Leviathan

TWENTY-SIX

As they walked back toward the hatchway, Dylan said, “The lady boffin must think you’re something special.”

Alek looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“That machine room is supposed to be off-limits.” Dylan leaned closer, whispering, “There’s something barking odd in there.”

Alek didn’t answer, wondering what could possibly qualify as odd in this menagerie of abominations. In the last few hours he’d seen enough uncanny creatures for a lifetime.

“But I suppose it’s all right,” Dylan continued. “Seeing as how you’ve decided to help us.”

“No thanks to you.”

Dylan came to a halt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If it were just you stranded on this glacier, I wouldn’t lift a finger.”

“Well, that’s a bit rude!”

“A bit rude?” Alek sputtered. “I brought you medicines. I saved you from … frostbitten bum. And when I asked you to keep quiet, you set those awful dogs on me!”

“Aye,” Dylan said. “But you were running off.”

“I had to go home!”

“Well, I had to stop you.” Dylan folded his arms. “I took an oath to the Air Service, and to King George, to protect this ship. So I couldn’t go making promises to some intruder I’d just met, could I?”

Alek looked away, his anger suddenly exhausted. “Well, I suppose you were doing your duty.”

“Aye, I suppose so too.” Dylan turned with a huff and started walking again. “And I was going to thank you for not shooting me.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“And special thanks for not burning up the whole ship. Including yourself, you daft bum-rag.”

“I didn’t know the air was full of hydrogen.”

“Couldn’t you smell it?” Dylan laughed. “Those fancy tutors didn’t teach you much useful, did they?”

Alek didn’t argue—among the things he’d learned from his tutors was how to ignore insults. Instead he asked, “So is that hydrogen I’m smelling now?”

“Not in here,” Dylan said. “The digestive tract has regular air, except for a wee bit of extra methane. That’s why it smells like cow farts.”

“My education continues,” Alek said with a sigh.

Dylan gestured up at the pink curved walls. “See those puffy bits between the ribs? Those are hydrogen bladders. And the whole top half of the whale is full of the stuff. What you’re seeing is just the gut—a wee sliver. The beastie’s two hundred feet from top to bottom!”

More than sixty meters—Alek felt a bit unsteady on his feet.

“Makes you feel like a tick on a dog, doesn’t it?” Dylan said, opening the hatch. He hooked his boots around the ladder’s edges and slid down, hitting the deck with a thump.

“A charming image,” Alek muttered, feeling a shiver of relief as he climbed back down into the gondola. It was good to have a sturdy deck under his feet again, even if it was tilted, and walls that were solid instead of membranes and bladders. “But I prefer machines, I’m afraid.”

“Machines!” Dylan cried. “Barking useless. Give me fabricated species any day.”

“Really?” Alek said. “Have your scientists bred anything that can run as fast as a train?”

“No, but have you Clankers ever made a train that can hunt for its own food, or heal itself, or reproduce?”

“Reproduce?” Alek laughed. For a moment he imagined a litter of baby train cars populating a railroad yard, which led his mind to other aspects of the mating process. “Of course not. What a repulsive idea.”

“And trains need tracks to run,” Dylan said, ticking off points on his fingers. “An elephantine can move across any sort of terrain.”

“So can walkers.”

“Walkers are rubbish compared to real beasties! Clumsy as a drunk monkey, and they can’t even get up when they fall!”

Alek snorted, though that last part was true of the bigger dreadnoughts. “Well, if your ‘beasties’ are so wonderful, then how did the Germans shoot you down? With machines.”

Dylan gave him a dark look, pulling off a glove. His bare hand curled into a fist. “Ten to one, and all of them went down too. And I’ll bet they didn’t land as softly.”

Alek realized he’d said too much. Dylan probably knew crewmen who’d been wounded, or even killed, in the crash. For a moment Alek wondered if the boy was going to punch him.

But Dylan simply spat on the floor and turned to stalk away.

“Wait,” Alek called. “I’m sorry.”

The boy stopped but didn’t turn around. “Sorry about what?”

“That your ship’s so badly hurt. And for saying I’d let you starve.”

“Come on,” Dylan said gruffly. “We’ve got eggs to tend to.”

Alek blinked, then hurried to follow. Eggs?

They made their way to a small room on the gondola’s middle deck. It was a mess—machine parts strewn across the floor, along with broken glass and sprigs of hay. It felt oddly warm in here, with a smell like …

“Is that brimstone?” Alek asked.

“The scientific name is sulfur. See here?” Dylan led him to a large box in a corner, which steamed with heat in the cold air. “Eggs have loads of sulfur in them, and most of these are broken, thanks to your German pals.”

Alek blinked in the gloom. The rounded shapes before him looked exactly like … giant eggs.

“What sort of monstrous creature laid these?”

“They weren’t laid, but made in a laboratory. When you create a new beastie, they have to stew for a while. The life threads are in there, building the beasties out of egg muck.”

Alek looked down with distaste. “It all sounds very ungodly.”

Dylan laughed. “The same thing happened when your ma carried you. Every living creature’s got life threads, a whole instruction set in every cell of your body.”

This was clearly pure rubbish, but Alek didn’t dare argue. The last thing he wanted was more disgusting details. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off the gently steaming eggs.

“But what’s going to come out of these?”

Dylan shrugged. “The lady boffin’s not telling.”

The boy slipped his hand into the hay where the giant eggs were nestled, and pulled out a thermometer. He squinted at it, swore softly at the darkness, then drew a tin pipe from his pocket and blew a few notes.

The room grew brighter, and Alek noticed a cluster of the glowing worms hanging from the ceiling by his head. He took a step away from them. “What are those things?”

Dylan looked up from his work. “What? Glowworms?”

Alek nodded. “An appropriate name, I suppose. Haven’t you Darwinists discovered fire yet?”

“Get stuffed,” Dylan said. “We use oil lamps, but until the ship’s all patched, it’s too barking dangerous. What do they use on zeppelins, candles?”

“Don’t be absurd. I imagine they have electrical lights.”

Dylan snorted. “Waste of energy. Bioluminescence worms make light from any kind of food. They can even eat soil, like an earthworm.”

Alek eyed the cluster of worms uneasily. “And you whistle at them?”

“Aye.” Dylan brandished the pipe. “I can command most of the ship’s beasties with this.”

“Yes, I remember you whistling up those … spider-dogs?”

Dylan laughed. “Hydrogen sniffers. They patrol the skin for leaks—and chase down the occasional intruder. Sorry if they scared you.”

“They didn’t scare—,” Alek started, but then he noticed a pile of satchels on the floor. They were the ones he’d brought, the first-aid kits.

He knelt and opened one up. It was still full.

“Oh, right.” Dylan turned back to the eggs, looking sheepish. “We haven’t got those to the sick bay yet.”

“I can see that.”

“Well, Dr. Barlow had to check them first!” Dylan cleared his throat. “Then she wanted to see you straightaway.”

Alek sighed, closing the satchel again. “Bringing medicine was probably a pointless gesture. No doubt you Darwinists heal people with … leeches or something.”

“Not that I know of.” Dylan laughed. “Of course, we do use bread mold to stop infections.”

“I certainly hope you’re kidding.”

“I never lie!” Dylan said, standing up from his work. “Listen, Alek, these eggs are warm as toast. Let’s take those kits to the surgeons now. I’m sure they’ll find a use for them.”

Alek raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not just humoring me?”

“Well, I’d also like to look for the bosun. He got shot right before the crash, and I don’t know if he made it. Him and a mate of mine were dangling from a rope when we went down.”

Alek nodded. “All right.”

“And coming here was hardly a pointless gesture,” Dylan said. “After all, you saved my bum from frostbite.”

As they made their way toward the sick bay, Alek noticed that the corridors and stairways felt less dizzying.

“The ship isn’t as slanted, is it?” he asked.

“They’re adjusting the harness,” Dylan said. “A bit each hour, so as not to disturb the whale. I’ve heard we should be level by dawn.”

“Dawn,” Alek muttered. By then Volger would be launching whatever plans he’d made. “How long is that from now?”

Dylan pulled a watch from his pocket. “Half an hour? But it may be a while before the sun comes over the mountains.”

“Just half an hour?” Alek fumed. “Do you think the captain will listen to Dr. Barlow?”

Dylan shrugged. “She’s a fancy-boots, even for a boffin.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means she’s barking important. We set down in Regent’s Park just to pick her up. She’ll make the old man listen.”

“Good.” They passed a row of portholes, and Alek looked out at the brightening sky. “My family will be here soon.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “You’re quite up yourself, aren’t you?”

“Pardon me?”

“You think quite highly of yourself,” Dylan explained slowly, as if talking to an idiot. “Like you’re something special.”

Alek looked at the boy, wondering what to say. It was pointless to explain that, in fact, he was something special— the heir to an empire of fifty million souls. Dylan had no way of understanding what that meant.

“I suppose I’ve had an unusual upbringing.”

“You’re an only child, I’d guess.”

“Well … yes.”

“Hah! I knew it,” Dylan crowed. “So you think your family are going to throw themselves against a hundred men in a warship, just to get you back?”

Alek nodded, saying simply, “They are.”

“Barking spiders!” Dylan shook his head and laughed. “Your parents must spoil you rotten.”

Alek turned away, starting down the corridor again. “I suppose they did.”

“They did?” Dylan ran a few steps to catch up. “Hang on, are your parents dead?”

Alek’s answer caught in his throat, and he realized something strange. His mother and father had died more than a month ago, but this part—telling someone about it—was new. The Stormwalker’s crew had known before he had, after all.

He didn’t dare speak. Even after all this time, saying the words aloud risked his losing control of the emptiness inside.

All he could do was nod.

Bizarrely, Dylan smiled at him. “My da’s gone too! It’s pure dead horrible, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. I’m sorry.”

“At least my mum’s still alive.” The boy shrugged. “I’ve had to give her the slip, though. She didn’t understand me wanting to be a soldier.”

Alek frowned. “What mother wouldn’t want a soldier for a son?”

Dylan bit his lip, then shrugged again. “It’s a wee bit complicated. My da would’ve understood, though… .”

His voice trailed off as they passed through a wide room with a long table at its center, a cold wind sweeping in through a large shattered window. Dylan paused and stood there a moment, watching the sky turn a metallic rosy gray. The silence felt heavy to Alek, and he wished for the hundredth time that he’d inherited his father’s gift for saying the right thing.

Finally he cleared his throat. “I’m glad I didn’t shoot you, Dylan.”

“Aye, me too,” the boy said simply, and turned away. “Now let’s get those kits to the surgeon and see about Mr. Rigby.”

Alek followed, hoping that Mr. Rigby, whoever he might be, was still alive.