"I certainly hope you're kidding."
"I never lie!" Dylan said, standing up from his work. "Listen, Alek, these eggs are warm as toast. Let's take those kits to the surgeons now. I'm sure they'll find a use for them."
Alek raised an eyebrow. "And you're not just humoring me?"
"Well, I'd also like to look for the bosun. He got shot right before the crash, and I don't know if he made it. Him and a mate of mine were dangling from a rope when we went down."
Alek nodded. "All right."
"And coming here was hardly a pointless gesture," Dylan said. "After all, you saved my bum from frostbite."
As they made their way toward the sick bay, Alek noticed that the corridors and stairways felt less dizzying.
"The ship isn't as slanted, is it?" he asked.
"They're adjusting the harness," Dylan said. "A bit each hour, so as not to disturb the whale. I've heard we should be level by dawn."
"Dawn," Alek muttered. By then Volger would be launching whatever plans he'd made. "How long is that from now?"
Dylan pulled a watch from his pocket. "Half an hour? But it may be a while before the sun comes over the mountains."
"Just half an hour?" Alek fumed. "Do you think the captain will listen to Dr. Barlow?"
Dylan shrugged. "She's a fancy-boots, even for a boffin."
"And what does that mean, exactly?"
"It means she's barking important. We set down in Regent's Park just to pick her up. She'll make the old man listen."
"Good." They passed a row of portholes, and Alek looked out at the brightening sky. "My family will be here soon."
Dylan rolled his eyes. "You're quite up yourself, aren't you?"
"Pardon me?"
"You think quite highly of yourself," Dylan explained slowly, as if talking to an idiot. "Like you're something special."
Alek looked at the boy, wondering what to say. It was pointless to explain that, in fact, he was something special - the heir to an empire of fifty million souls. Dylan had no way of understanding what that meant.
"I suppose I've had an unusual upbringing."
"You're an only child, I'd guess."
"Well ... yes."
"Hah! I knew it," Dylan crowed. "So you think your family are going to throw themselves against a hundred men in a warship, just to get you back?"
Alek nodded, saying simply, "They are."
"Barking spiders!" Dylan shook his head and laughed. "Your parents must spoil you rotten."
Alek turned away, starting down the corridor again. "I suppose they did."
"They did?" Dylan ran a few steps to catch up. "Hang on, are your parents dead?"
Alek's answer caught in his throat, and he realized something strange. His mother and father had died more than a month ago, but this part - telling someone about it - was new. The Stormwalker's crew had known before he had, after all.
He didn't dare speak. Even after all this time, saying the words aloud risked his losing control of the emptiness inside.
All he could do was nod.
Bizarrely, Dylan smiled at him. "My da's gone too! It's pure dead horrible, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. I'm sorry."
"At least my mum's still alive." The boy shrugged. "I've had to give her the slip, though. She didn't understand me wanting to be a soldier."
Alek frowned. "What mother wouldn't want a soldier for a son?"
Dylan bit his lip, then shrugged again. "It's a wee bit complicated. My da would've understood, though... ."
His voice trailed off as they passed through a wide room with a long table at its center, a cold wind sweeping in through a large shattered window. Dylan paused and stood there a moment, watching the sky turn a metallic rosy gray. The silence felt heavy to Alek, and he wished for the hundredth time that he'd inherited his father's gift for saying the right thing.
Finally he cleared his throat. "I'm glad I didn't shoot you, Dylan."
"Aye, me too," the boy said simply, and turned away. "Now let's get those kits to the surgeon and see about Mr. Rigby."
Alek followed, hoping that Mr. Rigby, whoever he might be, was still alive.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Thirty minutes later Deryn was up on the spine, strapping herself into the pilot's rig of the Leviathan's biggest Huxley. She was exhausted and half frozen, but for the first time since the wreck things felt under control.
She and Alek had found Mr. Rigby in the sick bay, alive and well and shouting orders from his bed. A bullet had passed clear through him, somehow missing all the important bits. According to the ship's surgeon he'd be back on duty in a week.
A message lizard had found them there, relaying the captain's plan in Dr. Barlow's voice: A well-armed party would escort Alek home under flag of truce, but not until a Huxley had gone up for a good look. So Alek was stuck on egg-watching duty and Deryn was here on the spine, ready to ascend.
She tightened the rig across her shoulders, glancing up at the Huxley. The beastie looked healthy, its membrane taut in the thin mountain air.
Good for a mile of altitude at least. If Alek's family lived anywhere in this valley, Deryn would spot them in a squick.
"Mr. Sharp!" a voice called from halfway down the flank. It was Newkirk, smiling as he climbed toward her. "It's true - you're alive!"
"Of course I am!" Deryn called back, cracking a smile. Mr. Rigby had told her Newkirk was unhurt, but it was good to see him with her own eyes.
He ran the rest of the way up, carrying a pair of field glasses in one hand. "The navigator sends these with his compliments. They're his best pair, so don't break them."
Deryn frowned at the maker's mark on the leather case: Zeiss Optik. Everyone said Clanker binoculars were the best, but it was annoying to be reminded of it. At least Alek wasn't here to make some stuck-up remark. Orphan or not, she'd had enough of his Clanker arrogance for one day, and the sun wasn't even up yet.
"Mr. Rigby and I were beginning to think you'd fallen off before the crash," Newkirk said. "I'm happy to see you were just dawdling."
"Get stuffed," Deryn said. "If it weren't for me, you'd both be wee splotches in the snow. And I haven't been dawdling. I've been escorting important prisoners about the ship."