Leviathan

SEVENTEEN

The land frigate stood atop a distant rise, its signal flags snapping in the breeze.

“That’s a bother,” Klopp said, lowering his field glasses. “She’s a thousand-tonner, Wotan class. A new experimental model. Small enough to make good speed; big enough to pound us into dust.”

Alek took the glasses from Klopp and raised them to his eyes.

The Herkules wasn’t the largest landship they’d seen, but with its eight long legs—arranged like a spider’s—it did look nimble. The array of smokestacks suggested a powerful engine bank inside.

“What’s she doing here at the Swiss border?” Alek asked. “Isn’t there a war on?”

“One might think she was waiting for us,” Count Volger said.

“See that crow’s nest?” Klopp pointed at a tall mast rising from the frigate’s gun deck. Two tiny figures stood on the platform mounted at its top. “That lookout tower isn’t standard equipment.”

“And the lookouts are facing this way—into Austria,” Bauer said. The pilot’s cabin was crowded, the other three arranged around Alek like a family portrait. “I doubt they’re stationed here to protect us from invasion.”

“No, they’re here to keep us in,” Alek said, lowering the field glasses. “They knew we were headed to Switzerland, thanks to me.”

Count Volger shrugged. “Where else would we go?”

Alek supposed he was right. With the war spreading every day, Switzerland was the only country staying neutral—the last place for fugitives and deserters to hide.

But it still didn’t seem fair, running straight into this land frigate. They’d been weaving back and forth across Austria for more than a month— creeping through forests for a few hours every night. They’d been hunted, shot at, even dive-bombed by an aeroplane. They’d spent whole days scavenging parts and fuel from farm machines and junkyards, just enough to keep the Stormwalker running. And finally they’d reached a passage to safety, only to find it guarded by a giant metal spider.

It was certain the Herkules wasn’t going anywhere soon. A command tent was pitched under her engines, where a six-legged cargo walker waited to fetch supplies and fresh crew.

“How far are we from the border?” Alek asked.

“You’re looking at it, sir,” Bauer said, pointing past the frigate. “Those mountains are in Switzerland.”

Klopp shook his head. “Might as well be Mars. Backtracking to another mountain pass will take a week at least.”

“We’d never make it,” Alek said, flicking the kerosene gauge. The needle shivered at the halfway mark, enough for a few days at most.

Fuel had been hard to come by after Alek’s foolishness at Lienz. Horse scouts swept the carriage paths and zeppelins patrolled the skies—all because he’d behaved like a spoiled brat.

But at least Volger had been right about one thing. Prince Aleksandar of Hohenberg had not been forgotten.

“We can’t go around them,” Alek decided. “So we’ll go right through them.”

Klopp shook his head. “She’s designed for stern chases, young master. Her big guns are in the forward turrets— she can pound us without turning sideways.”

“I didn’t say we’d fight her,” Alek said. Klopp and Volger stared at him, and he wondered why they were being so thick. He sighed. “Before this all began, had any of you ever traveled in a walker at night?”

Klopp shrugged. “Too risky. In the Balkan Wars all the walker battles were in broad daylight.”

“Exactly,” Alek said. “But we’ve crossed the length of Austria in darkness. We’ve mastered a skill that no one else even dares to practice.”

“You’ve mastered night-walking,” Klopp said. “My old eyes can’t manage it.”

“Nonsense, Klopp. You’re still the far better pilot.”

The man shook his head. “In daylight, perhaps. But if we’re doing any running in the dark, it should be you at the saunters.”

Alek frowned. This whole last month he’d assumed old Klopp was letting him pilot for the sake of practice. The idea that he had surpassed his old master of mechaniks was unsettling. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as blazes,” Klopp said, clapping Alek on the back. “What do you say, Count? We’ve given our young Mozart here enough practice in night-walking. Might as well put him to the test!”

They started the engines just after sunset.

The last rays still shone like pearl on the snowy peaks in the distance. But long shadows stretched from the mountains, plunging the pass into darkness.

Alek’s hand moved to the control saunters—

Suddenly a pair of searchlights lanced out from the frigate. They swept across the dark expanse—bright knives slicing the night into pieces.

His hands dropped from the controls. “They know we’re here.”

“Nonsense, young master,” Klopp said. “They’ve realized by now that we move at night. But two searchlights can’t cover the whole border.”

Alek hesitated. There were always rumors of German secret weapons: listening devices or machines that peered through fog and darkness with radio waves. “What if they have more than just lights?”

“Then we’ll improvise.” Klopp smiled.

Alek watched the searchlights carefully. Their paths across the valley seemed to have no pattern. Staying hidden would hinge on pure luck, which didn’t seem like enough. This plan had been all his idea; any disaster was on Alek’s head alone.

He forced the thought away, remembering his father’s favorite line from the poet Goethe: The dangers of life are infinite, and among them is safety.

The real hazard was hiding here in Austria. If they tried to avoid any risks, they’d be found sooner or later. He placed his hands on the saunters again.

“Ready?” he said.

“Whenever you are, Alek.” Count Volger pulled himself up into the top hatch, resting his feet on the back of the pilot’s seat. The toes of his boots tapped Alek’s shoulders, both at once—the signal to move ahead.

Alek gripped the control saunters and took a first step.

Volger’s boot pressed his left shoulder softly, and Alek nudged the walker leftward. It was annoying, being controlled like a puppet, but from topside the count had a better view.

“Easy now,” Klopp said as the walker leaned forward. The path led steeply downhill, into the long, narrow valley that the Herkules guarded. “Short steps.”

Alek nodded, his grip tightening as the walker skidded down the slope a little.

“Drop the rear anchor, Hoffman,” Klopp said into the intercom.

A rattle of unwinding chain came from behind them. Alek felt the tug of the anchor as it cut through roots and undergrowth, dragged along like a child’s toy.

“Bothersome, I know,” Klopp said. “But this way we won’t roll if we fall.”

“I’m not going to fall,” Alek said, his hands tight on the saunters. With the engines at quarter power, the massive feet moved slowly—like walking in syrup.

The moon was just beginning to rise, and through the viewport Alek could see nothing but a dark confusion of branches. Volger’s boots nudged him left and right with no apparent pattern, the walker’s feet snagging on roots and underbrush. It was like being led, blindfolded and barefoot, across a room covered with mousetraps.

Finally they reached the valley floor, and Klopp rolled up the anchor. Alek still couldn’t see anything but the branches thwacking against the open viewport, scattering leaves across the control panel. He wondered if they were stirring the treetops overhead, like a fish moving below the surface of a pond.

His mind began to buzz with doubts. Perhaps they should have picked a windy night to try this. Or why not wait for a rainstorm? Or the darkness of the new moon?

With a sudden clang of boots on metal, Volger dropped into the pilot’s cabin.

“Get us down!”

Alek reached for the control panel, but Klopp’s hands were faster—a hissing filled the cabin as the walker settled lower in the trees.

Moments later a blinding light swept across them.

The searchlight lingered a few seconds, then drifted into the forest ahead, continuing its lazy path among the trees.

“Get us moving again,” Volger said. “They’ll look elsewhere now.”

“I’m afraid it may be a moment,” Klopp said, his eyes on the gauges.

“Our engines are barely running,” Alek explained. “Building our knee pressure back up will take time.” He leaned back and stretched his fingers, happy for a break. He was starting to wish the frigate would spot them and give chase. A good run would be better than creeping through the dark at quarter speed.

The belly hatch opened, and Hoffman’s head emerged.

“Pardon me, sirs. But do you hear that?”

They all listened for a moment, and Alek’s ears caught a rushing sound below the engine’s rumble.

“A stream?” he asked.

Hoffman grinned. “A noisy one, sir. Noisier than us, anyway.”

“Excellent,” Alek said, sitting up. “Up to half speed, Master Klopp?”

Klopp listened for another moment, then nodded.

Soon the Stormwalker was splashing down the stream, its engine noise mixing with the rush of water. The moon was higher now, the path shimmering in front of them. Volger was still up top watching for searchlights, but at least he wasn’t standing on Alek’s shoulders anymore.

The spray from the stream was icy; snow must still have been melting up in the mountains, even now in early August. Alek wondered how long they would have to stay in the Alps. He hoped Volger’s mysterious preparations included a cabin with a warm fire.

The ground began to climb. They were nearing the rise where the land frigate stood guard. Alek lowered the engines back to quarter speed, and the Stormwalker became maddeningly lead-footed again. There were no sounds except the calls of night birds, the splashing of giant metal feet, and the babble of the stream.

Then a boot hit the back of his chair with a thump. “Volger! What are you—”

Something flashed in the darkness ahead. Alek froze, the walker pausing halfway through a step. He peered into the darkness.

“Should I shut the engines down?” he whispered.

“Don’t!” Klopp said. “If they’ve spotted us, we’ll need power.”

Volger swung down from the hatch. “Germans! On foot, a hundred meters ahead. They haven’t seen us. Not yet, anyway.”

Alek swore softly, his hands flexing on the controls. He wondered which was worse, being spotted or sitting here frozen, like a rabbit waiting for a hawk to swoop. He leaned closer to the viewport, shielding his eyes. Something metal flashed in the darkness, and then he heard a shout.

“I think they just …,” he began.

Splashes of water sparkled white in the moonlight— a squad of infantrymen was running across the stream, shouting. One knelt on the bank and raised his rifle.

“… noticed us,” Alek finished as a crack rang out. The bullet struck metal somewhere on the walker’s body.

“Prepare to fire!” Klopp called through the intercom.

“No!” Alek said as his hands flicked across the controls.

“Alek’s right,” Count Volger said. “Those rifles might perk up the frigate’s ears, but a cannon shot will remove all doubt. Just go through them.”

The engines came to a roar beneath him, and Alek pushed the saunters forward. The Stormwalker’s huge feet stretched out, splashing through the shallow water.

They charged up the stream, scattering the Germans like tenpins. A few bullets pinged off the armor as they passed, but Alek didn’t bother to order the viewport closed. Vision was more precious than safety.

No stumbles now, no mistakes or they’d all be caught.

The moon had cleared the trees, the water shimmering in their path. A smile grew on Alek’s face as he brought the Stormwalker into a run. Let the frigate try and catch them now.

No one could night-walk like him.