of thunder that threw Deryn off her feet again. The floor was tipping, everything sliding to starboard. The shriek of gears and Tazza howling filtered into her half-deafened ears, and her shoulder struck metal as the whole cabin lurched once - hard.
Then an avalanche of snow was pouring in through the viewport, a rush of cold and sudden silence burying her ...
THIRTY-THREE
Alek tried to move, but his arms were pinned, wrapped in a freezing embrace of snow.
He struggled for a moment, then realized he was still strapped into the pilot's seat. As he opened the buckles and slipped from the chair, the world seemed to reorient itself.
The viewport was sideways, like the vertical slit of a cat's eye.
Now that he thought of it, the whole cabin was sideways. The starboard wall was now the floor, and the hand straps all hung helter-skelter.
Alek blinked, unable to believe it. He'd wrecked the walker.
The cabin was dark - the lights had failed - and strangely silent. The engines must have shut down automatically in the fall. Alek heard breathing beside him.
"Klopp," he said, "are you all right?"
"I think so, but something's ..." The man lifted one arm. Tazza crawled out from beneath it with a plaintive whine, then shook himself, spraying snow across the cabin.
"Do stop that, Tazza," Dr. Barlow's voice came from the darkness.
"Are you all right, ma'am?" Alek asked.
"I am, but Mr. Sharp appears to be hurt."
Alek crawled closer. Dylan lay with his head in Dr. Barlow's lap, his eyes closed. A fresh cut stretched across his forehead, blood running into his black eye from the crash. His thin features were pale behind the bruising.
Alek swallowed. This was his fault - he'd been at the controls.
"Help me find some bandages, Klopp."
Shoveling snow aside, they managed to get the storage locker open. Klopp pulled out two first-aid kits and handed one to Alek.
"I'll see to Mr. Sharp," Dr. Barlow said, taking the kit from him. "I'm not as hopeless a nurse as I pretend."
Alek nodded and turned to help Klopp with the belly hatch, which was now in the wall of the upended cabin. The mechanism resisted for a moment, then opened with an angry metal screech.
Hoffman, strapped sideways into the gunner's chair, called out that he and Bauer were bumped and bruised, but whole. Alek breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't killed anyone.
He turned to Klopp. "I'm sorry I fell."
The man let out a snort. "Took you long enough, young master. Now we can finally call you a proper pilot."
"What?"
"You think I've never wrecked a walker?" Klopp laughed. "It's all part of learning the craft, young master."
Alek blinked, not sure if the man was kidding.
A metal plink rang through the cabin. Klopp looked up as another, then more, followed, like a hailstorm slowly building.
"Fléchettes," Dr. Barlow said.
"Let's hope they get those zeppelins," Klopp said softly. "Otherwise Count Volger will be very unhappy with us."
"I'll take a look outside," Alek said. "We might be able to stand up and rejoin the fight."
Klopp shook his head. "Not likely, young master. Stay here till the battle's over."
"That sounds like wise advise," Dr. Barlow said in German.
But the rain of fléchettes was tapering off, and Alek heard the sound of airship engines close by.
"I have to see what's going on," he said. "We've still got a working machine gun!"
"STANDING FIRM."
Klopp tried to argue, but Alek ignored him, shoveling a few handfuls of snow aside and shimmying out the viewport.
The sunlit snow was blinding for a moment, except for the dark crater left by the zeppelin's aerial bomb. Almost a direct hit. The Stormwalker's trail of footprints went straight into the blackened hole, then zigzagged to where the machine lay in a crumpled heap.
Alek flexed his hands, remembering his struggle to keep the walker upright. He'd almost done it. But almost meant nothing now. The engine casing was cracked; hot oil steamed out onto the snow. One giant metal leg was twisted wrong. The machine couldn't possibly stand again.
He tore his eyes away, scanning the sky. The Kondor that had bombed them was barely a hundred meters away. It was flying just above the snow, its gasbag fluttering, full of holes from the fléchette attack.
Shouts came from up on its topside. Two airmen had seen him, and were swinging a machine gun around.
Then Alek realized where he was standing - right in front of the walker's breastplate, the Hapsburg coat of arms proclaiming exactly who and what he was ...
An utter fool.
Before he