Chapter 1:

"Your Serene Highness, wake up!"

Alek chilled as the embrace of his blanket was ripped away. He looked around his hotel room as he blinked away the blurriness of unconsciousness. Klopp had thrown his blanket to the side, and Bauer was forcefully dragging him out of bed. Wildcount Volger and Hoffman were packing things into a bag.

"God's wounds, what the hell is going on? Volger?" He was on his feet now, in wrinkled night clothes and messy hair.

"Get dressed, we're leaving Belgium tonight." He zipped up the bag with an authoritative flair.

"What? Why?" He turned to Bauer and Klopp, but they had gone packing as well.

"You'll see soon enough." Volger handed Alek his fencing belt and sabre. When he was done affixing it around his waist, Volger tossed him a bag as big as his torso. The way he held it with both arms made him look like a child. "Inside you'll find arms and gold, enough to carry on without us."

"Carry on without you? What are you on about?"

Bauer was at the door. A sliver of light poured in from its cracked open line. "The Germans are still a few doors down, we can take them by surprise."

The Germans. Alek had remembered how back in Brussels Volger had warned him that the Germans were after him and that they needed to lay low in the countryside. This hotel in Bastogne was the last stop before they found some sort of barn to hide out in. In all honesty Alek didn't believe him, but now that soldiers were right at his doorstep…

"I'll stay." Volger put a hand on his sabre. "An empty but messy hotel room is suspicious, and I'll keep them occupied for some time. The rest of you, climb out the window."

While the others immediately mobilized, Alek stayed in place. "I still don't understand, where are we to go?"

"There's a map in that bag, but don't look at it tonight. Tonight, just run."

"I don't… I don't want to leave you, Count."

Volger looked back at him and let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, your Serene Highness, I know this is all too much for someone of your age. Your parents, going on the run, getting hunted by the Germans, but I'm sure that-"

There was a knock on the hotel door. "Hello? This is the police, open up!" It was clear German.

Volger bit his lip. "Alek, you need to get over it and stop whining like a baby. Now get the hell out of here man!" He pushed Alek away and into the arms of Klopp.

"Wildcount, I-" his voice was interrupted by the sliding open of the window.

"You first, Serene Highness." Bauer said. When Alek gave him a look of surprise and indignity, he explained, "They're busting in at any moment now. We don't know if you'll make it if we go first."

Alek looked at him, perplexed and thinking. Then he nodded, and looked out onto the gaping maw of the window. He slung the bag into his back and stuck his head out. It was a 2 story drop onto cobble pavement.

He gripped the window sill hard and slowly stuck his legs out, trembling as his thing pajamas did nothing against the cold night air. He was sitting on the windowsill, contemplating how to get down, when he heard the mekhanical twist of a doorknob behind them.

"Blast, I forgot to lock it." Bauer turned to Alek. "Forgive me, Prince Aleksander."

Bauer harshly shoved him outside. For a few horrid, ethereal moments, he was weightless with nothing underneath his feet. His entire being was in the late night lights of Bastogne, and instinctively he rolled to make his shoulder the first to hit.

Puff! Hitting the hard rock, all the air was knocked out of his body and his heart and bones wished to burst out. He stayed there, unable to move for a few moments, waiting to feel blood or broken bones.

He let out a high-pitched groan, much like a girl's, and let his head roll back. It took a few moments before his head hit the ground. He had landed on the bag.

Slowly, he got up, careful to minimize flaring the aches his whole body was experiencing. He was recovering rather quickly, when he heard the shouts of struggle emanating from where he had come from. He resolved to follow Volger's advice and run. Atleast, he tried to run. With all the aches in his body he was reduced to a fast limping waddle, disappearing into the dark and into the quaint little town of Bastogne.

It didn't take long for Alek to reach a quiet alleyway where he could remain unseen. The streets were empty, and only grew more so as he got farther from the town center. He was catching his breath, hand on the pneumatic pipes that commonly ran exposed in any alleyway, when he unslung his pack and dropped it down to the floor with a thud. By God, that thing was heavy! After reorienting himself up and clearing his throat (he was terribly parched,) he opened the pack and began to look inside.

The top layer was a neatly folded assortment of clothes. Casual tunic, formal uniform, a sturdy pair of boots, etc. Digging deeper, he found a compass and the map Volger must have been speaking about. Next to it, was a small leather-bound booklet that Alek could not guess the purpose of. Did they expect him to start a journal at this moment?

Brushing the book aside and digging ever deeper, his fingers met something heavy and mekhanical. Pulling it out, his eyes widened. A gun. Volger's gun. It was a pistol of swiss make, black metal clashing with intricate handle engravings of Volger's house crest and the Hapsburgs' house crest on opposite sides. Volger must have really expected not to escape, because otherwise he made a mix-up. And Wildcount Volger never made mix-ups.

He shuddered, partly at the thought that he might never see his men again, and partly at the barbaric and inelegant tool of combat in his hands. He dropped it inside, and continued digging.

Ammunition, a dagger, and 5 bars of solid Hapsburg gold. By God, did Volger really expect him to run in this? Alek was contemplating how many bars of gold to leave behind, when he heard something. At the edge of consciousness, there was a marching of boots somewhere out in the street.

Alek quickly jumped to hide himself the best he could behind the thickest set of pipes in the alley. As the boot strikes drew nearer, he recognized their sloppiness, and began hearing cries and hoots from the men. If these men were soldiers, they were not bringing honor to the Kaiser's good name.

Alek peeked through the cracks between the pipes and out onto the street. There he spied a German soldier, leaning far back drinking a bottle of wine. His spiked helmet tipped from his head a little before he straightened up and wiped his mouth with the back of his (still holding the bottle,) hand.

"Come on, gentlemen, come quicker! There's wine for us yet!" He waved and continued on. Following behind him were more soldiers, some with bottles in their hands and some with bread or sandwiches. Alek was glued to the sight, praying that they pass by quickly, when he spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd.

There, escorted by the more serious and sober looking bunch of soldiers, were Alek's men. Klopp, Bauer, and Volger. The three of them looked rather defeated, Volger slightly less so. They had been stripped down to their undergarments, a shameful but necessary display to ensure that they had no place to hide a weapon. Alek wanted so much to shout out to them. To inform them he was safe or to protest the indignity that had been bestowed upon them.

They were gone as quickly as they had appeared. Alek blinked and shook away his emotions, and set his mind back to a means of escape.

"Hey, hey, I need to take a piss, I'll be back soon!" One of the soldiers, nearing the end of the group, broke off from the rest. Alek froze as he entered the alleyway. Luckily, after stumbling over some scrap mekhanical parts, Alek's fears of being perceived were eased.

Dropping his helmet as he faced a wall, Alek almost vomited at the unhygienic and… savage sight before him. As the trickle of water hitting brick could be heard, the soldier began looking around and humming a song. It was almost like the soldier knew Alek was near-sick, and he was enjoying it.

After finishing up, the soldier turned to pick up his helmet, before noticing something. Alek watched as the soldier's gaze suddenly turned to his bag.

"Hm, what's that?" Alek panicked as the soldier lifted his bag. "My God, what is this? Gold?" He laughed at his own joke, then slung it over his shoulder before reaching for his helmet.

Alek's grip on his sabre tightened as he remembered something that Volger had told him a few days before. Surprise is a great element of warfare, Aleksander. Never forget that.

Wildly, he unsheathed his sword and leapt out to face him. "En Garde!" he shouted out of pure instinct from fencing lessons, then struck the man on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword.

"Ach! What the-" Alek hit the man again, this time kicking his ear and pushing his head from him. The soldier stumbled away, before dropping the bag and drawing a pistol.

Alek deftly moved to strike the gun out of his enemy's hand. However, he had miscalculated the length of the sword, and only managed to tip the barrel away from him.

BANG!

The sound was deafening and dizzying, appearing to echo against all the pipes of the alleyway. Alek's heavy training stopped him from breaking stance and covering his ears, instead stepping forwards and fully disarming the man by slashing his hand. He bent in pain, blood flowing from his palm, before Alek lunged forwards and set upon him with the dull side of his blade.

He repeatedly beat the man's head until he was on the floor and stopped screaming. Assuming the resting stance for a few moments, Alek started shaking against the drilling of his fencing lessons. He quickly sheathed the blade and fell to his knees, checking the man's pulse.

It was still there. Weak, but still there. A wave of relief came over Alek and a small smile grew on his face, until he heard boots rapidly approaching his direction.

"Muller!" He heard from down the street. "What the hell is going on man!?"

Desperately, his eyes darted around for an exit. Then he found it. He started rummaging through his bag again.

Pulling out the dagger, he fell onto the small door to the building next to him and jammed the knife into where he figured the mekhanical bolt would be. It opened with an easy click, and eased open with quiet tension. Without looking, Alek took his bag and threw it inside. Then he grabbed the soldier by the shoulders and dragged both of them in, shutting the door as quietly as his adrenaline fuelled veins allowed him to.

Alek leaned on the door to keep it shut, both feeling grateful that the bolt was opened that easily, and cursing the fact that it was so fragile that it immediately broke. He heard the heavy plops of boots outside, along with distressed shouts of drunk men looking for their lost friend.

A great weight suddenly eased on the door. Alek struggled to fight it, holding just strong enough to stop the door from budging one way or the other.

"Hey, someone… someone hold me i'm not sober enough to look for that pea-brain Muller…" Alek heard the man on the other side say.

After some quiet muttering and insults, the weight was slowly removed from the door and the voices and footsteps got quieter. For what felt like hours, Alek remained there unmoving as every fiber of his body was taut. Finally, after he was sure the Germans were far away, he fell backwards and lay flat on the ground, staring at the ceiling.

Newkirk cranked the Huxley pulley with great force. He was topside, in the middle of the night, and wanted to get to sleep as soon as possible. Puffs of breath were visible in the cold August night, and the Captain of the Leviathan had just declared a policy of utter darkness as they neared the Western Front.

Deryn touched down onto the tough skin of the Leviathan. She bent her knees as she landed, absorbing the shock, and quickly unfastened herself from the hydrogen breather.

"Silent night, aye Dylan?" Newkirk said as he moved to tie the Huxley down.

"Nothing but wee farm houses all around." She took off her hat and goggles, which had left a red impression around her eyes. "At least we're touching down in Paris soon, and we can get rid of that lady boffin Barlow."

"Oh. About that…" Newkirk eyed her as she went to tie down the opposite side. "There was an announcement just tonight. Change of plans."

"Aye?"

"We've declared war on the Clankers." Newkirk said without looking up from his knots. "We're headed for the front."

"Hm, well i'm not surprised." Deryn replied, also not looking up.

They finished tying down the Huxley in silence. When they were done, Newkirk groaned in relief. "Thank God, we can get to sleep!"

"You do that, Newkirk. I think I'll stay up here for a while."

Newkirk looked at her for a while like she was mad. Then he shrugged, and went away to meet his bed muttering something about Deryn's insanity.

Deryn took in a deep breath of cool near-autumn air. While she couldn't deny she was barking tired, she couldn't just abandon the topside like that. She loved the topside, with its sights of the stars above and horizons below.

It was obvious to anyone that Britain would eventually enter the fray. But still, it seemed that the war was all the more real now that they were going to the front, and not galavanting around in Istanbul. She remembered how they had been attacked by Clanker planes on their way to the Ottoman empire, first in southern France and next in the Alps. She remembered the shouts of battle, the blood of the Leviathan weeping out of bullet holes, and how she saw a poor hydrogen sniffer whimpering on the ground with one of its legs shot out.

"Barking spiders." she swore, then went to follow Newkirk to warmth in the gondola.