'Siberia,' Alek said. The word slipped cold and hard from his tongue, as forbidding as the landscape passing below.
'We wonât be over Siberia till tomorrow.' Dylan sat at the table, still attacking his breakfast. 'And itâll take almost a week to cross it. Russia is barking big.'
'And cold,' Newkirk added. He stood next to Alek at the window of the middiesâ mess, both hands wrapped around a cup of tea.
'Cold,' repeated Bovril. The creature clutched Alekâs shoulder a little tighter, and a shiver went through its body.
In early October no snow lay on the ground below. But the sky was an icy, cloudless blue. The window had a lace of frost around its edges, left over from a frigid night.
Another week of flying across this wasteland, Alek thought. Farther from Europe and the war, and from his destiny. The Leviathan was still headed east, probably toward the empire of Japan, though no one would confirm their destination. Even though heâd helped the British cause back in Istanbul, the airshipâs officers still saw Alek and his men as little better than prisoners. He was a Clanker prince and they were Darwinists, and the Great War between the two technologies was spreading faster every day.
'Itâll get much colder as we angle north,' Dylan said around a mouthful of his breakfast. 'You should both finish your potatoes. Theyâll keep you warm.'
Alek turned. 'But weâre already north of Tokyo. Why go out of our way?'
'Weâre dead on course,' Dylan said. 'Mr. Rigby made us plot a great circle route last week, and it took us all the way up to Omsk.'
'A great circle route?'
'Itâs a navigatorâs trick,' Newkirk explained. He breathed on the window glass before him, then drew an upside-down smile with one fingertip. 'The earth is round, but paper is flat, right? So a straight course looks curved when you draw it on a map. You always wind up going farther north than youâd think.'
'Except below the equator,' Dylan added. 'Then itâs the other way round.'
Bovril chuckled, as if great circle routes were quite amusing. But Alek hadnât followed a word of it-not that heâd expected to.
It was maddening. Two weeks ago heâd helped lead a revolution against the Ottoman sultan, ruler of an ancient empire. The rebels had welcomed Alekâs counsel, his piloting skills, and his gold. And together theyâd won.
But here aboard the Leviathan he was deadweight-a waste of hydrogen, as the crew called anything useless. He might spend his days beside Dylan and Newkirk, but he was no midshipman. He couldnât take a sextant reading, tie a decent knot, or estimate the shipâs altitude.
Worst of all, Alek was no longer needed in the engine pods. In the month heâd been plotting revolution in Istanbul, the Darwinist engineers had learned a lot about Clanker mechaniks. Hoffman and Klopp were no longer called up to help with the engines, so there was hardly any need for a translator.
Since the first time heâd come aboard, Alek had dreamed of somehow serving on the Leviathan. But everything he could offer-walker piloting, fencing, speaking six languages, and being a grandnephew of an emperor-seemed to be worthless on an airship. He was no doubt more valuable as a young prince who had famously switched sides than as an airman.
It was as if everyone were trying to make him a waste of hydrogen.
Then Alek remembered a saying of his fatherâs: The only way to remedy ignorance is to admit it.
He took a slow breath. 'Iâm aware that the earth is round, Mr. Newkirk. But I still donât understand this âgreat circle routeâ business.'
'Itâs dead easy to see if youâve got a globe in front of you,' Dylan said, pushing away his plate. 'Thereâs one in the navigation room. Weâll sneak in sometime when the officers arenât there.'
'That would be most agreeable.' Alek turned back to the window and clasped his hands behind his back.
'Itâs nothing to be ashamed of, Prince Aleksandar,' Newkirk said. 'Still takes me ages to plot a proper course. Not like Mr. Sharp here, knowing all about sextants before he even joined the Service.'
'Not all of us are lucky enough to have an airman for a father,' Alek said.
'Father?' Newkirk turned from the window, frowning. 'Wasnât that your uncle, Mr. Sharp?'
Bovril made a soft noise, sinking its tiny claws into Alekâs shoulder. Dylan said nothing, though. He seldom spoke of his father, who had burned to death in front of the boyâs eyes. The accident still haunted Dylan, and fire was the only thing that frightened him.
Alek cursed himself as a Dummkopf, wondering why heâd mentioned the man. Was he angry at Dylan for always being so good at everything?
He was about to apologize when Bovril shifted again, leaning forward to stare out the window.
'Beastie,' the perspicacious loris said.
A black fleck had glided into view, wheeling across the empty blue sky. It was a huge bird, much bigger than the falcons that had circled the airship in the mountains a few days before. It had the size and claws of a predator, but its shape was unlike any Alek had seen before.
It was headed straight for the ship.
'Does that bird look odd to you, Mr. Newkirk?'
Newkirk turned back to the window and raised his field glasses, which were still around his neck from the morning watch.
'Aye,' he said a moment later. 'I think itâs an imperial eagle!'
There was a hasty scrape of chair legs from behind them. Dylan appeared at the window, shielding his eyes with both hands.
'Blisters, youâre right-two heads! But imperials only carry messages from the czar himself. . . .'
Alek glanced at Dylan, wondering if heâd heard right. Two heads?
The eagle soared closer, flashing past the window in a blur of black feathers, a glint of gold from its harness catching the morning sun. Bovril broke into maniacal laughter at its passage.
'Itâs headed for the bridge, right?' Alek asked.
'Aye.' Newkirk lowered his field glasses. 'Important messages go straight to the captain.'
A bit of hope pried its way into Alekâs dark mood. The Russians were allies of the British, fellow Darwinists who fabricated mammothines and giant fighting bears. What if the czar needed help against the Clanker armies and this was a summons to turn the ship around? Even fighting on the icy Russian front would be better than wasting time in this wilderness.
'I need to know what that message says.'
Newkirk snorted. 'Why donât you go and ask the captain, then?'
'Aye,' Dylan said. 'And while youâre at it, ask him to give me a warmer cabin.'
'What can it hurt?' Alek said. 'He hasnât thrown me into the brig yet.'
When Alek had returned to the Leviathan two weeks ago, heâd half expected to be put in chains for escaping from the ship. But the shipâs officers had treated him with respect.
Perhaps it wasnât so bad, everyone finally knowing he was the son of the late Archduke Ferdinand, and not just some Austrian noble trying to escape the war.
'Whatâs a good excuse to pay the bridge a visit?' he asked.
'No need for excuses,' Newkirk said. 'That birdâs flown all the way from Saint Petersburg. Theyâll call us to come and fetch it for a rest and a feeding.'
'And youâve never seen the rookery, your princeliness,' Dylan added. 'Might as well tag along.'
'Thank you, Mr. Sharp,' Alek said, smiling. 'I would like that.'
Dylan returned to the table and his precious potatoes, perhaps grateful that the talk of his father had been interrupted. Alek decided he would apologize before the day was out.
Ten minutes later a message lizard popped its head from a tube on the ceiling in the middiesâ mess. It said in the master coxswainâs voice, 'Mr. Sharp, please come to the bridge. Mr. Newkirk, report to the cargo deck.'
The three of them scrambled for the door.
'Cargo deck?' Newkirk said. 'What in blazes is that about?'
'Maybe they want you to inventory the stocks again,' Dylan said. 'This trip might have just got longer.'
Alek frowned. Would 'longer' mean turning back toward Europe, or heading still farther away?
As the three made their way toward the bridge, he sensed the ship stirring around them. No alert had sounded, but the crew was bustling. When Newkirk peeled off to descend the central stairway, a squad of riggers in flight suits went storming past, also headed down.
'Where in blazes are they going?' Alek asked. Riggers always worked topside, in the ropes that held the shipâs huge hydrogen membrane.
'A dead good question,' Dylan said. 'The czarâs message seems to have turned us upside down.'
The bridge had a guard posted at the door, and a dozen message lizards clung to the ceiling, waiting for orders to be dispatched. There was a sharp edge to the usual thrum of men and creatures and machines. Bovril shifted on Alekâs shoulder, and he felt the engines change pitch through the soles of his boots-the ship was coming to full-ahead.
Up at the shipâs master wheel, the officers were huddled around the captain, who held an ornate scroll. Dr. Barlow was among the group, her own loris on her shoulder, her pet thylacine, Tazza, sitting at her side.
A squawk came from Alekâs right, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with the most astonishing creature. . . .
The imperial eagle was too large to fit into the bridgeâs messenger cage, and it perched instead on the signals table. It shifted from one taloned claw to the other, glossy black wings fluttering.
And what Dylan had said was true. The creature had two heads, and two necks, of course, coiled around each other like a pair of black feathered snakes. As Alek watched in horror, one head snapped at the other, a bright red tongue slithering from its mouth.
'Godâs wounds,' he breathed.
'Like we told you,' Dylan said. 'Itâs an imperial eagle.'
'Itâs an abomination, you mean.' Sometimes the Darwinistsâ creatures seemed to have been fabricated not for their usefulness, but simply to be horrific.
Dylan shrugged. 'Itâs just a two-headed bird, like on the czarâs crest.'
'Yes, of course,' Alek sputtered. 'But thatâs meant to be symbolic.'
'Aye, this beastieâs symbolic. Itâs just breathing as well.'
'Prince Aleksandar, good morning.' Dr. Barlow had left the group of officers and crossed the bridge, the czarâs scroll in her hand. 'I see youâve met our visitor. Quite a fine example of Russian fabrication, is it not?'
'Good morning, madam.' Alek bowed. 'Iâm not sure what this creature is a fine example of, only that I find it a bit . . .' He swallowed, watching Dylan slip on a pair of thick falconerâs gloves.
'Literal-minded?' Dr. Barlow chuckled softly. 'I suppose, but Czar Nicholas does enjoy his pets.'
'Pets, fah!' her loris repeated from its new perch on the messenger tern cages, and Bovril giggled. The two creatures began to whisper nonsense to each other, as they always did when they met.
Alek pulled his gaze from the eagle. 'In fact, Iâm more interested in the message it was carrying.'
'Ah . . .' Her hands began to roll up the scroll. 'Iâm afraid that is a military secret, for the moment.'
Alek scowled. His allies in Istanbul had never kept secrets from him.
If only he could have stayed there somehow. According to the newspapers, the rebels had control of the capital now, and the rest of the Ottoman Empire was falling under their sway. He would have been respected there-useful, instead of a waste of hydrogen. Indeed, helping the rebels overthrow the sultan had been the most useful thing heâd ever done. It had robbed the Germans of a Clanker ally and had proven that he, Prince Aleksandar of Hohenburg, could make a difference in this war.
Why had he listened to Dylan and come back to this abomination of an airship?
'Are you quite all right, Prince?' Dr. Barlow asked.
'I just wish I knew what you Darwinists were up to,' Alek said, a sudden quiver of anger in his voice. 'At least if you were taking me and my men to London in chains, it would make sense. Whatâs the point of lugging us halfway around the world?'
Dr. Barlow spoke soothingly. 'We all go where the war takes us, Prince Aleksandar. You havenât had such bad luck on this ship, have you?'
Alek scowled but couldnât argue. The Leviathan had saved him from spending the war hiding out in a freezing castle in the Alps, after all. And it had taken him to Istanbul, where heâd struck his first blow against the Germans.
He gathered himself. 'Perhaps not, Dr. Barlow. But I prefer to choose my own course.'
'That time may come sooner than you think.'
Alek raised an eyebrow, wondering what she meant.
'Come on, your princeliness,' Dylan said. The eagle was now hooded and perching quietly on his arm. 'Itâs useless arguing with boffins. And weâve got a bird to feed.'
© 2011 Scott Westerfeld

Alek and Deryn are on the last leg of their round-the-world quest to end World War I, reclaim Alek’s throne as prince of Austria, and finally fall in love. The first two objectives are complicated by the fact that their ship, the Leviathan, continues to detour farther away from the heart of the war (and crown). And the love thing would be a lot easier if Alek knew Deryn was a girl. (She has to pose as a boy in order to serve in the British Air Service.) And if they weren’t technically enemies. The tension thickens as the Leviathan steams toward New York City with a homicidal lunatic on board: secrets suddenly unravel, characters reappear, and nothing is at it seems in this thunderous conclusion to Scott Westerfeld’s brilliant trilogy.
Hardcover
543
Simon and Schuster
2011-09-20
First Edition
en
Height: 9 Inches, Length: 5.5 Inches, Weight: 2.02 Pounds, Width: 1.9 Inches
$13.71
9781416971771
9781416971771