Goliath l-3

by Scott Westerfeld

  “That throne may not exist once this war is over.”

  “Well, that’s cheery.”

  “That’s war.” Lilit pulled out a pocket watch and read it in the jittering light from the screen. “We should get back.”

  Deryn nodded, but as she followed Lilit up the aisle, she took one last glance over her shoulder. The Leviathan was soaring again across the desert, its engines repaired.

  She promised herself then to make everything clear, the very next time she was alone with Alek. After all, she’d made a solemn vow never to keep secrets from him.

  Of course that moment might not come until the war was over, years from now, when the world would be a very different place.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Alek’s next two weeks were a whirl of cocktail parties, press conferences, and scientific demonstrations. Money had to be raised, reporters entertained, and diplomats introduced to the young prince with a shaky claim to the throne of Austria-Hungary. It was all so different from the rhythms of the Leviathan, the patterns of watches and bells and mealtimes. Alek missed the steady thrum of engines and the gentle sway of the deck beneath his feet.

  He missed Deryn as well, even more than he had in those awful days after learning her secret. At least then the two of them had been walking the same corridors, but now the Leviathan was missing as well, all connections with his best friend and ally severed.

  Instead of Deryn he had Nikola Tesla, a draining man to spend long days with. Tesla wrestled with the secrets of the universe, but he also spent hours selecting the right wines for dinner. He lamented the war’s daily toll of lives, but wasted time flattering reporters, wringing every drop of fame from these moments in the spotlight.

  He lived in the grip of odd passions, none stranger than his love of pigeons. A dozen of the gray, warbling creatures inhabited Tesla’s rooms at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel. He was overjoyed to see them again after his months in Siberia, during which the hotel staff had looked after them dutifully, and at great cost.

  And yet Tesla knew how to turn his eccentricities into charm, especially when investors were present. He put on electrikal shows in his Manhattan laboratory and presided over lavish dinners at the Waldorf-Astoria, swiftly raising enough money to make the necessary improvements to his weapon.

  But it felt like ages before Tesla and Alek completed their journey to Long Island. In a Pinkerton armored walker paid for by Hearst-Pathé Newsreels, the inventor finally brought Alek and his men to a huge tower looming over the small seaside town of Shoreham.

  Goliath stood as tall as a skyscraper, a giant cousin to the sultan’s Tesla cannon in Istanbul. Four smaller towers surrounded the central structure, which was crowned with a copper-sheathed hemisphere that shone brilliantly in the sun. Workmen scrambled over it, making the final adjustments before tonight’s test. Beneath the towers was the brick powerhouse of the complex, its chimneys huffing.

  “VISITING THE SECOND TOWER.”

  The Pinkerton walker entered the compound through a tall barbed wire fence. The fence was enough to keep away tourists and trespassers, but Alek saw nothing that would stop a military walker.

  Two days after the Leviathan’s departure, a messenger eagle had arrived bearing a letter from Deryn. She had passed on Lilit’s warning, along with a promise that the Leviathan would be lurking off the coast, secretly watching for any sign of U-boats—or “water-walkers,” whatever they were.

  Deryn had asked Alek not to tell anyone about the German threat. But as Alek watched the pair of guards closing the gate again, with their antique rifles leaning against the guardhouse, secrecy didn’t seem like such a good idea. If he and his men were going to sit here in harm’s way, a bit more information might be useful.

  Alek jostled the great snoozing form beside him.

  “Master Klopp? We’re here.”

  Klopp’s sleepy eyes peered up at Goliath. “Looks like a child went mad with a mechanikal set.”

  “A child with very wealthy admirers,” Volger muttered. He was fussing with the abundance of luggage he’d brought, dividing its weight between Hoffman and Bauer.

  Alek glanced at Tesla, who was riding in front with the pilot, and lowered his voice. “Have you ever heard, Master Klopp, of something called a water-walker? A U-boat that can come onto land?”

  “Water-walker,” Bovril said.

  The old man frowned, wiping sleep from his eyes. “I’ve seen a working model, quarter scale. But it’s the other way round, young master.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “A water-walker isn’t a U-boat with legs. It’s a land machine that’s waterproof. It walks across the bottom of a river or a lake, like a metal crab.”

  Alek frowned. “A machine like that could never cross an entire ocean, right?”

  Klopp looked at Hoffman, who said, “Impossible, sir. It would be crushed at a few hundred meters.”

  “Crushed!” Bovril said.

  “So it’s an empty threat,” Alek said to himself, breathing a sigh of relief.

  But then Hoffman spoke up again. “Of course, sir, you could take it across by ship. Then drop it onto the continental shelf.”

  Klopp thought a moment, then nodded. “And let it walk in from, say, fifty kilometers out?”

  “I see.” Alek doubted the Germans could sneak that large a ship past the British blockade, but the water-walker could be carried on some sort of U-boat.

  “You see what, exactly?” Count Volger said. “Where did you hear of this machine?”

  “In the newspapers.” Alek found that lying had come easier lately. It was distressing but quite useful. “They were discussing the kaiser’s threats against Tesla.”

  “And this penny paper knew of secret German weapons?” Volger asked.

  Alek shrugged. “Only rumors.”

  Volger narrowed his eyes as the machine came to a halt. The gangway door opened, and Alek jumped out to help Klopp down. The reporters were piling out of the motorcar that had followed the walker, pointing their cameras up at Goliath.

  The smell of salt was heavy in the air. The open sea was on the far side of the island, twenty kilometers distant, but Long Island Sound was a short walk away. According to the nautical maps Alek had checked, the sound was shallow, child’s play for a water-walker to navigate.

  Alek stared into the sky, though he knew the Leviathan was too far away, lurking near the narrow passage between the ocean and the sound. But perhaps from the top of Goliath’s central tower, with a pair of good field glasses, he could catch a glimpse…

  Volger was staring at him, so Alek dropped his eyes and hurried ahead. Tesla was already bounding toward the tower, ready to put the weapon through its final paces. If the improvements to Goliath worked as expected, tonight’s test would change the color of the sunrise in Berlin—fair warning for what was to come.

  The Germans would have to take notice.

  The control room of Goliath looked like a Clanker version of the Leviathan’s bridge. It jutted out from the roof of the power station, with tall windows offering a sweeping view of the towers and the darkening sky. In the room’s center stood a huge bank of levers and dials; around it were clustered black boxes on wheels, covered with glowing tubes and glass spheres.

  Tesla called out orders to his men, making use of a dozen telephones connected to the other parts of the complex. Within a few minutes the smoke from the powerhouse chimneys had redoubled. An electrikal buzz filled the control room, and Bovril’s fur began to stand on end.

  “Rather intoxicating, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

  Alek turned, and was surprised to find Adela Rogers speaking to him. The Hearst reporter had spent the last two weeks angry at him for leaking the pope’s letter to Eddie Malone, one of Pulitzer’s men, instead of to her. But she looked caught up in the excitement of the moment, her eyes sparkling as the spheres and tubes began to glow around them.

  “It’s a relief more than anything,” Alek said. “We may be coming to the end of
this war at last.”

  “There’s no maybe about it,” Tesla boomed from his controls. “Your faith in me will be rewarded tonight, Your Highness.”

  Miss Rogers raised her writing pad. “Mr. Tesla, what can we expect the test to look like from here?”

  “Goliath is an earth resonance cannon, using the planet itself as a capacitor. What you will see is a path of pure energy stretching from the ground below us all the way to the troposphere!”

  Alek frowned. “Won’t that be a danger to aircraft?”

  “Not this test.” Tesla’s hands paused a moment on the controls. “But if I ever fire Goliath in earnest, we’ll warn them to stay away. Ten kilometers in all directions, I should think.”

  “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen, sir,” Miss Rogers said.

  “Indeed,” Alek said, and made a note to warn Deryn in his next letter.

  Bovril was shifting nervously on his shoulder, trying to smooth its fur. Alek reached up and felt the crackle of static as he stroked the beastie. The air smelled of electricity, like when he and Deryn had been topside over the Pacific, facing the approaching storm. The night she’d kissed him.

  “The kaiser can be quite cantankerous, you know,” Miss Rogers said. “How long will you give him to submit?”

  “That depends on tonight’s experiment.” Tesla gazed up at his machine, a smile on his face. “If Goliath works as it should, a single demonstration should prove convincing enough.”

  Even a test firing required vast amounts of energy, and it would be hours before the weapon’s capacitors were full. So while the chimneys smoked and the dials nudged slowly upward, Mr. Tesla served his guests supper in an ornate dining hall just beneath the control room.

  The inventor sat at the head of the table, as always ordering up several courses and wines, though it was quite late already. Alek had suffered through laboratory demonstrations in Manhattan that had lasted until the wee hours.

  He turned to Volger beside him. “This will take all night, won’t it?”

  Across the table, Bauer cleared his throat. “Actually, sir, sunrise in Berlin is at seven. That’s midnight here.”

  “Of course,” Alek said. “An excellent point, Hans.”

  “Did you think he’d end the war with a flick of a switch?” Volger asked.

  Alek didn’t answer, leaning back as the first course of the evening was served, a consommé of turtle soup. Hoffman and Bauer looked down at their bowls dubiously. They’d been spared Tesla’s feasts in Manhattan, but out here in the wilderness of Long Island, there were fewer reporters and investors about, so they had been promoted to dinner guests. Tesla’s head engineers were also present, as immaculate in their formal jackets as they’d been in white coats.

  As always at the inventor’s table, fabricated beasts were banned. Alek found himself missing Bovril’s weight on his shoulder and its nonsense mutterings, especially the snatches of Deryn’s Scottish lilt.

  “You seem less than serene, Your Highness,” Volger said. “Perhaps a seaside stroll after dinner?”

  “It’s a bit cold for that.”

  “I suppose. And so many unpleasant things in the water.”

  Alek sighed. He’d said too much about the water-walker in front of Volger. The man wouldn’t stop digging now until he knew.

  “I was thinking about visitors,” Alek said in a low voice. “Germans.”

  “I wasn’t aware any had been invited.”

  “They have invited themselves.”

  Volger glanced at the other end of the table, where Tesla was amusing the handful of reporters by ordering that the cutlery be rearranged. He always insisted that the forks, spoons, and knives be laid out in multiples of three. The staff at the Waldorf-Astoria had grown used to his eccentricities, but the servants here in Shoreham were still learning.

  “Who told you about these water-walkers?” Volger asked quietly.

  “Deryn. And I can’t say from whom. In any case there’s not much we can do except wait.”

  “Have I taught you nothing?” Volger said. “There are always ways to prepare.”

  “The Leviathan is stationed nearby, ready to protect us. And preparations are overrated. The fact that we’re here in America instead of the Alps is proof of that.”

  “The fact that you’re alive at all is proof of quite the opposite,” Volger said. Then he leaned away to murmur to Bauer, Hoffman, and Klopp.

  Alek let himself relax and enjoy his food, relieved that he’d confessed the secret to Volger. The man might be a schemer at heart, a tight-lipped plotter who could never quite be trusted, but there was one oath he would never break—the one he’d made to Alek’s father. Every infuriating thing Volger had ever done, from his grueling fencing lessons to his blackmail of Deryn, had been to protect Alek and see him one day on the throne.

  When the wildcount turned back to Alek, leaving the other men still muttering, he said, “We’ll be ready, Your Highness.”

  “I should have known you’d have something up your sleeve.”

  “I have no other choice,” Volger said. “No matter how far from the war we run, it always catches up with us.”

  THIRTY SEVEN

  Deryn stood at attention against the wall of her cabin, taking deep, unhurried breaths. Finally she bent her knees, sliding her back down the wall until she was sitting on her heels. Her muscles quivered and her injury burned. But now came the hard part—pushing herself back up.

  It was slow and agonizing, but Deryn managed it without crying out or toppling over. She stood there panting, her eyes shut against the pain.

  “Exercising, Mr. Sharp?”

  She opened her eyes to find Dr. Barlow framed in the doorway, Tazza at her side. The boffin’s loris sat on its usual perch, looking imperiously about the middy’s tiny cabin.

  But Deryn was in no mood for the three of them. “It’s traditional to knock, ma’am, even when the door’s open.”

  “I stand corrected.” Dr. Barlow rapped twice on the wooden frame. “Though you are hardly a slave to tradition yourself, Mr. Sharp.”

  The loris chuckled, but didn’t repeat the words. It had grown quieter these last two weeks, almost thoughtful. Maybe it was missing Bovril.

  “It’s good to see you getting that knee into shape, Mr. Sharp.”

  “I’ve got to climb the ratlines again,” Deryn said. “I’m going mad, stuck down here in the gondola.”

  “I see,” Dr. Barlow said, then frowned. “You’ll be wanting to muck about on the topside of every airship we travel on, won’t you?”

  “Aye, ma’am.” Deryn took a breath and bent her knees again. “I do love tying those knots.”

  “In love,” the loris said softly.

  Deryn froze halfway down and stared at it.

  Dr. Barlow smiled. “Aha. You are in love, aren’t you, Mr. Sharp?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “With flying. You’re in love with the air.”

  Deryn slid down the rest of the way, then pushed herself back up without a pause, letting pain hide her expression. Nosy boffins and their clever lorises.

  Of course, it hardly mattered what Dr. Barlow was really thinking. Alek was gone, swept up in a distant world of power, influence, and peacemaking, maybe forever. How could someone who was in the newspapers every day have anything more to do with Deryn Sharp?

  “Don’t worry, young man. My duties with the Zoological Society involve a great deal of travel. You’ll see plenty of airships.”

  “I’m sure, ma’am.” Deryn sullenly reminded herself how lucky she was for the lady boffin’s offer of employment.

  Her close call with Malone had taught her one thing—if she were found out, it would humiliate her officers and shipmates. Deryn couldn’t risk that, and it was clear that the lady boffin’s shadowy Society was an easier place to keep secrets than the Air Service. In the Society, she reckoned, having more than one identity wouldn’t be a problem at all. Dr. Barlow had even joked that Deryn might need to disguise he
rself as a girl, every now and then.

  But it meant that Deryn hadn’t just lost Alek; she’d lost her home as well.

  She slid down the wall once more, ignoring the growing pain in her knee. She was desperate for one last climb in the ratlines before they headed back to London, Dr. Busk and his timid advice be damned. Nothing else in the sky measured up to the Leviathan.

  “Disconsolate,” the loris said softly.

  Dr. Barlow shushed it. “You should join us on the bridge, Mr. Sharp. The view may be interesting tonight.”

  “That’s right. They’re testing Goliath, aren’t they?” Alek’s latest letter had been full of excitement. “But I thought you said it wouldn’t work, ma’am.”

  The lady boffin shrugged. “I merely said that Goliath cannot call down fire from the sky. I would never suggest that Mr. Tesla is incapable of putting on a show.”

  When they were halfway to the bridge, the Klaxon began to ring.

  “Is that battle stations?” Dr. Barlow asked. “How interesting.”

  “Aye, ma’am, it is.” Deryn winced as she walked faster, wishing now that she hadn’t worked her knee so hard. “But it’s probably a drill. Sitting still for two weeks hasn’t done much for morale.”

  “You could be right, Mr. Sharp.” They both stepped aside as a squad of riggers thundered past. “But mightn’t the Germans think this a fine evening to strike?”

  “How do you mean, ma’am?”

  They started walking again, and the lady boffin said, “Mr. Tesla has warned the world to expect alarms and eruptions in the sky. Any mishap might be written off as his machine going wrong, especially if there are no survivors to tell the tale.”

  “No survivors,” the lady boffin’s loris said, and Deryn redoubled her pace.

  The Klaxon choked off in midring just as she and Dr. Barlow reached the bridge. The officers had gathered at the starboard windows, field glasses raised. A dozen message lizards were scampering across the ceiling.