"Leviathan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westerfeld Scott)ELEVENEven though Mr. Rigby had said not to, Deryn Sharp looked down. A thousand feet below, the sea was in motion. Huge waves rolled across the surface, the wind tearing white moonlit spray from their peaks. And yet up here, clinging to the Calm or not, Deryn’s fingers clutched the rigging tighter as she gazed at the sea. It looked cold and wet down there. And, as Mr. Rigby had pointed out many times over the last fortnight, the water’s surface was as hard as stone if you were falling fast enough. Tiny cilia pulsed and rippled through the ropes, tickling her fingers. Deryn slipped one hand free and pressed her palm against the beast’s warmth. The membrane felt taut and healthy, with no whiff of hydrogen leaking out. “Taking a rest, Mr. Sharp?” called Rigby. “We’re only halfway up.” “Just listening, sir,” she answered. The older officers said the hum of the membrane could tell you everything about an airship. The “ “Yes, sir!” she replied, though there wasn’t much point in rushing. The other five middies were still behind her. Deryn hooked the heel of her boot into the ratlines and pushed herself up again, the feed bag heavy across her shoulder, sweat running down her back. Her arms weren’t as strong as the other middies’, but she’d learned to climb with her legs. And maybe she A message lizard scampered past her, its sucker-feet tugging at the membrane like fingers caught in taffy. It didn’t stop to squawk orders at the lowly midshipmen, but flitted past on its way up to the spine. The whole ship was on combat alert, the ratlines swaying with scuttling crew, the night air full of fabricated birds. In the distance Deryn could make out lights against the dark sea. The H.M.S. Mr. Rigby must have seen it too, because he shouted, “Keep moving, you sods! The bats are waiting for their breakfast!” Deryn gritted her teeth, reached for the next rope— The middy’s test, of course, had been easy. Service regulations said the test was supposed to be taken on the ground, but Deryn had begged shamelessly, in order to become a temporary middy on the ship. Her third day aboard the Since the test, though, Deryn’s smugness had faded a bit. It turned out she Every day the bosun called the But Deryn’s favorite lectures were when the boffins explained natural philosophy. How old Darwin had figured out how to weave new species from the old, pulling out the tiny threads of life and tangling them together under a microscope. How evolution had squeezed a copy of Deryn’s own life chain into every cell of her body. How umpteen different beasties made up the The bosun’s lectures were merely a fraction of what she had to cram into her attic. Every time another airship flew past, the middies scrambled to the signals deck to read the messages strung on distant fluttering flags. Six words a minute without error, or you were in for long hours of duty in the gastric regions. Every hour they ran drills to check the But the strangest thing was doing it all Jaspert had been right: Her diddies weren’t the tricky part. Water was heavy, so bathing on an airship was done quick with rags and a pail. And the toilets aboard the Deryn had always reckoned herself a tomboy, between Jaspert’s bullying and Da’s balloon training. But running with the other middies was more than just punch-ups and tying knots—it was like joining a pack of dogs. They jostled and banged for the best seats at the middies’ mess table. They taunted each other over signal reading and navigation scores, and whom the officers had complimented that day. They endlessly competed to see who could spit farther, drink rum faster, or belch the loudest. It was bloody exhausting, being a boy. Not that all of it was bad. Her airman’s uniform was miles better than any girl’s clothes. The boots clomped gloriously as she stormed to signals practice or firefighting drills, and the jacket had a dozen pockets, including special compartments for her command whistle and rigging knife. And Deryn didn’t mind the constant practice in useful skills like knife throwing, swearing, and not showing pain when punched. But how did boys keep this up their whole barking Deryn eased the feed bag from her sore shoulders. For once she’d reached the airship’s spine ahead of the others, and could take a moment’s rest. “Dawdling again, Mr. Sharp?” a voice called. Deryn turned to see Midshipman Newkirk climbing into view over the curve of the She called back, “Just waiting for you to catch up, Mr. Newkirk.” It always felt odd calling the other boys “mister.” Newkirk still had plooks on his face and hardly knew how to tie his necktie. But middies were supposed to put on airs like proper officers. When he reached the spine, Newkirk dropped his feed bag and grinned. “Mr. Rigby’s still “Aye,” Deryn said. “He can’t call us dawdlers now.” They stood there for a moment, panting and taking in the view. The topside of the airbeast was alive with activity. The ratlines flickered with electric torches and glowworms, and Deryn felt the membrane tremble from distant footsteps. She closed her eyes, trying to “Barking brilliant up here,” Newkirk murmured. Deryn nodded. These last two weeks she’d volunteered for open-air duty whenever possible. Being dorsal was A squad of duty riggers rushed by, two hydrogen sniffers straining on their leashes as they searched for leaks in the membrane. One snuffled Newkirk’s hand as it passed, and he let out a squeak. The riggers laughed, and Deryn joined in. “Shall I call a medic, Mr. Newkirk?” she asked. “I’m fine,” he snapped, staring at his hand suspiciously. Newkirk’s mum was a Monkey Luddite, and he’d inherited a nervous stomach for fabrications. Why he’d volunteered to serve on a mad bestiary like the “They’re nothing to be scared of, Mr. Newkirk.” “Get stuffed, Mr. Sharp,” he muttered, hoisting his feed bag. “Come on. Rigby’s right behind us now.” Deryn groaned. Her aching muscles could’ve done with another minute’s rest. But she’d laughed at Newkirk, so the endless competition was on again. She hoisted her feed bag and followed him toward the bow. Barking hard work, being a boy. |
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