A/N Well, it has been a long time, hasn't it. Over a year ago, I published my first fanfiction, All Things Considered, for the reading pleasure of this fandom. The response might have been small (understandably so) but it was so warm that now that I have a little momentum behind me, I had to return. And so I have, with a vengeance.
Now, to the story. Welcome to the prologue of Altas, my continuation on Goliath. A bit of housekeeping first though: as the prologue takes place directly after the Bonus Chapter, you might want to reread that first as there are direct and indirect references to it within. It is, however, meant to be a bit of recap before the story really gets started, so the tone may be a tad different, a little slower perhaps. Also, a special thanks to Nenya62189 for being so lovely and giving me the confidence to finally post again.
So, let us begin. Here, have a dollop of Dalek.
And as always, Leviathan © Westerfeld
New Year's Eve, 1914
Alek pushed back his rumpled hair as quickly as he could without looking frantic. Fortunately, there was no one in the hallway to see Deryn pop out of the changing room behind him, as flushed as he was and even more rumpled. As she twisted her dress back into place, Alek caught a glimpse of a lacy strap on her shoulder which he was sure was not part of the dress and certainly not meant to be seen.
She followed his line of sight and smirked.
"Like I said, it's not so bad in this kind of dress."
It had been more than an hour since they had discretely disappeared from the New Year's Eve party, retreating into the privacy of the changing room to share champagne and each other's intimate company away from the prying eyes of reporters, guardians, and everyone else who might come snooping.
Alek shook himself a little, as though to shake the deep red flush from his ears. "We look awful." He said. "Do you think someone will notice—?"
Deryn laughed. "We look about as I expect we would if we'd just been dancing, ninny."
"Meteoric," Bovril giggled, as the loris' tiny face appeared out from under Alek's petticoats.
"Nothing of the sort." Deryn said, feigning offense. "We're all proper ladies here."
"Nothing of the sort." Alek rebutted. "Come on. If we wait any longer and someone will probably come looking for us."
He scooped up Bovril and together they made their way back to the ballroom.
The music and chatter had gotten distinctly louder than when they had left. Most of the couples were still spinning about the dance floor in an ever more dizzying waltz as the champagne kept flowing. Now though, there were a number of clustered conversations scattered about the room. On the far side, Alek could just make out a number of ladies, including Dr. Barlow, who all seemed to be enrapt in whoever they were circling, bobbing their heads in agreement every few moments.
"Biddies," Deryn muttered, "Reminds me of my aunties."
Dr. Barlow left the gaggle then, and her place was immediately taken by another woman with a set of gossamer fairy wings. The lady boffin was shaking her head and smiling.
"I wonder what that was about." Alek said.
The music hit its crescendo in a flurry of violin as the room erupted into applause. Couples bowed and curtsied to each other.
Alek had never been to a formal ball, he had been too young, and his parents too protective. But tonight had been wonderful. He wondered, if only vaguely, if he might have enjoyed the grand balls in Vienna. For a moment, he imagined the scandalized looks of officers and aristocrats as he lead Deryn into a dance. But it was fleeting. He would not have to imagine dancing with Deryn, and he did not have to endure such looks of disapproval from anyone any longer. He smiled.
The music was starting again, this time much faster and of a kind Alek was not used to hearing. The younger boffins and their wives and sweethearts were flooding the dance floor. Deryn looked excited.
"It's called ragtime." She said, then dropped her voice. "It looks like fun."
"I thought you didn't want to be the village lass at a dance." Alek whispered.
"Aye, but I'm not sitting around twisting my skirts waiting for a partner, am I?"
Alek made sure to look her in the eye. "Someday, I'll take you dancing."
Deryn tilted her head innocently. "Promise?"
"I promise."
"Well then, you'd better get good at it your princeliness." She punched him in the arm teasingly.
"It seems I will."
The night was passing quickly. Already heads were turning to the clock to check the time, waiting to ring in the New Year.
In a corner, Alek and Deryn were watching the crowd bustle about. Dr. Spencer's Huxley balloons were now fully entangled in the chandelier, and there were no less than five assistants attempting without much success to free them. Alek had pointed out the presence of Adela Rogers to Deryn, who scowled for a moment, then decided to let it be. It might have been worse, after all. It might have been Eddie Malone. They even caught a glimpse of the illusive Mr. Barlow, who was dressed as a clergyman. Or, it might have been him. They could never be quite sure. In fact, they were beginning to question the man's very existence, he was so rarely mentioned by his wife.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Deryn asked suddenly.
"Yes, I am." Alek smiled. "Very much. Why do you ask?"
Deryn's face was unreadable for a moment. "I'm not sure. It's just that, with everything that's happened—all the running about, hiding, escaping, and palaver—well . . ." She paused, then broke into a grin. "I thought just now, this is the most proper thing we've done in ages!"
"You think this is proper?" Alek chuckled.
"Oh, right, I should've said, least dangerous."
"And that, I think, deserves a toast—to the least dangerous night of our lives."
"We're going to need more champagne if we're going to toast." There was a sneaky little bit of suggestion in Deryn's voice. Alek felt his ears burning again.
"Well, then," he cleared his throat, "We should go get some, shouldn't we."
There was a small round table near them ringed with full champagne glasses and piled high with h'orderves on a tiered tray. Deryn took four without hesitation.
Alek raised an eyebrow. "Not very ladylike of you,"
"Said the boy in a dress."
Alek was about to comment that, supposedly, so was she, and render the point moot, but he was very suddenly crowded out from the table.
A plump woman dressed as a Greek goddess was in an animated conversation with an equally large man dressed as Zeus. Neither of them noticed Alek, who edged back to where Deryn was standing, listening in.
"Well, that was rude." Alek muttered.
"Shh! If we're going to be Dr. Barlow's assistants, we might as well start overhearing things like proper sneaky-beaks."
Alek was not entirely comfortable with the idea of actively eavesdropping, especially for no real reason, but, in fairness, they did not have to try very hard.
"You know I've always said that we ought to take more care of our natural creatures." Said the woman, a little too loudly. "After all, they are the genesis of our fabrications, Francis."
The man dressed as Zeus, complete with foil lightning bolt, looked at her with baffled surprise. "But dearest, you've never said anything of the kind."
"Well I've been meaning to say, then." She huffed, irritated. "There's a man, over there with the lizard head, he's got a wonderful idea for just that sort of thing."
Dr. Francis Carstairs, Head of Finance for the Zoological Society, turned to look where his wife was pointing.
He balked. "But isn't that the Austrian count fellow? A Clanker?"
"Is he? Oh, never mind that. Well he's perfectly right, don't you know. Frankly it's about time someone did something or other. And so charming too." She babbled. Then, "Francis, I want you to talk to him."
"What? My dear, you recall we are still at war with—"
"Oh yes, but Mrs. Wilcox and Mrs. Lyall have already brought their husbands over to see him. You know, this could become quite the thing."
Dr. Carstairs blinked for a moment, his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. But evidently Mrs. Carstairs had no intention of waiting for her husband's reply and took his arm to lead him over to the far side of the room where Alek could just see the papier-mâché head of Count Volger's costume, surrounded by the Society's powerful and their wives.
Alek smirked. "So, that's Volger's game."
"So charming," cooed Bovril, who began to giggle.
Deryn shushed the loris and sniffed derisively. "About as charming as gone-off milk, if you ask me."
"I wouldn't be so quick to criticize him in this case. He mentioned something to me about currying favor with the Society for some sort of preservationist scheme. If he succeeds, I can't imagine he would have much reason to stay here." His smirk broadened. "I just didn't think he would be so quick about it. Or adept."
"Well, the sooner gone the better, for whatever reason."
"Ah, there you are," came a voice from the crowd.
Dr. Barlow was striding toward them, the hem of her angel's dress rippling out behind her with Tazza following close behind, her loris sitting on the thylacine's back.
Deryn stood up and bowed. "Good evening, ma'am."
"Good evening, Mr. Sharp, Mr. Hohenburg. I trust you are enjoying yourselves?"
"Very much, thank you ma'am." Deryn said brightly.
"Excellent," she said. "However . . . There is something I would speak with you about, both of you."
Alek leaned in a little. Was this the mission they had been waiting for?
"As I'm sure you've heard," she said, her voice brisk and business-like, "There are talks of a peace conference set for early next year. I am unsure of just when at the moment, those in charge are being tightlipped about the whole affair even to me. But, as it is a certainty that I will be attending in some capacity, it is also a certainty that you will be attending as well."
"Attending as who, exactly?" Deryn asked. While Alek had been hoping for a mission into Clanker territory, Deryn had been only hoping for a mission which involved her exclusively in trousers.
"As my assistants, of course." The lady boffin said. "Needless to say I have high expectations for you both and I am afraid we may be needing both of your unorthodox expertise before this is all over and done with."
Alek was not sure of what he felt just now. The war was ending, now it was just a matter of signing the papers, and he would be there to see it. He ought to feel proud, relieved, happy. And yet . . .
"Dr. Barlow, what do you mean by—?"
But Alek never finished. At that moment, the whole ballroom erupted into raucous, joyful chaos. Bells all over the city struck twelve and began to ring, announcing the beginning of the year 1915.
Deryn slipped her hand into his as the room began to sing.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne."
"Happy New Year, Alek."
If Alek thought any more about the strangeness of what Dr. Barlow had said, the thoughts were soon drowned out by the music and the deafening cheers. Besides, Deryn was with him, and for that, the rest of the warring world could wait one more night.
"Happy New Year, Deryn."
A/N Auld Lang Syne has a number of different versions and verses to it, so I thought I'd just stick to the first verse and chorus to be safe. Also, if anyone is wondering why on earth Volger is suddenly so popular with the biddies, I figure anyone so adept at subterfuge must also be at least a passable actor as well. And we should never underestimate the power of that 'stache.
Just for funsies, in the ending Author's Note of every chapter I will be including my own personal headcanons, snippets of backstory, and many other interesting special features. Pay attention to these because when I am finished with the main story, there's always a chance I myself may include a bonus chapter or two lifted from the ideas expressed here or by popular demand. Enjoy! And as always, reviews are love.