Author's Notes:

Here's the next chapter. Is anyone still reading? Please leave a review to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks!

(Contains excerpts from Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld, chapter 19.)


"And this connects here, which feeds this bladder here," Deryn said, her hand flying across a detailed diagram of the ship's upper — dorsal — side.

"Capacity?" asked Dr. Cruse.

"Usually five-hundred thousand cubic feet."

She scribbled some notes, pencil scratching furiously across paper. "I see. The usual expansion limit of ten percent applies?"

"Aye, ma'am."

There was some more writing.

"Fifteen percent increase in lift, if converted," Dr. Cruse said finally, and went back to examine the diagram of the ship's innards.

Deryn sighed. They were currently going over every single barking hydrogen bladder on the entire barking ship starting from an hour ago, right after she had gotten off her last watch of the day — four nervous hours of keeping an eye out for German aircraft. Dr. Cruse had barged into her cabin, found her shaving (or pretending to, anyway), and dragged her to her own stateroom for interrogation.

It has been two days since they departed London, and they were now a third of the way to Constantinople, currently entering the alpine region at the borders of France and Switzerland. Due to the new load the ship had taken on, only Deryn and Newkirk remained; two middies out of six, and all barking Tazza's fault, if anyone's. Deryn had since learned that the beastie, strange as it may sound, was completely natural. A thylacine or Tasmanian tiger or whatever its daft name was, from way, way down under; Van Diemen's Land, in fact. It was a wee bit insulting that a sodding beastie had probably been to more exotic places than she had.

During this time, both of the boffins seemed to treat her indeed like their personal cabin boy, which drove Deryn barking spiders. They asked her for tours of the ship constantly, asked her questions that she wasn't sure even the barking captain could answer, and generally just talked, and talked, and talked. Dr. Barlow was easier to handle; Deryn just needed to show her the hawks and messenger peregrines, the bees and the bacteria colonies, the medicine bay and its various fungi used to stop infection, and she was grand. Dr. Cruse, on the other hand, seemed abnormally interested in the ship's anatomy, especially her hydrogen bladders and gastric channels. Deryn had no idea if Dr. Cruse had a dull nose, but she for one did not fancy spending all her free time surrounded by smells of rotten onion and cow farts — which would cling to her like a particularly malevolent ghost and make Newkirk all but barf in her presence. Poor monkey luddite; bad enough to serve on a living airship, and now his only fellow midshipman strutted around smelling like clart. Deryn reckon she'd just jump ship if she were Newkirk; not that she wanted him to, no, no. He was probably the only friend she had left on this entire ship.

Deryn missed having the others about, if only to share the work of altitude readings and feeding the fléchette bats. The only brilliant thing — besides that bum-rag Fitzroy being gone — was that Deryn and Newkirk each had a private cabin now. Of course, neither of the boffins seemed to have any respect or even notion of privacy.

She sighed again and leaned back on the chair. The only good thing about coming to Dr. Cruse's stateroom was that the furnitures were all sodding fancy.

"Does this bore you, Mr. Sharp?" Dr. Cruse asked suddenly, looking up from her notes.

"What?"

"Does this bore you. Spending time here, telling me about your ship."

"Well… maybe? I mean, I love the ship, miss, it's just that —"

The young woman laughed. "Not to worry; I don't mind. It would bore me as well. But this is preliminary work, and it must be done. I do hope to install one when we reach Constantinople, to test it out."

"Install one, miss?"

"Ah, I forget. You don't know what it is I'm working on."

"The same could be said of the other lady boffin, miss," Deryn said drily. Boffins and their secret missions; they so often speak in riddles that Deryn was used to it by now.

"Indeed," Dr. Cruse said with a wry smile. "And we're sorry for not telling you, we truly are. National secrets and all that; I'm sure you understand."

"Absolutely, miss," Deryn said, unable to keep the little bit of spite out of her voice. It wasn't that she truly wished to know, really, but all the secrecy made her feel like she couldn't be trusted with anything, like a five year old who'd go rattle her head off to the first person she meets. She could actually be very secretive, if she wished. Deryn shook her head and told herself off for being daft. This was no time for curiosity, after all. Germany had declared war on France yesterday and had gone after Belgium today. The rumor was that Britain would be in it tomorrow unless the kaiser puts a stop to the whole mess by midnight.

Which nobody thought was very likely.

"Oh, come now, don't sulk. You know, it is rather interesting that your ship happened to be the vessel responsible for our transport."

"Why do you say that?"

"I'd expected a smaller ship, for one. And my husband had ran into your ship last month. I'm not sure if you were there —"

"You have a husband? You're barking married?"

Dr. Cruse looked puzzled. "Yes?"

"But you're a — I mean, how old are you?"

"Me?" Dr. Cruse furrowed her brow. "Today is August…"

"Fourth."

"Ah. Then I am exactly eighteen years, a month, and two weeks old."

Deryn couldn't help but gape. "You're only three wee years older than me!"

"Didn't you already know that?"

"Well, aye, but I expected like, seven! At least!"

"Goodness! Do I really look that old?"

"No, it's not that, it's just —"

"I'm married?"

"Exactly!"

"Huh. That's strange. And here I thought you British people married early."

"Aye, I guess, but… still!" Deryn shivered. For one, her Ma would kill her if she got married before eighteen. For two, Jaspert would probably kill her husband and throw the body into the ocean. And speaking of her brother: he was eighteen too, but he wasn't barking married! Deryn tried to imagine him kissing a lass, any lass, and failed.

"Well calm down, Mr. Sharp," laughed Dr. Cruse. "I'm not asking you to get married at eighteen — at seventeen, rather — just because I did. I reckon boys get married older. Usually, that is."

That was when Deryn realized she was still supposed to be a boy. "Oh. Right. How old is your husband, then?"

"A month older than I am."

"That's not exactly older at all!"

"No, I suppose it's not. You know, people have called us hasty, but I think we've made the right choice." She sighed. "He should actually be close by, right now. Don't look at me like that! I'm not saying he's a ghost or anything — what I mean is, he's probably in the Alps at the moment."

"Oh," said Deryn. "Is he a mountaineer?"

"He's a sky sailor. You know, you remind me a lot of him, the way you move aboard the ship, like you're so sure of where you're going, like you're exactly at home." She gave Deryn a warm smile, then laughed at her expression. "Relax, Mr. Sharp! It's not like I'll suddenly start fancying you just because of that."

Deryn winced. "God, that would be just as bad as if Dr. Barlow were my Ma!" she exclaimed. She did not want any boffin (lady or not) as her relation, thank you very much.

"Well, I am incidentally the mother of two children, Mr. Sharp," came a voice at the stateroom's door. With a preliminary knock, Dr. Barlow strode in, Tazza walking besides her. She laughed when she saw Deryn, who had stood up so quickly she'd knocked over a stack of books on the desk.

"Hello, Dr. Barlow," said Dr. Cruse, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

"You have children?" asked Deryn, faintly.

"Hello, Dr. Cruse. I'm glad you're with Mr. Sharp; I was just about to look for you two. And yes, young man, I do," she added.

"That's… unexpected," Deryn said.

"Thank you. Your compliment is most kind. Anyway, I came here to ask you, Dr. Cruse, if you still want to see the Leviathan's bee colonies?"

"Oh, goodness, I almost forgot I asked. Yes, absolutely! I'd love to see your grandfather's handiwork."

"And taste it, I hope? It's perfectly good honey. Mr. Sharp, if you will lead the way?"

Dr. Cruse closed her notebook with a thud and tossed it onto her desk. She put the pencil in the penholder, and looked at Deryn expectantly.

"What's with you boffins and barking bees?" Deryn sighed as she got up. This was supposed to be her off duty hours! "I mean, they're barking bees."

"To the careful observer," Dr. Barlow said, "bees can be most intriguing." She gestured towards the stateroom door. "Lads first."

Rolling her eyes, Deryn walked out of the comforts of the stateroom into the chilly hallway of the airship. She had planned to be asleep by now, but clearly fate (or boffins) was working against her.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, and started to head towards the bees.

ooo

They approached the colonies in just a short while. The Leviathan hosted its hives deep within the airship's guts, so there was no trace of the frigid air at their eight-thousand-feet cruising altitude. Instead, it was warm, slightly damp, and smelling of clart. The usual. Tazza bounced around, his spirits slightly subdued by the esoteric cavern that was the Leviathan's gastric channel, but nonetheless excited to see and hear new things. The walkway underfoot was alumiron, but the walls of the passage were alive — pulsing with digestion and aglow with worms.

As they approached the bow, a humming sound grew: millions of tiny wings churning the air, drying the nectar gathered that day over France. A little farther and the walls were covered with a seething mass of bees, their small round bodies buzzing around Deryn's head, bouncing softly against her face and hands. Tazza, like last time, let out a low hiss and pressed closer to her legs.

Deryn could understand the thylacine's nervousness. Seeing the hives for the first time, she'd assumed they were weapons. But these bees didn't even have stingers. As Dr. Busk liked to put it, they were simply a method for extracting fuel from nature.

In summer the fields passing beneath the airship were full of flowers, each containing a tiny squick of nectar. The bees gathered that nectar and distilled it into honey, and then the bacteria in the airbeast's gut gobbled that up and farted hydrogen. It was a typical Darwinist strategy — no point in creating a new system when you could borrow one already fine-tuned by evolution.

A bee came to an inquisitive midair halt in front of Deryn's face. Its body was fuzzy and yellow, its dorsal regions as shiny and black as dress boots, the wings a blur. Deryn hadn't been able to notice these details on her last trip here, so now she squinted, memorizing its shape for sketching later.

"Hello, wee beastie."

"My, how adorable," said Dr. Cruse, who had somehow gotten one to stop on her fingers. "You know, it is rather strange to see bees without the fear of being stung. I do enjoy that. Are they still territorial?"

"No. My grandfather had managed to fabricate the trait out."

"Considering the amount of resources and knowledge he had back then, a truly genius piece of work." She flicked her fingers and the bee flew off. "Mr. Sharp? What's the matter?"

"Er, nothing, miss. It's just that, did you mean your grandfather, instead?"

"Oh, no. My own grandfather was a naturalist too, but part time only, and he wasn't a fabricator. More of an adventurer and hot air balloon enthusiast."

It was that three-word trigger. Suddenly, fire flashed by Deryn's mind, followed by explosions, colors, shouts… there was a tightness in her throat, and quickly, she shook her head before memory overwhelmed her.

"So it really is, I mean, Dr. Barlow's grandfather fabricated these bees?"

"Yes, he did," said Dr. Barlow, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just that, he must be one of the very first Darwinists."

Dr. Cruse laughed. "You could say that, I suppose. An Austrian monk did some pioneering work, but his manuscripts weren't found until recently." An interested smile appeared on her face. "To think, had his ideas been expanded upon by his countrymen, today Austria would be Darwinist. Or Mendelist, as it were."

"I only wish that this were the case and Austria were on our side in this war," said Dr. Barlow. "I've met the Archduke before, and he seemed very reasonable. Alas. Anything else you wish to know about my grandfather, Mr. Sharp?"

"Um… why bees? Why did he fabricate bees?"

Dr. Barlow smiled. "I don't think he had a reason for fabricating most things, unlike we do now. His friend fabricated the Huxley, you know, but intended it as a children's joy ride at carnivals."

"… Children's joy ride," said Deryn. "At carnivals."

"Children's joy ride," confirmed Dr. Barlow. "At carnivals."

"Is he daft? They would break their wee little necks just trying to climb on that thing!" Not for the first time she remembered her fateful first day spent in a Huxley. There was no way that thing had been fabricated with children in mind.

Dr. Barlow smiled. "This, of course, he soon realized. But after that, the Air Service also realized its potential as a reconnaissance tool, so they bought the life thread blueprints and used it ever since."

"Pardon me, ma'am, but your grandfather and this Huxley person sounded barking bonkers."

"Hmm, perhaps they were. But I envy them sometimes. I do wonder what it would be like to fabricate things just for the sake of fabricating them. It must feel very liberating." She sighed. "But I digress. Despite not having any particular intention, I remember that my grandfather did have rather a fascination with bees, which is why he may have chosen to experiment with them. Bees are interesting creatures, Mr. Sharp, especially when connected to cats and clover."

Deryn blinked. "Cats, ma'am?"

"And clover, yes. He noticed that red clovers flower abundantly near towns but only thinly in the wild. You see, most cats live in towns — and cats eat mice. These same mice, Mr. Sharp, attack the nests of bees for their honey. And red clover cannot grow without bees to pollinate it. Do you follow?"

Deryn raised an eyebrow, and shook her head. By now, Dr. Cruse had settled back like an assistant professor in a classroom lecture listening to the instructor. One really bad thing about being around two clever-boots boffins was that they often (like now) made Deryn feel like she hadn't even finished kindergarten.

"Oh, but it's very simple. Near towns there are more cats, fewer mice, and thus more bees — which means more red clover. My grandfather was good at noticing webs of such relations."

"This is all too barking complicated to think about," said Deryn, and Dr. Barlow laughed.

"Not if you're adept at noticing details. For example, Mr. Sharp, have you even started growing a beard yet?"

Deryn stopped looking at the bees and swiveled her head around to look at the lady boffin.

"Pardon me, ma'am?"

"You were shaving yesterday, dear."

"And today as well," added Dr. Cruse. "Before I interrupted him."

"Ah. And yet your face contains no stubbles, and both sides are equally smooth." Dr. Barlow peered closely at her. "You have very delicate, tapering hair. Plus, there is no Adam's apple. In fact, I don't believe you even need to shave. How old are you, Mr. Sharp?"

"You said you were three years younger than I am," said Dr. Cruse. "Fifteen?"

Deryn felt like a criminal being interrogated by two constables. Cold sweat poured down her flanks. She knew, she knew from the first day that these boffins would catch on to something, but she never imagined it would be so barking fast. A sense of despair enveloped her as she looked madly around the gastric channel, at the ship that's been her home for the past month or so. She'd get kicked off, now, there was no doubt. She'd —

"Well," said Dr. Barlow. "That would explain it. Barely fifteen is my guess. Don't worry, Mr. Sharp. I'm sure you're not the first boy to come into the Service a bit young."

Deryn blinked. She blinked again. Then she felt relief seep through her limbs, and suddenly it was almost difficult to stand.

They didn't know her secret. Or they knew, but they arrived at the wrong conclusion. Thank barking heavens.

"Aye," she managed. "I, uh, I couldn't wait."

"Understandable," said Dr. Barlow, sadly. "Boys and their natural affinity to war. You see, Mr. Sharp, what my grandfather recognized was this: If you remove one element — the cats, the mice, the bees, the flowers — the entire web is disrupted. An archduke and his wife are murdered, and all of Europa goes to war. A missing piece can be very bad for the puzzle, whether in the natural world, or politics, or here in the belly of an airship. We are all connected in a giant web of the world, whether or not we like it, and all of us may have a part to play. You seem like a fine crewman, dear, and I'd hate to lose you."

Deryn nodded slowly, trying to take all of this in. "Can't say I'm opposed to that, ma'am."

"Neither can I. You're a dear, Mr. Sharp. Though I must say, I never understood why the male half of our species liked conflicts," Dr. Cruse remarked, somewhat quizzically.

"I don't like conflicts, miss," Deryn said. "I just signed up to fly."

For a second, Dr. Cruse's grey eyes lit up.

"Bravo. That's exactly how my husband would say it. When this whole thing is over, Mr. Sharp, I'd like you to meet him. You are more alike than you think."

A slow, low clanging pierced the hive's buzz.

"Do you hear that?" Deryn said, tensed. "It sounds like —"

"The general alarm?" Dr. Barlow nodded. "I'm afraid so. I think this is the end of our hive tour, Mr. Sharp, thank you for your time. It would appear that Britain and Germany are finally at war."


Author's Notes:

Emma Nora Darwin Barlow had six children in her lifetime, two still extant. In August, 1914, she would have been the mother of two (Joan and Thomas).