26...

A/N: Is it fluff? Is it a hint at someone's secret plot? Is it totally awesome? I can only answer "yes" to one of these completely unbiased-ly, but I'll leave it to you to figure out which one. Well, go on. Read!
Disclaimer: I am not SW, so I don't own the characters, creatures, or settings he created. I do, however, own the stuff I did.

“Breakfast?” Singe asked, leaning around the doorway into Ronnie’s cell.

“Is that you, Eugene?” She called back to him, straining her eyes in the darkness. Singe quickly pulled out his whistle and piped for the wormlight hanging in the ceiling to glow. She squinted at it for a moment, blinking, then turned to grin at him. “It is you,” she said brightly, her face bright green but spotted with dark shadows. It was still before dawn, and they would be over Unst in less than five hours.

The cooks would be the only crewmen up at this hour, preparing the half rations for all of the crew—even the guards had nodded off—and in their early morning groggy state, they hadn’t objected to giving out the prisoners’ meals a bit ahead of time; the first of it would already be cold when the men woke up, anyway. He’d merely said he’d been getting a head start on his middy’s duties for the day—or, rather, he had gotten up early so he could carry out his plan and only be partially behind on his tasks, but he’d conveniently left that part out.

He brandished the two biscuits, cups of coffee, and meager servings of potatoes like they were the King’s feast. The meals were set down on Ronnie’s bed, and she sat on her pillow, he opposite her, their legs crossed as they leaned over the food and dug in. Singe picked up his biscuit, tearing it in half without hesitation. The first was eaten in a single bite, the second placed on the girl’s tray. In the dim light, she frowned at him. “The food is yours,” she insisted, and flicked the small half back onto his plate. “You eat it.”

Shaking his head, he deliberately plucked up the biscuit, holding it in the air between them. “If I eat this biscuit, you agree to eat half of my potatoes and tour the ship with me before the rest of the crew wakes up.”

Her mouth formed that little “o” shape it always did when she was surprised. “You are allowed to do that?”

Singe bit his tongue. “You’re avoiding my question,” he countered, avoiding her question. She closed her mouth and swallowed, her brow creasing into little wrinkles.

“I would love to do that,” Ronnie admitted, “but I do not want you to be in trouble.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, meeting her deep green eyes. She held his gazed for a moment, so intense that he felt a clenching in his heart and his lungs stop working in shock. Ronnie was breathtaking, even though her blond hair was covered in grime and tangled in knots, her skin darkened by grease and her fingernails were chewed to stubs. She had an aura about her, one that drew Singe to her. To distract himself, he lifted up the piece of bread so that it blocked his line of sight into her eyes.

“Fine.”

He smirked at her, pulling his biscuit apart and placing half of his potatoes inside. Dumping the other part onto her plate, he swallowed his sandwich. “Eat up,” Singe said with his mouth full, “We’ve got a long tour ahead of us.”

“Would you like to see the message lizard room or the mess hall next?”

Ronnie chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “I do not need any more food,” she said, grinning at him impishly, “So we shall see lizards now.”

He reached down for her hand to lead her there, but drew it back sharply, placing it on her shoulder instead and steering her out of the room. The corridors were still dark, the wormlamps resting because no crewman would have use of them… yet. Singe estimated they had another half an hour before the general wake-up call was sounded.

Rounding a corner, he pulled her into the second room on the left. “Now you have to be quiet,” he said, “or the lizards will all wake up and start chattering. Barking unsettling, that is.”

Ronnie’s silhouette nodded mutely, her eyes twinkling. Singe took out his handheld wormlamp from his pocket, and the soft green glow filled the small room. On either side of them were cages about the size of a man’s head, stacked up to the ceiling all the way to the end of the room. The far side was filled with the boffin’s desk.

It looked different than usual.

In truth, he’d only been in there once or twice, but Dr. Williams’ desk wasn’t easy to forget. He was the most unorganized boffin Singe had met in the Service, and he had always left papers and files strewn about his desk and rarely could the fabricated wood be seen through them.

Now it was spotless. The files were stacked neatly into a single small pile, and a wooden filing cabinet was filled with papers, organized alphabetically. One of the cages was in the center of the desk, holding three message lizards. They looked normal enough, but none of them were asleep like the rest of the beasties in the room. Two kept twitching. Singe looked closely at the plaque that should have said Williams’ name, and then he swallowed a gasp of surprise.

The dully shining surface read, “Sebastian Fitzroy”.

“What are they for?” asked Ronnie’s voice incredulously.

“Uh, this isn’t really all that interesting of a place,” he whispered, pushing her back toward the door.

“Yes it is,” she whispered back, resisting him.

Taking a step back, he stumbled and fell onto the wall of the cages, and immediately groggy voices filled the room. Ronnie’s face paled, and she backed out of the room. “They have seen us? You will get in trouble?” she said when they’d made it into the hallway.

“No,” he assured her, “That was the message lizards talking. It’s what they’re for.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay, really.” He placed his hand on her shoulder to find she was shaking. Ronnie shied away from him, avoiding his eyes.

“I thought that...”

“Sh. It will be fine, I promise. Now, do you still not want to go to the mess hall?”

“No.”

“Then we have just one last stop and the grand tour of the Leviathan.”

“I will admit that Darwinism is amazing,” she said, after “wow”ing for about the tenth time in the in as many minutes. She wasn’t like most Clankers, the kind who shuddered at even the thought of a fabricated beastie; she always went in for a closer look, from the bees to even the gastric channels. At the moment they were exploring the recycling systems located just to the right of the gastric channels, directly above the gondola’s back end. The beasties here, slug like things the size of dogs, ate all the paper the crewmen were done with—classified mail that needed disposing, letters that had been read so many times they’d fallen apart, simple stationary notes—and spit it back out as clean pulp that could be pressed back into new paper. “I do not know that we have anything that can do this,” she said, “at least not where I have been.”

“Well, we are pretty amazing,” Singe said, puffing out his chest in a gesture of mock bragging.

“I know you are,” she muttered.

Spluttering, Singe replied, “I don’t even understand half of this barking stuff! I fall asleep during lectures!”

She punched him on the arm playfully. “You? No…” A mischievous grin was tilting the corners of her mouth.

He regretted teaching her sarcasm.

A half-asleep crewman stumbled into the room at that moment, and Singe pulled Rachel by the arm in between two of the sleeping beasties. They let off a thick odor, and a puddle of slime had gathered around one of them. Don’t think about it! Singe told himself. He took a fleeting glance at the watch on his wrist, and cursed under his breath. They’d lost track of time, and now the entire crew would be awake in a matter of minutes.

The airman looked about dazedly for a moment as if wondering how he’d gotten there and then turned away, muttering something about the bathroom. Singe counted to ten and then ushered Rachel out into the corridor. They rushed through the least used hallways to get back to the brig and managed to get back into the cell without a sound, the guards still snoozing lightly. The instant the door had closed, they broke into insane giggles. “We made it,” Singe gasped, clutching his side and trying to regain control.

“Yes, yes,” Rachel laughed, and Singe stepped toward her, leaning down until his forehead was against hers. He looked deep into her widened eyes, closing the few inches to kiss her.

She turned from him so that his lips landed on her cheek, and said “Shouldn’t you be giving Tad his food?” with a pointed look at the tray he placed on the fabricated wood in the corner before they’d left.

He closed his eyes tightly, bringing himself back into reality. She was still a prisoner on the opposite side of the war, and he couldn’t do this with her. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “I’ll be back with dinner,” he added without a look over his shoulder.

“Goodbye,” she called softly after him. He could hear traces of shame in that one word, and was that… disappointment?

He shook his head, clearing it of her aura. It was no wonder the Service didn’t allow girls aboard willingly. At least, not very often. They were too distracting.

The door squeaked open and Singe shouldered his way in to Tad’s cell. “Rise and shine!” he called boisterously, expecting to find the Clanker curled up on his cot, still asleep. Instead, he was sitting up in bed, eyes fixed on Singe.

“Well, where’s my ‘grand tour?’”

Chapter 25!

Pat me on the back. It's been less than a month. I guess I have my brother to thank for this, considering it's his ninja wizard plotting skills that motivate my writing. We have a system; he does most of the plot and I do the writing. He's makes the skeleton and I put on all the things that make it whole. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own this. I'm getting waaaaay too tired of saying that.

“We have a problem.”

All three of them said it at the same time, and then stopped.

“Well, go on then,” Deryn ushered Newkirk, taking a seat at the mess table. She and Alek had rushed there the moment they were dismissed from the meeting, which had ended quickly after Fitzroy’s debriefing.

“It’s... a private matter, Mr. Sharp.” Newkirk raised his eyebrows, willing Deryn to understand. “I don’t think I can tell you here,” he muttered, nodding toward Melissa and her sister, who were catching up on lost time by one of the windows. “Perhaps the gastric channels?”

Alek shuddered beside Deryn, and she shook her head. “It’s alright, Mr. Newkirk, you can’t tell them anything they don’t already know.”

Deryn could feel Alek stiffen beside her, and Newkirk spluttered, “A-are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Now, go ahead.”

“Well, it’s about Tad. He... knows. Who you are.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “And it’s my fault.”

“As it turns out, Mr. Newkirk, I would appear to be several people. You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

Alek took a seat next to her after he rigidly draped his piloting jacket of the back of his chair, smiling grimly.

If only it weren’t so complicated, she thought. When she was a little wee lass, she’d never dreamed she’d amount to be anyone, and and now she was three people. It wasn’t all bad, of course, and she much preferred it to being a woman stuck at home with a baby on her hip, but it would be nice if she knew exactly which person she was nowadays. She may have been born Deryn, but she was spending most of her life as Dylan, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to go back. Her pa had always said things were easier done than reversed.

“That’s the thing,” Newkirk growled, “I don’t know how much he knows, just that he knows more than he should. He’s pieced it together that there’s a girl in the Service.”

The conversation between the sisters stopped abruptly. Levi took a deep breath. “That would be my fault,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Newkirk asked. “You told him about Deryn? How would you even barking know?”

Levi walked over to the table and leaned on the back of a chair. “Let me explain, Mr. Newkirk. I’m Lauren Wilson, and this is my sister, Melissa.”

Deryn was sure that anyone passing in the hall could have heard Newkirk slap his forehead. He turned to Deryn and gave her the most withering glare she’d ever seen. “You mean, there’s more of you?”

“No,” she said patiently, “They’re Americans.”

Alek looked up from his slouched place next to her and offered, “Like in The Perils of Pauline,” and ran his hands through his hair, rolling his eyes.

Newkirk gave him a confused look and then turned back to Deryn. “In the British Air Service? How’d you pull that off?”

Melissa cleared her throat and joined the group. “It was my idea, really. Our mom sent us to boarding school over in England, which we needed recommendation letters for. And the Service needs those, too, see? So we changed a few important details and voila! Easy as pie.” She ignored Deryn grumble about how making pie was not, in fact, easy. “Lauren’s a dab hand at forgery.

“We had to study the Manual like crazy, of course, and teach each other to act like boys, but there were a few weeks in between arriving in London and taking the middies’ test. It was pure luck that the Leviathan was needing a few more midshipmen. You know everything that’s happened from then on. So, here we are.”

Lauren’s head was in her hands. “Not everything,” she groaned. “I told them my secret to save my life. They were going to kill me--I was lined up next to Rigby and Thompson, and they were going to shoot me in the head. Right before, I screamed it. What I was, and they threw me aside. I was a coward and I watched them die. I didn’t do anything to save them! Nothing!” she growled, ashamed instead of frantic.

Melissa took her sister into her arms, stroking her head. “They kept me alive to blackmail the Service. I was so afraid of them, what they might have done to me.” She sniffled once, then blinked a few times, but that was all there was to her crying. “You know who Ronnie is. She became my friend, and she was the only one who knew any English, other than Tad, but he’s a bum rag and I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.”

“He’s perspicacious!” shouted Bovril, and Deryn looked down at it in surprise. The loris had been strangely quiet lately, only muttering the words it learned and not speaking out much.

“Aye, it seems so,” Newkirk agreed, looking out the window. They were passing over the sea again, on the way back to Britain. Unst was only a day away now, and once they arrived there they’d finally have more food. Deryn’s stomach growled at the thought of finally having fresh potatoes again instead of the staling bread and old potatoes at any of the two meals they were served on half-rations.

“I didn’t tell him about having a sibling also serving,” Lauren insisted, “If he knows anything new, it’s because he figured it out on his own.”

“Perspicacious,” Bovril trilled, then went on muttering.

“How much do we know he knows?” Deryn asked, feeling the hysteria rise in her throat. Depending on how much Tad knew, there was no limit to what he could blackmail any of them into doing. She took a gulp of air and tried to steady her racing heart. It would be okay. They would figure something out.

“I don’t know!” Newkirk repeated, kneading his knuckles into the table. “He wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

Alek took a deep breath. “When do you feed him again? You could hold it from him until he told you something.”

Nodding, Lauren said, “That’s a good idea. If he refuses, just eat the bum rag’s food right in front of him. Pretty soon he’d be begging to tell you all he knows.” She smiled grimly. Melissa was gaping at her in disbelief. “What? He’s a complete bum rag.”

“They’re due to get lunch in about an hour.” He shrugged, probably thinking forward to his own lunch.

Deryn was about to speak when she heard the scrambling of a message lizard overhead. Without preamble, it began speaking in Dr. Barlow’s voice, a little less calm than usual. “Mr. Sharp, Mr. Hohenberg, please report to the bridge immediately.”

“We’re on our way, Doctor,” Alek said, standing up and snatching his jacket from the back of the chair. “End message,” he added quickly, and the lizard blinked and scrambled back into the tubes.

Chair legs scraped across the floor as the other four stood. “We’ve got some bats to feed, if you’ll excuse us,” Melissa said, completely like Miles again.

“Of course,” Newkirk nodded to them and then ambled slowly out. “Tell me how it goes,” he told Deryn, and clapped her on the shoulder. He was about to do the same to Alek when the other boy flinched away--his arm was much better now, but that would still hurt. “Sorry,” he apologized awkwardly.

Alek gave him a good natured smile and chuckled. “No harm done. But we’ve got to be going. Dr. Barlow will have our heads if we’re not fast.”

“Nice of you to show,” Dr. Barlow said cooly, fixing them with a disapproving look.

“We had to climb almost the whole barking length of the ship! And not to mention Alek’s slow as a box of turtles on the ratlines!” Deryn protested, but another glare from the lady boffin quieted her. Boffins seemed to have that effect on everyone.

The bridge was less crowded than earlier that day, with only the captain, Dr. Barlow, and Dr. Busk clustered around one of the various tables. Deryn and Alek had just taken their place in the crowd when the door emitted yet another person.

“Mr. Fitzroy, right on time,” Captain Hobbes welcomed him, vacating a place next to himself. “Now we’re all here. The head falconer should be here any moment, with an injured strafing hawk discovered flying near our ship.”

Dr. Barlow’s eyebrows drew together. “That’s rare,” she said softly.

The captain was nodding solemnly when a burly man stumbled through the door, a strafing hawk clinging to his arm. There were voices coming from where he was, and for a moment Deryn thought the hawk was talking. It was then that she saw the three message lizards scrambling along it’s back, two of them squawking in many different voices. The third was completely silent.

“Fire! Fire!” one of the lizards shouted. “We’ll all die!”

“Oh, no! Jump ship!” the other cried. “Lord help us!”

A chill ran up Deryn’s spine, and her jaw dropped.

“Save what you can! Jump ship! We’re on fire!” it shrieked, then made the sounds of a crackling blaze. Then it coughed, and said in a somewhat calm voice, “Tell whoever you find that it’s happened again. And it’s them! Their spitting fire! The--oof!”

“God’s wounds, won’t it stop?” Alek asked hysterically, the only one in the room able to speak.

The captain waved his hand distractedly, staring at the frantic animals. The falconer swiftly put small black hoods over the heads of the three lizards and the hawk, who had been fidgeting anxiously. They quieted down considerably, but the occasional shout of “Fire!” could still be heard from under the cowls.

Deryn’s upper lip was quivering, so she bit down on it hard, leaving a deep imprint of her teeth in her mouth and only barely avoiding drawing blood. “Why is that one quiet?” she asked, glad to find her voice was steady and deep. It was the safest question she could think of.

It was Fitzroy who answered. “It’s attic’s scrambled,” he said simply.

“Then why are the other two raving mad?” Alek reached up to scratch his scalp; Darwinism was still infinitely confusing to him.

“You can’t possibly expect every lizard to act identically to the one next to it,” Fitzroy spluttered. “That would be like saying that Dylan would choose an apple over a pear just because you do, too.”

“It is quite strange,” Dr. Barlow muttered, peering closely at the silent lizard. “Almost all lizards react similarly to trauma, and this one appears to be completely normal.”

“I’ll investigate it,” Fitzroy offered, gathering the lizards before the lady boffin could get too good a look at them. “It is my job, after all,” he added, glaring pointedly at Deryn. As he left the room, lizards in arm, Deryn swore she heard him mutter something about zookeepers.

She took a deep breath, shaking her head and resolving to investigate his new job later. Turning back to the captain, she asked, “But, sir, what does all it mean?”

“The only thing it can. We’ve lost another of the AirFleet.”

Chapter 24. A month exactly after 23.

Okay, I really, really apologize for not having written this sooner. I have been so busy lately, and then I had writer's block, and all that kind of stuff. But I got it plotted out with my little bro, and then it just flowed out of my fingers. So, here it is! Tada! Enjoy it, please!

Disclaimer: I still don't own this.

The bridge had more people in it than Alek had seen since Tesla had been first brought aboard. He cringed thinking of the man.

“... And at that point, sir, Midshipman Fitzroy led the prisoners to brig and we were all dismissed.” Deryn saluted and clicked her heels.

“Thank you, Mr. Sharp,” Captain Hobbes nodded, and Deryn sat down. “I would like to formally congratulate you and your crew for finding Mr. Wilson alive. Although it was a mystery that he alone was spared, I’m sure all of us are grateful he has returned to us alive.”

Alek noticed Deryn stiffening beside him, but she relaxed just as soon, and he wondered if maybe he’d imagined it. “Unfortunately, the rest of the crew have been confirmed dead.”

The room was silent for a moment out of respect.

Alek’s mind was still reeling from Deryn’s account of the mission. He had been stuck here on the bridge with the lady boffin and the officers. Of all the scurrying dots on the ground, he hadn’t been able to pick out Deryn, and he’d clenched his fists for so long in worry he still had red marks on his palms the next morning. The thought that she had been down there, with all that rubble and a few bombs that could have gone off at any time because they didn’t explode on impact, was still twisting his stomach into knots. He missed the time just a few weeks ago when the greatest danger had been falling out of the tree, not him getting shot and Deryn risking her life for a few machine scraps.

“The girl we captured is perplexing,” Dr. Barlow remarked, stroking Tazza’s head absently, “I’ve tried to speak with her, but she will say nothing in any language other than her name. I’ve already tried to speak with her a few times since she woke up. Rachel, she is called, is on mild painkillers for a blunt force head injury.” She shot Deryn a pointed look, and Deryn only shrugged. “Mr. Newkirk is serving her and the boy breakfast as we speak.”

She and Deryn exchanged glances, and the lady boffin nodded slightly. Deryn said “Sir, the Zoological Society has brought us in contact with Thaddeus before. His father is the German Count Abbott Welker. They may be the most devoted Clankers I ever met, sir. The boy insulted Darwinism in the middle of barking London! And the bum rag almost looked pleased when he heard about all those poor airships! If there’s anyone behind all this, him and his Da would be part of it.”

The captain nodded and smoothed his beard. “In that case, I’ll need a full debriefing from all that have encountered the count and his son previously.”

Alek glanced worriedly at her and Dr. Barlow. That was a tricky subject. How much could they tell the captain without giving up Deryn’s secret?

“Mr. Fitzroy, please begin your debriefing,” ordered the captain.

Sebastian stood up, straightened his uniform, and saluted Captain Hobbes. “Thank you, sir. I was with the second group of airmen deployed, and I searched the compound with Coxswain Clarke.  As you know, some of the air bombs were duds, and as a result the Clankers had all gathered in a single area, in a building that was mostly intact. They were armed with mostly pistols and a few larger guns, and when another group of men joined us we were at a stalemate with them.

“It was then that I had an idea. I’d recently learned how aerial bombs work in my classes, so I thought I could figure out how to fix one. The others held off fire while I fixed and set the duds on a timer, and we took them secretly to the backside of the building and got away as quickly as we could. It was a success and none of the Clankers were left alive.”

The bridge was silent for a moment, and even the message lizards that had been scurrying along the ceiling had stopped. “It was then discovered,” Dr. Busk said, rubbing his palms together, “that it had been the central intelligence building of the compound, likely where all the information on the Orion Omega was stored, along with all other experiments and many other things that would have been useful to the Air Service. Upon inspection of the remains,” he paused, looking pointedly around the room everyone’s face for just a moment, “my team found a disturbing file. Only one sheet had survived, and a few partials of others, and the distinguishable words read: ‘Orion Alpha; Mission success.’”

Dr. Barlow’s hand flew to her mouth, and Alek’s fists clenched. “Alpha?”

Fitzroy ran his tongue along his lower lip. “But it has already been decided that Orion Omega is the threat, last in the line and most dangerous,” he barked, grabbing the ends of the table and turning his knuckles white. “That’s what we should focus on, not this ‘Alpha’ blether! It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Then why would it say ‘mission success’? And there was part of an illustration, one that looked like some sort of flamethrower,” Dr. Busk shook his head, “and fire is one of the most lethal things for an airship. This can only mean that there are two parts to the Clankers’ plan, whatever it may be, and it could be worse than we’d ever imagined. Yet now we have nothing but charred scraps of unreadable paper when we were so close to discovering what that plan is, possibly saving hundreds of lives. Nothing, thanks to Mr. Fitzroy’s brilliant plan.”

“Surely there was nothing else that could be done in his situation,” the captain told him, raising a hand to calm the man.

“I have just a question for you, Doctor.” Sebastian tilted his head and stared at boffin, waiting for a reply.

“Well, go ahead, boy,” Dr. Busk said gruffly.

“Just how many times have you been awarded the Air Gallantry Cross for bravery in battle?”

No one spoke.

From what Alek had gathered, Fitzroy was always perfect boy in front of adults, but when none were around, he was Fitzroy, arrogant and nasty as ever. This side of him would be new to the captain and all the officers.

“Well?” he challenged.

“None, but I ha--”

“I see.” Sebastian drummed his fingers on the map table, staring unflinchingly at the gray haired boffin. Then he chuckled a little, a cold, maniacal laugh. “Maybe I should just have your job, then.”

Random ficlets

So, here are the ficlets I told you about. The first one is called "Fortify?" because it relates to the Bonus Chapter and Art, the second one "I Promise" for reasons you'll soon discover, and the third "Happy April Fool's Day" for obvious reasons. They contain other explanations with the actual stories, too, in case you get confused. Read away!
Disclaimer; this isn't mine. Well, it is to an extent, but not enough to count.

A tribute to The Bonus Chapter and Art, posted to the Westerblog on December 16, 2011.

Four people stood crowded around a table, huddled over cluttered maps and diagrams. They were all tired, worn out from a long day of hard scheming. The sun was drooping an eyelid at them in the sky, yawning as it fell into its place below the horizon. Alek watched it with a sort of jealous fixation, counting the minutes ticking by, waiting for the moment he could retire to his bedroom for a well needed night’s sleep.

Deryn snapped her fingers in front of his face, “Oi! Have you gone daft on us again?”

“What? No,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. A yawn was building up in his throat, and he was determined to stop it. He clamped his jaw down tight, and Deryn raised a single eyebrow at him, a talent he could never seem to master, and clapped him on the shoulder.

“We’re almost done, your princeliness. Just hang in for a squick more, aye?” Deryn took a step closer to him, taking hold of his hand under the high table just out of sight of Count Volger and Dr. Barlow.

“Dylan is right. We must only finish part three of the plan before the evening is over,” Dr. Barlow said.

“The evening is over,” Bovril repeated. “Mr. Sharp.”

Deryn shook her head and sighed, pulling the creature onto her arm. “What is part three, exactly?”

Alek blinked a few times to stay focused as Dr. Barlow spoke. “It is quite simple, of course. In simplicity, we must fortify the...” she trailed off as Alek and Bovril started laughing maniacally. “What on earth is so funny, Aleksandar?”

Between his cackling, Alek managed to choke out, “It’s the--that Volger--he--fortified!”

Deryn was staring at him, opened mouthed, Dr. Barlow had her lips in a surprised “o” shape, and the count rolled his eyes, remembering that absurd moment on the eve of the new year when he had been quite fortified, as he had called it. Alek continued to laugh, clutching at his sides, not entirely sure why exhaustion made everything so funny.

“It would seem,” Volger began to roll up a map, “that we are quite finished. Until tomorrow, then?”

Deryn nodded vigorously and towed Alek away from the table, muttering about barking daft princes the whole way to their rooms. Quite daft indeed, he thought, but at least Deryn’s hand was warm in his and he was done thinking about maps and plans for the night.

He had more important things to think about at the moment.

A/N: You may not have understood the reference if you haven’t read The Bonus Chapter as many times as I have. A little background would suffice, I assume, so for you have have a small portion of The Bonus Chapter, written and owned entirely by Scott Westerfeld, to explain a little better, “‘...Given that I am about to throw myself into a party full of boffins and secret agents, I would not call myself drunk—merely fortified.’” -Count Volger. Make sense now? You can probably now understand why I break out into insane fangirl giggles when they speak of ‘fortification’ on the show Downton Abbey, or, much worse, when I see milk for kids that is specially ‘fortified’ (with vitamins and such, of course, but that hardly seems important.), or when I feel I have to write a somewhat canonical drabble about it. Hope you enjoyed!

Moving on...

Oh, no. Not here! Not now!

Deryn looked around the small dining room, the one that she’d gotten used to since returning to London, just to avoid the eyes of the boy on one knee in front of her. She was sure that she’d turned positively scarlet with embarrassment, but one small glance at Alek told her that there was no way she was redder than him.

“Deryn Artemis Sharp,” he stuttered, “Y-you are the love of my life. It doesn’t matter how young we are, or how old, but you will always be.”

Deryn blinked and said, “Alek, I’ve only known you for--” she quickly calculated in her head “--seven months!”

“Really? Because it feels like I’ve known you my whole life. Everything before I met you--that wasn’t living, Deryn. My life began the day I found you on that glacier, and lord knows I want to keep living this life. I look at you, and the world becomes infinitely better--Deryn, I look at you, and there’s no where else I need to be. It’s where I belong.” He paused, searching her eyes. Blisters, but his were beautiful. They were shining, and he had that faraway look in them, but now they had an immeasurable amount of intensity, too. Deryn had never seen him like this, and it almost scared her. “I’m not asking you to marry me right now, Deryn.”

“Then what are you barking asking?”

“I’m asking you to accept my promise. With this ring, I promise you that I’ll always love you and only you. By accepting, you promise the same to me. Please, Deryn. I need you more than anything.”

“Oh, Alek--” her eyes were swimming with tears. “I--I love you, you barking daft prince.”

“So--?” Alek’s eyes were wide, waiting.

“Yes. Yes, I promise,” she whispered.

He barely had time to slip the ring on her finger before they were kissing, and his lips tasted of salty tears and promises.

And Finally...

Author’s Note: Okay, you all will certainly be very confused if you read this without taking a peek at Mr. Westerfeld’s April Fool’s Day prank on his readers first. You can find it at: “http://scottwesterfeld.com/blog/2011/04/goliath-reveal-2/”. The wonderful idea arose on the Blog that someone should write a fanfic about it, and so.... this happened. I hope you enjoy!

This was probably the worst day of Deryn’s entire life.

She’d always imagined that her wedding day would be the best, but, of course, in her child’s daydreams she’d been marrying the dashing boy, not--well, being him.

Her secret was in danger of being discovered, and Lilit had offered to help. She’d reassured Deryn that Dylan getting married would dispel any doubt as to her--his--gender. It was all a barking mess, really, and she wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened.

“Ready to go, Dylan?” Lilit popped in the doorway just as Deryn was pulling on her boots.

“Isn’t there some rule that says I shouldn’t be seeing you in your dress before you walk down the aisle?” Deryn asked defeatedly.

Lilit sighed. “Isn’t there some rule that says I can’t marry a girl?”

“Bu--” Deryn sputtered, pulling Lilit into the room and darting a glance down the hallway to make sure no one had heard. “That’s the point, you ninny!”

“Honestly, Mr. Sharp, is the really the way to treat your bride? We shall have to work on that,” she said drily, and left to find her procession of bridesmaids.

Deryn didn’t even know anyone in the wedding party aside from Bovril, who was serving as the ring bearer. Of course she couldn’t invite her own family, and when she’d asked Alek to be her best man, he’d refused, looking extremely hurt. She had thought he would understand, now that he knew her secret, but he hadn’t spoken to her since, and that had been nearly a month now. Her loneliness among all these Ottomans was terrible.

Count Volger and Dr. Barlow would both be there, and Klopp, Hoffman, and Bauer, all in the audience. The only one of them that knew was Count Volger, and as she stepped to take her place on the altar, she could feel his cool, disapproving glare. Barking Clankers.

The organ began to play, and Deryn tried not to break down into furious sobs at her situation while all the people marched down the aisle. She had to pretend to be happy and forced herself to break into a large smile when Lilit strode in. The girl looked radiant in her dress, and her acting was flawless. She had the air of a woman in love, like she could barely keep from running to the altar. She gave Deryn a reassuring nod, taking her place beside her groom.

The preacher began his long speech, droning on about marriage, and Deryn’s stomach twisted into a million knots, her legs shaking and turning to jelly.

Just as Deryn was about to protest that she couldn’t do this, the far wall of the chapel splintered and exploded inward. From the space that had been panels of carefully painted wood and stained glass and a door, a giant metal stormwalker stumbled in. Squinting through the dust, Deryn could just make out the form of someone piloting the thing, viewport completely open. He looked oddly familiar...

Alek!

As the dust cleared, she saw his face. It was pale, pulled into a tight grimace. He held a pistol and a sword, and he was yelling. It took a moment before Deryn could make out his words.

“Deryn! Wake up you Dummkopf! You’ve already slept in past breakfast!”

“What?!” Deryn pulled open her eyes to see Alek’s eyes alight with amusement, his dark red hair a tumbled mess because he hadn’t combed it yet. “I missed breakfast?”

“Yes,” he shrugged, “but I brought you some.” Alek held out a biscuit slathered with jam, and pointed to a mug of coffee waiting on the bedside table. “What in blazes were you dreaming about? You looked like were having a nightmare.”

It was only then that she saw the cleverly hidden worry in his brow. She smiled at him brightly. “You don’t barking want to know,” she said, pulling back her covers and shoving him toward the door, “Get out of here, you barking daft prince. I have to get ready, and so do you!”

“But the ceremony isn’t for another three hours!” he complained.

Deryn raised an eyebrow. “And you’re going to need every second of it if you want to look like a proper groom.”

“I may need a few more if I want to look as good as my bride,” he replied sweetly and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before retreating out of her reach. Deryn could feel the blood rushing to her face.

“Aye, you will,” she agreed half heartedly and leaned forward, kissing him on the lips long and hard. He already looked perfect, even with the tousled hair and wrinkled pajamas. She shivered and her stomach did a flip at what he would look like waiting for her at the end of the aisle. “But you did have time for that. Besides, you may just move a little faster now and not be late. Wouldn’t want you barging in on a walker...”

“Pardon me?”

“Nevermind. Now go already!” She shut the door behind him.

“I love you, Deryn,” Alek whispered through the door. A broad grin stretched across Deryn’s face. She didn’t think she’d ever quite get used to hearing those words from him, no matter how many times he said them.

“I love you, too, Alek.”

Maybe this really would be the best day of her life.

Chapter 23!

This is the long awaited chapter 23. I sincerely hope it doesn't disappoint. A quick lesson on the origin of "Sincere": It actually means "Without wax"--stemming from in ancient times when they made marble statues. Sometimes there would be flaws, and those would be filled with wax, but when they got out into the sun... melted wax. So "sincere" statues were true ones that had no wax. Just remember, the next time you sign your letters with, "Sincerely, me." you're saying your letter has no wax. Well, more that what you've stated above is genuine or real, but that's beside the point.
But I'm just keeping you from the action here. Without further ado...
Disclaimer: I don't own this. Really, we've been over this before.

That boy was looking at him. The one that was on the train. What was his name, again?

Oh. Tad.

Deryn was making sure to stay out of his line of sight, but it was hardly necessary. Tad’s eyes were glued on Singe because he thought the boy was Dylan. As it was, Singe didn’t think Tad would recognize her given that he thought she was a girl, when she was pretending to be a boy and--

Singe shook his head. It was all so barking confusing with that girl. As long as he could keep the boy from realizing he wasn’t Dylan until they could sort this all out, it would be fine. He gave Deryn a nod to show he understood the situation. She sighed in relief and set back to taking care of the unconscious girl. The pretty one from the cellar.

“What are you looking at?” Singe said gruffly.

Tad raised an eyebrow. “You.”

“Like the uniform? It’s great out here in the cold mountain weather. You should really get yourself one of these.” He couldn’t help but taunt the boy a little. He was wearing only a pair of trousers, a shirt and thin jacket, and boots, and he kept shivering.

“I would, but my wrists are tied,” he managed, teeth chattering. His lips were turning blue.

Groaning inwardly as the sympathetic part of himself took over, Singe pulled his outer layer off and draped it over Tad’s shoulders. He hissed as the frigid mountain air sliced through his middy’s uniform.

“Compromise, you see? You have a coat, but your wrists are still tied. I’m happy, your happy.”

“I can hardly say I’m happy.” He rolled his eyes. “But thank you.”

“Can’t have my prisoner getting frostbite, can I?” Singe patted him on the shoulder a little too hard, and Tad nearly fell over. “Don’t you worry, though. It’s perfectly warm on the ship. The heat from the gut is quite comfortable.”

He turned away to address his assembled men as the Clanker cringed.

“That’s all of us, aye? Count off.” He waited patiently as his men numbered themselves off to sixteen and ignored Tad’s comment about not knowing Darwinists could count so well. Pulling out his semaphore flags, he sent the ready signal to the bridge. He could almost see the splotch of the captain’s head nod.

The scent of vented hydrogen filled the air and the ship dropped quickly. A ladder dropped from the cargo hatch when the beastie was ten yards above the ground, and Singe watched as the airmen climbed up with various found things. One of the bigger men carried the Clanker girl on his shoulder, and Singe clipped himself to Tad’s belt and untied his hands.

Once everyone was up the ladder, the ship rapidly spilled ballast and they shot upward. Now it was time to inventory their findings.

“What’ve we got, lads?”

“A midshipman!” Levi cried gleefully, and was rewarded by many slaps on the back, even a hug. He turned pale and grimaced, though Singe wasn’t quite sure why.

“Two Clankers, obviously. This here is Thaddeus Welker. Say hello, Tad,” Singe said, and continued, not waiting for a reply. He gestured to the girl.  “I’m not sure who this lass is, though. Anything else?”

“I’ve got a funny looking box and a lump of mechanical parts,” a man offered, and Singe nodded, only mildly intrigued. That could be expected of any Clanker hideout. As for the box, it probably only caught the man’s attention because he’d seen the seal in Constantinople, or so Deryn had explained. He’d personally never seen it before, but that was mostly because he’d spent almost the whole trip inside the air beast, much less where he could see the official symbol of the sultan.

The head rigger stepped in and took over Singe’s job, and he gratefully took leave to his room after seeing that the prisoners made it safely to the brig. He promised to bring Tad breakfast with a sarcastic air kiss. The girl still hadn’t woken up.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

It wasn’t very hard to carry two breakfast trays, especially since they had barely any food on them. With the whole ship still on half-rations, the prisoners wouldn’t be eating any better.

Singe hesitated a moment before unlocking the door to the girl’s cell. It wasn’t unpleasant down here in the brig, but it certainly wasn’t the best conditions. He stared down at one of the trays he was carrying sullenly; there was a stale biscuit and a mug of old coffee, which was warm, at least. Sighing, Singe pulled the few potatoes he’d saved and wrapped in a napkin from his own breakfast earlier and placed them on the one for the girl.

The door opened with a click that hardly echoed in the small room. In the corner, a slight form was huddled, knees folded in on herself, holding them tightly; like a hug, Singe thought. When she looked up, he was caught by the greenness of her eyes.

“You’re meal,” he said curtly. The girl nodded dumbly but didn’t say a word. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes. Some.” Her voice was distracted, eyes fixed hungrily on the tray he held. Quickly he handed it to her and stood silently as she swallowed the biscuit in three bites, the potatoes in two, and washed it down with the coffee. She let out a deep breath when she was done and leaned her head against the wall. “Thank you.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“For the potatoes,” the girl pursed her lips and inclined her head, making the grimy blond hair fall into her face. She must have seen the other tray, the one for Tad, that had none. She certainly didn’t miss much, did she?

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly. In the moment it took her to process the words, she let her long legs stretch on the cot, which pulled the hem of her trousers up well past her ankles. He would be embarrassed about seeing this, but she had such an effortless grace that he didn’t think to look away.

“I have two names,” she said slowly, “I am Rachel. My men call me Ronnie when we work. You understand?”

“Y-yes.” He stuttered. “I am--er--Eugene.”

He stood awkwardly, not sure what to do next. Rachel extended a calloused hand toward him. “I am pleased to meet you, Eugene.”

He took her hand gently and was surprised by the firmness of her shake. “The pleasure is mine, Rachel.” She let go of his hand and folded her legs up again, leaving a space next to her on the small cot.

“You sit? You are tired,”Rachel offered, patting the spot next to her. Singe was, in fact, very tired from all that had happened. He sat gingerly on the edge, careful to leave as much space as possible between them. Utterly aware of both her closeness and the way she was staring at him, he decided his boots were extremely interesting.  She’s a Clanker, he reminded himself. The enemy.

But then why was he so drawn to her?

“So...” Singe picked at his fingers.

“You want to ask a question?” She reached over and touched his shoulder lightly, and Singe had stop himself before he took hold of her hand.

“Yes, I do,” he admitted. There was a silence as he tried to figure out how to phrase his words.

“Why... why do you...”

“Why do I work with the men?” Singe nodded, and she shrugged. “Because it is what I like to do. I always have liked machines. My father paid the commander to take me up and work. The men I work with... they call me Ronnie so they forget I am a girl.  It is not customary for a girl to work like I do.”

“I understand. I know someone who’s a lot like you.”

“Who?”

“Uh--well, that’s hard to explain. Look, I won’t be back until tomorrow, with breakfast. They may come and question you, to get information on what you were doing in the mountains.” Because she’s a Clanker, he didn’t say, but made sure he reinforced the fact to himself. “Please, tell them what they want to know.”

Rachel pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “You should go. Thaddeus still needs his food, yes?”

“Aye.”

He stood stiffly and walked to the door, not looking back even though he could feel Rachel’s eyes on him. She’s a Clanker. He couldn’t like her.

But that hadn’t stopped Deryn, had it?

Setting his jaw, he pushed the door open and slipped into Tad’s cell, lit only by a small worm lamp. The only furnishing was a fabricated wood cot covered with a few blankets and a hard pillow, just like Rachel’s--no, it would be better to think of her as Ronnie--cell. The boy was laying on top of it all.

“I come with breakfast, your countship,” Singe said sarcastically to hide the knot in his chest. Tad sad up upon his arrival.

“Not much of a breakfast,” he replied, wrinkling his nose at the stale biscuit and mug of warm, bitter coffee. “And I’m not a count. Yet. You seem well rested, Mr. Newkirk.”

“As much as I can be. But I can’t stay and chat. Fraternizing with the enemy isn’t part of my duties.”

Tad leaned against the wall, a smug grin stretching across his mouth. “Oh, I think you can stay and chat for as long as I want you to.”

“Excuse me?”

“You see, Mr. Newkirk, I have this all figured out.”

His spine was prickling. “You have what figured out?”

“All of it. You might want to seal that door.” Singe did, but he kept his eyes on the Clanker boy the whole time. He’d already made the mistake of responding to Newkirk when he was supposed to be Dylan, and he wasn’t about to make another.

“It wasn’t hard, really. Once I realized that you weren’t Dylan, the pieces just clicked into place. To think, the British Air Service would be so shamed! A girl...”

Freezing in place, hands clamped tight on his jacket, Singe turned to Tad. “What did you just say?”

“A girl in the British Air Service. They’ll be very discredited when the world finds that out. But I could be persuaded to keep my quiet, at a price.”

“Oh, I’ll persuade you, alright,” he growled, pulling out his rigging knife. “Breathe one word about Deryn and I’ll--”

“Deryn? So that’s her real name?” Tad asked coolly, then muttered to himself: “But which one?”

Singe blinked. Did Tad think that Deryn had more than one real name, or...

“Ah, I’d suppose that’s Dylan’s name, then? You know, it was very clever of--”

“Stop. What do you know? Tell me from the beginning.” Singe took a leveling breath and set his jaw.

“But that would be absolutely no fun. No, I’ll leave you guessing.” He shrugged, turning to his breakfast. “You can go now.”