Volger's face fell back into its usual stony expression, as if Deryn were a bug crawling across his breakfast. "Listen, boy. You have no idea what I've given up for Alek - my title, my future, my family's name. I'll never see my home again, no matter who wins this war. I'm a traitor in the eyes of my people, and all of it to keep Alek safe."
Deryn held his stare. "Aye, but you're not the only one who's had to go against his own country. I kept Alek's secrets and looked the other way when you lot were planning to escape. So don't go getting all high and mighty on me."
Volger glared at her another moment, then let out a tired laugh. He finally took his bite of potatoes, and chewed them thoughtfully.
"You're as worried about him as I am, aren't you?"
"Of course I am," Deryn said.
"It's quite touching, really." Volger poured more tea for them both. "I'm glad Alek had you as a friend, Dylan, even if you are a commoner."
Deryn rolled her eyes. Aristocrats were so barking stuck up.
"But Alek has trained for this moment his whole life," Volger went on. "His father and I always knew that one day he would be alone, with the whole world against him. And Alek has made it amply clear that he was ready to go on without me."
Deryn shook her head. "But you've got it all wrong, Count. Alek didn't want to go it alone; he wanted more allies, not less. He even said he wanted to ..."
She remembered the last time they'd spoken, two nights before. Alek had wished that there were a way for him to stay aboard the Leviathan, because the airship felt like the only place he'd ever belonged. And she'd been a bum-rag about the whole thing, just because he hadn't been declaring his undying love for her.
Suddenly her throat was too tight to speak.
Volger leaned forward and regarded her. "You're a very sensitive boy, Dylan."
Deryn glared back at him. It didn't mean she was barking "sensitive," just because she knew when things mattered.
"I just hope he's all right," she said after a good swallow of tea.
"As do I. Perhaps we can still help Alek, you and I together."
"How do you mean?"
"He has a bigger part to play in this war than you understand, Dylan," the count said. "His granduncle the emperor is a very old man."
"Aye, but the throne doesn't mean anything to Alek, because his mum isn't royal enough. Right?"
"Ah, I see he told you everything," Volger said, giving her an odd smile. "But in politics there are always exceptions. When the right time comes, Alek could tip the balance of this war."
Deryn frowned. What the count was saying didn't quite square up with Alek's story, about how his family had always looked down on him and his mother. But back in the Alps, of course, the Germans had sent a massive fleet of airships to capture him. They, at least, seemed to think he was important.
"But what can we do to help him?"
"At the moment, not much. But one never knows what opportunities might present themselves. The problem is that I no longer have a wireless set."
Deryn frowned. "You had a wireless? Did the officers know about that?"
"They didn't ask." Count Volger waved a hand at his breakfast. "And I see you haven't thought to bring me the morning newspapers. So if you could keep me apprised of events, I would appreciate it."
"What? Spy for you?" Deryn cried. "Not barking likely!"
"I could make it worth your while."
"With what? Cups of tea?"
The wildcount smiled. "Perhaps I can do better than that. For example, you must be wondering about a certain missing creature."
"The beastie that hatched last night? You know where it is?" The man didn't answer, but Deryn's mind was already spinning. "Then it must have hatched before Alek left the machine room! He's got it with him, hasn't he?"
"Perhaps. Or perhaps we strangled it to keep it quiet." Volger took his last bite of toast and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Do you think your Dr. Barlow would be interested in the details?"
Deryn narrowed her eyes. The way the lady boffin was acting, she already had a good idea where the newborn creature had gone. Suddenly it all made sense. Deryn would've seen it herself if she hadn't been so exhausted.
Now that she thought about it, quite a few peculiarities surrounding the eggs were beginning to make sense.
"Aye," Deryn said. "She might be interested."
"Then, I'll tell you exactly how your creature fared last night, as long as you keep me informed over the next few days." The count looked out the window. "The Ottomans will soon make their decision about entering this war. Alek's next step will depend greatly on that choice."
Deryn followed his gaze out the window. The spires of Istanbul were just visible in the distance, the haze of engine smoke already rising over the city. "Well, I could tell you what the newspapers say. That's not spying, I suppose."
"Excellent." Count Volger stood, offering his hand. "I think you and I may be allies after all."
Deryn stared at his hand a moment, then sighed and shook it. "Thank you for the tea, sir. And by the way, next time you try to escape, I'd be much obliged if you did it more quietly. Or at least in the middle of the day."
"Of course." Volger bowed gracefully, then said, "And if you ever want to learn to fence properly, Mr. Sharp, do let me know."
Chapter Seventeen
Halfway back to the bosun's cabin, a message lizard stopped on the ceiling overhead and fixed her with its beady eyes.
"Mr. Sharp," it squawked in the lady boffin's voice, "I shall need you in full dress today. We'll be visiting the sultan."
Deryn stared up at the beastie, wondering if she'd heard right. The sultan? The man who ruled over the whole barking Ottoman Empire?
"I have told Mr. Rigby to relieve you of other duties," the lizard continued. "Meet me out on the airfield at noon, and make sure you look sharp."
Deryn swallowed. "Aye, ma'am. I'll be there. End message."
As the beastie scuttled away, she closed her eyes and softly swore. She didn't even have a dress uniform to wear, not since yesterday. Deryn had taken off her jacket before she'd jumped onto the Dauntless's trunk, but her only fancy shirt was still bright red from the spice bomb. Even after two washings, one whiff of the shirt was strong enough to make a dead horse sneeze. She'd have to borrow one of Newkirk's, and that meant making adjustments with her sewing kit....
She groaned, then headed toward her cabin at a run.
As Deryn descended the gangway hours later, the rumble of Clanker engines sprang to life around her. In the airship's shadow Newkirk, the bosun, and a dozen riggers were loading themselves onto a squadron of walkers in the shapes of donkeys and water buffaloes. They were headed to the markets for supplies, and looked to be in a hurry. If the Leviathan didn't leave the city by late afternoon today, the Ottomans would have every right to impound it.
The officers hadn't let on where the ship was going next. But wherever they were bound, Deryn doubted she would be seeing Istanbul or Alek again, not until the war was over.
She watched Newkirk for a moment, envious of his disguise. The whole party was dressed in Arab robes to keep the Young Turks from spotting them and starting up another protest. If only she could be doing proper ship's work instead of diplomacy ... or whatever Dr. Barlow was up to.
The lady boffin waited a hundred yards from the Leviathan, on a stretch of empty airfield past the mooring tower. She was dressed in her finest traveling coat, twirling a parasol and standing beside a small hay-filled box. One of the last two eggs sat inside it, shining like a huge pearl in the sun. So Dr. Barlow's secret cargo would at last be delivered to the sultan.
But why take a spare middy along?
As Deryn drew near, Dr. Barlow turned and said, "You're a bit late, Mr. Sharp, and looking positively unkempt."
"Sorry, ma'am," Deryn said, adjusting her collar. Her shirt fitted all wrong despite a mad hour of sewing. Worse, it still smelled of Newkirk - the bum-rag hadn't bothered to wash it since yesterday. "I had to borrow this shirt. Mine was still a bit spicy."
"You possess only one dress uniform?" Dr. Barlow clicked her tongue. "We shall have to remedy that, if you're going to continue assisting me."
Deryn frowned. "Assisting you, ma'am? Frankly, I never fancied myself much of a diplomat."
"Perhaps not. But this is what comes of making your self useful, Mr. Sharp. You were invaluable during the battle of the Dauntless, while the ambassador and his lackeys were quite hopeless." Dr. Barlow sighed. "Soon I shall be afraid to leave the airship without your protection."
Deryn rolled her eyes. Even when dispensing compliments, the lady boffin always managed a mocking tone. "I hope you're not expecting to be attacked again today, ma'am."
"One never knows. We are not as welcome here as I might have liked."
"That's right enough," Deryn said, still hearing the anger in the protesters' voices. "But I've been meaning to ask you, ma'am. What's a behemoth?"
Dr. Barlow looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Wherever did you hear that word, Mr. Sharp?"
"It was just something they were shouting yesterday. The Young Turks, I mean."
"Hmm, of course. That is the name of the Osman's companion creature, and thus part of Lord Churchill's unfortunate appropriation."
Deryn frowned. "But krakens don't have names. No beastie does, unless it's a whole ship."
"'Behemoth' is not a proper name, young man, but a species. You see, this creature is not a kraken at all but something altogether new. And a military secret, so perhaps we should drop the subject." Dr. Barlow tipped back her parasol to look into the sky. "I believe this is our airship."
Deryn shielded her eyes against the high sun, and saw a peculiar craft coming into view. "It's quite ... conspicuous, isn't it, ma'am?"
"Of course. Guests of the sultan are expected to arrive in style."
The Clanker airship was less than a quarter of the Leviathan's length, but was as fancy as a wedding cake. A fringe of tassels fluttered from its airbag, and canopies of billowing silk covered the gondola, as if some Ottoman prince had decided to go soaring on his four-poster bed.
The craft was held aloft by a long cylindrical balloon with several funnels leading up into its belly, each fed with hot air by a blazing smokestack in the shape of a monstrous head. Propellers thrust out on long and jointed arms, some pointing up, some down, the two largest pushing the craft forward. The prow was carved in the shape of a falcon's hooked beak, and wings unfolding like straight razors were carved into the gondola's sides.
The craft's propellers turned and twisted, until it had settled gently on the scrub grass of the airfield.
As a short gangway unfolded from its gondola, Dr. Barlow closed her parasol and pointed it at the egg box. "If you please, Mr. Sharp."
"Invaluable, that's me," Deryn said, lifting the box with a grunt.
She followed the lady boffin up the gangway to an open platform surrounded by a low railing, like the top deck of a sailing ship. The propeller wash swirled about them, ruffling the veil tucked into Dr. Barlow's bowler.
The crew were all dark-skinned men, but they weren't wearing desert robes, like the Africans that Deryn had seen from the elephant's howdah the day before. Instead they wore silk uniforms and tall turbans of brilliant red and orange. Two of them took the egg box from Deryn, lashing it fast to metal cleats on the deck.
One of the men wore a tall conical hat, his eyes protected by piloting goggles. Some sort of mechanical beastie perched on his shoulder, like an owl with big eyes and a wide-open mouth. A tiny cylinder sat on the machine's chest, a metal stylus scratching against its spinning surface.