Operation Ludendorff: a Leviathan fanfic

Chapter Six

It was sweltering inside the crate, and Bovril's weight on Alek's lap wasn't helping a bit.

He sat across from Deryn, who'd arrived with the allowance from the Society in a sealed envelope. The pounds had already been converted into German Marks at the last minute, and the extra notes were threatening to burst out of its paper confines.

A particularly fast descent rattled the crate. Alek braced himself against its sides.

The Atlas was quickly descending, and he guessed that it wouldn't be long until the cargo would be unloaded.

Alek leaned back, sighing. The muffled footsteps and distant shouts outside were a reminder of the secrecy of this mission, and talking was strictly restricted to hushed whispers, and only when necessary. Alek understood that everything was riding on them getting onto a train to Bonn without a hitch, but boredom was inevitable.

Across from him, Deryn mopped up the sheen of sweat on her forehead and closed her eyes. Her knees were tucked under her chin, her spine arched to accommodate her height.

Sleep was always an option, of course. But it always seemed to evade him during times like these, no matter what he tried.

Another sigh threatened to escape his lips. He gently lifted the sleeping Loris from his lap and placed it on his discarded coat, the beast's tail curling around the jar of pigment.

Alek dug around the pockets of his jacket. His fingers closed around the cold metal of the revolver. Volger had given it to him the day they'd left.

That misty morning seemed so long ago now; the cursing cabdriver and Dr. Barlow's children most of what Alek remembered. He recalled feeling overwhelmed by the speed of events, and forgot all about Count Volger and his parting gift.

He pulled the gun out, running his fingers across its surface. It was gloomy inside the crate, with only the eerie light from the worm lamps outside cutting through the darkness.

Alek recognised the Hapsburg crest meticulously moulded onto the revolver's handle, his fingers running across the familiar two-headed eagle. He guessed that it was another one of the things Volger had brought from Austria when they had left more than a year ago.

His fingers found a slight indentation at the base of the gun's handle. He lifted it up to a small sliver of light, his eyes widening when he took in the engraving: Franz F.

The gun suddenly weighed a ton in Alek's hands, his grip on it slipping. He managed to hold onto it before it hit the floor, gripping it so tightly the edges pierced into his skin painfully.

Alek wondered how Volger had managed to pull one more secret from all the others he had already kept, and for so long. But the wildcount was still keeping an eye on him even though he was as common as any boy in the world, and that was a secret in itself.

Another sharp jolt shook Alek from his thoughts. He slipped the gun back into his pocket, bracing himself against the crate walls, his father's gun momentarily forgotten.

The shaking was strong enough to wake Deryn from her slumber, her head banging painfully against the crate's cover.

Alek heard men cursing through the wooden walls. Outside, the cacophony of banging wood and snapping ropes bounced around the airbeast's gut.

Bovril woke up at once, the Loris clambering up Alek's arm. The Loris stayed silent, its small arms clamping it in a vice-like grip, its large eyes wide.

A cold stone of anxiety formed in Alek's stomach. What if that German spy had managed to send word to Hamburg's authorities? For all they knew, a fleet of soldiers could be waiting for them down below, armed with gleaming walkers.