I am taking advantage of the alternate nature of the Leviathan universe to alter some historical facts. First of all, Dr Barlow was born a Barlow (i.e. she is unmarried and none of her real-life children have been born). In the books it is never made clear (she doesn't even have a wedding ring). Secondly, in real life Charles Darwin died at the age of 73. In order to make room for his research into lifethreads as well as have him act as a mentor for a young Barlow, he lived into his late eighties. In a world where DNA is large enough to see under a light microscope and steam engines can carry 28,000 ton battleships onto the land, I find these to be acceptable breaks from reality.

CDP - Counter Darwinism Party of Great Britain - The Official "Monkey Luddite" Party

The Foreign Office was based in Whitehall, just off of St James Park. Ms Barlow worked there as a junior advisor to the Secretary of Colonial Affairs. It was an arrangement her father had made, much to the budding doctor's chagrin. She wanted to return to Oxford to finish her degree in Bio-Engineering so she could become a Fabricator. Well, half of her wanted to go back to finish her degree. The other half wanted to go back to be with Charles. They had met as teenagers. He was one of her grandfather's many apprentices and assistants who allowed him to continue his research even as his eyes and muscles became too infirm for such delicate work. Of all the young men who helped Dr Darwin back then, Charles Curling was his favourite. The boy had a knack for finding biocompatible protein strands and plasmids, the most draining and frustrating part of fabrication. He was, as her grandfather had always said, almost as good as Nora. For a sixteen year old girl who idolised Darwin, using her as a standard for competence was the highest form of praise. From this comparison, there rose a feeling of competition: a woman trying to prove herself in a male dominated world and the son of a theatre understudy trying to prove himself in a bourgeoisie society. In short, they were two of a kind. And from their competition, there came mutuality and eventually a firm friendship. Charles was perhaps the only person she felt she could confide in fully. He was never dismissive like her father or clueless like her mother. Her fellows at the University had a bit of a chip on their shoulder thanks to her gender. But Charles understood. They were two of a kind after all.

Then her father had insisted she take up a more "respectable" post in the Civil Service, away from all the "Socialists, Anarchists and Homosexuals" that the University "seemed to attract". And yet, despite the loneliness of her small townhouse and the forced nature of her position, she couldn't help but be enthralled by the art of diplomacy. It was just as intricate as any homeostasis mechanism, as fascinating as even the most exotic of micro-organisms. The interlocking threads of reliance, competition and predation were just like any ecosystem. As much as she hated to admit it, she loved it just as much as her studies at Oxford. Diplomacy and bioengineering. Not the most likely candidates for a twenty four year old woman's attention. But there was nothing Nora Barlow hated more than being lumped in with "most women".

"Ms Barlow?"

It was Lord Kewell, her direct superior and the Secretary of Colonial Affairs. Ms Barlow looked up from her desk to see the man dressed in an expansive tweed jacket, a startling change from his usual sombre grey.

"Yes, your grace?"

"Lord Minors has invited me up North to shoot quail. It's a three day trip so the office will be closed until Tuesday. Hope that isn't a bother."

"No, it shouldn't be..."

"Glad to hear it." He smiled, eyes twinkling almost paternally. "We all know you're married to the job but enjoy your break. Come back nice and refreshed on Tuesday."

"Thank you, your grace."

He was already off down the stairs. At her words, he raised his hand, back still turned.

"I'll bring you back a quail if you want one!"

Then he was gone.

The train to Oxford almost emptied her savings but she didn't think about it twice. She almost ran through the rain to her house, grabbing only a small bag of clothes and a book on Tropical Wildlife before running out into the rain again to the station. The train was packed, the smell of damp canvas coming off dozens of rain covers and umbrellas. She squeezed herself into a window seat, a rowdy family sitting beside her. She flashed a forced smile at the haggard mother and bickering children before pulling out her book and letting her mind wander to the fish of the Indian Mangroves which could live for days outside the water or the bizarre parrot like birds of the Amazon which had a specific screech for each predator so their fellow birds knew what action to take. Outside the window, the dark grey of the rain drenched metropolis gave way to the deep green and muddy brown of the countryside. The children eventually tired and curled up in their grateful parent's laps. As the sun disappeared, gaslights flared into life along the train's length, waking the children and prompting them to imitate the sound of the lamps igniting with much arm waving and giggling. But all these things were only on the fringes of Ms Barlow senses. Even the book she was steadily ploughing through failed to hold her thoughts. Her distracted mind was eventually startled out of her reverie by a man dressed in blue.

"Calling for Oxford Station!"

Surprised, Ms Barlow pushed her books into her bag and excused herself, squeezing through the people milling in the corridors before positioning herself by the door. It was raining in Oxford too. Even after almost nine months, she made the way to her old lab with barely a thought. The rain had drenched through her thin coat but she didn't mind. The door opened with a push. The lab was unchanged. She took a tentative step inside, feeling out of place in her skirt and sodden coat.

"Nora?"

She span around.

"Charles?"

He was exactly the same as he remembered. His dark blonde hair was pulled back from his habit of stroking it when he thought. His eyes were wide in surprise but there was that same glint to them. At once a mischievous child and a serious scientist. She stepped forwards...

"Hey, Charlie?"

She turned again. A woman with dark hair was standing in the door from the store room. Charles gave Ms Barlow a smile. One of his awkward, I-am-sorry-sir smiles that grammar school boys always seemed to pick up.

"Charlotte, this is Nora Darwin Barlow. She's the grand-daughter of the man himself and a good friend of mine."

"Pleasure to meet you."

Her voice had a clear American twang. The woman reached out with her hand. Ms Barlow took it, confusion raging inside her head.

"Nora, this is Charlotte Winters. She's..."

He paused for a moment. The American woman finished the sentence for him.

"I'm his fiancée."

She was such a fool, to mistake friendship with romance. It was laughable now she realised. How could she have believed that what she had shared with Charles, what they had done together, how that was anything but simple friendship? She felt like she needed to bang her head against a wall, punish herself for such stupid ideas. She felt like laughing at that former self, the girl who had spent her meagre income on some mad dash to Oxford, as if expecting a friend like Charles to meet her on the station and embrace her like something out of a cheap paperback.

No. Nora Barlow did not do things like that. She was a scientist and she was on her way to becoming the only woman to receive a fabrication license. She was not some ditsy country girl with her head in the clouds, dreaming about Prince Charming. So why did she feel like this? Why did she feel betrayed? Abandoned? She hated that Winters woman. As much as she tried to persuade herself that Ms Winters appeared to be a perfectly pleasant woman (if as bland as hell and with such an annoying American accent), she could not help but feel anger against her. The feeling scared her. She normally did not surprise herself like this.

"Nora? What are you doing out here in the cold?"

He was right behind her, the narrow balcony forcing their bodies close. She would usually not notice the sudden intimacy but right now, she could feel a blush rising. She struggled to hide it, embarrassed and uncertain.

"It's nothing."

He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her. It was much thicker than her flimsy affair and was warm from his wearing it. The blush continued to rise, warming her cold features until they were almost burning. She could smell him, his scent lingering in the jacket's thick wool. It was unbearable.

"Where did you meet her?"

She blurted out. If she had been thinking at all, she would never have brought it up but it didn't seem like her mind was in favour of thinking right now. She didn't look at him, still hiding her blush but she could feel his body shift behind her.

"Charlotte? Her father is an American entrepreneur, medical science. He introduced me to some Clanker gentlemen from the Wudnt Institute. They want me to work with them on some big project."

"Not exactly Charles Darwin though."

What was that? It was so juvenile, so petty. When had she ever cared about who anyone's father was?

"Nora..."

She tried to push him away but the narrow balcony restricted their movements. He grabbed her arm and she let out an involuntary gasp at his touch. What was wrong with her?

"Nora! Please, just..."

She looked at him properly for the first time since he had come onto the balcony. His eyes were confused. She could see herself reflected in them. She could see the wild look in her own eyes. She couldn't bear it. She tore herself out of his grip with desperate strength and ran through the small flat. Winters was sitting in an armchair. The armchair Nora had come to think of as her armchair. She practically ran through the sitting room and front door; down the stairs and into the street. She ran and ran until she collapsed against an alley wall, soaking wet and crying her eyes out.

How could she be so stupid?

"Ms Barlow? Are you all right?"

The lady-boffin turned towards the speaker but not enough to quite meet Richthofen's eye. Silhouetted against the glow of the gaslights, it was impossible to make out her expression. Why had she frozen in the doorway like that? The laboratory was clearly empty...

"I'm perfectly fine."
She paused, steadying her voice slightly. When she spoke again, it was in the business-like manner he had come to expect from her.

"Well... shall we get started on your eye?"

The flimsy wooden door rattled, startling Deryn who had been leaning against it. Malone pulled a face and whispered in Clanker:

"Seems like some people don't understand the whole bribery concept very well."

He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. Deryn noticed the other hand reach for his pistol but Volger picked up the gun and placed it inside his jacket.

"Answer it."

The Count hissed. Malone shrugged and made for the door. Deryn got out of his way and sat down on the bed next to Alek. There was the rattle of the chain and light from the old gas lamp in the hall formed an orange stripe across the dingy room.

"Ah, Ms Rowen. I..."

Malone spoke with a heavy Clanker accent, quite an authentic sounding one in Deryn's opinion. A slightly shrill voice interrupted him.

"I ain't takin' your bloody Clanker money!"

The part of Malone's face Deryn could see looked slightly alarmed.

"Please Madam, calm..."

There was a dull thwack and Malone stumbled backwards into the room, the sliver of gaslight illuminating an ugly mark appearing over his eye. Bauer let out a hoot of laughter.

"A woman spited, Mr Rosencrantz?"

Malone began to swear in a host of unfamiliar languages though Deryn recognised French, German and even a little Turkish from her time in Istanbul. Volger didn't laugh. His eyes were fixed on the door, his hand clenching his knife.

"What was that about?"

He inquired sharply. Malone looked up. A hand shaped red mark had formed across the left hand side of his face. Bauer's laughter grew. Malone glared at him.

"I honestly have no idea."

Bauer shook his head, still chuckling.

"Maybe I should come back to this place. These Darwinists girls look like they have some spirit to them. And four months with only you four guys is getting to me..."

Volger cuffed the hysteric gunner over the head and snarled something rude in Clanker. Bauer shut up but kept on smiling. Alek looked on in utter confusion.

"I don't understand. What is going on?"

Deryn bit her lip. It was all she could do to stop herself from laughing at Alek's naivety. But she didn't want to earn a hit from Volger. The Count in question seemed very eager to avoid the Prince's eye.

"I demand to be told what is going on!"

Malone was smiling faintly. Bauer seized the initiative.

"You see, sir..."

"Fritz." The Prince corrected.

"Fritz. You see, a man has certain parts which are different from those of a woman..."

"SILENCE!"

"Ah come on, Count. You're going to have to explain this eventually..."

The Count's face was deadly serious. With a sudden, silent movement, he was up next to the door, ears pressed against the doorframe. The room's light-hearted atmosphere disappeared in an instant. Bauer pulled Alek behind him and slid the pistol from its holster inside his jacket. Malone moved to the tiny window and began to pull away loose bricks. Spies took escape plans seriously, it appeared. Volger raised his hand and made a rapid series of hand gestures that Deryn couldn't interpret. Bauer could however as he began to help Malone with the window, widening the tiny space into a hole someone could crawl out of. Alek made as if to say something but Volger silenced him with a look. The Count then held his hand out to Bauer who passed him Malone's pistol. It was an American gun (which seemed pretty barking silly considering he was a secret agent and everything) but looked especially lethal in the cold moonlight from the enlarged window. Volger gestured for everyone to leave. Bauer pushed Alek and Deryn towards the window. Malone was emptying some of his drawers into his pockets. A chair was pushed beneath the window and Alek clambered out first. Deryn followed him. The window looked out on a dirty tiled rooftop. It was quite steep but the irregular shingles gave plenty of hand holds. Deryn peaked back through the window. Volger was having another conversation in sign language with Bauer. Malone leapt for the window. For a moment he scrambled on the slippery tiles and then he found his footing and disappeared onto the neighbour's roof and then into an alley.

"Bum-rag."

Deryn whispered. The American had just abandoned them all.

"Dylan!"

She followed Alek's eyes into the sky. There! Silhouetted against the stars was a huge shape. For a moment, Deryn thought it was the Leviathan. But it was too small, its dorsal regions the wrong shape. But then hope was rekindled. It was an airbeast! Britain was finally taking the fight to the Clankers! Bright spotlights shone from the airbeast, illuminating a second smaller shape, this one cylindrical. Black shapes fluttered in the orange light, Flechette bats released from their coves. The German zeppelin was suddenly blood red. Almost immediately the airship lost its regular shape, the airbag collapsing around the aluminium skeleton. The ruined ship folded, hydrogen spilling from a thousand holes. A spark! A dancing tongue of flame gushed from the cabin, the windows exploding outwards. Bright orange flames clambered up the airship's sides, gouts of flame chasing each other over the airship's surface like playful dragons. And then Deryn was no longer clinging to a roof in the Whitechapel. She was outside Glasgow and watching the black figure of her father silhouetted against the burning kerosene tanks. The high pitched wail that might have been the hot air or a man's screams. The horrible feeling of helplessness as the figure was engulfed by the flames... She was falling. Away from the balloon and the fire and the awful flailing figure that was her father... Falling...

Alek could see the burning airship reflected in the boy's eyes. He remembered the look from the Alps, an empty sort of look as if he was in a daydream. The boy's hands grew limp. He was slipping. Alek grabbed for him but the boy's weathered flight jacket ripped off. Alek threw the thing aside (God alone knew why it had so many lines of shoddy stitching on the inside) and grasped for the boy's hand.

"Dylan!"

Alek cried out in alarm as the boy's un-responding hand slipped away from his and the boy fell backward off the roof, his thin body making a horrible thunk as it hit the paving stones. Alek said something he had learnt from Hoffman and that probably would have made his mother swoon. And Princess Sophie had not been the swooning type. Dylan was lying on the pavement, his body so much thinner without the jacket draped over it. His arm looked twisted and he wasn't moving but at least there was no blood. But that was a pretty pathetic hope in itself.

"Dylan!"

As Alek desperately looked for a way down to his stricken friend, he noticed a crowd of people pouring out of the Red Indian. A British flag was hanging proudly from a mop handle and Alek could hear the sound of raucous laughter and barely intelligible anti-Clanker slogans. What was going on?

"A riot."

He whispered to himself. That was what had startled Volger so much and why Malone had run away. The group were all clearly anti-Clankers and Alek did not feel like explaining the difference between political fugitives and enemy soldiers - even the gentlemanly Captain Hobbes had shown some difficulty with the division and Alek doubted that these rioters would behave with half the man's decorum. He began to clamber to the edge. Perhaps there would be a pipe he could climb down, like he had in Istanbul before meeting Zaven. There! If only he could...

The boy made a noise not dissimilar to a small bird being hit by a well thrown stone. As he did, he slumped backwards into Bauer's arms. The gunner pulled the young prince over his shoulder, surprised at how slight the boy had become these past few weeks. Volger was busy carefully screwing the top on a glass bottle.

"Have you been carrying that chloroform around ever since Prague?"

The count's stony stare was answer enough. Bauer shrugged.

"Always prepared, Count."

The man snorted in an approximation of a laugh.

"Not as well as I hoped. And Alek is going to be such a bother when he wakes up. He got too attached to that commoner for his own good."

Bauer glanced over his shoulder at the mob. Dylan had been a real stand up person. He had defended Alek and his men from the Leviathan's crew and had come up with that brilliant spice-bomb plan in Istanbul. He could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for the boy. But he was also a soldier and the loss of one man was not going to prevent him from doing his duty.

"Are we going back to Dr Barlow's house?"

"Immediately. This entire affair is no longer worth the risk and it would not be wise to be caught outside when the Army retaliates."

"What have we got here?"

Deryn's vision was suddenly filled with sparks and colour. Pain shot up from her stomach and she curled weakly into a ball. There was some laughter and something connected with her back, pushing her onto her front. She could feel the hobnails in the man's boot grate against her backbone as he ground her into the filthy street. She stirred weakly and someone grabbed her by the hair. Her head was pulled back and for a moment she thought they were going to cut her throat. Then a leering face appeared inches from her own.

"Looks like a little collaborator to me. Did the Clankers pay you in candy or something, boy?"

Deryn struggled weakly but she was too shaken by the fall.

"I'm... I'm with the Air Service."

The man laughed and somewhere outside her vision, others echoed him.

"The barking Air Service he says. I don't see no uniform, you little mutt!"

"Did someone mention the Air Service?"

Another figure appeared in her line of vision. Upright and well groomed. Deryn's eyes widened.

"Lieutenant Cook?"

The man started but then drew closer. As he did, Deryn knew she was right. It was the man who had written her barking letter of introduction to the Air Service. He would tell them!

"Lieutenant Cook! Remember me? I'm Dylan Sharp, Jaspert's cousin! I went up in the Huxley during that thunder storm!"

The man stopped and stared.

"Good Lord! You are Lieutenant Sharp's cousin!"

Lieutenant? Jaspert hadn't written about a promotion. But news was slow during a war.

"Yes sir! I..."

The man holding her hair let go and her head smashed painfully into the paving stones. White spots blurred her vision and she felt herself being pulled upright again. Then a familiar voice piped up.

"I saw him with Clankers! He was helping them!"

Deryn turned her head (which hurt a lot) and saw the young boy who had informed them of where to find Eddie Malone. Lieutenant Cook looked at the boy and turned back to her.

"Is this true, Midshipman?"

What would she say? This wasn't her first time lying to the Air Service. Or even Lieutenant Cook for that matter. But this was different. This was a question of loyalty. To Britain and to the Crown. She couldn't lie about that.

"Y... Yes sir. But I..."

He cut her off.

"I see."

The officer pulled a length of silk from his pocket. It was the type which messenger terns carried.

"'By order of Lord Kitchener, Commander of the Free British Army, all Britons who have committed treasonous acts during the German occupation are to be treated in accordance to the severity of their crimes. These crimes include providing aid, whether martial or logistical, to the German Armed Forces or providing information to the German sponsored Monkey Luddite government. Medical aid is to be tolerated in accordance with International Law. Any members of the CDPB, also known as the Monkey Luddites, are to be arrested for collaboration. Where arrest is not feasible, execution is permitted at the discretion of the overseeing officer as all of the aforementioned crimes are analogous to treason against the British Government. Furthermore, any members of British Armed Forces who refuse aid to the FBA are to be considered deserters and to be shot on sight.'"

He put away the silk ribbon and withdrew an air-pistol, the same type of gun that Deryn had fired a hundred times aboard the Leviathan.

"Lieutenant Sharp is going to be distraught. He thought very highly of you, Dylan."

The man holding her let go, not wanting to be shot by mistake. Without his support (unwanted as it was), Deryn fell backwards onto the street, her head banging against the hard stone. Her vision went cloudy for a moment.

"Wait!"

Her mind was full of excuses: her mission from Captain Hobbes, the fact Alek intended to end all this madness, the obvious...

"I'm... I'm a girl!"

Lieutenant Cook looked at her oddly for a moment. Then he laughed.

"What a truly pathetic choice of last words. Traitors are all such utter cowards."

He raised the pistol. She felt like laughing herself at the stupidity of it all. Here she was, on a secret mission for the Government and about to be executed for treason by her brother's commanding officer. On the outskirts of her hearing, she made out a peculiar thump sound, like someone punching a pillow. Someone shouted something but Deryn couldn't catch it. Instead, she noticed Lieutenant Cook's head snap backwards, scanning the sky. His mouth opened in horror. She tried to look up too but could only snatch a glimpse of arching trails of blue-white smoke. Cook yelled something. There was an explosion of light.

Then, Deryn's world was set ablaze.

A/N

Hi everyone! I apologise profusely for my extended absence. Exams got in the way and I have had some trouble getting back into the story. But this story is not yet dead. The updates will be fewer but more regular, I hope. No more eight month gaps! Still, the actual book of Goliath will no doubt come out long before I finish. Thanks go to hamaiasa who persuaded me to return to Goliath. And for all you Clanker enthusiasts out there, Keith Thompson (Leviathan's illustrator) has some lovely steampunky pieces for the Iron Grip games. Look on my profile for some links.