Author's Notes:

This is a very long chapter, because it's mostly excerpts from the book. Midterms are over for now, so I have about three days' worth of liberty. I'll be working on the next chapter to see how far I get.

I was halfway through writing this when I discovered I'd forgotten about Tazza last chapter, so I've gone back and added passages about him.


Alek opened one of the medicinal satchels, fishing through the bottles for smelling salts and rubbing alcohol.

He waved the salts under the boy's nose.

"Barking spiders!" the boy croaked in a high voice, his eyes fluttering open.

Alek frowned, wondering if he'd heard the words right.

"Are you well?" he ventured in English.

"A bit scrambled in the attic," the boy said, rubbing his head. He sat up slowly, taking in the scene around them, and his glassy eyes widened. "Blisters! We came down hard, didn't we? The poor beastie looks a bloody wreck."

"You're rather bloody yourself," Alek said, twisting open the bottle of rubbing alcohol. He dampened a bandage and held it against the boy's face.

"Ow! Stop that!" The boy pushed the bandage away and sat up straight, his gaze becoming clearer. He looked suspiciously at Alek's snowshoes. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm here to help. I live nearby."

"Up here? In all this barking snow?"

"Yes." Alek cleared his throat, wondering what to say. He'd always been hopeless at any sort of lying. "In a village, of sorts."

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Wait a wee minute — you talk like a Clanker!"

"Well… I suppose I do. We speak a dialect of German in this part of Switzerland."

The boy stared at him another moment, then sighed and rubbed his head. "Right, you're Swiss. The crash must've knocked me silly. For a squick there I thought you were one of those bum-rags who shot us down."

Alek raised an eyebrow. "And then landed here so I could tend to your bloody nose?"

"I said it was a wee bit daft," the boy said, yanking the alcohol-soaked bandage from Alek's hand. He pressed it against his nose and winced. "But thanks for your trouble. It's lucky you came along, or my bum would've been frostbit to blazes!"

Alek raised an eyebrow, wondering if the boy always talked this way, or if he was still groggy from the crash. Even bloody and bruised, he had an odd sort of swagger, as if he crash-landed in giant airships every day.

"Yes," Alek said. "A frostbitten bum would've been unfortunate."

The boy smiled. "Give us a lift, would you?"

They grasped hands and pulled each other up, the other boy still unsteady. But when he gained his feet, he bowed triumphantly, pulled off a glove and held out his hand.

"Midshipman Dylan Sharp, at your service."

(Excerpt from Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld, chapter 22. The rest of this chapter incorporates many other excerpts from chapters 23 - 26. A lot more than usual!)

Alek hesitated for a little bit before he took the hand.

"My name's Alek," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

The boy smiled. Alek thought he was quite tall, now that he's standing up, even though it was clear he was not yet in full growth. Frowning, he noticed a trail of dark red on the other boy's temple.

"What's the matter?"

"You're still bleeding."

"What? Oh, this." The boy — Dylan — dabbed at his brow with the bandage. He didn't look at all bothered to see it come back several shades redder. "Nope, just dried."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Just a wee bit dizzy. A bit of climbing about and I'll be right as rain." His face darkened as he surveyed his surroundings once more. "Can't say the same about this poor beastie."

"Yes," Alek said. "Your… ship looks terrible."

In truth, he had never actually seen something so absolutely immense. When he was little, and his granduncle had not been as intolerant, Alek's parents had snuck him out to Vienna from time to time. Back then, there had been two Siberian mammoths in the Tiergarten Schönbrunn, given as gifts of peace by the Tsar, and the animals' enormity had made quite an impression on his young self.

A mammoth, he thought, was not even close to a twentieth of this ship. And here it was, wounded and desecrated, on this vast open wasteland of snow and abandonment. He thought perhaps he should feel a morbid sort of pride for Clanker technology, for managing to bring down what must surely be the pinnacle of Darwinist creations, but all he could feel was a hollow sadness and a sinking disgust.

"Do you think you can fix it?" he asked quietly, somehow feeling a little guilty. He told himself to not be absurd.

"Of course! Eventually," Dylan said confidently. "But I wouldn't fancy staying here very long! Maybe your people could help us?"

Alek winced at the idea. "My village is quite far from here," he said, trying to think up a backstory. "And we don't know anything about airships."

"No, of course not," Dylan said as he forged on enthusiastically. "But this looks like a big job. We'll need lots of rope, maybe machine parts. You Swiss are good with machines, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid we can't help," Alek said, deciding that it was about time to hightail. He gave Dylan all the medicinal satchels he'd brought with him, consoling himself that, at least, those would probably save many lives.

Dylan took the satchels and peered inside. "Thank you," he said, looking a bit surprised at the quality. "But where did you get these?"

Alek thought it was definitely time to go. "I'm sorry," he said, taking a step backwards. "I'm expected home soon."

"Wait, Alek!" Dylan said, his voice unnaturally high from the cold. "Just tell me where your village is."

Alek was beginning to get the feeling that he had bitten off more than he could chew. "The other side of the glacier," he said, making some vague gesture in the opposite direction of the castle. "Quite far away."

Dylan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, which made Alek's pulse jump. He prayed that his story would hold together.

"Seems like an odd place to have a village," the boy said slowly.

Alek didn't know why he hadn't run away yet. He yammered more excuses. "Well, it's not what you'd call a large village. More like me and my… extended family."

Dylan didn't look at all convinced, and Alek could feel himself start to get nervous. "Listen, I'm not really supposed to be this far from home. I just happened to be out hiking when I saw your ship come down."

Immediately Alek knew this was a bad idea. He'd always been terrible at any sort of lying. He winced a little as Dylan's head cocked sideways. "Out hiking?" the boy asked, evidently highly suspicious. "In all this barking snow? At night?"

There was nothing to do but to spiral into more absurd lies.

"Yes. I often hike on the glacier at night."

"With medicine?"

Well. Alek blinked several times, trying to think of an excuse for that one. "Well, that was because…" he started, and the silence dragged on between them. Language barrier. Oh, right. "Um, I'm afraid I don't know the word in English."

"The word for what?"

"I just said: I don't know it!" He turned away and began to slide. This was becoming much more than he'd bargained for. "I have to go now!" he said over his shoulders, hoping that —

"Blisters!" Dylan swore. "Don't go skiting off, Alek! We need you!"

There was something in the other boy's voice; a sort of desperation he supposed, that spoke to the same part of Alek that had prompted him to travel out here alone carrying six medical satchels. He thought of the trails of blood and overturned snow, the horrifying wreckage of a beast so gigantic as to rival the largest land dreadnoughts in length, and over a hundred men who might just depend on him for survival. He sighed, stopped, and turned.

"Listen," he said, "I'll bring you what I can, all right? But you can't tell anyone you saw me. If you come looking for my family, it won't be good. We don't like strangers, and we can be quite dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Dylan asked. Alek wasn't sure, but he thought the other boy was beginning to get twitchy.

"Very deadly," he said, hoping to drive the message home. He didn't know what Volger might do if a Darwinist showed up at their doorstep. A walker, as old and as under-repaired as the one they owned, could still hold the gates against a small army, and he knew his fencing master wasn't beyond murder to keep their location a secret. "You must promise not to tell anyone about me! All right?"

Dylan met his gaze. Alek tried to discern something from those bright eyes, but they were a mystery. The British boy was frowning now. That might not be good.

"Do you promise!?" he demanded again, wanting nothing else than to be off and away. The sky was already beginning to brighten, and though it may be hours yet until sunrise, he should start to head back.

Something flickered in Dylan's eyes. "I can't let you go, Alek," he said.

"What?"

"I'll have to report you to the ship's officers. They'll want to ask you a few questions."

Alek was incredulous. "You're going to interrogate me?"

"I'm sorry, Alek," Dylan said, and truly seemed so. "But if there are dangerous folks about, it's my duty to tell the officers." He held up the satchels. "You're smugglers or something, aren't you?"

Alek didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. "Smugglers! Don't be absurd. We're perfectly decent people!" He thought of Volger's reaction if he learned he'd been classed a smuggler by a Darwinist airman.

"If you're so decent," Dylan said, "then why've you been telling me a load of yackum?"

"I was just trying to help!" Alek protested, sputtering. "And I don't know what yackum is, verdammt!"

He turned and started sliding away once again, deciding that he's way overstayed his welcome. He resolved himself to not stop and turn, no matter what Dylan might say. It made him feel that same pang of guilt as earlier, but to be detained over bringing medical supplies! That was a bit much, even for Darwinists. There was a crisp whistle behind him, and he wondered what it could be, but nope. Not going back to investigate. Behind him, Dylan shouted something unintelligible.

Then he heard a howl. Another howl. He couldn't help himself. He glanced back over his shoulders, and his blood froze. Behind him, on the snow but rapidly gaining, were five things that could only be termed hellhounds. They were living, six-legged creatures with voracious mouths and looked to be fathomed out of the depths of Hell's shadows. Alek let out of strangled cry, tried to pick up his pace, but the ungodly creatures soon bounded over Dylan, and were upon him.

He scrambled for his pistol. He wasn't sure if it was even of function, in this bitter cold, but he was scared, as scared as the night the news came from Sarajevo. His parents did not die so he could get himself killed by Darwinist monsters. Volger and his men, his family, did not sacrifice everything so he could throw it all away just because of some stupid compassion

"Get away!" he yelled hoarsely. "Go back to the ungodly depths you spawned from!"

"No!" screamed Dylan, as he pulled the trigger. The gun let out a crack ringing miles around the glacier, and Alek cringed, though he was glad it worked, even if he'd missed. He was about to aim again, when he was suddenly blasted off his feet by a pure shockwave of heat. There was a roaring boom, and he could make out Dylan's cries, before he was blinded by an orange-purple glow too bright against the glacial night. Then he smelled a charred odor. The beasts, so terrifying the moment before, whimpered and scampered off, their footfalls light in the snow.

Bewildered, he lifted his head from the snow and tried to right himself. He blinked the stars out of his eyes, and spotted his pistol a meter away, knocked out of his hands. Dylan was moaning somewhere nearby.

He struggled again to right himself, and pulled a shoe out of the snow that it had sunken into. He gritted his teeth as he pulled out his other leg, and took a few more seconds to stand. He picked up his pistol and looked back. Dylan was indeed just three meters away, though not looking terribly well.

Against all his better judgment, Alek shuffled over to the boy, who landed harder than he did after being knocked off his feet by what Alek now retrospectively realized must be an explosion.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "What just happened?" Dylan popped open an eye and cursed.

"What just happened? What just happened?" he seethed. "Oh I'll tell you what just happened; we were almost just killed! Are you bloody daft?"

"Killed? Don't be dramatic. I don't know what happened back there, but we're fine, and —"

"Fine? You ignited the barking hydrogen! Our entire ship could've exploded!" He took a fearful glance back at the whale, but it seemed the explosion had been more or less local.

"You're a bit rude," Alek muttered.

"Rude!" Dylan exclaimed, his voice an octave higher than usual. "If you weren't such a ninny to clart your trousers at sniffers! How are you fighting wars if you're all so coward like this?"

"Coward! Those were hellspawn!"

"Hellspawn! They wouldn't even bite if I told them to —"

"Oi!" a man's voice said. "What's going on here? Sharp? We saw the fire, we're damned lucky it didn't spread to — Oh… bloody hell! Freeze and drop your pistol!"

Alek stared up, and cursed himself for a fool. Four Darwinist airmen and the nozzles of their air pistols pointed straight at him.

He'd forgotten to escape.

He dropped his gun. An airman rushed up and snatched it from the snow. Someone helped Dylan up, and the boy dusted the snow out of his uniform before saluting.

"Midshipman Sharp reporting, sir. I was knocked out in the crash, and when I came to, this boy was here helping me with my wounds. He gave me these satchels — full of medicines, I think. He lives somewhere hereabouts but won't say where. Oh, you can lower your guns now — I don't think he meant us any harm, except he's barking suspicious."

"Suspicious!" Alek sputtered, though he had to admit that was true.

"Hmm," the Darwinist officer said, and after a moment's consideration waved to have his men lower their weapons. "Then what's all this business about the explosion just now?"

"He fired the gun, sir," Dylan said. "Because he was scared of a sniffer. And he missed."

A few airmen laughed.

"I was not," Alek said indignantly. "And I missed on purpose!"

"You were, and you were simply too scared to shoot straight."

"Whatever! I demand that you let me go!"

The officer stared hard at him. "Do you now? A local Swiss lad armed with a pistol, bringing medicine in the night. You're certainly lucky we weren't all killed by your ignorance."

"My ignorance? How was I supposed to know the air would explode?"

"You'd smell it, I'd reckon," Dylan remarked tartly. "Quite clueless he is, sir."

The officer thought for a few seconds. "Tie him up and search for any more weapons," he ordered.

"What?" Alek said. "I came here to help! And you're treating me like the enemy!"

"Help, eh? We shall see about that," the officer said peaceably.

Two of the airmen pulled his hands behind his back and wrapped them in rope. Not ungently, but Alek felt disgrace wrench his gut as they patted him down for weapons.

"Don't worry," Dylan said cheerfully, as Alek scowled. "If you're really here to help, I reckon there's nothing to hide. What do we do with him, sir?"

"I need to finish assessing the riggings on this side, so you take him to the captain, Sharp. He should be quite harmless now. And take a sniffer with you in case he tries anything funny, if he's so scared of them. And you should probably let the boffins check out those satchels."

"The boffins! Clart, I forgot about them — I mean, aye, sir!"

And then Alek felt a hand on his back, pushing him forward, and realized that he had just become a Darwinist boy-soldier's prisoner of war.

ooo

For about the millionth time that night, Alek wondered why he wasn't a little smarter. He could've slinked off; it was obvious the explosion had done Dylan little harm, seeing as the boy still had enough spirits left to throw out truckloads of obscenities. Why, oh why, did he have to stay?

He glared at the cause of his troubles — the British boy was currently marching him down a slanted corridor, a worried look on his face. They'd trekked all the way around the deflated airbeast, and Alek had a chance to see the damage on the other side. It didn't look good. Men and ungodly beasts were everywhere, and grimness were in their faces.

They marched in silence. Alek didn't really know what to feel about the other boy. He was too tired to feel angry.

"Where are you taking me?" he finally asked.

"To the boffins, first, then to the captain, before I can drop off your supplies to the medical bay," Dylan replied. Then, as if gathering his courage, he turned to Alek. "Look, what I did to you back there, I'm sorry."

Alek shook his head. "I only came here to help."

"I know, I know. I believe you. I'm sorry you had to be tied up."

"Like a common criminal!"

"Well we just don't want you running off again."

"As if I could." Before the officer left, they had confiscated his snowshoes. "Why couldn't you have let me off?"

"I have a duty to this ship, Alek. I swore an oath to King George and the Air Service. If your folks are dangerous, we have to know about it."

Alek remained silent for a moment. "I suppose you were doing just that."

"Aye." He grinned. "I'm glad you didn't burn us all to death, though."

"Me too," Alek said, with a resigned sigh.

They halted outside a pair of imposing doors. Dylan flung them open, and Alek was greeted with a strange familiarity as bits and pieces of machinery stared back at them, scattered all around the room. Except they were all a little less angular, and more delicate-looking. Darwinist machinery, he'd always heard, were inefficient, ambling things, but they certainly had a few good parts. A green glow compensated for the lack of sunlight.

"Ah, Mr. Sharp," came a woman's voice. "At last you appear."

Dylan sighed, and they walked inside. There was a yip, and Alek jumped as a large striped dog bounded up to them. Dylan scratched its ears. "Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am," he said, indicating the blood-caked collar of her uniform. "Had a bit of an accident."

It took Alek a while to make out who he was talking to. It was a woman in a gauzy dress, bent over a large box at a corner of the room. Flayed ropes were all around her.

"We all had an accident, Mr. Sharp. I should think that was obvious."

"Aye. Where's Dr. Cruse?"

"She went to check on her culture dishes and to look for a thermometer for me." The woman swiveled her head, and Alek saw her gleaming eyes peering at him through the dim green glow. He didn't really want to know what the Darwinists were using as a light source, except that it was unnaturally eerie. "And who might this young man be?"

"He's part of the reason I came here to find you, ma'am. He — well, I was out in the cold, unconscious, and he came over and helped me, and gave me this." He hefted the satchels on his shoulders. "You mentioned you needed a thermometer? I think there's one in there."

The woman took the satchel and rummaged through its contents. She drew out the thin glass rod and peered at it. "Indeed. How very useful. Your Clanker friend here, does he speak English?"

"Yes," Alek said. "…Is that brimstone in the air?"

"Quite educated, are we? Yes, though the scientific name is sulfur."

"And I'm not a Clanker," Alek added.

"Don't be absurd, of course you are. Your thermometer is marked in Celsius," the woman explained as she examined more of the contents of the satchel. "Excellent. Thank you," she said to Alek. "For now, you can find a place to sit down, and we'll sort you out later. Mr. Sharp, come help; time is of the essence."

She gestured towards her box, and Alek realized that the top had been pried off. Heat rose from the insides, a few wisps of steam ghosting the freezing air. Straw packing was strewn everywhere. Dylan shrugged and went forward, and then gasped.

"Ma'am… are those eggs?"

"Indeed they are," said the woman with a small sigh. "And quite close to hatching. Or at least, they were. Most are broken." For a second her gaze settled on Alek like an anvil of accusation, but then she turned away. "This wasn't the smooth ride you promised me, Mr. Sharp."

Dylan, on the other hand, still looked fascinated. "I reckon it wasn't," he said absently. "But what are they the eggs of?"

"That remains a military secret even if your Clanker friend here weren't eavesdropping."

"What?" Alek said, quite a bit outraged. "I'm not eaves — and I said I'm not a Clank —"

Both ignored him. The woman gestured to the four eggs closest to her. "These seem to be alive, Mr. Sharp. And if they're to stay that way, we'll have to keep them warm."

"Do you want me to sit on them, ma'am?" Dylan asked drily.

"A delightful image, but no." The woman pushed both hands into the straw and withdrew two small jars that shone with a rosy light. She gave the jars a shake, and the glow grew stronger, steam rising in the cold air. She tucked them back into the hay. "The electrical heater was broken in the crash, but these bacterial warmers should keep the eggs alive for now. You must keep the temperature exactly right, which won't be easy; the old thermometer broke, and you'll have to clean up the remains. Be careful of the mercury; it's quite poisonous."

"So that's why you wanted a new thermometer," Dylan muttered as he grabbed a piece of cloth from somewhere, looking at the box and studying the mess of the old thermometer in the box's other corner.

"Yes. I should've brought a spare one over, but I didn't anticipate our rough landing." She took Alek's thermometer and stuck it in the straws. "Very handy though, that you managed to bring me these." She gestured for Dylan to sweep off the pieces of broken glassware, and after the red drops of mercury had been wiped off, read the readings on the new thermometer. "Quite accurate," she remarked, satisfied, and slammed shut the lid.

"So the medical satchels are safe to use, ma'am?" Dylan asked. "I can take them to the medicine bay?"

"Everything seems sound, so I see no reason not," she said, returning her attention onto the two boys. "Although they are certainly of a most peculiar origin." Alek thought he saw her eyes flit to a small box taken out of the satchel. It was marked with the double-headed mechanikal eagle of Imperial Austria. He gulped, hoping he was mistaken. The strange dog-creature sniffing around at his hands didn't help matters, and when it stuck out a coarse tongue to lick him, Alek yelped.

"Come back here, Tazza, you're making him nervous. What's your name, young man?"

"… Alek."

"Alek, is it?" She cocked her head thoughtfully.

"And who might you be, er, ma'am?"

"Oh, how rude of me, you've been here for twenty minutes and I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dr. Nora Barlow, chief scientist aboard this vessel. So, Mr. Sharp, you simply found him when you woke up?"

"Well, he found me, ma'am."

"Is that so," Dr. Barlow said, and continued to look thoughtfully at Alek, which was really unnerving him. But then he noticed that she was wearing a black bowler hat. He did a double-take.

"You… you're a fabricator!" he said.

"Yes," said Dr. Barlow. "And a naturalist."

"So, those eggs… they're not from a creature…"

"Of course not. They're from my laboratory."

"When you create a new beastie, they have to stew for a while," Dylan explained helpfully. "The life threads are in there, building the beasties out of egg muck. Except I'm not sure what beastie these ones are building."

Alek skirted backwards, away from the eggs. "It all sounds very ungodly."

Dylan laughed. "The same thing happened when your ma carried you. Every living creature's got life threads, a whole instruction set in every cell of your body."

"That's pure rubbish," Alek exclaimed, horrified at the thought of being built up from scratch.

"You Clankers certainly are rather lacking in natural education," commented Dr. Barlow. "But let's save this debate for later. Tell me, Alek, what are you doing here in the mountains, a young Austrian like yourself?"

Alek sputtered. "I'm not Austrian! And maybe, before asking me questions, you should untie me!"

Dr. Barlow leaned forward. Alek backed against a wall, even though there were four meters between them. "Perhaps. But in exchange I would like the truth. A non-Austrian, who happens to be carrying Austrian military issue medical supplies. You're not being quite honest with us, dear."

"Oh, and Mr. Roland did say his pistol's Austrian," Dylan piped. "So he must be Austrian." Alek glared at him, and wriggled his wrists in their bonds. The skin was getting a little raw.

"His pistol?"

"Aye, and he almost blew us all to bits!"

"Interesting," Dr. Barlow said, distractedly. "You still haven't answered me, Alek. What are you doing here in the mountains?"

Alek was saved when a side door bursted open and a tall, auburn-haired girl crashed in, holding a box in her hands. She set it down on the floor. It contained what Alek could see was a lot of broken glassware, all covered in what he thought was slime. It was rather revolting.

"Bad," was the first word she said to Dr. Barlow, who didn't even blink from the sudden intrusion. "And I couldn't find a thermometer."

"That's alright. Did any survive?"

"Only the uninduced prototypes," the girl said, before she took a survey of the room. "Oh, hello Mr. Sharp, I see you've survived our little ordeal. Hello Tazza, yes I missed you too for the past ten minutes, but not now. And who might this be?"

"That's Alek," said Dr. Barlow. "He provided me with a thermometer. And this is Dr. Cruse, my research associate."

Alek felt his eyes widen. Another fabricator, and so young. She could scarcely be three years older than him.

The girl — Dr. Cruse — blinked. "Really. Alek, is it? Where are you from?"

"Austria," Dr. Barlow said before Alek could answer. "Or so we think. Unless Switzerland has taken sides, in which case our situation has just worsened a great deal. But I trust we'll be taking off soon?"

"That's what I was concerned about. This is a more pressing matter at stake — Mr. Sharp, you've been out there, yes? How much hydrogen have we lost?"

Dylan blinked. "At least thirty percent, if not half, I reckon, and the beastie's a mess. It'd take us a few days to sort it all out and make enough hydrogen to get back in the air."

Dr. Cruse exchanged a meaningful look with Dr. Barlow. Alek was surprised to note the fear in their eyes.

"No, Mr. Sharp," the younger scientist said softly. "I'm afraid we may not be leaving at all."

Dylan frowned. "Don't be daft, miss. Of course we will. The ship isn't some dead Clanker mechanism —"

"Hey!" Alek said in protest.

Dylan ignored him. "— Not some dead Clanker mechanism, but a living creature. It can make all the hydrogen it wants. I'm more worried about the engines."

Alek felt a surge of hope despite himself. He hadn't thought about the way Darwinist creations functioned. As ungodly as they were, they were still alive, and surely a creature must be able to repair itself. Perhaps they can truly be off and on their way in a few days, and Volger and the rest of everyone can rest easy.

"Mr. Sharp," said Dr. Barlow. "You've been out there. Tell me what you've seen."

"Aye, it's what they call a glacier, ma'am. Snow and ice everywhere."

"I'm familiar with the concept. A great sheet of ice, as dead as the poles themselves. How high in the mountains do you suppose we are?"

"Well, the Clankers —" he glanced at Alek "— the Germans, they hit us at eight thousand feet. And maybe we dropped a thousand or two before we hit the snow…"

"Well above the tree line," Dr. Barlow concluded softly. "My grandfather's bees won't be finding much nectar out there, will they? An organism can heal itself, but it cannot do so without food."

Dr. Cruse grimaced. "And I heard we had been scheduled to resupply in Italy. Our stores will not last."

Alek and Dylan frowned, looked at the two scientists, and then at each other.

"So… there's nothing we can do?" the British boy asked, after a moment.

"I did not say that," said Dr. Barlow. She hefted the medical satchels and stared straight at Alek. "To have access to high quality medical supplies is to have access to food. Mr. Sharp, let's untie young Alek here. I have a feeling he's going to be very useful, very soon."


Author's Notes:

The Tiergarten Schönbrunn in Vienna is the oldest zoo in the world. It used to be an Imperial Menagerie for the Hapsburgs, until it was converted for public access.