A few yards from the beach, Deryn lifted her head above the water, letting herself rise and fall with the swell of the waves. Her eyes swept the shadows behind the shelf of sand, but she saw no one hidden there. She crawled closer, as slow as some primordial beastie taking its first steps on land.

The scorpion's spotlight shifted closer to the tree line, revealing another figure in a flight suit lying on the ground. Two Ottoman soldiers stood nearby, watching the downed man with their rifles pointed at him.

Deryn swore silently - both her men had been captured. She clung to the darkness behind the shelf of sand, wondering what to do. The walker was moving now, making the sand tremble beneath her knees. How was she meant to take on a giant scorpion and a score of soldiers with nothing but a rigger's knife?

She poked her head up. The two Ottomans were lifting the downed man now, helping him up from the sand. He was limping on his right foot....

Deryn frowned. That was Matthews, the man she'd left at the Sphinx. The Ottomans must have captured him. Had he led them here? Or had the Ottomans simply guessed that the kraken nets were their objective?

And where was her third man?

Then the spotlight shifted again, and machine-gun fire erupted from the tip of the scorpion's tail, raking the trees along the beach. The branches thrashed madly in the hail of bullets, and sand sprayed into the air.

Finally the machine gun went silent, and a group of Ottoman soldiers charged into the brush. A moment later they dragged something out. It was a body, motionless and as white as a sheet except for the red stains on the flight suit.

Deryn swallowed. Her first command had been killed and captured down to the last man.

With a noisy grinding of gears, the scorpion moved closer to the dead body. One of its massive front claws dug into the sand, then came up, lifting the lifeless form into the air. The Ottomans were taking her men somewhere, probably to interrogate the survivors and take a closer look at their uniforms and equipment.

They would soon guess that the landing party had come from the Leviathan, even if they hadn't forced it out of Matthews already. But her men knew nothing about the vitriolic barnacles, and even if the Ottomans inspected the nets, they wouldn't notice a few more beasties among the millions already living along the miles of cable.

Hopefully they would think this had been a simple reconnaissance mission, and an utter failure. The Ottomans would probably lodge a protest with the Leviathan's captain, but as far as they knew, this mission had not been an act of war. Deryn was the only one who could explain otherwise.

She had to get away from here, or risk everything. There could be no heroic attempt to rescue her men, and no heading back to the Sphinx now either. The Ottomans would be patrolling the whole peninsula for weeks to come.

There was only one place to go.

Deryn stared back out across the black water, to where the cargo ship she'd seen earlier waited to transit the strait. Once the sun rose, it would head for Istanbul.

"Alek," she said softly, and slipped back into the sea.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The minarets of the Blue Mosque rose up behind the trees, six tall spires like thin freshly sharpened pencils standing on end. The graceful arc of the mosque's dome stood out dark gray against the hazy sky, and sunlight shimmered from the spinning blades of gyrothopters and aeroplanes overhead.

Alek sat outside the small coffeehouse where Eddie Malone had taken him the day before. It was on a quiet side street, and Alek was sipping black tea and studying his collection of Ottoman coins. He had begun to learn their names in Turkish, and which ones to hide from shopkeepers if he wanted a fair price.

With the Germans handing out photographs of Bauer and Klopp, it was up to Alek to buy supplies. He'd learned a lot, though, wandering the streets of Istanbul on his own. How to bargain with merchants, how to slip through the German parts of town unnoticed, even how to tell time by the prayers drifting down from the city's minarets.

Most important of all, he'd realized something about this city - he was meant to be here. This was where the war would turn, either for or against the Clanker side. A slender strip of water glittered in the distance, the fog sirens of cargo ships wailing softly as they crept along it. This passage from the Mediterranean to the Black Sea was the Russian army's lifeline, the thread that held the Darwinist powers together. That was why providence had brought him halfway across Europe.

Alek was here to stop the war.

In the meantime he'd also taught himself a little Turkish.

"Nasilsiniz?" he practiced.

"Iyiyim," came an answer from the covered birdcage on his table.

"Shush!" Alek looked about. Fabricated beasts might not be strictly illegal here, but there was no point in drawing attention to himself. Besides, it was insufferable that the creature's accent was better than his own.

He adjusted the cage's cover, closing the gap the creature had been peeking through. But it was already sulking in a corner. It was uncannily good at reading Alek's mood, which at the moment was one of annoyance.

Where was Eddie Malone, anyway? He'd promised to be here half an hour ago, and Alek had another appointment soon.

He was just about to leave when Malone's voice called from behind him.

Alek turned and nodded curtly. "Ah, here you are at last."

"At last?" Malone raised an eyebrow. "You in a hurry to get somewhere?"

Alek didn't answer that. "Did you see Count Volger?"

"I did indeed." Malone waved for a waiter and ordered lunch, consulting the menu and taking his time about it. "A fascinating ship, the Leviathan. The sultan's joyride turned out to be more interesting than I expected."

"I'm pleased to hear it. But I'm more interested in what Count Volger said."

"He said a lot of things ... most of which I didn't understand." Malone pulled out his notebook and readied his pen. "I'm curious if you know the fellow who helped me get in to see Volger. Name of Dylan Sharp?"

"Dylan?" Alek asked, frowning. "Of course I know him. He's a midshipman aboard the Leviathan."

"Did you ever notice anything odd about him?"

Alek shook his head. "What do you mean by odd?"

"Well, when Count Volger heard your message, he decided that joining you might be a good idea, and said so. I thought it was downright rash of him to talk about escaping right in front of a crewman." Malone leaned closer. "But then he ordered Mr. Sharp to help him."

"He ordered him?"

Malone nodded. "Almost as if he were threatening the boy. Looked like a case of blackmail to me. Does that make any sense?"

"I ... I'm not sure," Alek said. Certainly Dylan had done a few things he wouldn't want the ship's officers to hear about - like keeping Alek's secrets. But Volger could hardly blackmail Dylan on that subject without revealing to the Darwinists who Alek really was. "It doesn't sound right, Mr. Malone. Perhaps you misheard."

"Well, maybe you'd like to hear for yourself." The man took the frog from his shoulder, set it on the table, and scratched it under the chin. "Okay, Rusty. Repeat."

A moment later Count Volger's voice emerged from the bullfrog's mouth.

"Mr. Sharp, I hope you understand that this complicates things," it said, then switched to Dylan's voice. "What are you blethering about?"

Alek looked around, but the handful of other patrons didn't seem to notice. They looked off into the distance, as if talking frogs came to dine at this establishment every day. No wonder Malone had insisted on meeting here.

The frog started up a whooping noise, like the Leviathan's Klaxon sounding an alert. Then it continued in a tangle of voices, with the wail of the Klaxon breaking in at odd times, most of the words flying by too fast for the frog to render clearly.

But then Count Volger's voice came out of the muddle. "Perhaps, but if you don't help us, I shall be forced to reveal your little secret."

Alek frowned, wondering what was going on. Volger was talking cryptically about fencing lessons. At first Dylan sputtered that he didn't understand, but his voice was shaky, almost as if he were about to cry. Finally he agreed to help the count and Hoffman escape, and with one last shriek of the Klaxon, the bullfrog went silent.

Eddie Malone lifted it from the table and placed it gently back on his shoulder. "Care to shed any light on the matter?"

"I don't know," Alek said slowly, which was the truth. He'd never heard such panic in Dylan's voice before. The boy had risked being hanged for Alek. What threat of Volger's could frighten him so much?

But it was no good thinking aloud in front of this reporter. The man knew too much already.

"Let me ask you a question, Mr. Malone." Alek pointed at the frog. "Did they know this abomination was memorizing their words?"

The man shrugged. "I never told them otherwise."

"How honest of you."

"I never lied," Malone said. "And I can promise you that Rusty isn't memorizing now. He won't unless I ask him to."

"Well, whether he's listening or not, there's nothing I can add." Alek stared at the frog, still hearing Dylan's voice. He'd almost sounded like a different person.

With Dylan's help, of course, Volger and Hoffman stood a better chance of escaping.

"Did Volger say when they would try?"

"It has to be tonight," Malone said. "The four days is almost up. Unless the British really do plan on giving the Leviathan to the sultan, it has to leave Istanbul tomorrow."

"Excellent," Alek said, standing up and offering his hand. "Thank you for carrying our messages, Mr. Malone. I'm sorry that I must beg your leave."

"An appointment with your new friends, perhaps?"

"I leave that to your imagination," Alek said. "And by the way, I hope you won't write about any of this too soon. Volger and I might decide to stay in Istanbul a bit longer."

Malone leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Oh, don't worry about me making a mess of your plans. As far as I can see, this story is just getting interesting."

Alek left the man scribbling in his notebook, no doubt writing down everything they'd said. Or perhaps he'd been lying and the bullfrog had memorized it all. It was mad to trust a reporter with his secrets, Alek supposed, but being reunited with Volger was worth the risk.

He wished the wildcount could be here for his next appointment. Zaven was introducing him to more members of the Committee for Union and Progress. Zaven himself was a friendly sort, and an educated gentleman, but his fellow revolutionaries might not be so welcoming. It wouldn't be easy for a Clanker aristocrat to earn their trust.

"You were very good at staying quiet," Alek whispered to the birdcage as he walked away. "If you keep behaving, I shall buy you strawberries."

"Mr. Sharp," the creature answered, then made a giggling sound.

Alek frowned. The words were a snatch of the conversation the bullfrog had repeated. The creature didn't imitate voices, but Count Volger's sarcastic tone was quite recognizable.

Alek wondered why the beast had chosen those two words from everything it had heard.

"Mr. Sharp," it said again, sounding abundantly pleased with itself.

Alek shushed it and pulled a hand-drawn map from his pocket. The route, labeled in Zaven's flowery handwriting, took him north and west from the Blue Mosque, toward the neighborhood he'd stumbled into two nights before.

The buildings grew taller as he walked, and the Clanker influences stronger. Tram tracks braided through the paving stones, and the walls were stained by exhaust, almost as black as the steel spires of Berlin and Prague. German-made machines huffed down the streets, their spare, functional designs strange to Alek after days of seeing walkers shaped like animals. The signs of rebellion also grew - the mix of alphabets and religious symbols filled the walls again, marks of the host of smaller nations that made up the Ottoman Empire.