who was heir to the throne.

He eased the Stormwalker toward the barn’s open doors, using the shuffling step that Klopp had taught him. It erased the machine’s massive footprints, along with any other signs that someone had hidden here.

“Ready for your first run, young master?” Klopp asked.

Alek nodded, flexing his fingers. He was nervous, but glad to be piloting in daylight for once, instead of the dead of night.

And really, walker falls weren’t so bad. They’d all be bruised and battered, but Master Klopp could get the machine back on its feet again.

As the engines pulsed faster, the smell of their exhaust mixed with dust and hay. Alek eased the machine forward, wood creaking as the walker pushed through the doors and out into the fresh air.

“Smoothly done, young master!” Klopp said.

There was no time to answer. They were in the open now. Alek brought the Stormwalker to its full height, its engines cycling to their maximum. He urged it forward, stretching the metal legs farther with every step. Then came the moment when walking turned to running: both feet in the air at once, the cabin shuddering with every impact against the ground.

Alek heard rye being shredded underfoot. The Storm-walker’s trail would be easy to spot from an aeroplane, but by night the harvesting combine would turn back and erase the huge footprints.

He kept his eyes on the goal, a streambed covered with sheltering trees.

This was the fastest he had ever traveled, faster than any horse, even faster than the express train to Berlin. Each ten-meter stride seemed to stretch out over endless seconds, graceful in the vast scale of the machine. The thundering pace felt glorious after long nights spent creeping through the forest.

But as the streambed approached, Alek wondered if the walker was moving too fast. How was he supposed to bring them to a halt?

He eased back on the saunters a bit—and suddenly everything went wrong. The right foot planted too soon … and the machine began to tip forward.

Alek brought the left leg down, but the walker’s momentum carried it forward. He was forced to take another step, like a careening drunk, unable to stop.

“Young master—,” Otto began.

“Take it!” Alek shouted.

Klopp seized the saunters and twisted the walker, stretching one leg out, tipping the whole craft back. The pilot’s chair spun, and Volger swung wildly from the hand straps overhead, but somehow Klopp stayed glued to the controls.

The Stormwalker skidded onward, one leg outstretched, its front foot ripping through soil and stalks of rye. Dust spilled into the cabin, and Alek glimpsed the streambed hurtling toward them.

Gradually the machine slowed, a last bit of momentum lifting it upright … and then it was standing on two legs, hidden among the trees, its huge feet soaking in the stream.

Alek watched dust and torn rye swirl across the viewport. A moment later his hands began to shake.

“Well done, young master!” Klopp said, clapping him on the back.

“But I almost fell!”

“Of course you did!” Klopp laughed. “Everyone falls the first time they try to run.”

“Everyone what?”

“Everyone falls. But you did the right thing and let me take the controls in time.”

Volger flicked sprigs of rye from his jacket. “It seems that humility was the rather tiresome point of today’s lesson. Along with making sure we look like proper commoners.”

“Humility?” Alek bunched his fists. “You mean you knew I would fall?”

“Of course,” Klopp said. “As I said, everyone does at first. But you gave up the saunters in time. That’s a lesson too!”

Alek scowled. Klopp was positively beaming at him, as if Alek had just mastered a somersault in a six-legged cutter. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or give the man a good thrashing.

He settled for coughing some of the dust out of his lungs, then taking back the controls. The Stormwalker responded normally. It seemed nothing more important than his pride had been damaged.

“You did better than I expected,” Klopp said. “Especially with how top-heavy we are.”

“Top-heavy?” Alek asked.

“Ah, well.” Klopp looked at Volger sheepishly. “I suppose not really.”

Count Volger sighed. “Go ahead, Klopp. If we’re going to be teaching His Highness walker acrobatics, I suppose it might help to show him the extra cargo.”

Klopp nodded, a wicked smile on his face. He pulled himself from the commander’s seat and knelt by a small engineering panel in the floor. “Give me a hand, young master?”

A little curious now, Alek knelt beside him, and together they loosened the hand screws. The panel popped up, and Alek blinked—instead of wires and gears, the opening revealed neat rectangles of dully shining metal, each monogrammed with the Hapsburg seal.

“Are those … ?”

“Gold bars,” Klopp said happily. “A dozen of them. Almost a quart of a ton in all!”

“God’s wounds,” Alek breathed.

“The contents of your father’s personal safe,” Count Volger said. “Entrusted to us as part of your inheritance. We won’t lack for money.”

“I suppose not.” Alek sat back. “So this is your little secret, Count? I must admit I’m impressed.”

“This is merely an afterthought.” Volger waved a hand, and Klopp began to seal the panel back up. “The real secret is in Switzerland.”

“A quarter ton of gold, an afterthought?” Alek looked up at the man. “Are you serious?”

Count Volger raised an eyebrow. “I am always serious. Shall we go?”

Alek pulled himself back up into the pilot’s chair, wondering what other surprises the wildcount had waiting.

Alek started them down the streambed toward Lienz, the nearest city with any mechanikal industry. The walker desperately needed kerosene and parts, and with a dozen gold bars, they could buy the whole town if need be. The trick was not giving themselves away. A Cyklop Storm-walker was a fairly conspicuous way to travel.

Alek kept the machine in the trees along the stream bank. With the afternoon light already fading, they could steal close enough to reach the city on foot tomorrow.

It was strange to think that in the morning, for the first time in two weeks, Alek would see other people. Not just these four men but an entire town of commoners, none of whom would realize that a prince was walking among them.

He coughed again, and looked down at his dusty disguise of farmer’s clothes. Volger had been right—he was as filthy as a peasant now. No one would think he was anything special. Certainly not a boy with a vast fortune in gold.

Klopp beside him was equally grubby, but still wore a pleased smile on his face.