How'd you know?

A/N: My first drabble! ;-)

You'd have better been good!

Gregory Hirst watched from the bridge of the Leviathan as the enormous airbeast came to rest over the king's royal park. They had only just now managed to level out over the ground and now they needed to vent hydrogen because some of the middies had decided to draft a few civilians to the cause of stabilizing the ship. Some of them certainly wouldn't be staying on the ship much longer.

But against all odds, it seemed as though Leviathan would be able to pick up the cargo without much fuss. He certainly wasn't privy to the knowledge of the contents of said cargo; he just knew that it needed a very smooth ride to Consta- Istanbul, Hirst mentally corrected himself. If the Ottomans would be there allies, then he needed to act like he was familiar with their customs. The Ottoman capital would likely be bursting with action and interest.

And maybe a few women. Hirst unconsciously twisted his finger, missing the comfortable weight of his engagement ring. But his wife-intended had decided to run off with a thatcher and he had been left with the dog they had owned. Some persons were just better left alone.

Anyway, the air force had been enough distraction for him. He needn't bring a woman into the political mess that the Ottomans had started. The English had built the Osman, they had fabricated the Behemoth, and the Ottomans had the gall to claim that they owned them. Damn them and their backwards ways. The English needed their creations for the war.

First-mate Fowler walked up next to Hirst, bringing his spyglass up to his eyes. "Well, there's our cargo, both human and beastie." He passed the glasses to Hirst who took them absentmindedly. "Whatever that boffin has, it better make up for the Behemoth." Hirst grunted his agreement and looked though the glasses, searching for the boffin and the middy that was with him. Hirst scanned the crowd for a moment and arrived on two young women, standing together and watching the Leviathan.

Hirst did a double take. Then another. Then he flipped the spyglass over and rubbed the lenses before looking again. Sure enough, the younger of the two women was wearing the British air force slops. And bearing an uncanny resemblance to Mister Sharp…

"First Mate, whom do you see with our boffin?" Hirst passed the glasses back to Fowler.

"Um… Middy Sharp, Mister Hirst. I guess that he was the first to find our boffin." Fowler looked though the glasses, trying to see what Mister Hirst would want him to see.

"And do you notice anything peculiar about Mister Sharp?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary sir. Should I?"

"Well, it may just be he looks like a bloody girl!" Hirst's temper, which had been building since the beginning, spilled over a little. Fowler raised an eyebrow. He pulled Hirst out into the hallway.

"You've been breathing the oil fumes for too long Hirst. You should take some shore leave." Fowler's crude joke didn't register with Hirst. Grabbing the first mate roughly from the shoulders, he turned the man to the window.

"I'm not kidding, Sharp looks like a girl. I'm telling you Fowler he-she is a girl." Hirst was feeling further and further out of his depth, but fate (that's me) was his second in this fight. Dr. Erasmus had just turned the corner.

"Dr. I think you should give our Chief Engineer a psychological evaluation. He thinks that middy Sharp's a lass." Erasmus chuckled, even though he dealt with fabrications and not real people.

"Really, I should see the patient then. Let's see." Erasmus leaned in close to Hirst, who took a step back.

"Check Mister Sharp, not me. She is a lass." As the ship's head engineer, Hirst was adept at noticing the small things (no, not those small things you dirty pervs) of machines and things. He really couldn't have told you how he had missed this particular oddity. Erasmus chuckled again.

"Well I did never get 'round to Dylan's physical, but I could tell you if he was a girl from here. Give me those field glasses." Fowler passed the glasses to Erasmus, who looked through the crowd below the ship. After a moment he stopped and stared at a particular spot on the ground before handing the glasses back to Fowler.

"Well?" Hirst and Fowler echoed each other, wanting to prove the other wrong. Erasmus gave them a straight looked that barely belayed the manic laughter that was sure to escape any moment.

"I really can't tell."

…

William Erasmus's view of Mister Sharp hadn't really changed after the failed attempt to discern his/her gender. Granted Dylan didn't let on that he/she would be a girl, though if he/she did, then they would probably get away with it. Oddly, the rumor that one of their own could be a young woman had spread through the ship like wildfire. Granted most of the soldiers had wives or were intended, but the prospect that a scarlet woman would accompany them throughout the war might have been enough for some men to throw inhibition out the window and take the plunge.

Fortunately, the captain had picked up on the rumors fast enough to prevent anyone from actually, ahem, trying to discern Mister Sharp's true gender. He issued a general order for the ship, to be passed by word of mouth, without telling the midshipmen or the boffin Dr. Barlow, that anyone who so much as touched Dylan would be thrown overboard. Their being in an airship did not have bearing that fact.

It had actually been rather hilarious how fast betting pools had sprung up around whether or not Dylan was a girl, who would try to break the order first, when the captain would cave and tell the Admiralty, what Dylan would do if it turned out she was a she, etc. etc. Erasmus leaned towards female, with regards to Sharp's gender, but figured that no one would actually try to sleep with her. There was just too much of a risk of court martial and criminal charges. Say what you like about godless Darwinist, they did not sleep with sixteen year old girls.

Erasmus's thoughts probably would have continued on from there if not for the alarm. Triplets signaled aerial attack. It seemed that Britain was now at war with the clankers. He would need to keep the message lizards running. They would go haywire now. If only he was up on the spine, then he would have a front row seat to the actual fight.

Looking back, he was rather glad he didn't.

…

Harold Busk pulled the antiseptic gauze around the cut on Newkirk's arm, blessing bacterial fabrication all the way. Happily the new boffin had brought one of her new inventions on to the ship. A type of medical tape with bacterial and clotting material mixed into it, cleaning and sealing the wound in one. Ingenious, and also invaluable after the crash.

Who would have thought that the Germans crash the Leviathan? Just a hand-full of their blasted planes had brought the airbeast to its metaphorical knee's. And quite the landing. Crash down on a glacier that just happened to be miles above the tree line, miles away from any wildlife, miles from any food at all. It was like the clankers had planned it. Unfortunately though, he had also missed his chance to confirm his suspicions about Mister Sharp.

To his knowledge, Mister Sharp had been Dorsal during the attack, and had fallen in the snow. From there he had been rescued by a passing villager, who also happened to be carrying medical supplies with him. Dylan then proceeded to capture him and commandeer the whole collection. Though Clanker thermometers weren't as easy to read as British model's, they were a little better, accuracy wise. Dr. Busk made a mental note to ask the captive if he had noticed anything peculiar about Dylan.

"Doctor? Doctor, how's my arm." Busk ran his arm over the gauze. It was firm, but wouldn't break if Newkirk was careful.

"Just fine, but don't go up in a Huxley any time soon. I suspect that our Captain will be holding an address to the crew soon, so you should get out of here fast."

"Okay, but is there something on your mind?" Dr. Busk eyed Newkirk, and then decided on an answer.

"Just our captive and Mister Sharp. Barking strange that a boy just walks out of the night with medical supplies. What do you think of them?"

"Well, the captive seems odd enough. Pretty posh for a villager in the middle of nowhere. As for Mister Sharp," Newkirk added the slight emphasis that Hirst or Erasmus did when they spoke about the boy. Busk eyed him wearily, "he's a pretty good soldier. Sort of the strong silent type of boy, and a bit skinny to." Newkirk cocked an eyebrow. "But I've heard that there may be a little more to this boy then meets the eye, and some are willing to place money on it. Is that true, sir?"

Busk chuckled, then looked at his door. Satisfied that no one would come bursting in at a moment's notice, he focused back on Newkirk. "Well, you didn't hear it from me, but about half the crew's convinced that Dylan's not really a boy. Course, that doesn't include me or the Captain or the rest, but most of us suspect and nearly half are convinced he's a she; which in my opinion is a pretty flimsy idea to begin with. But if you're looking to place a bet…"

…

Saulb Newkirk grabbed the rope, slipped and swore. Why did he have to be in a Huxley, filled with flammable Hydrogen, when the clankers decide to shoot lightning at the Leviathan? Why he, of all people, would be subject to that sort of embarrassment? But he was lucky on two accounts. Account one was having his Huxley's ballast tanks rupture on their own accord and flush him with more water then they seemed to contain. Account number two was having Dylan rescue him when he did.

"Hurry up bumrag!" Newkirk smirked as the boy swore beneath him. At least he knew that Dylan was really a boy now; no girl would have gone down a whole thousand feet of rope just to rescue one boy. Maybe they would have screamed a little and cried a squick, but actually taking things into their own hands was something they just couldn't do.

Newkirk chuckled quietly and pulled himself further up the line. In just a few minutes (it seemed like hours) they had reached the spine of the Leviathan. Mister Rigby pulled the pair up from the line.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that Mister Sharp and Mister Newkirk, I will have you cleaning the gastric channels faster than you can say blisters." The head bosun's glare was softened a little by Dylan's presence, which only made Newkirk angry. He had a bet against Rigby that Dylan was a boy, and he had the gall to treat Dylan differently because of that. But Rigby was already walking away, and that was what pushed Newkirk over the edge. Not even going to bother with him, eh?

Mister Rigby tripped, and fell face first on the membrane. That made Newkirk a little happier. Now they just had to get to Istanbul, and everything would be perfect. Newkirk had always wanted to see the world, and Istanbul was the perfect place to start. Of course there was the problem of the Osmen making the British less favorable every day.

Newkirk knew that the British empire needed the beastie and dreadnought, but did they really have to steal it from the Ottomans. Barking spiders, they had paid for them and the first Lord of the Admiralty had taken it from right under there nose. Why did all politicians need to be ninnies? It seemed like a job requirement to them.

But those were the problems of politician's and the rich, Newkirk decided. He was a soldier and though he knew it was wrong, he also knew it wasn't of his concern. So what if the Admiralty were ninnies; so long as he got paid and was given time off every year, he was good. Course Newkirk didn't know everything about the world yet… or himself.

…

"Tee Nora?"

"Certainly Ernst."

Nora Barlow and Ernst Volger were having a short little break while the Leviathan went through training exercises with the Behemoth. The crew needed to become intimately familiar with the Fabrication, even if it tried to eat them occasionally. But they had some time now. And the conversation regarding the Behemoth had turned to into a broader conversation about the growing war, the various casualties already being suffered by both sides, and inevitably, to the Austrian's and Alek's position with them.

"But certainly the public would be swayed by Alek? If they would not be, then they may never be able to leave the monarchy behind, like Russia and France." Barlow was convinced that Alek could control his nation, even though she knew nothing of the papal mandate.

"Well my dear boffin, if I do recall correctly Britain's sovereign remains in power."

"Beside the point. If Alek could exercise any control over them, he could lead his nation out of the war. It wouldn't be too hard, kings have been replaced before."

"His Serene Highness cannot even control his own feelings, let alone other people." Volger murmured bitterly.

Barlow's eyebrow rose impressively. "And where would his feelings be of the matter. In regards to Mister Sharp, perhaps?"

"You're not supposed to know that." This astonished voice came from none other than Mister Hirst, who had just walked in without knocking. Volger retorted with ease.

"And you're not supposed to walk in when a lady is speaking, Hirst. You do better to show some manners on your own airship."

Hirst rolled his eyes. "Not my ship, but it's more mine then yours." He sat down on the couch in the room. "How did you figure out that Dylan wasn't a boy anyway?"

Barlow laughed manically. "Almost from the start. It was after our narrow escape from the Herkules and the German's that I put the pieces together. And just in time to. She had almost told Aleksandar."

"And you didn't tell me that little tidbit." Volger's look could have cut steel, though Barlow ignored it skillfully.

"Oh Ernst, your paternal protection of the boy is striking. You must be rather gentle with your kids." Volger chuckled softly.

"I could demonstrate my, er, gentleness if you please." Barlow giggled, but Hirst groaned. Volger snapped his attention back up… and straight to the door, where now stood Dr. Busk, leaning on the frame.

"I never knew that Dylan was so close to Alek, but I doubt that he's a girl. The evidence is simply against him." Busk walked in, with Corporal Hoffman behind him.

"I have to admit sir, I'm pretty sure that Dylan's just that, a boy." Hoffmen spoke in German, but Barlow followed easily. "I never saw anything out of the ordinary with him, so if he was a girl, then he's an amazing actor." Hoffman paused, seemingly unsatisfied with his answer. Then- "Or actress."

"Thank you Mister Hoffman for your valuable input, but we can ascertain that Mister Sharp is indeed Miss Sharp." Barlow smiled. "I can notice certain… patterns if you would, around Dylan's behavior. I can assure you that Dylan is female." Hoffman looked a little uncomfortable and looked at Volger for conformation. He simply nodded and did not explain why he was so certain himself. Partly because it wasn't the most reliable source, mostly because it was a little improper for him to have learned it through such manner as he had.

"Well then, if we think that Mister Sharp is really Miss Sharp, then we should report it, for her own protection." Hirst pointed out from his reclined position on the couch. "The Admiralty would have her off the ship faster than you could blink." Barlow shook her head.

"I believe that it is important that Dylan Sharp remain on the Leviathan. She would be invaluable as leverage to keep Alek here." Her sly reasoning flew over the heads of the crew, but not Volger.

"If the boy has any sense, then he will leave for the out country when he has the chance." Volger took his tea, swirled it in his cup, than sipped. "But I doubt it."

Busk chuckled quietly. Everyone looked at him, vaguely interested. "Well if we all know, how long will it be until Alek does?"

…

Captain Calvin Hobbes pulled the paperwork from his desk, and handed it to Mister Rigby. First the Ottomans, now Russia. If the Admiralty didn't keep assigning his crew to the most mundane tasks, then they'd end up on the frontlines soon. But the assignment was an important one, if Dr. Barlow was to be believed. Who knew weather patterns were so interesting?

For this little study he had selected Middy Sharp for the duty. He, (and the captain considered Dylan a he, though he wouldn't put money on it), was the smallest of the crew and the best with the fabrications. It wouldn't be too long before he got his full paycheck, and became a real part of the ship. But that wasn't quite as important as the assignment as of yet.

Oh who was he kidding, actually being part of a crew, part of a family really, was so much more important than flimsy weather patterns that weren't supposed to be there. Hobbes cut off his train of thought by requesting a lizard from John. A message lizard plodded onto his desk, waiting for its message.

"Dr. Barlow, if you have the time, convene with me and Mister Hirst on the bridge in short order. It's about our assignment, and it's relevance to the war effort. End of message." The Lizard scrambled off. Hobbes smirked after it. Never underestimate a boffin. One day they're making bacteria, the next it's living airships. Fabrication was a spectacular thing.

The door opened and closed. Hobbes smiled widely. "Ah, Mr. Sharp, our best midshipman when it comes to flying…"

A/N: What do you think? Too short, too long; what? This is my first (and probably last) whole Leviathan story to date. I do hope you like it.

The scarlet women thing was totally expected (through oft ignored) during most wars, prior to women actually being excepted into the armed forces course with Deryn being fifteen and all, the captain would have and should have acted accordingly. As for the crew actually sleeping with her... nah. These are brits. They're proper.

Oh, and unless Newkirk's name or the ending didn't tip you off, yes this does feed into my first fan fiction; A Mari Usque Ad Mare. So yeah, everyone suspects a little. That's why everyone followed Alek and Dylan in chapter 9.

Tootles; and whatever you have, have a happy one.