Leviathan

THIRTY-THREE

Alek tried to move, but his arms were pinned, wrapped in a freezing embrace of snow.

He struggled for a moment, then realized he was still strapped into the pilot’s seat. As he opened the buckles and slipped from the chair, the world seemed to reorient itself.

The viewport was sideways, like the vertical slit of a cat’s eye.

Now that he thought of it, the whole cabin was sideways. The starboard wall was now the floor, and the hand straps all hung helter-skelter.

Alek blinked, unable to believe it. He’d wrecked the walker.

The cabin was dark—the lights had failed—and strangely silent. The engines must have shut down automatically in the fall. Alek heard breathing beside him.

“Klopp,” he said, “are you all right?”

“I think so, but something’s …” The man lifted one arm. Tazza crawled out from beneath it with a plaintive whine, then shook himself, spraying snow across the cabin.

“Do stop that, Tazza,” Dr. Barlow’s voice came from the darkness.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Alek asked.

“I am, but Mr. Sharp appears to be hurt.”

Alek crawled closer. Dylan lay with his head in Dr. Barlow’s lap, his eyes closed. A fresh cut stretched across his forehead, blood running into his black eye from the crash. His thin features were pale behind the bruising.

Alek swallowed. This was his fault—he’d been at the controls.

“Help me find some bandages, Klopp.”

Shoveling snow aside, they managed to get the storage locker open. Klopp pulled out two first-aid kits and handed one to Alek.

“I’ll see to Mr. Sharp,” Dr. Barlow said, taking the kit from him. “I’m not as hopeless a nurse as I pretend.”

Alek nodded and turned to help Klopp with the belly hatch, which was now in the wall of the upended cabin. The mechanism resisted for a moment, then opened with an angry metal screech.

Hoffman, strapped sideways into the gunner’s chair, called out that he and Bauer were bumped and bruised, but whole. Alek breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t killed anyone.

He turned to Klopp. “I’m sorry I fell.”

The man let out a snort. “Took you long enough, young master. Now we can finally call you a proper pilot.”

“What?”

“You think I’ve never wrecked a walker?” Klopp laughed. “It’s all part of learning the craft, young master.”

Alek blinked, not sure if the man was kidding.

A metal plink rang through the cabin. Klopp looked up as another, then more, followed, like a hailstorm slowly building.

“Fléchettes,” Dr. Barlow said.

“Let’s hope they get those zeppelins,” Klopp said softly. “Otherwise Count Volger will be very unhappy with us.”

“I’ll take a look outside,” Alek said. “We might be able to stand up and rejoin the fight.”

Klopp shook his head. “Not likely, young master. Stay here till the battle’s over.”

“That sounds like wise advise,” Dr. Barlow said in German.

But the rain of fléchettes was tapering off, and Alek heard the sound of airship engines close by.

“I have to see what’s going on,” he said. “We’ve still got a working machine gun!”

“STANDING FIRM.”

Klopp tried to argue, but Alek ignored him, shoveling a few handfuls of snow aside and shimmying out the viewport.

The sunlit snow was blinding for a moment, except for the dark crater left by the zeppelin’s aerial bomb. Almost a direct hit. The Stormwalker’s trail of footprints went straight into the blackened hole, then zigzagged to where the machine lay in a crumpled heap.

Alek flexed his hands, remembering his struggle to keep the walker upright. He’d almost done it. But almost meant nothing now. The engine casing was cracked; hot oil steamed out onto the snow. One giant metal leg was twisted wrong. The machine couldn’t possibly stand again.

He tore his eyes away, scanning the sky. The Kondor that had bombed them was barely a hundred meters away. It was flying just above the snow, its gasbag fluttering, full of holes from the fléchette attack.

Shouts came from up on its topside. Two airmen had seen him, and were swinging a machine gun around.

Then Alek realized where he was standing—right in front of the walker’s breastplate, the Hapsburg coat of arms proclaiming exactly who and what he was …

An utter fool.

Before he could move, the Kondor’s machine gun erupted. Bullets rang from the walker’s steel hull and kicked up snow around his feet. Alek froze, waiting for hot metal to rip through his flesh.

But then the air began to crinkle around the zeppelin. The dazzling flash of the machine gun was spreading, shimmering down the airship’s flanks. Too late, the German airmen realized what was happening. The gun fell silent.

But the flame was a living thing now, dancing in the hydrogen spilled from the torn skin. The Kondor dropped, its gondola thudding against the snow. The gasbag crumpled, squeezing more hydrogen from the holes, and a hundred fiery geysers erupted.

Alek squinted and covered his face. The whole airship glowed from within as it rose up, carried back into the sky by its own heat. The aluminum skeleton inside was melting. The Kondor twisted, then broke in the middle, a huge mushroom of fire bellowing from the split.

And then the two halves were swirling downward again.

They seemed to hit the ground gently, but the snow shrieked and hissed as melted metal and burning hydrogen turned it to steam. White clouds billowed around the two halves of wreckage, and Alek heard awful cries over the roar of flame.

“You Clankers really should use air guns.”

Alek turned. “Dylan! Are you all right?”

“AS THE KONDOR BURNS.”

“Aye, you know me,” the boy said. His forehead was bandaged, his eyes bright as he watched the inferno. “A bit of smelling salts and I’m back on my feet.” He smiled, then swayed a bit.

Alek put an arm around the boy’s shoulders to steady him, but their eyes were drawn to the dying airship again.

“Horrible, isn’t it?” Alek whispered.

“Too much like my nightmares.” Dylan looked around. “Look, the other one’s scampering.”

Alek turned. The second zeppelin was in the distance, headed away. A few of the Leviathan’s larger hawks were giving chase, harrying the crew on its back. But soon it had slipped over the mountains, making for the floating hangars on Lake Constance.

“We beat them,” Dylan said with a weary smile.

“Maybe. But now they know where we are.”

Alek looked at the Stormwalker again—broken and silent, except for a hiss where hot oil was leaking onto the snow. If Klopp couldn’t fix it, the Germans would have two prizes waiting when they returned: the wounded Leviathan and the missing prince of Hohenberg.

“When they come back,” he said, “they’ll bring more than a pair of Kondors.”

“Aye, maybe.” Dylan clapped his shoulder. “But don’t worry, Alek. We’ll be ready for them.”

“Perhaps the Darwinists can help us,” Klopp said.

Alek looked up from the engine hatch, where he was passing tools to Hoffman. The transmission wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Every drop of oil was spilled, but none of the gears had cracked.

The real problem was standing up again. One of the walker’s knees was twisted. It might have the strength to walk, but scrambling to its feet was a different matter.

Alek shook his head. “I doubt they have any creatures strong enough to lift a walker.”

“They have one,” Klopp said, gazing at the vast bulk of the airship. “When that godforsaken beast goes up, we can run cables to the Stormwalker. Like lifting a puppet on strings.”

“A thirty-five-ton puppet?” Alek wished that Dr. Barlow were still here; she would know the Leviathan’s lifting capacity. But she and Dylan had headed off to check her precious eggs.

“Why not?” Klopp said, looking back at the castle. “They’ve got all the food they could ask for.”

Across the glacier the Stormwalker’s abandoned cargo was swarming with birds. The Darwinists had sent a work party to chop open the boxes and barrels, and hungry flocks had soon descended.

The Leviathan’s creatures seemed to know there was no time to lose.

“Young master?” Hoffman said quietly. “Here comes trouble.”

Alek looked up and saw a figure in a fur coat coming across the snow. He felt his mouth go dry.

Count Volger wore a cold expression. One hand was clenched around the pommel of his sword.

“Do you know what you’ve done to us?” he said.

Alek’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“It was my—,” Klopp started.

“Be silent.” Volger held up a hand. “Yes, you should have knocked this young idiot on the head to keep him out of sight. But I want to hear his explanation, not yours.”

“In point of fact they knocked me on the head,” Klopp mumbled, heading off to help Bauer.

Alek drew himself up. “It was the right choice, Count. Shooting down both of those zeppelins was our only chance to stay hidden.” He pointed at the charred remains across the snow. “We got one of them, after all.”

“Yes, bravo,” Volger said, acid in his voice. “I witnessed your brilliant strategy of standing in front of its guns.”

Alek took a slow breath. “Count Volger, you will kindly keep a civil tone.”

“You abandon your post, you ignore your own safety, and now this!” Volger pointed at the broken walker, his hand quivering with anger and disgust. “And you’re telling me to be civil? Don’t you realize that the Germans will be back soon, and you’ve left us with no way to escape!”

“It was a risk I was willing to take.”

Volger’s voice dropped. “It’s one thing to risk yourself, Alek, but what about the lives of your men? What do you think will happen to them when the Germans come?”

Alek glanced at the spot where Klopp had been standing, but the other three men had found work for themselves out of sight.

“Klopp says we can repair the walker.”

“I may be a cavalry officer, Alek, but I can see that this machine won’t stand on its own.”

“No. But the Darwinists can pull us upright, once they reinflate the airship.”

“Forget your new friends,” Volger said bitterly. “After this last attack their ship is beyond repair.”

“But the zeppelins hardly touched it.”

“Only because they wanted to capture the airbeast alive,” Count Volger said. “So they focused their fire on the mechaniks. From what I’ve overheard, the engines are shot to pieces—impossible to fix.”

Alek peered at the giant black shape splayed across the snow, the birds whirling overhead. “But they’re reinflating the ship. They must be planning something.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Volger said. “They’re going up without engines, like a hot-air balloon. An east wind will carry them over France. It should work, as long as that wind arrives before the Germans do.”

Alek looked at the Stormwalker, despairing. Maybe they could still pull the walker upright … but the Leviathan would never have enough control to set the walker on its feet.

Volger took a step closer, the anger fading from his face. Suddenly he looked exhausted. “It’s up to you to decide, Alek, if you want to surrender.”

“Surrender?” Alek said. “But the Germans would hang me.”

“No—to the Darwinists. Tell them who and what you are, and I’m sure they’ll take you with them. You’ll be a prisoner, but you’ll be safe. Perhaps they’ll win this war. And then, if you’ve been obedient, they might install you on the throne of Austria-Hungary, a friendly puppet emperor to keep the peace.”

Alek took a step backward in the snow. Volger couldn’t be saying this. It was one thing to stay hidden—no one expected a fifteen-year-old to fight on the front lines. But surrendering to the enemy?

He’d be remembered as a traitor for all time.

“There must be another choice.”

“Of course. You can stay here and fight when the Germans come. And die with the rest of us.”

Alek shook his head. It made no sense, Volger talking like this. The man always had a strategy, some plan to bend the world to his will. He couldn’t be giving up.

“You needn’t decide yet, Alek,” Volger said. “We have a day or so before the Germans return. You might have a long life in front of you, if you surrender.” He shrugged again. “But I’m done with giving you advice.”

With that, the man turned and walked away.