“It’s just that … he sounds like a rather eccentric gentleman.”
“Some think so.” Dr. Barlow chuckled. “But at times eccentrics notice things that others do not. You must sharpen your razor very well.”
Deryn swallowed. “My razor, ma’am?”
The lady boffin reached out to hold Deryn by her chin. “Both sides of your face are equally smooth. But didn’t I interrupt you halfway through your shave?”
As Dr. Barlow waited for an answer, the buzzing of the hives roared in Deryn’s head, and the walkway seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She’d been such a ninny to muck about with razors. This was how she’d always been caught out in lies—making things too barking complicated.
“I … I’m not sure what you mean, ma’am.”
“How old are you, Mr. Sharp?”
Deryn blinked. She couldn’t speak.
“With a face that smooth, not sixteen,” Dr. Barlow continued. “Perhaps fourteen? Or younger?”
A squick of hope began to trickle through Deryn. Had the lady boffin guessed the wrong secret? She decided to tell the truth: “Barely fifteen, ma’am.”
Dr. Barlow released her chin, giving a shrug. “Well, I’m sure you’re not the first boy to come into the Service a bit young. Your secret is safe with me.” She handed back the rigging knife. “You see, my grandfather’s true realization was this: If you remove one element—the cats, the mice, the bees, the flowers—the entire web is disrupted. An archduke and his wife are murdered, and all of Europe goes to war. A missing piece can be very bad for the puzzle, whether in the natural world, or politics, or here in the belly of an airship. You seem like a fine crewman, Mr. Sharp. I’d hate to lose you.”
Deryn nodded slowly, trying to take all of this in. “I’m in agreement with that, ma’am.”
“Besides …” A hint of a smile played on Dr. Barlow’s lips. “Knowing your little secret makes it easier, should I wish to tell you some of mine.”
Before Deryn had a chance to wonder what that could mean, she noticed a distant clanging over the roar of the hives.
“Do you hear that, ma’am?” she said.
“The general alarm?” Dr. Barlow nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so. It would appear that Britain and Germany are finally at war.”
TWENTY
The Klaxon was ringing in triplets, the signal for an aerial attack.
“I have to run, ma’am,” Deryn said quickly. “Can you make it back to your cabin alone?”
“I’d think not, Mr. Sharp. I shall be with my cargo.”
“But—but … this is an alert,” Deryn sputtered. “You can’t go to the machine room!”
Dr. Barlow took Tazza’s leash from her. “That cargo is more important than your regulations, young man.”
“But passengers are supposed to stay—”
“And midshipmen are supposed to be sixteen years old.” Dr. Barlow waved her hand. “Don’t you have some sort of battle station to get to?”
Deryn let out a pained growl, but gave up in disgust and turned away. She’d done her best—the lady boffin could hang herself out the windows if she wanted.
As Deryn ran back toward the main gondola, the aluminum walkway trembled under her feet. The whole crew was scrambling, filling the passageways of the ship. She dodged past a squad of men in gastric suits and reached the gut hatch, dropping halfway through for a peek outside.
The icy wind between gondola and airbeast rumbled with an unfamiliar sound. Not the hum of motivator engines—the angry snarl of Clanker technology. A winged shape caught a flash of moonlight in the distance, an Iron Cross painted on its tail.
The German aeroplanes could fly this high after all.
Deryn dropped the rest of the way down, landing hard enough to bang her teeth together. The middies’ battle station was topside with the bats, so she’d need a flight suit to keep from freezing. Deryn’s suit was back in her cabin, but the riggers always had spares hanging in their bunk room. She dodged through the press of men and hydrogen sniffers, looking for a suit with a pair of gloves stuffed into the pockets. There wasn’t time to find goggles; Dr. Barlow’s pigheadedness had delayed her long enough.
As she buttoned the coverall up to her neck, Deryn felt dizzy for a moment. The rush of battle had come too soon after the shock of Dr. Barlow’s near discovery. The lady boffin had promised not to tell, but she didn’t know the whole story—not yet. With those sharp eyes of hers, she’d have to guess the truth eventually.
Deryn took a deep breath and shook her head clear. This wasn’t the time to fret about secrets. The war was finally here.
She gave her safety line a yank to test its strength, then headed for the rigging hatches.
There were at least a half dozen flying machines hunting the Leviathan. They were hard to count, staying in the distance to keep clear of the strafing hawks and their aeroplane nets.
Deryn was halfway to topside, climbing fast in the freezing wind. Men and fabricated animals swarmed the ratlines, the ropes pressing hard against the membrane with their weight.
She heard the motivator engines change pitch, and the world began to tilt. As the airship rolled, Deryn found herself on the underside again, hanging from the ratlines by two hands. The crewmen around her swung from their safety harnesses, but Deryn’s clip dangled unused from her belt.
“Blisters!” she swore, looking up at her aching hands— possibly Mr. Rigby had been right about using safety clips in battle.
She swung her feet, hooking one leg into the ropes to free a hand. The ship rolled harder over, and a message lizard overhead lost its grip. It tumbled past her, shouting random words in a dreadful mix of human voices.
Deryn tore her eyes away from the poor beastie—her fingers had found the safety clip. After snapping it onto a rope, she let herself hang from the harness, resting the burning muscles in her hands.
A roar was building in the air.
From half a mile away a Clanker machine rushed toward her. An engine thundered on each wing, billowing twin trails of smoke. The broad, batlike wings stretched and twisted as the aeroplane came alongside… .
Its machine gun erupted, sweeping the flank of the Leviathan.
Men and beasties scrambled to escape the path of the bullets. Deryn saw a hydrogen sniffer hit, dancing in agony against the ratlines, then flailing madly as it fell. Glowworms sputtered bright green sparks as they were torn apart beneath the skin.
The aeroplane kept coming, thundering straight toward her. Deryn unclipped her harness and slid down as fast as she could. Bullets rippled through the membrane just overhead, like stones splashing into water. The ropes jerked in her grasp, trembling with the airship’s pain.
The gun finally sputtered out, the aeroplane peeling away. But a bright spark flared against the darkness. The gunner had ignited a phosphorous canister. He hoisted it high, the device sparking and smoking as the plane circled back toward the Leviathan.
Deryn’s hands tightened on the ropes, but there was nowhere to climb. The bitter-almond scent of hydrogen filled her lungs. The entire airship was primed to explode.
But then a searchlight swept into view. An aerie of strafing hawks followed its arc, carrying an aeroplane net. Its glistening strands trailed from the birds’ harnesses, binding them together in a web of gossamer.
The hawks turned and wheeled in formation, stretching the glowing lace across the aeroplane’s path… .
The machine crashed into the net, which wrapped around it, spilling fabricated spider acid from its strands. The acid burned through wings and struts and flesh in seconds. Pieces spun off wildly, the plane’s wings folding like scissors in the air.