"There, now how does that feel?" Dr. Barlow slowly slid the sling off Deryn's arm.
Deryn made a few circles with her elbow, "Just a bit weak, ma'am."
It was good to get it off though; she'd wanted to make herself useful and help load the supplies onto the ship. It didn't matter that all the cargo boxes were light enough for her to carry them on her own, the bloody lady boffin had insisted she stay out of the way.
Such was the state of events of the past week or so. Alek had graduated to a cane, and Bovril had become quite a companion to Ramsey. Ian had offered to challenge Count Volger to a "friendly sword match", which the count accepted, and offered to facilitate on the ground when they arrived at Ypres.
The Leviathan landed last night, so this morning was the scheduled duel. The whole ship had been abuzz with excitement and activity; even the captain himself would be attending the show.
"Barking spiders!" Deryn exclaimed as she glanced at a clock on the wall, "The duel's in ten minutes!"
She grabbed her canvas bag of her sketching supplies and made for the sick bay doors; maybe she'd get a chance to capture a few stances or poses.
"Won't you be needing your coat?" Dr. Barlow asked, sounding almost like Deryn's mother.
"I'll be fine ma'am; it'll only be a short while." Deryn only wore her a waistcoat over her middy collared shirt and tie.
…..
The only sound that could be heard was the wind and the rustling of leaves on the few remaining evergreen trees on the battlefield. Gheluvelt was absolutely desolate. The only life really was a few small patches of vegetation and the men stuffed into the miles of trenches with only a handful of beasties. The trenches themselves were both impressive and unnerving; the ground near and around Ypres was famous for its underlying foundation of clay, meaning that one could only dig a couple of feet into the ground before their progress would be halted. This problem was "solved" by the extensive use of sandbags piled high and reinforced with wooden walls, most topped with barbed wire. Bodies, barbed wire barriers, and some of the German machines of war lay strewn about in No-Mans'-Land. Craters dotted the surface like the dimples on Newkirk's face.
But the Germans had retreated the previous day; even if it were only temporary, it would be perfect for the Leviathan to dump its supplies to the Darwinists, and help with any reconnaissance needed of course.
And that meant a little extra time for any dithering about that the crew might want to enjoy. And the match between Wildount Ernst Volger and Lieutenant-Commander Ian Jameson McAllister fit into the 'dithering about' category perfectly. Of course, it was by the captain's permission.
By the time Deryn made her way to the designated combat area (By the captain's orders, they didn't want any stray sparks flying around) she discovered that Alek had made his way there before her, along with Bauer and Hoffman, who stood lively conversing with each other. In fact, most of the crew, including Newkirk, were standing in a big ring around the dueling grounds.
Alek grinned and waved Deryn over.
"I've saved a spot for you," he said, stepping aside. They both had a perfect view of what would unfold.
"Who are you betting on?" Deryn asked.
Alek was silent for a moment, then said, "I'm not sure. I've seen only what Volger has taught me; he has never been one to show off. Ian on the other hand is completely new to me; I never even knew he had swordplay experience until we were called into his office. So it's anyone's game," he said, shrugging.
"Game," Bovril chirped in.
"Oh yes, that reminds me," Alek said, "apparently the winner will be decided by who wins the most out of three rounds. Other than that, the rules are simple: obviously no killing the other person, use dulled swords, and don't hurt bystanders."
"Is that all?" Deryn responded half consciously. She was distracted by Volger and Ian walking into the ring of crewmembers.
Neither of the blade masters wore armour. In fact, both of them shed their coats as they made their way towards the centre, Volger handing his off to Hoffman, and Ian to Mr. Rigby, leaving a black T-shirt on Volger, but Ian kept his long-sleeved uniform shirt. Both wore heavy combat trousers and boots. Wouldn't that slow them down a bit?
Nevertheless, Ian wore a large grin on his face. "Count," he said, "It's been too long."
"I agree with that Ian. Far too long." The count's facial expression never changed; he seemed to have the focus of a wolf.
"Oh come now, Ernst, lighten up a bit, mate. This way we'll see if the student has out-practiced the master." Ian said light-heartedly.
"I should hope not, though I have been…preoccupied…with teaching," Volger shot a glance at Alek.
We'll see if the student has out-practiced the master… The words echoed in Deryn's head. What did Ian mean by that?
"Well, now's a good day to start back into it, eh?" Ian said. "Now let's see the swords you brought."
"Very well," Volger said as he turned. He nodded to Bauer, who brought two sabres into the ring. Volger handed one to Ian, then chose the other for himself.
Ian twisted the sword in his hand, his massive stature making it look like a large knife or dagger rather than a bladed weapon of wars past. He seemed uncomfortable handling such a weapon, but after a few revolutions, his grin had returned.
"Shall we?" he said, falling into a perfect fencing position.
"Whenever you're ready," Volger said as he too fell into his stance.
It was silent for what seemed like ages. The two figures, one dwarfing the other, stood like statues, each one studying the other. The wait was excruciating. A soft breeze blew, creating the only motion in the ring as it softly pulled at articles of clothing.
Somehow, Volger instantly lunged all the way across the ring. Deryn couldn't believe how quickly he'd moved. She'd always reckoned he was nippy, but he seemed a bit old to be moving at that speed.
Ian reacted immediately, parrying four instantaneous blows that erupted from Volger. The count retreated two steps, then lunged again, this time stabbing at the Scot. Ian twisted out of the path of the blade, making a slash of his own as he did so. But Volger brought his blade up, catching Ian's, producing a metallic ring. Ian slid his blade quickly off Volger's, twisted, and faced the count again. Volger recovered, and began parrying as Ian attacked with a speed that Deryn never knew such a body could produce.
"Mein gott," she heard Alek say. "I've never seen such prowess with a sword in my life!"
"Aye, me neither," Deryn said. A constant murmur had spread through the ranks of crewmembers as they watched, and Deryn spied the captain watching, a look of amusement adorning his bearded face.
The fight lasted for a few minutes, neither of the two combatants looking the least bit fatigued. The only hint of strain that was visible were the swollen veins on the count's arms.
Then, the two combatants twisted around each other again, blades flashing. But this time, they stopped. They both let their guards down.
Ian grinned again, "You hit me: right shoulder," he said, indicating his arm.
Volger chuckled, and said, "That was always the one you could never defend properly. But I have to confess, you slashed me right across the belly."
Ian shrugged, "I guess we can call it a draw. I'm more comfortable with a bigger blade anyway."
At this, Volger stood, pondering for a moment, then said, "Let's test that, shall we?"
Ian wore a surprised look on his face for an instant. Volger motioned once again to Bauer, who still bore an uncanny resemblance to Alek without his moustache. The Austrian corporal then brought out two more swords, both quite a bit larger than the Austrian sabres.
Where are all these swords coming from? Deryn thought to herself.
"Now that's odd," Alek said.
Deryn gave him an inquisitive look.
"A bigger sword is usually slower, heavier, and clumsier than something like, say, a sabre. So why is Volger agreeing to use one?"
"Beats me," Deryn said, "it doesn't make sense now that you explained it that way."
Ian took his sword, and held it up with a satisfied sigh. "I approve of the choice, Ernst. Albeit you were predictable," he said in a jovial tone.
"You know my preference is with the hand and a halves," Volger said, "I haven't used a broadsword in years, so I might as well choose one that I am comfortable with. And don't call me Ernst."
"Right then. Would you prefer just Volger, or would you like the full banana and go with Ernst Volger, Wildcount to His Majesty the Archduke of Austria-Hungary?" Ian bore another large smile.
"Oh don't waste your breath with pointless titles; Volger will do."
Ian rolled his shoulders, "Would you like to get started?"
"Eager, are we? If you must," Volger replied.
The two swordsmen assumed their positions once again. But this time, their positions had stances that were a bit wider than the last. The combatants now had both hands on the hilts of their swords.
Deryn tried not to blink. She might miss the first move, after all. She now wondered why she'd even brought along her sketching supplies in the first place; they moved too fast for her to even-
They were off again, this time Ian clearing the space between them faster than seemed humanly possible. He brought the blade down with such power and speed that if Volger's own blade wasn't in the way, Deryn surmised that Ian could've cleaved the count into two pieces lengthwise, even with the dulled blade. She was mildly surprised at how well the count handled a sword of this size; it was half as tall as he was.
Ian, on the other hand, wielded his sword with such grace, dexterity, and speed, that it made Volger look like he was struggling.
The Scot landed a few massive blows, all just parried by Volger, before the count twisted around Ian. The Lieutenant-Commander whirled just in time to catch Volger's blade. Ian brushed it aside, twirled the sizeable sword in his hands, and held it an inch or so from the Count's throat. Volger slapped the blade aside with his own blade, and dove back a few feet.
"Getting careless, aren't we?" Ian said, not even out of breath.
Volger chuckled, "I have to thank you for the warm up." He took a deep breath through his nose, then lunged forward again, the two men of great skill colliding once more.
A shadow passed over Deryn's face, and she looked to the sky to see Ramsey circling the fight from the air. She saw his beady, yet intelligent eyes catch sight of her, and he dove to the ground behind her. She offered her hand, and the raven hobbled up her arm onto her shoulder.
"Incredible, aren't they?" He said in his human-like voice.
"Aye, it's quite a sight," Deryn responded.
"Simply marvellous. I haven't seen them fight like this since Ian decided to take up arms. That was almost seven years ago."
A couple surrounding crewmen turned their heads toward the sound of the bird's voice for a moment, then turned back, perhaps assuming it was just another crewmember.
Deryn frowned and turned her head towards the bird. "How old are you, Ramsey, if you don't mind me asking?"
The bird chuckled; he seemed amused by the question. "Alas, even I don't know my true age. You'd have to ask Ian."
"I'll remember that," Deryn said, a bit confused. Shouldn't a bird that talks and drinks be able to remember its own age? Deryn just let it go; she'd just question Ian about it later.
"Excuse me, Mr. Sharp?" Came the captain's voice from behind Deryn.
She jumped at the sudden sound of it; he seemed to have come out of nowhere. She turned, "Yes, sir?"
"Would you mind letting me know of the outcome? I have some things I have to take care of at the moment." he smiled.
"C-Certainly sir." Deryn said. The captain nodded, and turned to walk toward the ship, which hovered just off the ground. She eyed him suspiciously. When did he make his way around the circle of men? She dismissed it, surmising he must've snuck up on her while the duel was heating up.
Deryn turned back to watch the ensuing fight. Several beads of sweat now dotted Volger's forehead, and Ian barred his teeth at times.
Suddenly, the air around Deryn seemed to pop, which was followed by a low, thundering rumble off in the distance in front of her. Ian and Volger immediately halted the match, and looked toward the sound. Some of the men in the trenches began shouting indiscriminately, and a few of the Leviathan's crewmen began sprinting toward the ship.
Deryn and Alek exchanged confused glances.
"What was th-" Alek began, but he was cut off as an explosion clapped their ears, knocking them off their feet. Ramsey took to the sky as Deryn fell. A continuous thunder now sounded, whistling followed occasionally.
Deryn rose to her feet, then was buffeted by another blast. She saw crewmen scrambling up the ladders onto the Leviathan.
One of the men in the trenches yelled, "German artillery! Get the hell out of here! Now!"
Deryn began to painfully make her way towards the ship, her gunshot wounds beginning to complain again. She skidded to a halt as she remembered Alek and his injured leg. She whirled around to find him attempting to stand with his crutch, but fell over again as another shell landed, spraying them with dirt and debris.
The shells were being aimed at the Leviathan!
The ship began rising slowly; the captain had no choice but to take off to save the ship and as many crewmembers as possible.
Bovril took the initiative and sprinted, low to the ground, toward the ship as Deryn helped Alek up. She put his arm across her shoulders, and together they hobbled toward the Leviathan.
"Junger Meister!" came the sound of Hoffman's voice. He and Bauer slid to a halt alongside the duo.
"Here, let us help!" Bauer said. They took Alek and put both arms around their shoulders, lifting the young archduke off the ground.
Most of the Leviathan's crew had made it onto the ship. But shells were detonating perilously close to the beast and the captain dumped ballast in an attempt to escape the deadly shells.
The group stopped, and watched the ship leave the ground, and begin to fly in the opposite direction, engines fully engaged. Deryn felt one of the worst feelings of abandonment in her life, even worse than the one she felt in Istanbul. At least she knew they would be coming back for her then; this may end up being a different story.
Ian and Volger ran to their sides.
"Shit!" Ian swore as he watched the ship leave the ground. His head whipped around, until he shouted over the artillery barrage, "Trenches! Now!" He took off sprinting for them, the group following.
The distance to the trenches felt like a mile to Deryn. The men operating the Clanker guns evidently had them in their sights, and were trying to track their movement.
Finally, they dove into the trenches just as another shell detonated nearby, showering them in mud. That one was too close.
But they had made it.