Note: So much was happening "off-camera", as it were, in the previous parts that I wanted a chance to fill in the blanks a bit.
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Young men, soldiers, nineteen fourteen
Marching through countries they'd never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a children's crusade
- from "Children's Crusade" by Sting
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I. the castle
Alek has the field glasses, so he sees the German scouts first. "They're coming," he says, which sets her heart to pounding. A few moments later, he says, "Good news – it's a two-seater."
"It's about barking time we had some luck," Deryn says, scowling at the German scouts she still can't see. Alek watches them a squick longer, to better calculate their speed, and then the two of them retreat to the inside of the castle.
She's exhausted and hungry, but is just as glad to be occupied with surviving long enough to get off of this mountain. She suspects that when she has a moment to sit quietly, she's going to fall straight to pieces. The noise the Leviathan made - that horrible death call - she'll have nightmares about that for the rest of her life.
Alek's gone serious and grim, too. Some of that might be due to the gash in his side. He's moving more slowly than usual, but he's sworn several times it's not going to keep him from piloting. It didn't look that bad when she bandaged it earlier, either, although it certainly bled enough at first. Nothing more she can do but cross her fingers and hope he's telling the truth.
"If we can get them inside…" Alek says, looking about thoughtfully. "Far enough inside that they can't be found immediately… We could gain hours of time. It might be the only way we can escape."
"They're German," Deryn points out. "That doesn't mean they're daft. Which you'd have to be to come inside this place, knowing someone's here who wants to kill you."
Alek frowns. "You're right," he says. "We could ambush them in the courtyard… No. Too noisy, and they might have a chance to signal the others. You're good at mad plans, Dylan – what do you think?"
Oh, she has a mad plan, all right. It came to her a moment ago as he talked, and, she has to say, it's brilliant and sure to work, and God knows the Germans deserve a taste of their own medicine. It just depends on a few small details. First of which: "Deryn. It's Deryn, not Dylan."
He looks at her blankly.
She huffs in exasperation (and nerves, but she'll never admit that). "I'm a barking girl, you ninny."
Comprehension dawns across his face. His green eyes widen in shock. "How –"
"It doesn't matter now," she says quickly. "But it's how we're going to get those sodding Clanker bastards in here."
Alek blinks once or twice, swallows, and then appears to accept the truth about her without further difficulty. Deryn breathes a sigh of relief; she'd expected at least a lecture about war being no place for a girl. (As if she has a choice about it, now.) But all he does is give her a firm nod.
"Right," he says, holding out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Deryn. What's the plan?"
She takes his hand and shakes it. The smile on her face probably isn't very nice. "How do you say 'help please' in Clanker-talk?"
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II. the wilderness
It's not until they're within a day's walk of Zurich that he breaks.
Until that moment, Alek has trudged along, doing everything that needs doing, forcing his tired, hungry, and injured body to take another step, climb another hill, face another danger. He's killed in cold blood, piloted a stolen scout walker across a glacier and down a mountain, outrun and outsmarted what feels like the entire German army. Still afraid of pursuit, he's hidden in train cars, stolen food and clothes from unwary farmers, and hiked through every godforsaken kilometer of forest in Switzerland.
He's learned that the only person left for him to trust is guilty of a monumental lie.
And all of this so hard on the heels of his first, similar flight across Austria. But he hasn't cried, not once, through all of it. Not since that day he learned of his parents' deaths. He's carried on with dry eyes and a stone heart, as if he weren't the last survivor of his family. As if Bauer, Hoffman, Klopp and Volger hadn't died seeing him to safety while the Leviathan and all its crew also perished.
Then.
He climbs the ladder to the hayloft and spreads out the blanket, trying to ignore the dull burn across his side where the wound he received in the Leviathan's crash has yet to heal. The hay is dusty and uncomfortable, the blanket smells strongly of horse although there are none in residence, and if he and Deryn are caught here by the barn's owner, there's sure to be trouble.
"All right," he says in a low voice, looking over his shoulder for Deryn, who's supposed to be joining him with what little bit of food they have. There's no sign of her, however.
Alek warily peers over the edge of the hayloft and, in the swiftly fading twilight, sees her sitting in the scattered straw and packed dirt at the base of the ladder. Knees drawn up, blonde head bent over. Shoulders shaking.
Stiffly, because of the wound, he climbs down the ladder and puts a hand on her shoulder. She pulls away from the touch, wiping at her face with her grimy shirtsleeve, and he realizes she's crying. She's never cried yet. He didn't think she ever would; that she, too, had turned to stone. That she was soldiering on just like him.
But now she's crying.
"They killed the ship," she says, voice thick and wavering. "Not just the crew – Captain Hobbes and Mr. Rigby and even N-newkirk and Dr. Barlow – but they killed the ship, Alek. All those poor beasties. Sodding bastards didn't even think twice about it… And then we did the same barking thing to those scouts. And - it was my idea, it was all my idea, what we did. D-did you see them?" She presses her hands over her face. Confesses, muffled, "I can't stop seeing them."
"We had to," he says, but he doesn't mean it; it's just something hollow to say. And yes, he sees them every time he closes his eyes.
He sits beside her, briefly stretching the dull burn into a hot line.
"I wanted to fly," she says, wiping her eyes again. "I didn't want –"
She breaks off, and he puts a hand on her shoulder again. This time she doesn't pull away. Instead she takes several deep, ragged breaths. But her voice still cracks as she says, "I want to go home. I want my mam."
His stone heart is fracturing, and there's a black whirlpool of grief on the other side. "So do I," he says, and the vast and terrible truth of that is enough to break him. The tears come, and they refuse to stop. He cries for his father, his mother, the good men whose courage and sacrifice carried him so near to safety. He cries for everything he's lost and the nothing he's gained, and somewhere in midst of that Deryn is pulling him into a fierce hug, crying with him, and he holds on to her as tightly as he can while loss rips him into jagged pieces.
His friend. The only person he has left.
Eventually the storm eases, enough to let them retreat to the hayloft where they won't be found out first thing in the morning when the farmer comes around for chores. They huddle together on the dusty, horse-smelling blanket until exhaustion triumphs over grief.
When Alek wakes, the morning sun is shining clear and calm through gaps in the roof, the fathomless black whirlpool has been reduced to an empty, echoing ache in his heart, and he is still holding fast to Deryn, who is still holding fast to him.
He closes his eyes. Breathes in the scent of her instead of hay and horses.
Slowly, cautiously, he starts to feel something like… hope.
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III. the train
One of the porters slides open the door to the cabin and murmurs, "Excusez-moi, monsieur," to the British ambassador from Bern, handing the man a folded note and bowing politely at the same time.
He adds more, but Deryn's knowledge of French only extends to the important bits: greetings and cursing.
The ambassador takes the note, opens it, reads it, flicks a glance at Deryn and Alek, who are sitting across from him. He says something to the porter and stands. "Back in a moment, Your Highness," he says. "Miss."
"What was that about?" Deryn asks as soon as the door closes again.
"There's a concern," Alek says. "They were careful not to say what."
Deryn scowls and would lean back, but her dress doesn't allow that much movement. The ambassador's wife had it made for her, back in Bern. It's grey, which "makes her eyes glow" or some such blether. There's a hat, too, which she refuses to wear on the train. She hates all of it. War is no time to be stuffed into skirts. Alek, on the other hand, was stuffed into a French army officer's uniform, and looks every inch the young, handsome prince. His eyes are glowing. As would anyone's if they didn't have to suffer a corset.
"Probably sodding Clanker bastards wanting to kill us," she says. "Are you dead certain about this? Going to London, I mean."
"If King George is willing to support my claim –" He shrugs. "Knowing the truth about my parents' deaths, and the papal dispensation, may be enough to force Austria-Hungary out of their alliance with Germany. That could end the war. It's worth it."
"You'll be a puppet," she says. When he takes the throne, he'll owe it all to King George. She's new to kingly politics, but that's clearly not the sort of favor you can ever pay back.
"It's worth it," he says again.
"And better to hide out in London than in that barking frozen castle," she says, trying to spark a laugh. Except it's not very funny.
Especially since they turned the castle into a tomb.
Alek makes a noise of agreement, then sighs and stares out the window at the passing French countryside. They'll be in Paris soon. And then it's on to London.
Deryn tries not to think about what waits for her in London. Or the long, shameful journey home to her mother and the aunties. At least she'll have a fancy new dress and hat to show for it.
Alek turns away from the window and reads her mind. "Why did you tell them? In Zurich. You could have gone on pretending. I wouldn't have revealed you."
She feels a small glow, hearing that. But the loyalty extends both ways, and she wants to make sure he knows it. "Aye, but if I had gone on as Dylan, and they found out the truth – and they would have – then I thought, well, they might not believe your story either."
He frowns, mulling it over.
She adds, "You only have the one chance to be Emperor. There'll be other chances for me to fly."
Just on nothing so glorious as the Leviathan.
She has a flash of memory – the airbeast hit, everything in chaos, men screaming, fear so thick it clings to the back of your throat – and shudders. Maybe "glorious" is the wrong word.
Alek places his hand over hers where it rests on the cushioned seat. Squeezes her fingers once, briefly, then relaxes. "I'll need someone to show me around London," he says. "I've never been."
"Aye," she says, venturing a smile. "Take you to the Zoo, if you like. And maybe a trip north to visit my family in Glasgow."
That would fix the aunties nicely: a new dress, a new hat, and a prince. Ha!
"I would like that," he says. He isn't smiling. In fact he looks very serious and nervous –
She has just enough time to think, Blisters, he's going to kiss me, before he does. It's soft and sweet and only lasts a moment, and it leaves her breathless.
He pulls back and meets her eyes. She's sure she's blushing like a perfect ninny – which is quite all right, as he's doing the same.
Suddenly she's grinning, and so is he, and she can't wait to reach London.
She clears her throat, but before she can tell him he'd better not start things he doesn't intend to finish, the door opens and the both of them are snapped back to reality.
The ambassador gives a little bow and says, "So sorry, Your Highness, but there's a problem at the station. Apparently this journey isn't as covert as we thought – the conductor has received a telegraph saying that a large crowd has gathered to welcome you."
"Maybe if you lot weren't so quick with the 'Your Highness'," Deryn says. Barking cheeky of her, really; as the Your Highness is still holding her hand, she supposes she can get away with it. The ambassador gives her a bit of a frowning glare, and she tacks on a half-hearted, "Sir."
The ambassador turns slightly purple, but chooses to ignore her, instead addressing Alek again: "We're arranging for a car to meet us and take us to the airfield by a different route. You should be in no danger, Your Highness."
Alek says, stiff and imperious, "You're certain of that?"
"You'll have an armed guard, and it's a short trip – no more than ten or fifteen minutes, Your Highness." The ambassador adds, dry, "I hardly think the Germans will try to march a land frigate through the middle of Paris."
"There's more than one way to attack," Alek says. "They proved that in Sarajevo."
The ambassador looks affronted. "Your Highness, please. I will personally vouch for your safety."
As if the ambassador's good reputation will matter to Alek if he's dead.
Deryn feels slightly ill at the idea.
But clearly this is not an argument they're going to win. Alek says, "In that case, I can't have any further objections, can I?"
Deryn bites down on her snort of laughter. The ambassador, oblivious, seats himself again. Takes out his pocketwatch, consults it, closes his eyes, and promptly begins to snore.
Deryn waits until the pompous twit is well and truly asleep. Then - "You'll be fine," she says to Alek, and it's a promise, not the empty reassurance of the ambassador. "I'll take the bullet for you, aye?"
He whips his attention back to her, dark green eyes blazing. "No," he says, furious. "Nein. No. No. Don't you dare."
She wants to kiss him, but not with the ambassador snoring right there. Instead she grips his hand more firmly. "I'll dare to protect you if I please, Your Highness, and don't barking think to tell me otherwise!"
Now he smiles. She smiles back.
They sit in silence as the countryside gives way to towns, factories, traffic, people. Paris.
She holds his hand tightly the entire time, hidden by the folds of her ridiculous skirts.
The ill feeling never really goes away.
