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  The blur of passing shapes resolved around her—she was swinging toward the starboard foreleg. The impostor pilot stared, wide eyed, as she aimed both feet at him.

  But he ducked at the last second, her dress boots whistling over his head. As she swung past, Deryn’s palms skidded on the shiny metal trunk, her grip sliding.

  The man scowled at her and drew a knife.

  There was something about his face—he was paler than most of the protesters in the street.

  “Dummkopf!” she shouted at him.

  “Sie gleichen die!” he yelled back. Clanker-talk!

  Deryn narrowed her eyes—this was no Turk, or Vlach, or Kurd, or whatever else they had here in Istanbul. The man was a German, as certain as anything.

  The trouble was, how to get rid of him? She didn’t fancy her dress boots in a fight against that knife.

  She glanced up at the howdah. Dr. Barlow was shouting something at the howdah pilot, and Deryn hoped whatever the boffin was cooking up would work quickly. With every lurching step the elephant took, her grip on the polished steel loosened a squick.

  The trunk began to flex again, swinging Deryn low over the street, a blur of paving stones passing below. She wondered what sort of boffin-inspired strategy she was expected to figure out while hurtling through the air.

  Then the trunk came to a shuddering halt, the pilot keeping her steady as the machine lurched along. Deryn glanced down. She was hanging just above a table piled with spices.

  “What in blazes?” she muttered. Did Dr. Barlow expect her to tempt the German off his perch with a home-cooked meal?

  But after a moment of hanging there, a tickle started in the back of Deryn’s throat, and her eyes began to burn. Even an arm’s length away, the spices were fiery enough to notice.

  “Not bad, Dr. Barlow,” she muttered, then sneezed.

  Deryn reached down, snatching up the reddest and meanest-looking bag of spices.

  The trunk swung back into action, whipping her back toward the German driving the starboard foreleg. She could see the cold look on the man’s face as she zoomed toward him, the knife flashing in his hand.

  “Try this for dinner, bum-rag!” she shouted, and flung the entire bag straight at him.

  The momentum of the speeding trunk redoubled the force of her throw, and the sack hit the German like a cannonball. It exploded against his chest, enveloping him in a dark red cloud. Spice billowed in all directions, swirling back at Deryn.

  Red-hot fingers clamped shut her eyes. She gasped for breath, and liquid fire spilled down her lungs. Her chest felt stuffed full of embers of coal, and her grip was slipping.…

  But she landed softly—the howdah pilot had set her down. She lay there coughing and sputtering, her body trying to expel the spices from her lungs.

  Finally Deryn forced open her burning eyes.

  The metal elephant stood motionless. Both its front legs were bent, as if the huge machine were bowing down to her. The back legs alone had not been enough to keep it moving.

  Deryn saw flashes of blue slipping through the crowd, the two other impostors running away. But the German she’d blasted with spice lay in a pile of red dust, still coughing and sputtering.

  As she rose to her feet, Deryn looked down at herself.

  “Barking spiders!” she cried, then sneezed. Her uniform was ruined.

  But the loss of one middy’s dress slops was nothing compared to the trail of destruction that stretched down the street—overturned carts and wagons, a donkey-shaped walker squashed as flat as a metal bug. The gathering crowd was quiet, still in shock at what the rampaging elephant had done.

  A gangway descended from the walker’s belly. Two of the ambassador’s assistants grabbed the spice-addled German, while Newkirk and Eddie Malone ran through the crowd to her.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Sharp?” Newkirk cried.

  “I think so,” Deryn said as Malone’s camera flashed with a pop, blinding her again.

  “Then, we’d better get back aboard,” Newkirk said. “These chaps could get unruly again.”

  “But someone might be hurt.” Deryn blinked away spots, looking down the street. Were there bodies anywhere among the splintered wood and broken windows?

  “Aye, that’s why we’re in a hurry. We need to find our pilots and get moving again, before things get ugly!”

  “Things already look ugly to me,” Eddie Malone said, feeding a handful of sugar cubes to his firefly. He aimed his camera down the devastated street.

  Still blinking away red spice, Deryn followed Newkirk back toward the Dauntless. She wondered how many people had seen the impostor pilots coming aboard a hundred yards back. Would anyone realize that the elephant’s British crew hadn’t caused this disaster?

  Even if the crowd had seen what had happened, the newspapers wouldn’t report it that way. Not the ones the Germans owned.

  “You saw, right?” she said to Eddie Malone. “It was impostors driving! Not our men.”

  “Don’t you worry. I saw them,” the reporter said. “And we only print the truth in the New York World.”

  “Aye, in New York,” Deryn sighed as she climbed the gangway. The crowd was already stirring around them as the shock of the rampage faded away.

  The question was, would anyone believe them here in Istanbul?

  Alek waited in the machine room, wondering when the signal would come.

  He loosened another button on his jacket. Dr. Barlow had made the room as hot as an oven tonight. She always seemed to add more heaters when Alek watched the eggs, just to annoy him.

  At least he wouldn’t have to suffer much longer. He could already hear the distant rumble of glow plugs firing in the starboard pod. Klopp, Hoffman, and Bauer were up there, pretending to work on the engine. And being noisy about it, so no one would be surprised to see Alek heading up to help.

  After the disastrous start of Dr. Barlow’s mission today, the escape plan had changed. Alek had watched the elephant-shaped walker’s hasty return, carrying no supplies, its side spattered with some sort of red dust. Rumors had spread through the ship that the walker had been attacked, an incident in which dozens of civilians had been injured.

  Within an hour angry crowds had arrived at the airfield’s gate, threatening to attack the Leviathan. Guards were posted at all of the airship’s hatches now, and a ring of Ottoman soldiers surrounded the gondola. There would be no sneaking out through the cargo deck tonight.

  From his station up in the engine pod, however, Klopp had reported that no one was guarding the mooring tower. It was connected to the airbeast’s head by a single cable that hung eighty meters in the air. If the five of them could climb across and down, perhaps they could escape across the darkened airfield.

  Alek listened to the engine misfiring, waiting for the signal. Now that the captain considered him a prisoner of war, he was happy to leave the airship behind. He’d been a fool to let himself grow so attached. Volger was right—pretending that this flying abomination was his home had lead only to misery. Dylan might have been a good friend in some other world, but not this one.

  There it was—five sharp coughs from the glow plugs. The signal meant that Bauer and Hoffman had subdued the Darwinist crewmen in the pod. Volger would be headed up from his stateroom.

  They were really leaving. Tonight.

  Alek adjusted the eggs one last time. He picked up a fresh heater and shook it to life, then tucked it into the hay. As hot as the machine room was, Dr. Barlow’s mysterious cargo would most likely be fine until dawn. In any case, it wasn’t his concern anymore.

  Alek noticed an old smear of grease on the egg box and rubbed a finger across it. Then he drew a stripe across his cheeks, as if he’d been working up in the engine pod. If anyone saw him, they would assume that Dylan was down here with the eggs and that Alek was fetching parts for the engineers.

  He stood and hefted his toolbox. It was stuffed with spare clothes and the wireless set from the Stormwalker. The set was hea
vy, but once he and his men were hidden in the wilds, radio might be their only means of contact with the outside world.

  Alek sighed. Here aboard the Leviathan he’d almost forgotten how lonely it was to run and hide.

  The door opened with a soft squeak, and he stared out into the hall, listening to the murmurs of the ship.

  A small tapping noise reached his ears. Was someone headed this way?

  He swore softly. It was probably Dylan, coming to talk one last time. Seeing the boy again would only make this harder, and Alek needed to start toward the engine pod.

  But the noise was coming from behind him.…

  He turned around—one of the eggs was moving.

  In the rosy light of the heaters, he could see a tiny hole forming at the top of the egg. Little chips were breaking free and sliding down the smooth white surface. Fleck by fleck the hole grew larger.

  Alek stood there, his hand on the doorknob. He should be heading up, leaving these godless creatures behind. But he’d spent seven long nights watching the eggs and wondering what would emerge from them. In another few moments he would finally see.

  Alek pulled the door softly closed.

  The odd thing was, it was the middle egg hatching—the one Dr. Barlow had said was sick.

  Something was poking its way out of the hole now. It looked like a claw—or was it a paw? There was pale fur on it, not feathers.

  A small black nose poked its way out, sniffing the air.

  Alek wondered if the creature was dangerous. Of course, it was only a baby, and he had a rigging knife sheathed on his belt. But Alek stayed close to the door, just in case.

  The beast emerged slowly, reaching out to grip the edge of the box with tiny four-fingered hands. Its fur was damp, and its huge eyes blinked in the glow of the heaters. It looked about attentively, twitching as it pulled itself farther from the broken egg.

  God’s wounds, but the thing was homely. Its skin seemed too large for its body, drooping like an old man’s. It reminded Alek of his aunt’s hairless cat, bred for its bizarre looks.

  The beast stared at him and made a soft, plaintive noise.

  “You must be hungry,” Alek said softly. But he hadn’t the first idea what it ate.

  At least it was clear enough that the creature didn’t eat humans. It was far too small for that, and too … appealing, even with its strange excess of skin. Somehow the large eyes seemed wise and sad. Alek found himself wanting to pick the animal up and comfort it.

  The creature extended a tiny hand.

  Alek put down the tool kit and took a step closer. When he reached out a hand, the animal touched his fingertips, squeezing them one by one. Then it leaned forward, letting itself slide from the edge of the egg box.

  Alek caught it just in time. Even in the sweltering machine room, the creature’s body felt warm, its short fur as soft as the chinchilla coat his mother had always worn in winter. When Alek held it closer, the beast made a cooing noise.

  The huge eyes blinked slowly, staring straight into his. Thin arms wrapped around Alek’s wrist.

  It was strange, how the creature didn’t give him the same uneasy feeling as other Darwinist creations. It was too small and sleepy-looking, and gave off an air of preternatural calm.

  The engine sputtered again, and Alek realized that he was behind schedule.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “but I have to go.”

  He placed the creature back in the box amid the warm glow of the heaters. But as his hands pulled away, the animal made a high-pitched mewling noise.

  “Shush,” Alek breathed softly. “Someone will be along soon.”

  He wondered if that were true. Dylan would be here at dawn, but that was hours away.

  He took a step backward, kneeling to pick up the tool kit. The creature’s eyes grew wider, and it let out another cry that ended in a high, sweeping note, as pure as a flute.

  Alek frowned—that last sound was oddly like the whistles the crew used to command their beasts. And it was loud enough to wake someone up.

  He reached out again, shushing the creature. The instant his hand touched it, the animal went silent.

  Alek knelt there for a moment, stroking the soft fur. Finally the large eyes closed and Alek dared to pull away.

  The beast instantly sprang awake and began to mewl again. Alek swore. This was absurd, being held hostage by this newborn. He turned away and crossed the room.

  But as the door opened, the screams shifted into a burst of whistling noises. The glowworms in the machine room reacted, green light spilling from the walls. Alek imagined the whole airship waking up, message lizards scampering from all directions in response to the creature’s cries.

  “Quiet!” he whispered, but the beast didn’t stop until he went back and picked it up again.

  As Alek stood there stroking its pale fur, he came to a horrible realization.

  To have any hope of escaping, he had to take the newborn animal with him. He could hardly leave it sitting here, bawling its tiny misshapen head off for the whole ship to hear.

  He had no idea what to feed the creature or how to take care of it, or even what it was. And what would Count Volger say when he showed up with this abomination in his arms?

  But Alek didn’t have much choice.

  When he lifted the animal up from the hay, it scampered up his arm and clung to his shoulder like a cat, the tiny claws stuck fast in the wool of his mechanik’s suit.

  It looked at him expectantly.

  “We’re going for a walk now,” he said softly, hefting the tool kit again. “You’re going to stay quiet, right?”

  The creature blinked at him, a look of smug satisfaction on its face.

  Alek sighed, and went to the door. He opened it again, looking up and down the corridor. No one was coming to investigate the strange noises—not yet, anyway.

  He loosened his jacket, ready to shove the creature inside if he encountered anyone. But for the moment the animal seemed happy on his shoulder—and quiet. It felt as light as a bird there, as if designed to travel this way.

  Designed, Alek thought. This animal was fabricated, not born of nature. It had some purpose in the Darwinists’ plans, a role in Dr. Barlow’s schemes to keep the Ottomans out of the war.

  And he had no idea what that purpose was.

  Alek shuddered once, then strode into the darkened hall.

  “There you are!” Count Volger called softly from the support strut of the engine pod. “We’d almost given up on you.”

  Alek made his way along the ratlines, feeling the creature move inside his jacket. It was flexing its claws again, like tiny needles piercing his flesh.

  “I had a small … problem.”

  “Did someone see you?”

  Alek shrugged. “A few crewmen on the way. But they didn’t ask where I was headed. You play a very convincing broken engine, Maestro Klopp.”

  From down in the pod the master of mechaniks saluted, a broad smile on his face. Beside him was a very angry-looking Mr. Hirst, gagged and bound fast to the control panel.

  “Then it’s time to get moving,” Volger said. “I trust you’re all ready for a fight, if it comes to that.”

  Bauer and Hoffman brandished tools in their hands, and Volger was wearing his saber. But Alek could hardly wield a knife with the creature hiding under his coat. The time to tell them was now, not in the middle of the escape.

  “There’s still my small problem.”

  Volger frowned. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

  “Just as I was leaving, one of Dr. Barlow’s eggs hatched. Some sort of beast came out. Quite a loud one. When I tried to leave, it began to howl, like a newborn baby crying, I suppose. I thought it would wake the whole ship up!”

  Volger nodded. “So you had to strangle it. Most unpleasant, I’m sure. But they won’t find its body till morning, and by then we’ll be long gone.”

  Alek blinked.

  “You did get rid of it, didn’t yo
u, Alek?”

  “In fact, that strategy didn’t cross my mind.” Inside his jacket the creature moved, and Alek winced.

  Volger put a hand on his sword hilt and hissed, “What in blazes is under your coat?”

  “I assure you, I have no idea.” Alek cleared his throat. “But it’s perfectly well behaved, as long as one doesn’t try to abandon it.”

  “You brought it with you?” Volger leaned closer. “In case it has escaped your notice, Your Highness, we are currently trying to escape the Darwinists. If you have one of their abominations with you, kindly fling it over the side!”

  Alek tightened his grip on the ratlines. “I certainly will not, Count. For one thing, the beast would make considerable noise on the way down.”

  Volger groaned softly, his fists unclenching. “Very well, then. I suppose if it comes to a fight, we could use it as a hostage.”

  Alek nodded, unbuttoning his jacket. The creature poked its head out.

  Volger turned away with a shudder. “Just keep it quiet, or I shall silence it myself. After you, Your Highness.”

  Alek began to make his way toward the bow, the others following in silence. They climbed along the ratlines just above the airship’s waist, the ropes sagging under the weight of the five men and their heavy bags. It was slow going, and poor old Klopp wore a look of terror on his face, but at least no one on the spine could see them.

  When the newborn beast began to squirm, Alek opened his jacket the rest of the way. It crawled out and climbed onto his shoulder, its huge eyes narrowing in the breeze.

  “Just be careful,” he whispered. “And stay quiet.”

  The creature turned to him with a bored expression, as if Alek were saying something terribly obvious.

  Soon the awful fléchette bats were everywhere.

  The bow of the airship was covered with them, a seething mass of small black shapes all softly clucking. Dylan had once explained to Alek that the clicks made echoes, which the creatures used to “see” in the dark. They had eyes as well—a thousand beady pairs were following Alek expectantly. No matter how carefully he moved, the bats fluttered about him. It was like trying to sneak through a flock of pigeons on a footpath.