Hour Four
Took off at seven. Everything on plane perfect and working.
Alek sighed. Although he was thankful for the telegram Keller had sent him, he really wished that she would mention something about Deryn.
Even though it was far too soon, Alek looked out the window of his Paris hotel room, scanning the sky for any sign of Deryn's plane. It had only been four hours since she had taken off, and they had estimated the flight to take at least thirty hours.
He settled down in a chair, and tried to focus on a book. He failed.
Hour Ten
Deryn wasn't sure why she had never done this before. It was exhilarating, soaring high above the choppy, gray Atlantic Ocean, with no one yelling at her to feed bats or deliver breakfast to ungrateful counts.
She could hear bits of radio chatter from nearby ships, but tuned it all out so she could focus on her instruments. After nearly ten hours in the air, everything was still running smoothly, and the plane felt much lighter than when she had first taken off.
Once she got closer to Europe, she'd radio Alek. No point in making him worry.
Hour Fifteen
Alek was very worried. After almost fifteen hours into her flight, Deryn hadn't radioed him in Paris.
He sat by the wireless in his makeshift office, a cup of coffee in his hands, and his eyes threatening to shut. Whenever that happened, he would instantly shake himself awake, determined not to miss anything. On the other side of the room, Volger was listening to another wireless set. The voices, loud and obnoxious, were commentating on the likelihood of Deryn surviving. None of men were optimistic, mainly because Deryn was, well, a woman.
"Please turn that off, Count," snapped Alek.
Hour Twenty
She was more than halfway done her flight, and was starting to imagine that she could see the English Coast on the horizon. Of course she was being daft. It was way to early to be catching sight of land.
Sleep deprivation was starting to kick in. Her eyes would half close, and then she'd jolt herself awake, imagining that she'd been hit with a Tesla Cannon. That seemed to work, although she had to repeat the process every two hours or so.
And now ice was beginning to form on the nose of the Glasgow Cross.
"Blisters," she swore loudly. Not that it was as much fun. No one was around to hear her and be appropriately shocked.
She titled the nose of her plane up towards the sun, which was peeking through some of the clouds. After about half an hour, the thin layer of ice had melted.
"Barking cold," Deryn chattered, pulling her flight jacket around her more tightly. Even in the enclosed cockpit, she was still shivering.
Hour Twenty-Six
"This is Deryn Sharp to Paris, Deryn Sharp to Paris," came a crackled voice over the wireless.
Alek jolted up, and, along with several others, crowded around the receiver. He picked up his speaker to reply.
"This is Paris to Deryn Sharp," he cried, his voice brimming with relief. "What is your current location?"
"Somewhere near Cornwall," she replied after a few minutes.
Cheers erupted all around Alek. If she was near Cornwall, on the Southwest English coast, then she only had about five or six more hours of flying until she landed in Paris.
"Do you require any assistance?" asked Alek, hoping Deryn could hear the smile in his voice.
She did.
"Aye. I'm going to need all the help I can get… fending off barking reporters."
Alek smiled.
"Keep us informed then, Miss Sharp."
"Roger that."
Hour Twenty-Nine
She was flying over the channel. She stole a couple glimpses down at the dozens of boats filled with people, all waiting to watch her fly over. She tried to imagine their cheers.
It wasn't the best view she'd ever had. The windows of her plane were small, and she was constantly trying to keep them from fogging up. Somewhere before the Cornish coastline he had run into dense fog, and had had to fly almost blind through it.
She remembered the first time she'd flew over the Channel, in that old Huxley Ascender, swaying back and forth in the breeze, and cursing at the beastie every now and then. And when the Leviathan had suddenly emerged from the clouds… Deryn could count that as one of her most perfect moments.
She felt her eyes drooping, and tried to jolt herself awake again. Thinking of the Leviathan reminded her of the Tesla Cannon, but it also reminded her of… more pleasant things. Lying on the spine in the afternoon sun with Alek, for example.
"You ninny! Are you an airman or not?' she chastised, remembering how she'd gone days without sleep before. She'd gone more than two days without it in Istanbul, and she'd still managed to take down an entire kraken net.
"You're made of stronger stuff."
Hour Thirty-One
There she was, flying her tired—looking plane over the outskirts of Paris, waiting for clearance to land. Alek couldn't see her yet, but he could just imagine how she would look. Beautiful of course, but also tired and exhilarated.
"I told you she could do it!" he cried to Volger, who had hardly said a word for the last thirty—odd hours. It was a welcome change.
Deryn's plane landed lightly on the runway, and as soon as she'd brought it to a standstill, and shut off the engines and propeller, she leaped out of the plane. Dozens of reporters from all over the world rushed forward, pushing past the barriers erected on the airfield to keep them back. In the flashes and shouting that ensued, Alek lost sight of Deryn.
He walked forward with M. Orteig, who had travelled across the Atlantic via hydrogen breather a week ago. Alek wanted to run, and was getting dangerously annoyed at Orteig for his slow, steady pace.
"Excuse us," he called, pushing past the reporters, who parted as soon as they saw Orteig.
And then Alek saw her, and smiled. Relief washed over him, and now he felt so happy and proud. Deryn was standing in the middle of the crowd, looking tired (he'd never seen darker circles under her eyes), but absolutely radiant. She was practically glowing. She even looked a little dumfounded. She'd even impressed herself.
M. Orteig went up to her and shook her hand vigorously, and congratulated her a thousand times.
"There will be a ceremony tomorrow night at my Chez Orteig hotel. Please join us there," he said, and then ducked out of the way.
Alek made his way up to her, and shook her hand warmly, his smile growing each minute. He was strongly tempted to sweep her up and kiss her chapped lips, but he decided to wait until there were no cameras about
Alek still doesn't like photographers. Old habits are hard to lose, I suppose. Thank you so, so much for the reviews and favorites on this story. Only one more chapter left!
I am not Scott Westerfeld, and I do not own any of these characters.