Disclaimer: The world of Leviathan, Behemoth, and Goliath belong to Scott Westerfeld. However, he has been so kind as to allow us fans to play with his characters. Thanks Scott-La!
"Barking spiders, maybe I wasn't cut out for this," thought Deryn as her blue eyes swept the party.
Deryn and Alek were dancing.
Granted, Deryn was in a dress, and that sort of made things less enjoyable. And it wasn't like they were alone; they were in a huge ballroom in the midst of a bunch of people deep in the heart of Germany (Enemy territory!) and they were on a mission...
But they were dancing. And Alek was holding her, which she quite liked. Even if the daft boy wasn't paying much attention to her. Even if he was constantly looking over her shoulder, scanning the room for the men that Dr. Barlow had sent them to find. And even though Count Volger was standing in a corner of the room, watching them, acting as chaperone...
They were still dancing together.
Deryn sighed.
She could hear the stringed band playing in the background, adding to the lively atmosphere. Couples danced gracefully on the floor and she wrinkled her nose as she watched them. Dancing- just one more thing she had to learn on top of her other duties.
She could picture Dr. Barlow's face in her mind. "Of course you need to learn to dance, Miss Sharp! I am training you to be my assistant. You'll need to go undercover, you'll need to learn to blend in with the others. And that includes dancing." Alek, lucky, daft boy that he was, already knew how to dance spectacularly, and even agreed with Dr. Barlow! "Bum-rag" whispered Deryn, but softly. She was playing the part of a lady tonight and it wouldn't do to curse. The foreign ambassadors at the party might spill their drinks if they heard.
They circled the party ("gracefully, head up, hands still at her sides, strides measured" recited Dr. Barlow in her head) and scanned the room again. This was yet another training assignment. They were in Magdeburg, almost smack dab in the middle of Germany.
Dr. Barlow was certain that the Germans had something up their sleeve; something big. She had given them a simple prompt for tonight. The two of them needed to identify the bodyguards on duty for two men: the Zoological Society's President, the Duke of Bedford, and Greg Hanover. Hanover was technically English, a wealthy merchant who was heavily invested in German weapon technology. Smaller German merchants buzzed around him like bees.
Deryn thought she had tagged at least two of Hanover's bodyguards and one of the Duke's, but she couldn't be sure. She thought that the physical appearance of the huge, hulking men would be too obvious to act as bodyguards, but perhaps they were purposely placed to mislead her.
It galled her that she had been reduced to this- this role of observer. She hadn't done anything since coming under Dr. Barlow's pay. Just took lessons about dancing, and history and politics and stuff.
Alek got all the interesting lessons, like street fighting lessons from a disreputable-looking man Deryn could hardly believe Dr. Barlow acquainted with. She'd been a little wary at first, but she couldn't deny Alek's significant improvement in knife throwing… or the new muscles he was getting…
Alek stepped on her foot then, and his muffled curse brought her out of her musing.
Alek never stepped on her. He was always the graceful, poised dancer, the daft-
Someone was speaking over her shoulder.
"May I cut in?"
She turned, to find a young man staring down at her intently. He was dark-haired, with a strong face and eyes that glittered down maliciously. "I have heard that British women are among the most graceful creatures on earth. I would hardly like to go back home and not have a dance to tell of."
Alek choked and Deryn fought down a blush- he must be a German, he had that accent even when speaking flawless English. And he was clearly insulting her; insinuating that she was graceful, as she certainly wasn't, even with the new dance lessons. She wondered what his real purpose in asking her to dance. Did he have information? Was he a spy? Or a Society member in disguise, sent from Dr. Barlow to assess her?
She nodded to Alek absently and placed her slightly sweaty hands in those of the young man.
She tilted her chin up in the face of Alek's worried look and quirked an eyebrow at the German. "I fear that I am no example of British finery," she said, trying to imitate the cultured tongue of Dr. Barlow.
He grinned at her Scottish accent, then pointedly looked down at her fine-trimmed dress, courtesy of the Society. "How do you mean?" He expertly twirled her away, and then back again-
"Well," she confessed, "I can't really dance."
"Nonsense, you just need someone taller than you, and who knows how-"
"Al- He knows how to dance brilliant-" indignant, she barely kept from saying Alek's name.
"Hmmm," he considered. "But you are taller."
She flushed, and stopped right in the dance floor, completely forgetting to remain cultured. She unconsciously took a fighting stance and challenged- "And what's wrong with that, Clanker? Afraid of tall women-?"
He looked down at her (he was a few inches taller than she), amused. "Certainly not. Forgive me madam-"
They resumed dancing. A stiff silence followed.
"How did you know that I am a Clanker?"
Deryn tread carefully here, knowing that she had to be cautious.
"Well," she considered. "Your accent, for one. And although your coat is stereotypically British..." She scrutinized him closely.
"Your haircut is quite German."
He smirked, impressed. "Ah, but I could be only pretending to be a German-"
She rolled her eyes "A Brit pretending to be a German pretending to be a Brit?"
"And," she cut off his laugh, "you have engine grease under your fingernails, though you've tried to wash it off. A sign of a true Clanker," she finished triumphantly.
He threw his head back and laughed, causing another couple to turn and stare at them.
He had a deep, pleasant laugh but right now it made her nervous-
"And what name are you parading under tonight, my lady spy?"
Cold in her belly, dread- "What do you mean?"
He brought his mouth uncomfortably close to her ear and said, "I have surmised who you are, madam." He pulled away a little, and continued. "A tall, blond girl dancing with a short, brown-haired boy. She has a Scottish accent and a tendency to argue-"
Here he put up a hand to cut off her words.
"And is in possession," he continued, "of sword-callused hands; prone to taking a fighter's stance in a heated debate." He leaned in even closer, "She can spot a Clanker a mile off."
Then he uttered words that scared here even more- no German should have known her name-
"Is it possible I am dancing with Miss Deryn Sharp?"
A/N: I love reviews like Bovril loves strawberries.