She led the man to the central staircase, then up and forward toward the bridge. The ship's corridors were buzzing; the cargo bay was already open to take on fuel and supplies. It was only a matter of time before Malone's pursuers found their way aboard.
But the bridge was just as hectic as the rest of the ship, and Deryn found herself shunted from one officer to the next. The captain was busy being photographed for the newsreels, and no one else wanted to take responsibility for a wayward reporter. So when Deryn spotted the lady boffin and her loris taking tea in the officers' mess, she pulled Malone inside and shut the door behind them.
"Afternoon, ma'am. This is Mr. Malone. He's a reporter."
The lady boffin nodded. "How kind of Mr. Hearst, remembering that there are more than just Clanker scientists to interview aboard this ship!"
"Clankers!" said the loris with a snooty tone.
"Sorry, ma'am," Deryn said. "But it's not what you think. You see, Mr. Malone doesn't work for Mr. Hearst."
"I'm with the New York World," Malone said
"A trespasser, then?" Dr. Barlow's eyes traveled over his ground crew uniform. "And in disguise as well, I see. Do you realize, Mr. Sharp, that there are German spies here in America?"
"You're right about that, ma'am," Malone said with a smile. "Stacks of them!"
"Mr. Sharp, how exactly did this man get aboard?"
Deryn's voice felt small in her throat. "Um, I sort of let him in a porthole, ma'am."
Dr. Barlow raised an eyebrow at this, and her loris said, "Spies!"
"But he can't be a German agent!" Deryn cried. "I met him back in Istanbul. In fact, you did too! On the ambassador's elephant, remember?"
Malone stepped forward. "The boy's though we didn't chat much. And of course I wasn't wearing this."
He reached up and took one end of his mustache, yanked it off in a single jerk, and threw it onto the table. The lady boffin's eyebrows shot up, and her loris crawled over to inspect the false mustache.
"Ah, you're that Malone," she said slowly. "The one who's been writing those dreadful articles about Prince Aleksandar."
"The very same. And as I was just explaining to young Sharp here, I don't intend to stop. If you Darwinists think you can do an exclusive deal with Hearst's operation, you've got another think coming!"
"There is no 'deal' between us and Hearst." Dr. Barlow waved a hand. "This detour was Mr. Tesla's idea."
"Hmph, Tesla," said the loris, affixing the mustache to its own face.
"I've been trying to talk to the captain, ma'am," Deryn said. "It might get a bit tricky for Mr. Malone. Hearst's men are after him."
"Well, of course they are." Dr. Barlow stroked her loris, which was now posing with the mustache. "This land is private property, which makes him a trespasser."
Deryn groaned, wondering why the lady boffin was being so bothersome. Had those articles about Alek upset her, too?
"Oh, so that's how you're going to play it?" Eddie Malone said; then he pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. "Let me tell you something, Doctor. You don't want to get mixed up with this Hearst fellow. He has some mighty unsavory friends."
"I should think, sir, that having unsavory friends was the defining attribute of newspapermen."
"Hah! You got me there!" Malone slapped the table, making the loris jump. "But there's unsavory, and there's dangerous. A fellow called Philip Francis, for example."
"Mr. Francis?" Deryn said. "I just met him. He was in charge of the ground crew."
Malone shook his head. "What he's in charge of is the Hearst-Pathe newsreel company. At least, that's what most people think." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "But what they don't know is that his real last name isn't Francis. It's Diefendorf!"
There was a moment of silence, and then the lady boffin's loris spoke up.
"Clankers!"
"He's a German agent?" Deryn asked.
Malone shrugged. "He was born in Germany, that's for sure, and he hides the fact!"
"Many immigrants to America change their names," Dr. Barlow said, her fingers drumming the table. "On the other hand, not all of them create propaganda films for a living."
"Exactly," Malone said. "You must know how Hearst uses his papers and moving pictures to rail against the British, and against Darwinism, too. And now, all of a sudden, he's being friendly with you?"
Deryn turned to Dr. Barlow. "We should tell the captain about this."
"I shall make the proper introductions." She waved a hand at her tea dishes. "You may clear these, Mr. Sharp, and you shall come with me, Mr. Malone. If the captain is done with his theatrics, perhaps he can spare us a moment. I might be able to explain the wisdom of not putting all our eggs in one basket."
"Madam, I think we understand each other," said the reporter, rising to his feet. He clapped Deryn on the back. "By the way, Sharp, thanks for your help back there. Much appreciated."
"Happy to be of service," Deryn said. She began to stack the dishes, glad that they'd run into the lady boffin, after all. Everybody else aboard seemed overawed by the famous Tesla, and this Hearst fellow with his cameras and newspapers could only make things worse.
But then something quite unsettling happened.
As Malone pulled out Dr. Barlow's chair for her, the loris yanked off the mustache and dropped it into a teacup, fixing Deryn with its haughty stare. Without thinking, she stuck her tongue out at the beastie.
"Deryn Sharp," it said as it rode the lady boffin's shoulder out the door, quite pleased with itself indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mr. William Randolph Hearst certainly knew how to host a banquet.
His dining room looked like the great hall of a medieval castle, with tapestries on the walls and saints carved into the ceiling. The chandeliers were sixteenth-century Italian, but flickered with tiny electrikal flames, and the marble fireplace was large enough for Alek to walk into without stooping. It was all quite garish and a bit of a muddle, as if Hearst's decorators had gone plundering across Europe, heedless of cost and tradition.
The dinner itself, however, was impeccable. Lobster Vanderbildt, roasted partridges with salade d'Alger, grouse chaud-froid, and for dessert succes de glace in the style of the Grand Hotel. It was, in fact, the first proper meal Alek had eaten since stealing away from home. Bovril had sampled every course, and was now curled up asleep on the high back of Alek's chair, though the creature's ears still twitched now and then.
Though Alek had always hated formal dinners with his parents, this was altogether different. As a child he hadn't been allowed to utter a word once the conversation turned to politics, but now he was an indispensable part of the discussion. At a table that held thirty people, Alek had been seated at Mr. Hearst's right hand. Tesla sat to the host's left, with the captain beside him and the other officers of the Leviathan trailing off into the distance. Dr. Barlow sat unhappily at the far end of the table with the other ladies, one a newspaper reporter, the r moving-picture actresses. Alek had been introduced to them before dinner with cameras looking on, the actresses smiling at the whirring machines like old friends. Deryn, of course, a common crewman, wasn't here at all.
As the meal wound down, Mr. Hearst was giving his views on the war. "Wilson, of course, will side with his British friends. He won't protest the Royal Navy blockading Germany. But he'll scream bloody murder if German submarines do the same to Britain!"
Alek nodded. President Wilson was from the South, he recalled, and a Darwinist by upbringing.
"But he claims to want peace," Count Volger said. He was seated across from the Leviathan's first officer, close enough to join in. "Do you believe him?"
"Oh, certainly, Count. The only decent thing about the man is that he wants peace!" Hearst stabbed at his dessert with a spoon. "Imagine if that cowboy Roosevelt had been elected. Our boys would be over there already!"
Alek glanced at Captain Hobbes, who was smiling and nodding politely. The British would no doubt welcome the Americans fighting at their side, if they could arrange it somehow.
"This war will draw in the whole world sooner or later," Mr. Tesla said gravely. "That's why we must end it now."
"Exactly!" Hearst clapped him on the back, and the inventor grimaced, but his host didn't seem to notice. "My cameras and newspapers will be following you every step of the way. By the time you get to New York, both sides will have had fair warning that it's time to stop this madness!"
Alek noticed that Captain Hobbes's smile froze a little at this talk of "both sides." Of course, Mr. Tesla's weapon could be used against London just as easily as against Berlin or Vienna. Alek wondered if the British had plans for making sure that didn't happen.
"I have faith that the world will find my discovery hopeful," Mr. Tesla said simply. "And not a cause for fear."
"I am certain that we Darwinists will," Captain Hobbes said, and raised his glass. "To peace."
"To peace!" Volger said, and Alek quickly joined him.
The toast went round the table, and as the waiters stepped forward to pour the gentlemen more brandy, Bovril murmured the words in its sleep. But Alek wondered if any of the American guests were truly worried about a war thousands of miles away.
"So let's get down to brass tacks, Captain," Mr. Hearst said. "Where will you be stopping on the way to New York? I have papers in Denver and Wichita. Or will you just hit the big cities like Chicago?"
"Ah," the captain said, setting his glass carefully down on the table. "We won't be stopping at any of those places, I'm afraid. We aren't allowed."
"The Leviathan is a warship of a belligerent power," Alek explained. "It can stay in a neutral port for only twenty-four hours. We can't simply fly across your country, stopping wherever we take a fancy to."
"But what's the point of a publicity tour if you don't stop to make appearances!" Hearst cried.
"That is a question I'm not qualified to answer," Captain Hobbes said. "My orders are simply to get Mr. Tesla to New York."
Count Volger spoke up. "And how do you intend to do that without crossing America?"
"There are two possibilities," the captain said. "We had planned to go north - Canada is part of the British Empire, of course. But after the storm pushed us this way, we realized that Mexico might be easier."
Alek frowned. No one had mentioned this change of plan to him. "Isn't Mexico neutral as well?"
The captain turned his empty palms up. "Mexico is in the midst of a revolution. As such, they can hardly assert their neutrality."
"In other words, they can't stop you," Tesla said.
"Politics is the art of the possible," Count Volger said. "But it will be rather warmer, at least."
"A brilliant idea!" Mr. Hearst waved at a servant, who scurried over to light his cigar. "Flying across a wartorn country on a journey for peace is a cracking good story!"
Everyone stared at Mr. Hearst, and Alek hoped the man was joking. During the Ottoman revolt Alek and Deryn had lost their friend Zaven, one among thousands killed. And from what Alek understood, the Mexican Revolution was a rather bloodier affair.
When the uncomfortable silence stretched a bit, he cleared his throat. "You know, a granduncle of mine was once emperor of Mexico."
Hearst stared at him. "I thought your granduncle was the emperor of Austria."
But the bridge was just as hectic as the rest of the ship, and Deryn found herself shunted from one officer to the next. The captain was busy being photographed for the newsreels, and no one else wanted to take responsibility for a wayward reporter. So when Deryn spotted the lady boffin and her loris taking tea in the officers' mess, she pulled Malone inside and shut the door behind them.
"Afternoon, ma'am. This is Mr. Malone. He's a reporter."
The lady boffin nodded. "How kind of Mr. Hearst, remembering that there are more than just Clanker scientists to interview aboard this ship!"
"Clankers!" said the loris with a snooty tone.
"Sorry, ma'am," Deryn said. "But it's not what you think. You see, Mr. Malone doesn't work for Mr. Hearst."
"I'm with the New York World," Malone said
"A trespasser, then?" Dr. Barlow's eyes traveled over his ground crew uniform. "And in disguise as well, I see. Do you realize, Mr. Sharp, that there are German spies here in America?"
"You're right about that, ma'am," Malone said with a smile. "Stacks of them!"
"Mr. Sharp, how exactly did this man get aboard?"
Deryn's voice felt small in her throat. "Um, I sort of let him in a porthole, ma'am."
Dr. Barlow raised an eyebrow at this, and her loris said, "Spies!"
"But he can't be a German agent!" Deryn cried. "I met him back in Istanbul. In fact, you did too! On the ambassador's elephant, remember?"
Malone stepped forward. "The boy's though we didn't chat much. And of course I wasn't wearing this."
He reached up and took one end of his mustache, yanked it off in a single jerk, and threw it onto the table. The lady boffin's eyebrows shot up, and her loris crawled over to inspect the false mustache.
"Ah, you're that Malone," she said slowly. "The one who's been writing those dreadful articles about Prince Aleksandar."
"The very same. And as I was just explaining to young Sharp here, I don't intend to stop. If you Darwinists think you can do an exclusive deal with Hearst's operation, you've got another think coming!"
"There is no 'deal' between us and Hearst." Dr. Barlow waved a hand. "This detour was Mr. Tesla's idea."
"Hmph, Tesla," said the loris, affixing the mustache to its own face.
"I've been trying to talk to the captain, ma'am," Deryn said. "It might get a bit tricky for Mr. Malone. Hearst's men are after him."
"Well, of course they are." Dr. Barlow stroked her loris, which was now posing with the mustache. "This land is private property, which makes him a trespasser."
Deryn groaned, wondering why the lady boffin was being so bothersome. Had those articles about Alek upset her, too?
"Oh, so that's how you're going to play it?" Eddie Malone said; then he pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. "Let me tell you something, Doctor. You don't want to get mixed up with this Hearst fellow. He has some mighty unsavory friends."
"I should think, sir, that having unsavory friends was the defining attribute of newspapermen."
"Hah! You got me there!" Malone slapped the table, making the loris jump. "But there's unsavory, and there's dangerous. A fellow called Philip Francis, for example."
"Mr. Francis?" Deryn said. "I just met him. He was in charge of the ground crew."
Malone shook his head. "What he's in charge of is the Hearst-Pathe newsreel company. At least, that's what most people think." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "But what they don't know is that his real last name isn't Francis. It's Diefendorf!"
There was a moment of silence, and then the lady boffin's loris spoke up.
"Clankers!"
"He's a German agent?" Deryn asked.
Malone shrugged. "He was born in Germany, that's for sure, and he hides the fact!"
"Many immigrants to America change their names," Dr. Barlow said, her fingers drumming the table. "On the other hand, not all of them create propaganda films for a living."
"Exactly," Malone said. "You must know how Hearst uses his papers and moving pictures to rail against the British, and against Darwinism, too. And now, all of a sudden, he's being friendly with you?"
Deryn turned to Dr. Barlow. "We should tell the captain about this."
"I shall make the proper introductions." She waved a hand at her tea dishes. "You may clear these, Mr. Sharp, and you shall come with me, Mr. Malone. If the captain is done with his theatrics, perhaps he can spare us a moment. I might be able to explain the wisdom of not putting all our eggs in one basket."
"Madam, I think we understand each other," said the reporter, rising to his feet. He clapped Deryn on the back. "By the way, Sharp, thanks for your help back there. Much appreciated."
"Happy to be of service," Deryn said. She began to stack the dishes, glad that they'd run into the lady boffin, after all. Everybody else aboard seemed overawed by the famous Tesla, and this Hearst fellow with his cameras and newspapers could only make things worse.
But then something quite unsettling happened.
As Malone pulled out Dr. Barlow's chair for her, the loris yanked off the mustache and dropped it into a teacup, fixing Deryn with its haughty stare. Without thinking, she stuck her tongue out at the beastie.
"Deryn Sharp," it said as it rode the lady boffin's shoulder out the door, quite pleased with itself indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mr. William Randolph Hearst certainly knew how to host a banquet.
His dining room looked like the great hall of a medieval castle, with tapestries on the walls and saints carved into the ceiling. The chandeliers were sixteenth-century Italian, but flickered with tiny electrikal flames, and the marble fireplace was large enough for Alek to walk into without stooping. It was all quite garish and a bit of a muddle, as if Hearst's decorators had gone plundering across Europe, heedless of cost and tradition.
The dinner itself, however, was impeccable. Lobster Vanderbildt, roasted partridges with salade d'Alger, grouse chaud-froid, and for dessert succes de glace in the style of the Grand Hotel. It was, in fact, the first proper meal Alek had eaten since stealing away from home. Bovril had sampled every course, and was now curled up asleep on the high back of Alek's chair, though the creature's ears still twitched now and then.
Though Alek had always hated formal dinners with his parents, this was altogether different. As a child he hadn't been allowed to utter a word once the conversation turned to politics, but now he was an indispensable part of the discussion. At a table that held thirty people, Alek had been seated at Mr. Hearst's right hand. Tesla sat to the host's left, with the captain beside him and the other officers of the Leviathan trailing off into the distance. Dr. Barlow sat unhappily at the far end of the table with the other ladies, one a newspaper reporter, the r moving-picture actresses. Alek had been introduced to them before dinner with cameras looking on, the actresses smiling at the whirring machines like old friends. Deryn, of course, a common crewman, wasn't here at all.
As the meal wound down, Mr. Hearst was giving his views on the war. "Wilson, of course, will side with his British friends. He won't protest the Royal Navy blockading Germany. But he'll scream bloody murder if German submarines do the same to Britain!"
Alek nodded. President Wilson was from the South, he recalled, and a Darwinist by upbringing.
"But he claims to want peace," Count Volger said. He was seated across from the Leviathan's first officer, close enough to join in. "Do you believe him?"
"Oh, certainly, Count. The only decent thing about the man is that he wants peace!" Hearst stabbed at his dessert with a spoon. "Imagine if that cowboy Roosevelt had been elected. Our boys would be over there already!"
Alek glanced at Captain Hobbes, who was smiling and nodding politely. The British would no doubt welcome the Americans fighting at their side, if they could arrange it somehow.
"This war will draw in the whole world sooner or later," Mr. Tesla said gravely. "That's why we must end it now."
"Exactly!" Hearst clapped him on the back, and the inventor grimaced, but his host didn't seem to notice. "My cameras and newspapers will be following you every step of the way. By the time you get to New York, both sides will have had fair warning that it's time to stop this madness!"
Alek noticed that Captain Hobbes's smile froze a little at this talk of "both sides." Of course, Mr. Tesla's weapon could be used against London just as easily as against Berlin or Vienna. Alek wondered if the British had plans for making sure that didn't happen.
"I have faith that the world will find my discovery hopeful," Mr. Tesla said simply. "And not a cause for fear."
"I am certain that we Darwinists will," Captain Hobbes said, and raised his glass. "To peace."
"To peace!" Volger said, and Alek quickly joined him.
The toast went round the table, and as the waiters stepped forward to pour the gentlemen more brandy, Bovril murmured the words in its sleep. But Alek wondered if any of the American guests were truly worried about a war thousands of miles away.
"So let's get down to brass tacks, Captain," Mr. Hearst said. "Where will you be stopping on the way to New York? I have papers in Denver and Wichita. Or will you just hit the big cities like Chicago?"
"Ah," the captain said, setting his glass carefully down on the table. "We won't be stopping at any of those places, I'm afraid. We aren't allowed."
"The Leviathan is a warship of a belligerent power," Alek explained. "It can stay in a neutral port for only twenty-four hours. We can't simply fly across your country, stopping wherever we take a fancy to."
"But what's the point of a publicity tour if you don't stop to make appearances!" Hearst cried.
"That is a question I'm not qualified to answer," Captain Hobbes said. "My orders are simply to get Mr. Tesla to New York."
Count Volger spoke up. "And how do you intend to do that without crossing America?"
"There are two possibilities," the captain said. "We had planned to go north - Canada is part of the British Empire, of course. But after the storm pushed us this way, we realized that Mexico might be easier."
Alek frowned. No one had mentioned this change of plan to him. "Isn't Mexico neutral as well?"
The captain turned his empty palms up. "Mexico is in the midst of a revolution. As such, they can hardly assert their neutrality."
"In other words, they can't stop you," Tesla said.
"Politics is the art of the possible," Count Volger said. "But it will be rather warmer, at least."
"A brilliant idea!" Mr. Hearst waved at a servant, who scurried over to light his cigar. "Flying across a wartorn country on a journey for peace is a cracking good story!"
Everyone stared at Mr. Hearst, and Alek hoped the man was joking. During the Ottoman revolt Alek and Deryn had lost their friend Zaven, one among thousands killed. And from what Alek understood, the Mexican Revolution was a rather bloodier affair.
When the uncomfortable silence stretched a bit, he cleared his throat. "You know, a granduncle of mine was once emperor of Mexico."
Hearst stared at him. "I thought your granduncle was the emperor of Austria."
