If there was one thing Newkirk hated more than intimidating-looking beasties, it was waiting. Not the sort of waiting that comes with eagerness and anticipation, but the suspenseful ticking of the clock that would eventually deliver him into harm's way. For better or worse, the Air Service always found a way to put him in those situations, though he wasn't entirely sure if he had become a better person because of it.
Case in point: he was stuck hanging around the Leviathan's cargo hold with Midshipmen O'Donovan and Fitzroy, waiting for the go-ahead to open up the blast-proof doors and begin handing over the mysterious crates made of fabricated wood. He had no idea what they were delivering, or if the Ottomans had gotten over the last fiascoes that happened when his people plopped into Istanbul and started causing trouble. What if they still resented his airbeast's role in destroying their infrastructure, and decided he would look better with a knotted rope as a necktie?
The thought of it made him shudder. Realizing how dangerous it was to psych himself out, Newkirk attempted to shift his focus onto any other topic.
"O'Donovan!" he yelled across the room to the midshipman, "any idea what's in these boxes?"
"Sorry, boss, not a clue. I thought the boys in charge were supposed to tell us about them ahead of time! Come to think of it, does anyone here even know what these things are holding?"
Michael O'Donovan was the epitome of a fresh-faced recruit: friendly and open to all sorts of chit-chat, amiable even in the worst of situations, and completely useless when it came to advanced maneuvers and responsibilities. But, since Captain Hobbes saw something useful in him, he became the second addition to the crew since the departure of Dylan and Aleksandar. That wasn't to say he was a waste of hydrogen: he took the most grueling tasks with a smile and a "yes, sir," and he had a knack for calming the more-aggressive beasties down, something that Newkirk found incredibly beneficial. Those qualities weren't nearly enough to win the hearts of his fellow crew members, as Fitzroy and some of the others would remind him.
Apparently, he had a twin sister around Dylan's age, though he never went into too much detail about her. The only things he knew were that she loved birds, preferred sensitive boys who talked about their feelings, and was currently embroiled in some guerrilla conflict as a volunteer. Essentially, she was off-limits to anyone serving alongside her brother.
Newkirk's thoughts were interrupted by two short bursts of the airbeast's klaxons. Recognizing it as the signal to get started, he and O'Donovan scrambled to start raising the study doors of the cargo hold, while Fitzroy slid each of the crates closer to the entrance.
"Come on, come on!" Mr. Rigby shouted from the back of the room. "Get to it! The gendarmes are standing around and waiting for you lot!"
With a heave, Newkirk cycled the crank one last time, securing the blast doors above them while the hand-off went on.
Istanbul stood before them like a sweeping panorama, its metal towers illuminated by the setting of the sun. The port was crowded with dozens of people mulling about, and at least twenty Ottoman policemen standing beside the Leviathan, billy clubs at the ready in case any more spontaneous protests broke out. In addition to the airships tied down near their airbeast, there were a good number of fishing boats docked at the port, a few of their owners selling their catches at hastily-erected stalls.
Aboard a normal airship, a ramp or set of stairs would be lowered to allow the fez-clad military police to climb aboard. However, as he had learned, the Leviathan was no ordinary airship. Instead of a metal ramp, a tongue-like appendage slithered out of a gap left by the opening of the blast doors, pressing itself down onto the concrete to create an angle small enough to walk on. The entire process earned a shudder from Newkirk. The Ottomans looked either morbidly confused or utterly disgusted at the entrance, but began walking up once a younger-looking officer took his first few steps onto the surprisingly solid surface.
Upon reaching the cargo hold, the officer clicked his heels together and saluted Mr. Rigby, imitating a Darwinist-styled military greeting. "My nation thanks you for your generous donation, men of the Leviathan," he said in heavily-accented but grammatically-solid English. "We will take care of extraction and delivery of the. Rest assured, distribution of these organs will be fair and just."
Newkirk blanched at his comment. They were carrying fabricated organs with them the entire time? Is that why they swished around whenever he would move them one way or the other? As if the tongue-ramp didn't unsettle him enough…
"It's not a problem at all! In fact, I would be more than willing to have my men assist yours with these crates."
"I appreciate your offer, but my men can take care of this operation." The officer shouted something in Turkish to the other policemen, and they promptly began carrying the aid packages out of the cargo hold.
Looking out at the hustle and bustle of Istanbul's streets, Newkirk unconsciously began making comparisons with his life in Scotland's capitol. It was odd, staring at the Clankers going about their business and imagining how it would fit in Edinburgh. Small, spider-like walkers were used as taxis and buses, ferrying people around the city like the oxenesque-pulled carriages did where he grew up. The markets looked eerily similar as well, disregarding the metallic sheen everything had in Clanker territory. They looked so…normal. These people hardly fit the savage descriptions that the recruitment posters gave them; in fact, he would go so far as to say they seemed mostly harmless.
"But you knew that all along, didn't you, Eugene?" a mocking voice reverberated in his mind. "Or maybe you just forgot. Drowning out the sins of ancestors with over-the-top patriotism does tend to skew one's views, no?"
Newkirk shut his eyes and shook his head angrily. Now was not the time to begin guilting himself or debating what he did or did not deserve.
Just as his men had almost cleared out the cargo hold, the Ottoman officer's grip on his crate slackened, and the container crashed into the ground, miraculously unharmed by the fall. Newkirk rushed over to the man's side.
"My apologies, midshipman. That was horribly clumsy of me."
Newkirk picked up the box for him. "Really, it's nothing to worry about. Happens to me all the time!"
"I will remember that," the officer said, taking the crate out of his hands. Newkirk felt something smooth and flat slip into his hand as the crate was taken away by the officer. Turning away from the entrance, he opened his fist, revealing a folded piece of paper with the words, "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL TRANSACTION IS CONCLUDED," emblazoned on one side.
"Oi, Newkirk, what's that you got there?" O'Donovan asked, blissfully unaware of the obviously-secretive nature of the message.
Perhaps recognizing the clandestine nature of the note, or just fed up with O'Donovan's cheerful ignorance, Fitzroy swatted the back of the other midshipman's head. "Not here, you stupid plonker!"
"That's enough, Mr. Fitzroy. You and Mr. O'Donovan close up shop here; I'll be taking Mr. Newkirk to the captain."
"Bring four representatives from your airship to the address marked at the bottom of this paper. At least one higher-ranking person should be present. If the proprietor asks you the question, 'Do you know Mata Hari?' your response should be, 'Yes, and can you spare a cigarette.' Your contact will be there waiting for you in a concealed location. Come unarmed or do not come at all."
Once Newkirk had finished reading the message aloud, Captain Hobbes glanced over at the other officers present. His grey beard and commanding-yet-respectful presence hadn't faltered in the year or so since the war's conclusion. To the men serving aboard the Leviathan, himself included, the captain was a pillar of stability in times of crisis.
"What do you all make of this?" Captain Hobbes asked.
Mr. Hirst spoke up first. "Frankly, captain, I believe this is a trap. Clankers are a manipulative, unscrupulous bunch, and they're backstabbers by nature. Who's to say this isn't some sort of sting operation planned by the Germans? If they find out our true reason for being here, we could be arrested and court-martialed as spies!"
From what Dylan had let slip to him, much of Mr. Hirst's distrust of Clankers came from a confrontation between him, Aleksandar, and one of the Austrian mechanics they employed to maintain the engines. How it started was a mystery to him, but the aftermath left Aleksandar in the infirmary and the Austrian in the brig.
If there was one person that mystified him more than that "count" person, it was Aleksandar. His first impression of the Austrian boy was that he seemed shy and effeminate, but was overall not a bad person to have around. But, just as he began proving his worth, more and more confusing information poured out about him, all of which baffled Newkirk greatly. Not only was he part of the nobility, and not only was he a prince, but he was also the heir to the entire barking Austro-Hungarian Empire! And, since their contact was fairly limited over the course of the Great War, he never got the opportunity to ask him how or why he defected in the first place.
"If I may, captain?" Mr. Rigby interjected. "While Hirst may have a point, this is our only lead on the defector so far. If the streets are as heavily-patrolled as the rumors said, then he may not be able to get to us without our assistance. In my opinion, we ought to go to the location tonight, because waiting around will just make the Vizier suspicious."
Captain Hobbes nodded. "You both have good points. While the safety of our crew is a top priority, this is a job we cannot afford to waste time on. Mr. Newkirk, your thoughts?"
He initially hesitated, unsure of whether or not the captain was joking. "Well…I think that the Clankers might have a bad streak so far, but…I'm not sure. I just feel like we can trust them this time. We all know about the troubles going on around here; why would the Ottomans jeopardize their isolation by arresting us for something we may not have even done?" A contemplative silence followed his suggestion. "If it helps," he then spoke up, "I'll volunteer to go wherever this takes us."
"No need for that, Mr. Newkirk, as I've made my decision. Tonight, you, Mr. O'Donovan, Mr. Fitzroy, and Mr. Rigby will contact the defector and arrange for his extraction. If you are harassed or arrested, remember that you are a foreign national and have partial diplomatic immunity."
Ironically, Newkirk had hoped that his advice on the mission and selfless volunteering would have gotten him out of a hairy assignment like this. Upon retrospect, Captain Hobbes was most likely still intent on making him man up.
Captain Hobbes pulled out his rustic pipe and lit it, blowing a smoke ring for effect. "Best of luck, everyone!" he said with a smile. "Just keep calm and carry on."
In contrast to his expectations, the hideout for the German defector wasn't a back alley or some underground tunnel in the vast expanses of Istanbul. Instead, the address scrawled on the note led to a quaint little restaurant somewhere in the western half of the city, near some sort of fancy hotel.
"Are you sure this is it?" O'Donovan asked, squinting at the signs written in Turkish and German on the wall.
Mr. Rigby glanced down at the note again. "Well, the numbers match up perfectly on both addresses. We should pop in and see if it leads us in the right direction."
Newkirk and the others slowly opened the door and walked inside, greeted by the site of a crudely-assembled bar. It had all the trappings of the pubs Newkirk's friends would drag him to in Edinburgh, complete with boxes of peanuts, barstools scattered around the room, and a wall lined with liquor bottles of all shapes and sizes. Two metallic tables sat near the back, accompanied by five chairs each. The grey-and-blue carpeting sported a variety of stains and discarded shells.
"It's a bar?" Newkirk asked, completely unsure of what to make of his surroundings. Weren't the Muslims adamantly opposed to drinking alcohol? If so, what in the world was a bar doing in here?
Fitzroy clapped his hands together, saying, "This is my kind of meeting place!"
With a slow and careful pace, the four approached the middle-aged bartender, who had been watching them intently.
"Always good to see more thirsty sky sailors!" the bartender said. "Take a seat anywhere. What are you in the mood for?"
"My subordinates and I are just here to browse your wares, if you don't mind."
"Is that so? Do you know Mata Hari?"
Newkirk picked up on the cue, and wanting to take the lead, said, "Aye, and can you lend us a fag? I mean, yes, and can you spare a cigarette?"
The bartender nodded, closed the front door, and locked it. "Follow me," he said.
The bartender led them behind the counter, past the poster of Kaiser Wilhelm standing triumphant over a fallen Lord Churchill, past the recruitment poster for the Ottoman Navy, and past the wanted posters for a dark-haired girl wearing an intricate dress, and finally into the supply closet. From there, he cleared away three cardboard boxes from the left side of the room, and pried open a hidden panel. In the now-open space was a ladder extending down at least twice his height into a dimly-lit tunnel.
"Barking spiders," Newkirk muttered, "you've got a secret tunnel down here! It's just like that lot that escaped the German prison camp!"
"Newkirk, for the love of God, quit talking like Sharp!" Fitzroy yelled at him. "Just because you're both Scots doesn't mean you have to prance around borrowing his stupid catchphrases!"
"Oh, get off my back, Fitzroy! You're just sore that he and I got to stay aboard the ship while you got shipped off to the middle of nowhere!"
"Both of you, quiet down!" Mr. Rigby ordered them. "We're about to meet our defector, so start acting presentable!"
Begrudgingly, Newkirk and Fitzroy kept their mouths shut. The five men descended the ladder, ending up in a short tunnel that led to a larger-looking room below the surface. Gas lanterns adorned the walls, giving the relatively-dark area some much-needed light. The path ahead was blocked by a wooden door.
"They will be in the room ahead," the bartender said, pulling out a key ring and opening each lock on the door one by one.
"What's with all the locks?" Fitzroy asked, "This place looks pretty well-hidden as it is. What, are you afraid that ze Germans are going to find this place?"
"The Germans? They are of no threat to us. The Committee is what frightens me most, as I have more than one guest staying here." With the last lock undone, he pushed open the door, revealing two figures sitting on the floor.
The two occupants of the room were an androgynous-looking man and a girl around his age. The man had long, unkempt blond hair and an odd mix of Turkish and European clothing on. The girl was what caught Newkirk's eye: everything from her impressive height to her fierce-looking gaze gave her an authoritative aura he hadn't seen on a woman since Dr. Barlow boarded their airbeast. She was wearing a surprisingly high-cut dress that revealed her ankles, which caused him to briefly avert his eyes in embarrassment.
"About time, Imran!" the man said, getting up and shaking the bartender's hand. His accent was definitely Germanic. Was this the defector they were supposed to meet?
The bartender, or Imran, nodded and stepped back, giving Newkirk and the others enough space to enter the cramped room.
"You must be from the Leviathan, no? It is an honor to meet you all. My name is Doctor Johann Schmidt, and I am the former chief fabricator for the German Empire."
If the blank stares from the others were any indication, they were as confused as he was. Did the defector just declare himself to be "chief fabricator" for the Germans? They were a strictly Clanker state! Either he was dead serious, or he was just taunting them.
"I'm not sure if I heard that correctly. Did you say…chief fabricator? As in, you make fabrications for the Germans?"
"Well, I made them once upon a time. The Germans wanted me to replicate your designs for testing purposes; namely, what weaknesses they could possibly have and what sorts of ammunition would be most effective. It went on like that for a while, until I managed to contact the March 31st Movement about defecting to your side. Fraulein Lilit here has played an essential role in getting people like me in and out of the Empire."
This was becoming far too much to process. Mr. Rigby, possibly as out of words as Newkirk was, simply nodded his head at the flow of revelations. "Regardless of what you did, all that matters now is extracting you to a safe place in London. Will you be able to leave tonight?"
"Well…about that…"
"In exchange for our protection," Lilit spoke up, "Dr. Schmidt agreed to negotiate for a favor on our behalf. Something," she shot him a look that could only mean trouble, "that he clearly forgot to mention in the letter we smuggled to your Admiralty."
"What do you mean, 'a favor?' If you expect us to help you attack the Ottoman Empire's military, then you are gravely mistaken."
"I never asked for your help with the revolution." Judging by her tone, Lilit was fairly annoyed at their uncooperative stance on the matter. "What I need from you is more of a…humanitarian favor, if you would." Her head faced the floor as she took a deep breath. "My people are getting slaughtered by the hundreds, and unless they are evacuated from Istanbul, they will face greater reprisals if we fail. I will need your airbeast to escort the remaining Armenians from Istanbul to the northernmost city, Edirne."
In Lilit's eyes lay an intense focus that seemed to consume everything around them. There was no doubt in his mind how she came to be leading an entire rebellion. Even in a cramped safe house below a run-down bar, everything she said had power behind it. He felt so inspired by her determination that he was tempted to stick up for her idea.
"Absolutely not!" Mr. Rigby said.
Newkirk allowed the thought of voicing his opinion to die down. This was going to get ugly very quickly.
"Do you expect us to violate our treaties with the Ottomans and evacuate hundreds, maybe thousands of refugees without passports or papers? We don't have the resources for a task like that!"
Dr. Schmidt weakly raised his hand. "Don't I have a say in any of this?"
Both sides ignored his plea. "It's a little under one hundred, and we have the passports already taken care of! All you need to do is coordinate with our contacts and find a night when they can slip out with you unnoticed!"
"I've made myself clear, Ms. Lilit. Our sole job was to get the doctor onto British soil, and that is all we intend to do. Whether or not we have your permission is irrelevant."
Instead of arguing back at him like Newkirk expected, Lilit turned to her side, exposing a Mauser pistol holstered onto her dress. Involuntarily, he stepped back in fear.
"Are you sure it's irrelevant?" Lilit asked, smirking. "Because my ten rounds here suggest otherwise."
Newkirk's hands were in the air as he quivered in his boots. He didn't consider himself easily spooked, but loaded guns and nasty-looking beasties put the fear of God in him faster than anything else. "Pl-please don't shoot us," he whimpered, keenly aware of how pathetic he sounded.
"Shoot you? That wasn't part of my plan at all. I just needed to remind your superior who's in charge." Rummaging through a pile of clothes situated in one corner of the room, she pulled out a black garment that stretched from head to so, covering everything but one's eyes and hands. "What happens now is simple: I will go to your airbeast to directly negotiate with your captain. Schmidt will stay here, like it or not. One of your men will accompany me on the streets while I wear this burqa, so as to not draw suspicion to either of us. In case you haven't noticed, there is a price on my head."
There was no way Newkirk was going with her.
"You," she said, pointing at him, "you're going to walk with me on the way there. Just act as though you're a Good Samaritan guiding a poor, lost girl back home, and none will be the wiser."
Newkirk accidentally swore aloud, drawing shocked looks from his crew and a fit of laughter from Lilit. "Alright, you are definitely coming with me!" she said.
"What about the doctor?" Mr. Rigby demanded of her. "We can't just leave him here and return empty-handed!"
Lilit shrugged, or appeared to shrug as she slipped on the heavier cover of the burqa. "I can explain the situation to him when I meet him in person. You and the other two midshipmen will leave first, and I will leave soon after with him."
"How do we know you won't turn your back on us?"
"I promise you, I'm telling the truth. Besides, you now know where one of my safehouses is. Isn't that enough reassurance for you?"
She did have a point, as cynical as it was. "I'll be fine," Newkirk said to the others. "I know the way back to the Leviathan."
Unsteadily, the others walked back to the ladder, leaving Newkirk alone with a traitorous German scientist and a girl who just intimidated four men from the Air Service. Dylan would never believe him if he tried to describe it to him. All he wanted was a simple job and a glimpse at what being a hero was like…
"Are you ready to go, Mr…"
"Newkirk. And aye, I'm as ready as you are."
"Good. Don't worry, I doubt your captain will refuse to budge on the matter." As she took his hand to lead him through the tunnel, she paused. "Your pulse is racing, Newkirk."
"It's probably because of how much bigger this mission just became, or because, I don't know, you barking threatened to shoot us!"
Though he could never be certain, he thought he could see a smile forming under the burqa's facial coverings. "I like your attitude, Newkirk," Lilit said. "I think we'll have quite the experience working together!"
A/N: Just to clarify one aspect of this chapter: Lilit's rebellion is known as the "March 31st Movement" after a real-life incident in the Ottoman Empire, when a counter-coup against the Committee of Union and Progress occurred (and was later crushed by their army). I will go more into detail about Lilit's fall from grace with the Committee and the origins of her rebellion in the coming chapters.
As always, I greatly appreciate reviews, so don't be shy! Feel free to voice your opinion in the review box below!