of the membrane under Deryn's feet - taut and healthy again. The lumps along the airbeast's flanks were smoothing out. At around noon the wind had started to drag the lightened ship across the glacier, forcing the riggers to fill the ballast tanks with melted snow.
But Dr. Busk had said it would be a close thing, lifting the weight of the Clanker engines along with five extra men.
"He's moving," Newkirk said. "He must still be alive."
Deryn glanced up at the Huxley. Mr. Rigby had insisted on taking a watch aloft, saying he couldn't bear his last two middies getting frostbite from long hours in the icy sky, even if it meant sneaking out of the sick bay.
"We best pull him down soon," Deryn said. "Dr. Busk will skin us if he freezes up there."
"Aye," Newkirk said, blowing on his hands. "But if he comes down, one of us will have to go back up."
Deryn shrugged. "Beats egg duty."
"At least egg duty's warm."
"Well, you might still be on it, Mr. Newkirk, if you hadn't killed one of the boffin's barking eggs."
"It's not my fault we're stuck on this iceberg!"
"It's a glacier, you ninny!"
Newkirk grumbled something unpleasant and stormed away, stomping his feet on the hard scales of the spine. He'd claimed the egg disaster had been Dr. Barlow's fault for not explaining Clanker temperatures, but a number was a number, Deryn reckoned.
She almost called him back to apologize, but only swore. Might as well see how work was going on the new engine pods.
Deryn lifted her binoculars... .
The forward engines were partway down the airship's flanks, thrusting out like a pair of ears. The tops of both pods had been removed, and a muddle of oversize Clanker machinery stuck out in all directions. Alek was working on the port side, along with Hoffman and Mr. Hirst, the airship's chief engineer. They were all in animated conversation, arms waving in the cold wind.
The whole business seemed to be going slowly. At about noon the starboard engine - where Klopp and Bauer were working - had sputtered to life for a few noisy seconds, the membrane rumbling under Deryn's feet. But something must have cracked. The engine had shut down with a shriek, and the Clankers had spent the next hour tossing bits of burnt metal down onto the snow.
Deryn turned to scan the horizon. It had been more than a day since the Kondor attack. The Germans wouldn't give them much longer. A few recon aeroplanes had already peeked over the mountains, just making sure the wounded airship hadn't gone anywhere. Everyone said the Germans were taking their time, assembling an overwhelming force. The assault could come at any minute.
And yet Deryn's eyes drifted back to Alek. He was translating for Hoffman now, pointing at the front end of the engine pods. He spun his hands about like props, and Deryn smiled, imagining his voice for a moment.
Then she lowered the field glasses and swore, emptying her mind of blether. She was a soldier, not some girl twisting her skirts at a village dance.
"Mr. Sharp!" came Newkirk's shout. "Rigby's in trouble!"
She looked up. Newkirk was at the winch already, cranking madly. A yellow distress ribbon fluttered from the Huxley, and Mr. Rigby's semaphore flags were moving. Deryn raised her field glasses.
The letters whipped past at double speed, and she'd missed the beginning, mooning dafty that she was. But the sense of the message soon became clear.
... D-U-E - E-A-S-T - E-I-G-H-T - L-E-G-S - A-N-D - S-C-O-U-T-S
Deryn frowned, wondering if she'd misread the signals. "Legs" meant a walking machine, of course, but there weren't any eight-legged walkers listed in the Manual. Even the biggest Clanker dreadnoughts needed only six to move about.
And this was Switzerland, still neutral territory. Would the Germans dare attack by land?
But as Rigby repeated the signals, the words flashed past again, clear as day. Along with another bit of news:
E-S-T-I-M-A-T-E - T-E-N - M-I-L-E-S - C-L-O-S-I-N-G - F-A-S-T
Suddenly Deryn's brain was fully back into soldiering.
"Can you get him down without me, Newkirk?" she called.
"Aye, but what if he's hurt?"
"He's not. It's barking Clankers ... and they're coming by land! I've got to raise an alert."
Deryn pulled out her command whistle and piped the signal for an approaching enemy. A nearby hydrogen sniffer perked up its ears, then began an alert howl.
The wailing spread down the ship, sniffer to sniffer, like a living air-raid siren. In moments men were scrambling everywhere. Deryn looked about for the officer