“Aye, but he’s hardly arms-smuggling material. He can’t stop blethering about peace.”
“But his Goliath is a weapon, is it not?”
Deryn didn’t bother to deny that.
The Leviathan angled itself into the wind, the cilia rippling to push it down. The manta ships drifted at a polite distance, but Deryn wondered if they had any hidden firepower. If the Mexicans were importing Clanker engines, maybe they’d got a few rockets in the bargain. The Leviathan’s strafing hawks were still in the air, of course, ready to strike in all directions.
Soon the sides of the canyon were rising up around Deryn, making her feel trapped. It was strange to be up on the spine and yet have stone walls to either side. If there was any treachery, the only way out would be straight up.
The airbeast’s nose eased toward the tower, a team of riggers standing ready at the mooring crossbow. A grappling hook was set in the crossbow.
“Ready . . . ,” Deryn called as the tower drew near. “Fire!”
The crossbow snapped, sending the grappling hook soaring. With a rattle of metal and chain, its prongs tangled in the struts of the tower.
“Draw her in!” Deryn cried, and the riggers wound the cable fast, tightening the hook’s grip. “Now tie her off!”
Soon the ship was secure, and from the canyon walls echoed the slither of cables dropping from the gondola below. The captain would be winching the ship down rather than venting hydrogen. That would keep the Leviathan buoyant, sitting in the canyon like a cork at the bottom of a bathtub, ready to pop up and out in case of danger.
Deryn’s eyes swept the rocky ground below. The men gathering up the Leviathan’s ropes had rifles slung across their backs, but there was no sign of heavy arms, except for a half dozen cannon guarding the mouth of the canyon. They were pointed away from the airship, and looked like leftovers from a bygone war.
“Little wonder your boss wants to lend General Villa a hand,” Deryn said, lowering her field glasses. “The general has got plenty of beasties, but no proper guns.”
“I’ve heard the chief say exactly that.” Miss Rogers sighed. “I just wish he’d told me what he was up to.”
“Aye, he might have told us, too!”
The ground men below were pulling the ropes out in all directions. Deryn spotted Newkirk drifting down on gliding wings to help them. The boy was soon waving his arms as he tried to organize Villa’s men.
“Do you know any Spanish, Miss Rogers?”
“As much as any girl from southern California. Which means more than a little but less than I’d like.”
Deryn nodded. “You might be the only one on the ship who does. Stand ready.”
“Much as I’d love to review my reflexive verbs, Mr. Sharp, it won’t be necessary. I’m certain all of General Villa’s motion picture contracts are in English.”
“His what?”
“Didn’t I tell you? That’s how Mr. Hearst knows him. They’re both in the movie business!” Miss Rogers swept her hand across the encampment. “That’s how Villa finances all this. He takes moving pictures of his battles and sends them to Los Angeles. He’s practically a motion picture star!”
“So Hearst has a movie deal with him?”
The reporter shook her head. “Villa’s contract is with Mutual Films. But I suppose the chief wants to horn in. Crafty, isn’t he?”
“A bit too crafty for my liking,” Deryn muttered. If Hearst was such a peace lover, why was he sending weapons into Mexico? Or did he only care about making newsreels?
“There’s something above us, sir,” one of the riggers called. “Up on the cliffs!”
Deryn looked up. A column of smoke was rising from the edge of the canyon. She closed her eyes to listen over the shouts of the men below, and heard it—the rumble of a Clanker engine.
Did the rebels have a walking machine up there? She’d seen nothing from the air, though any number of walkers might have hidden in the rocky terrain.
“And that way, sir!” called another man. Deryn turned and saw a second cloud of engine smoke rising from the far side of the canyon. There was dust rising as well, a sure sign of legs in motion. The tiny manta airships might have only Gatling guns, but walkers could carry heavy cannon.
Deryn pulled out her command whistle and blew for a message lizard. “We’re being surrounded, and the officers down on the bridge can’t see it!”
“But why would General Villa betray us?” Miss Rogers asked. “He wants those guns we’re bringing him.”
“He might also want the Leviathan!” Deryn cried. “It’s one of the biggest airships in all of Europe. Think how powerful it would make him here in Mexico!”
Miss Rogegers waved a hand. “But Mr. Hearst just wants a dramatic story. If the rebels destroy us, he’ll get no story at all!”
“Aye, but has anyone explained that to the barking rebels?”
“These are civilized rebels, young man. They have movie deals!”
“That’s no guarantee of sanity!” Deryn felt the tug of a message lizard pulling on her trouser leg. She knelt and said, “Bridge, this is Middy Sharp. Walkers on the cliffs above us, at least two. Could be an ambush! End message.”
The beastie scampered away, but it would take at least a minute to reach the bridge. By then the vast topside of the Leviathan would be in the sights of the walkers’ guns, as easy to hit as a cricket field.
She spun around, checking on the manta ships. They didn’t seem to be closing in. Not yet, anyway.
“If only I could send up a scout,” Deryn muttered. But all the Huxleys were stowed in the ship’s gut to protect them from the winds of high speed.
“Sir,” said the rigger beside her. “Mr. Rigby sent up a pair of gliding wings, in case the captain wanted you on the ground. You could use those.”
“Aye, but I need to go up to—,” Deryn began, but then she saw the dust rising from the ground crew’s feet. It was climbing the sides of the canyon, carried by an updraft. . . .
“Get me those wings!” she shouted. “Now!”
As the man ran off, she watched the airflow in the canyon. The wind was rushing into the entrance, straight into the Leviathan’s nose. If Deryn took off dead ahead, she might gain enough altitude to rise above the cliff walls.
“I still say you’re being entirely too suspicious,” Miss Rogers said.
Deryn ignored her, turning to the crossbow crew. “If we blow even a squick of ballast, cut this cable. Don’t wait for orders!”
“Aye, sir.”
Two men arrived, gliding wings in hand, and Deryn struggled into the rig. She borrowed a pair of semaphore flags, then paced off ten yards from the bow, ready to take a running start. There was only one problem.
The mooring tower was in the way.
“Oh, sod it.” She spread her arms and ran toward the edge. “Watch out!”
The riggers and Miss Rogers ducked beneath the wings, and Deryn sped past them and leapt from the edge of the bow, straight into the wind. The tower reared up before her, but she wrenched herself to starboard, barely clearing the metal struts.
Veering right had pulled her out of the headwind, and she went circling downward. But with another hard jerk the air filled the gliding wings again. She rose a little, climbing just above the canyon walls.
One of the walkers was in sight n—a two-legged machine the size of Alek’s old Cyklop Stormwalker. It had the boxy look of a German contraption, and was rumbling straight toward the cliff edge.
Deryn pulled her wings hard toward it, but she slipped beneath the cliff tops again. She was flying straight into a wall of stone. . . .
At the last moment she swung her weight back, and the wings climbed hard, almost stalling in midair. Her momentum carried her the last few yards, and Deryn alighted on the edge of the rocky cliff. Her boots slipped on loose stone, but somehow she kept her feet.
The walking machine towered over her, its head bending down as if to take a closer look. The huge maw of a gun pointed
straight at her.
“Barking spiders!” she said.
It wasn’t a gun at all—it was a moving-picture camera. She heard the whir and snap of it capturing her image a dozen times a second.
The wind shifted, pulling her back toward the cliff’s edge. Deryn spun about and took a look across the canyon. The other walker was just the same, a two-legged camera platform.
The rebels wanted to film the Leviathan, not destroy it.
Her message lizard would be at the bridge any moment now, and if the captain grew alarmed and dropped ballast, the landing ropes would rip through the hands of a hundred untrained men below. Worse, a few would hang on to be carried up into the sky, then fall back upon their fellows from a thousand feet. If General Villa didn’t want to destroy the Leviathan now, he certainly would after that.
“THE WALKER SHOOTS DERYN.”
Deryn spun the gliding wings about and threw herself back off the cliff.
“Those men on the ropes look quite sharp,” Captain
Hobbes said. “And this canyon keeps the wind steady enough.”
None of the officers answered. They were spread out across the bridge, each at a different window, watching for signs of treachery. Bovril shifted nervously on Alek’s shoulder, scenting disquiet in the air.
Outside, the rebels were hard at work, staking ropes into the hard ground and tying them onto metal posts driven straight into the rock. The lines trembled as the Leviathan winched itself down, its huge shadow spreading meter by meter across the canyon floor. The captain hadn’t vented any hydrogen, in case a quick takeoff were necessary. To Alek it felt as though the airbeast were fighting the ropes, like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.
“Do you really think these rebels will help us?” he asked Dr. Barlow.
“I should hope so, after putting us through all this bother.” She sniffed. “I’m sure Mr. Heart as thly wanted a bit of drama for his newsreel.”
“Newsreel,” her loris said softly, then hmphed.
“And to think I trusted that man,” Mr. Tesla said. He’d been in a dark mood since the breakdown, especially after the engine pod had reported that Hearst’s fuel was to blame.
“He may want peace,” Dr. Barlow said. “But conflict sells newspapers.”
“I’ve heard of this Pancho Villa fellow, haven’t I?” Alek asked.
“He’s in all the papers at the moment.” Mr. Tesla stared out the window at the ground men. “His name is Francisco Villa, but he goes by the nickname Pancho because he’s a friend of the poor. He seizes wealthy plantations and gives them to the peasants.”
“Quite a common habit among rebels,” Dr. Barlow said, and her loris made a sniffing noise. “One hopes that he is above seizing airships.”
Alek shook his head. However chaotic the world might be, he knew that providence was guiding him toward peace. His quest couldn’t end here in this dusty canyon.
“Bridge, this is Middy Sharp!” came Deryn’s voice from nowhere.
All eyes turned to the message lizard clinging to the ceiling.
“Walkers on the cliffs above us, at least two,” it said. “Could be an ambush!”
A stir went through the bridge, and Bovril shivered on Alek’s shoulder. The officers gathered around the captain.
“Walkers?” Alek said. “But they’re Darwinists.”
“Those airships had Clanker engines,” Tesla said.
Dr. Barlow glanced out the window. “This is unsettling. The Leviathan is quite vulnerable to attack from above.”
Alek tried to peer up at the surrounding cliffs, but the gasbag blocked out the sky. He felt trapped beneath the vast expanse of the airship.
Blast Hearst and his news-making games.
“Prepare to blow all ballast,” the captain announced.
“Cut the landing lines, sir?” an officer asked.
“Don’t bother. At this buoyancy they’ll break.”
“That’s a bit unfriendly,” Dr. Barlow muttered. “Those lines can decapitate a man when they snap.”
Outside, the ground men were still working patiently to secure the ropes, not suspecting the chaos about to be unleashed. A flight-suited figure was among them, a pair of gliding wings folded across his back.
Alek turned to Dr. Barlow. “But Newkirk’s out there. We can’t leave him behind!”
“I fear we must.” The lady boffin shook her head. “If this is an ambush, we can’t afford to give them waing.”
“You mean we’ll just—,” Alek began, but a dark shape was flickering across the ground—a small, winged shadow just beyond the starboard edge of the airship.
“On my command.” Captain Hobbes raised his hand.
Alek squinted, watching the shadow wheel in ever-tightening circles. Its shape reminded him of the gliding wings on Newkirk’s back.
“Deryn Sharp,” whispered Bovril.
“Wait!” Alek cried, spinning about to face the captain. He took two steps closer, but a marine guard blocked his way. “It’s Dylan!”
The captain turned, his hand still raised.
“Middy Sharp’s gliding down!” Alek shouted. “There must be a reason!”
The officers stood ready, their eyes on the captain. The man hesitated a moment, then glanced at the first officer. “Take a look.”
Alek crossed back to the windows, pointing at the flitting, wheeling shadow. The men on the landing lines had seen it now—they were looking up and calling to one another.
“How do you know it’s Sharp?” the first officer asked.
“Because it’s—it’s . . . ,” Alek sputtered.
“Mr. Sharp!” Bovril declared.
Deryn’s winged form streaked into sight beneath the edge of the gasbag, careening downward at an absurd angle, two semaphore flags rippling in her hands. She shot past the bridge windows in an instant, arms flailing, and then she was gone.
“Did anyone catch that signal?” the captain asked.
“A-M, sir,” one of the navigators said. “That’s all I got.”
“ ‘Ambush,’” the captain said. “Stand ready, lads.”
“Pardon me, sir,” the first officer said. “But there was a C at first.”
Captain Hobbes hesitated, shaking his head.
Alek ran to the far side of the bridge—Deryn’s shadow wheeled about, and a moment later she swung back into view. She came in low across the front windows, sending the ground men scattering before her.
Her semaphore flags were still waving, but then her boots skidded on hard ground. Deryn reached up to regain control, the flags falling from her hands.
The wings pulled her up into the air one last time, then crumpled and twisted, dropping her into a stumbling halt. Ground men came running from all directions, and Deryn disappeared among them in a cloud of dust.
“Did anyone get that signal?” the captain shouted.
“E-R-A?” the first officer said.
“C-A-M,” Bovril muttered, and suddenly it all fell into place.
“The walkers on the cliffs,” Alek said. “They’re camera platforms!”
“Walker cameras?” The captain shook his head. “Why would rebels have that sort of equipment?”
“With Sharp flying about, they must know we’re on to them,” the first officer said. “Sir, we should blow—”
“The film!” Dr. Barlow cried. “Those barrels had unexposed rolls of film in them. So the rebels must have motion picture cameras. This isn’t an attack!”
The bridge was silent for a moment, all eyes on the captain. He stood there with his arms crossed tight, fingers drumming.
“They haven’t fired at us yet,” he finally said. “But stand ready to blow all ballast if you hear so much as a gunshot.”
Alek breathed out a slow sigh, and Bovril’s claws eased their grip on his shoulder. But then Dr. Busk spoke up: “Sharp looks hurt.”
Alek ran to the front of the bridge, shoving his way past the marine guards. From the front windows he saw her lying curled on t
he ground a hundred yards away.
“I’m going out there.”
The captain cleared his throat. “I can’t allow that, Your Highness.”
“Does anyone else on this ship speak Spanish?” Alek asked, trusting that between Italian and Latin he could manage.
The captain looked at his officers, then shook his head. “Perhaps not, but if the situation deteriorates, we’ll have to blow our ballast.”
“Exactly. Any misunderstanding could be a disaster, so give me a chance to sort this out!”
The captain thought another moment, then sighed and turned to Dr. Busk. “You go with him, and take five marines.”
Newkirk was already at Deryn’s side. A crowd of Villa’s men surrounded them, one waving and calling “Médico,” which certainly meant “doctor”—at least in Italian. A few landing lines swung freely, and an officer was trying to get the men back to their ropes.
“Dylan!” Alek shouted, pushing through the crowd. The rebels pulled away, giving Bovril wide-eyed stares.
Newkirk looked up, his face streaked with dust. “He’s conscious, but he’s done his leg.”
“Of course I’m barking conscious!” Deryn shouted. “It hurts like blazes!”
Alek knelt beside her. The left arm of her uniform was torn and bloody, and she clasped one knee to her chest. Her eyes were squeezed shut against the pain.
Bovril made a soft unhappy noise, and Alek took Deryn’s hand.
“I’ve brought Dr. Busk,” he said.
Her eyes sprang open, and she whispered, “You Dummkopf!”
Alek froze. Injured or not, Deryn couldn’t afford to have a surgeon prying at her.
“Newkirk, get these men back on their lines!” Alek ordered. Then he whispered to Deryn, “Take my arm. If you can stand up, he might not look too closely.”
“Stand on my right,” she said, grasping his shoulder. Alek counted down from three under his breath, then stood, pulling her up onto one leg. Together they faced Dr. Busk, who was making his way through the crowd with the marine guards.
Deryn shifted on her good leg beside Alek, threatening to pull him over. She was rather taller than him, he realized, and heavier than she looked—muscles from climbing, he supposed. Bovril helpfully jumped down onto the ground.
Goliath (Leviathan Trilogy) Page 21