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.”

For you I have chapter 22.

Hahaha. I made a rhyme. Tada!
Disclaimer: I'm not Scott Westerfeld and therefore own nothing. Too bad.

They floated down to the snow like angels. Gruesome, godless angels, even Deryn had to admit. The skata didn’t look anything like skunks, but more like Bovril-sized monkeys with wings. Twelve had been deployed at the outskirts of the compound, and as Deryn watched through her field glasses they deftly broke locks and forced doors, briefly entering and then leaving for a new building to spray.

Some minutes later, men rushed out the doors, faces covered with sleeves and the odd mask, spreading in all directions. Perfectly according to plan.

Deryn couldn’t watch as the bomb bay doors opened.

The floor of the cargo bay kicked beneath her, sending the slightest jolt of pain zinging through her knee. Deryn ignored it, though, because she there wasn’t time to think about that. She looked sidelong Newkirk, who seemed decidedly unsteady about the whole situation.

Deryn reckoned she wouldn’t be so keen on going back into the place, either, if she were the poor boy. It probably brought back the memories for him like seeing fire did with Deryn.

The floor jolted again.

“Blisters, how many are they going to drop?” Deryn muttered, still unable to look below her. She’d get a full enough view when she was on the ground, that was for sure.

“Only a few more,” Newkirk grimaced, his face a pale shade of green. He bit his lip and called out to the assembled men. “Get ready, lads! We’ll keelhaul drop five minutes after the last one’s dropped, aye?”

“Aye!” replied sixteen airmen.

Finally the explosions subsided and Deryn dared to take a glance at the wreckage below. What had formerly been a firm set of dark buildings was now a smoldering mass. There was smoke drifting lazily around, like it didn’t have anywhere to go without any wind to force it about.

Deryn’s stomach growled viciously, reminding her that only one meal had been served that day. She’d been unconsciously gnawing at her lip for hours, and now it was chewed raw both out of hunger and nerves. She hadn’t been on a real mission since New York, which was only three months back, but it seemed like a long time ago.

“Ready lads!” Newkirk shouted, adjusting the carabiners in his friction hitch. “Drop ten counts after the man before you and watch below so you don’t run into him!”

Deryn took her place beside him and made sure her gloves were on tightly. “Here we go,” she muttered.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Sharp,” the midshipman said. Deryn nodded, and together they jumped out into oblivion.

It was then that the battle adrenaline kicked in. The rope was as hot as a teakettle in her gloves, and the air tore through her hair in the fast descent. Her boots hit the ground with wet thud; the snow that had positively covered the area before was slowly melting in the heat. It hit her face in a wave, and it traced a finger down her spine. The ship had set them down at the edge of the wreckage, and straight down Deryn’s line of vision had been the road that separated the ruins of what had been a small cluster of buildings. Several had collapsed under the bombs, but a few were still left standing, charred and wounded. Craters dotted the landscape. There was no way a person could have survived out here. Deryn just hoped she didn’t have to see what was left.

“Fan out in pairs!” Newkirk bellowed. “Search for survivors and anything that looks important! Meet back at this spot in twenty minutes!”

Deryn fell into step beside him. Newkirk was walking fast, barely pausing as he leapt over debris and skirted smoking holes. He knew exactly where he was going.

They were silent until Newkirk drew to a stop in front of a mostly intact building.

“Mr. Sharp,” he began quietly. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it, Mr. Newkirk?”

“They were making something here. It was small, and familiar, almost like a beastie made out of metal, like those ones they had Constantinople, aye? I only saw blue prints, and all those barking Clanker words confuse me, but the picture was clear enough. It was in this building,” he said, and pointed an accusing finger at the door. “I need to see if it’s true. If there’s anything left.”

Deryn nodded slowly. She stood at the ready to jump anyone that would come out of the door as Newkirk kicked it open. It cracked against the wall inside, causing part of the ceiling to crumble away on the far side of the wall. The single window was shattered. Rubble rained down on the two of them when they stepped inside.

“Step lightly,” Deryn warned. Against the wall on their right were stacks of crates, all emblazoned with a familiar seal...

The old sultan. That’s who’s symbol it was. He’d been kidnapped by the Kizlar Agha on the night of the revolution, and was now hiding safely somewhere, probably eating the strange yogurt the Ottomans were so fond of. “That’s just a wee bit strange,” she mused suspiciously.

“There not here!” He cried, clenching his fists. Just as he was about to punch one of the crates, he stopped. “What’s this?”

In the corner, beside an open cage, was a steel hatch. It was barely wider than Newkirk, just big enough to fit a person through. Deryn’s heart sped up. If someone was down there, they could have easily been sheltered from the bombs. She mouthed be ready to Newkirk and leaned down to open it. He lowered into a crouch, knife clenched tightly in his hand. Deryn reached for hers at the same time she flung open the hatch, and then she hurtled back.

Nothing happened.

Deryn took a cautious step forward, peering into the vault. It was dark, and she could only make out a single box along the wall. Then it moved. Two arms uncurled from it, and suddenly a match was lit, and then a candle.

“Levi!” Newkirk shouted, and plunged into to the cellar, ignoring the ladder and jumping. “You’re alive!”

“Don’t!” Deryn cried, seeing the other person lying in wait just under the ladder too late. He rose from behind Newkirk and was about to hit him on the head with a wrench as Deryn tackled him.

With a high pitched, “Oomph!” he went down. Deryn wrestled the wrench from him, and pinned him down. He spit something out of his mouth--was that...hair? Long and blond, it wreathed his face in a tangled mass.

“Mr. Newkirk, if you would kindly bring over the candle,” she panted. There was a brief shuffling as Levi handed the candle to Newkirk, and then the light cast over the enemy’s face.

Deryn snorted. The person, though her face was contorted in rage and terror, was definitely a girl’s. She shifted her weight but kept the girl restrained. “Well. What do you suppose we do now?”

Newkirk was looking hard at the girl, as if he were quite perplexed about something. “Take her prisoner,” he said simply.

“Du neht mich nich!” she screamed, and fought against Deryn with renewed force. Deryn gritted her teeth and pushed her back down onto the ground.

“Newkirk, come hold her arms, will you?” Deryn asked.

“You mean--I can’t! She’s a girl!” he cried indignantly, and Deryn had to choke back a laugh. He was the only person in the room who wasn’t a girl.

“Just do it. She won’t come with us willingly, so we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“Don’t--don’t hurt her--” Levi called gruffly. Or, Lauren, Deryn supposed. Why would she be worried for this girl’s safety? Wasn’t she Lauren’s captor?

Or, were they prisoners together?

Deryn shook her head, and said in German, “Who are you?”

“Why should I tell you?” She spat, and kicked her feet uselessly. Newkirk took hold of her arms for Deryn.

“Because if you don’t I’ll knock your lights out,” Deryn deadpanned. The candle light was throwing wild shadows across the girl’s face.

The girl’s eyes widened only fractionally, masterfully hiding her surprise. “You wouldn’t dare hurt a girl!”

“You see,” Deryn sighed, said “that’s where you’re wrong.” and punched her, hard, grimacing as her head smacked on the dirt floor. “Sorry,” she whispered, “but that felt way too barking good.”

“Was that entirely necessary?” Lauren croaked.

“What, you have a fancy for her?” Newkirk bumped her on the shoulder after he pulled her to her feet.

“No!” she sputtered, paling. “I--I mean, so what if I do, Mr. Newkirk?”

Deryn shook her head. “We haven’t got time for this!” she cried, and hefted the unconscious girl across her shoulder. “Oof.”

“I’ll carry her,” Singe offered, holding out his arms. Deryn gladly obliged, and he took her lightly, making sure her head rested on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you came.” Lauren shook her head, incredulous, but then blinked and cleared her throat. “Er--thanks, guys.”

“Anytime, Mr. Wilson,” Deryn said with a smile, “I’ll admit, it’s quite an entertaining adventure, but I’ve had better.”

“Who are you, again?” Lauren asked when they’d climbed out of the cellar. Newkirk handed the girl up and then climbed out himself. She really was surprisingly light, but more than Deryn could carry now that she’d spent so long out of the ratlines.

Deryn wiped her hands on her trousers and stuck out a hand. “Dylan Sharp at your service, employee of His Majesty’s Zoological Society of London, former midshipman aboard His Majesty’s Airship Leviathan.”

Newkirk barked a laugh, “I liked you other title better, Dylan.”

“Aye, it was loads easier to say,” she replied with a smile. But, even though it was dead long, it was right for her; once all Deryn had needed was to fly, but now that didn’t seem so important, like she had what she needed, and that was something else--and she realized, with a shock, that that thing was Alek. The emptiness that had nestled in her gut was filling now that they were friends again.

Deryn kept smiling, even as they weaved through the wreckage once more, back to where they’d started. A small group of men had come back already, but one of them wasn’t wearing a flight suit. He was dusty and hunched in mechanic's slops, but even so, a spark of recognition flashed through her attic.

Deryn had to look twice to make sure she’d seen him right, and then a third time because she didn’t believe what she was seeing. Was the boy following her everywhere? Deryn wasn’t sure whether to punch him square in the mouth and knock him out before he recognized her, or merely avoid him as much as possible.

She sighed. Although she really wanted to punch him, Deryn didn’t want to mess up the pretty face of Thaddeus Welker.

Chapter 21!!!!

I'm not going to lie. I love this chapter. And it's super long, too. You're welcome.
Disclaimer: I own none of this, no matter how much I wish I did.

For no apparent reason, the ship had started moving again.

Not the ship itself, of course, but the people on it. After retiring to his stateroom the night before, Alek had been determined to stay awake until Deryn returned. But exhaustion had taken over, and he fell asleep with his boots still on.

Now, as Alek shook the sleep from his eyes and stepped into the corridor, a team of riggers stumbled past and nearly knocked him from his feet. They apologized to him tiredly, envy coloring their expressions. In his surprise, Alek forgot to ask what they were doing down in the gondola. Normally riggers spent their time topside in the ratlines.

He made his way toward the bow of the ship, watching out for any more crewmen on his way. A slight snuffling noise caught his attention, and he turned to find the lady boffin just behind, led by Tazza. It made him start a bit to see Dr. Barlow walking Tazza herself.

The thylacine whined in greeting, and Alek reached down to pet his head absently. His attention was caught by the lady boffin who, despite looking as refined as ever, seemed disheveled somehow.

“Dr. Barlow, what is going on?” He asked.

“What isn’t going on would be a more appropriate question, I’m sure.” She sighed. “Dr. Horn has come up with a solution to our problem. He’s been in a flurry since last evening, overcome by an epiphany. The man does not understand the concept of patience or sleep.”

“A solution?”

“Yes,” Dr. Barlow paused, letting the lorises climb to the ceiling and hang there chattering for a moment before continuing to speak. “Your suggestion was quite inspiring, it would seem--”

“My what?” Alek hardly believed he could have been helpful, much less inspiring. The Darwinists still thought of him as a waste of hydrogen sometimes.

“--As I was trying to say, Aleksandar, your suggestion to use something we already have in a different way proved to be advantageous. Do you remember Dr. Horn’s mention of a skata?”

Alek bit his lip. “Yes. That was the skunk, wasn’t it? It guides the...gorgon.”

“To put it simply. With the help of a perspicacious friend, we’re back on track. The crew has been working all night to prepare, and we’ll be departing for the mountains within the hour.”

“Excuse me, Ma’am, but prepare for what? What even is the new plan, exactly?”

The ship was still in a commotion around them as the lady boffin began to explain what was happening. Alek hissed as an airman ran into his shoulder, which was still far from healed.

Strange, he noticed, how none of them seemed to run into Dr. Barlow.

“Have you ever smelled a skunk, Aleksandar?”

“Certainly not.”

“Well, in any case, it is not pleasant. While many people have had the experience of encountering a natural skunk, very few have ever met a skata, which has a very different scent. It is somewhat akin to that of poisonous gas, although a scarcely known fact is that it is quite harmless. A hidden base in the mountains would undoubtedly be unaware of that.”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Alek to understand. He shook his head, and the lady boffin sighed. “Poisonous gas is often used on the battlefield, and surely Clankers would know what it smells like, and after so long in the cold mountains they would be... jumpy, especially after our reconnaissance mission alerted them of us.”

Alek held up a hand. “What are you implying, Doctor? That we trick the Clankers into believing we have poisonous gas at our disposal?”

“Partly,” the lady boffin smiled grimly, “The buildings in the complex are very sturdy, from what Mr. Newkirk has told us, and most likely resistant to aerial bombs. They are not, however, gas-proof. We will send the skata down to their base first, and will--ah--smoke out the rat, you could say. The people will escape the confined buildings to look for fresh, gas free air, and that is when we bomb them.”

Alek took a step back, tripping over his own feet. To bomb a group of men while they were under cover was one thing, but to lure them out, defenseless, and then drop bombs was another entirely. It was downright cruel. He tried to speak, but no words would come out of his throat. He was too stunned.

“Once that is done, several teams of men will collect evidence on the ground. The Admiralty requests it.”

“I--I don’t know what to say, Dr. Barlow.”

“A rare occurrence,” she sighed. “I know it is a lot to take in, Mr. Hohenberg.”

He blinked a few times, staring at his boots. “Wh-what does Dylan think?”

Tazza nuzzled the lady boffin’s hand as she spoke, “Dylan seems fine with the idea. He has been working with the crew all night, and even requested to be part of the ground crew. He’s in the cargo bay as we speak.”

“The ground crew? Does--he--realize how dangerous that is?” Alek clenched and unclenched his fists in surprise.

“It will hardly be dangerous.” Dr. Barlow held his gaze. It was silent for a moment but for the lorises blabbering.

Alek clenched his jaw, nodding. “Certainly, Dr. Barlow. Well, good day, then. I suppose I’ll see you later.”

“Good day, Aleksandar.”

He could feel Dr. Barlow’s eyes on him as he walked down the corridor, but he didn’t care. Recalling the rough memories of the airship’s layout, Alek made his way to the cargo bay, footsteps echoing solemnly in the thin hallways. He needed to find Deryn, talk her out of this. It was insane, and she was going to...

The cargo bay was more crowded than he’d ever seen it. He craned his neck and stood on his toes to try and get a glimpse of her blond head over the masses of crewmen. Why must all British be so tall? he thought. Shaking his head, Alek gave up trying to see her and began to push his way through the crowd, stopping only when he saw a most horrific creature; a turtle of some sort, but it was massive and grotesque.

Pulling his eyes away from the beast, Alek finally saw her, untying knots on the far side of the turtle. He rushed around the thing, careful to avoid its eyes. Bovril climbed off of his shoulder and onto its head, posing there with it’s head high and arms at it’s sides.

“Dylan,” he hissed, “could you spare a moment please?”

“What? I’m kind of busy, Alek, and I haven’t got a barking wink of sleep all night. So no, I don’t think I can spare a moment.” She hunched back over untying the knots that held numerous crates to one of the turtle’s backs.

“Dylan.” She ignored him. Trying a different tactic, he turned to the man who seemed to be in charge and said, “Dr. Barlow needs to speak with Dylan.”

“Why didn’t she just send a message lizard?” the man asked in a thick Scottish accent.

“I’m quite certain I have no idea,” he shrugged. “But I find it a good idea to not question the lady boffin.”

“Alright. Have ‘im back soon, then. We’ve got lots of work still to do.”

Deryn glowered, but followed him anyway. When they happened upon an empty hallway, Alek pulled her into it quickly. Every few moments, she glanced about to make sure no one was watching them. “Deryn,” Alek began, to get her attention.

“What?” She spat.

“I broke my promise. I--I’ve been keeping a secret. From you.”

Deryn raised her eyebrows and gave him a disapproving look, like she’d known this. 

“It’s just--Deryn, I can’t be away from you like this. I can’t function without you, not anymore.”

“You seemed to be doing just fine to me,” she said, not meeting his eyes. He studied her intently for a moment, noticing the dark circles around her eyes, the way they were rimmed with red. She stood hunched, almost, like she’d just been punched in the stomach but was trying to look unhurt. She looked so torn and empty. In that instant, there was nothing more Alek wanted to do than pull her in close and whisper to her that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to tell her everything that words couldn’t say, and he just wanted her to look at him.

“God’s wounds, Deryn!” It came out almost as a shout, and she jumped, eyes wide.

“You can’t say that so--”

“Will you listen to me? Deryn, I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry for everything! I’m sorry that I tried to show you how much I love you and it turned out wrong! I’m sorry that it’s my fault all this happened and I’m sorry you blame me for it! I’m sorry that I love you and that you’re all I can think about and every moment I know that you’re mad at me I can hardly breathe! Deryn, I’m sorry you’re hurt, but please let me heal you!”

She was frozen in place, her mouth in surprised “o”. The only movement of hers Alek could see was the shaking of her hands. Deryn blinked. Once, twice, three times. “Did you really just say that?”

“Say what?”

A slow, reluctant smile had crept onto her face. “You love me.”

Alek braced himself against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “Of course I do.”

Her hands dropped and she leaned next to Alek on the wall, dumbstruck. She bit her lip. “Can I punch you right now?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to forgive me,” he said earnestly.

“Blisters, Alek! I was only joking! You’re so--”

“Serious? I am. Providence guided me to you, but I won’t let it take you away. The world shattered when my parents died, but with you it fits together again.”

“Barking daft princes,” she muttered.

“I’m not a prince anymore,” he mused, “Just a plain boy, common as dirt.” He kicked the floor for emphasis. “I just hope that someone as great as you would find me worthy.”

“I’m as common as dirt, too.”

“No, you’re not,” Alek said, then lowered his voice to a whisper, “You’re the great Deryn Sharp, first a woman in the British Air Service who aided a revolution, and now a member of the highly prestigious London Zoological Society. There is no one in the world like you.”

“Well, then, there’s no one like you, either!” She pushed off the wall and faced him, listing off points on her fingers. “You were a prince, first off. You know six languages, are a Clanker turned Darwinist, and--”

She didn’t get to finish, because Alek cut her off with a kiss. It was short and panicked, the terror of discovery racing through their veins. He pulled back almost as quickly as his lips met hers and stared her straight in the eyes. “Then we seem like a perfect match.”

“Aye.”

“Deryn, you can’t be part of the ground crew.”

She rolled her eyes and took a step back from him. “And why not?”

“Because--it’s dangerous! You could be hurt!”

“Alek, what about it is dangerous? All the Clankers will be dead or wounded, and my job is just to get evidence and get out!”

He fumbled for a counter response, but none came to mind. “Just--please be careful, Deryn. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“I’ll be fine, Dummkopf. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do. The sooner I get done, the more sleep I get before we make it to the mountains, aye?”

“Yes. I’ll see you soon, Dylan.”