Free Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld

huge footprints.

He kept his eyes on the goal, a streambed covered with sheltering trees.

This was the fastest he had ever traveled, faster than any horse, even faster than the express train to Berlin. Each ten-meter stride seemed to stretch out over endless seconds, graceful in the vast scale of the machine. The thundering pace felt glorious after long nights spent creeping through the forest.

But as the streambed approached, Alek wondered if the walker was moving too fast. How was he supposed to bring them to a halt?

He eased back on the saunters a bit—and suddenly everything went wrong. The right foot planted too soon … and the machine began to tip forward.

Alek brought the left leg down, but the walker’s momentum carried it forward. He was forced to take another step, like a careening drunk, unable to stop.

“Young master—,” Otto began.

“Take it!” Alek shouted.

Klopp seized the saunters and twisted the walker, stretching one leg out, tipping the whole craft back. The pilot’s chair spun, and Volger swung wildly from the hand straps overhead, but somehow Klopp stayed glued to the controls.

The Stormwalker skidded onward, one leg outstretched, its front foot ripping through soil and stalks of rye. Dust spilled into the cabin, and Alek glimpsed the streambed hurtling toward them.

Gradually the machine slowed, a last bit of momentum lifting it upright … and then it was standing on two legs, hidden among the trees, its huge feet soaking in the stream.

Alek watched dust and torn rye swirl across the viewport. A moment later his hands began to shake.

“Well done, young master!” Klopp said, clapping him on the back.

“But I almost fell!”

“Of course you did!” Klopp laughed. “Everyone falls the first time they try to run.”

“Everyone what ?”

“Everyone falls. But you did the right thing and let me take the controls in time.”

Volger flicked sprigs of rye from his jacket. “It seems that humility was the rather tiresome point of today’s lesson. Along with making sure we look like proper commoners.”

“Humility?” Alek bunched his fists. “You mean you knew I would fall?”

“Of course,” Klopp said. “As I said, everyone does at first. But you gave up the saunters in time. That’s a lesson too!”

Alek scowled. Klopp was positively beaming at him, as if Alek had just mastered a somersault in a six-legged cutter. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or give the man a good thrashing.

He settled for coughing some of the dust out of his lungs, then taking back the controls. The Stormwalker responded normally. It seemed nothing more important than his pride had been damaged.

“You did better than I expected,” Klopp said. “Especially with how top-heavy we are.”

“Top-heavy?” Alek asked.

“Ah, well.” Klopp looked at Volger sheepishly. “I suppose not really.”

Count Volger sighed. “Go ahead, Klopp. If we’re going to be teaching His Highness walker acrobatics, I suppose it might help to show him the extra cargo.”

Klopp nodded, a wicked smile on his face. He pulled himself from the commander’s seat and knelt by a small engineering panel in the floor. “Give me a hand, young master?”

A little curious now, Alek knelt beside him, and together they loosened the hand screws. The panel popped up, and Alek blinked—instead of wires and gears, the opening revealed neat rectangles of dully shining metal, each monogrammed with the Hapsburg seal.

“Are those … ?”

“Gold bars,” Klopp said happily. “A dozen of them. Almost a quart of a ton in all!”

“God’s wounds,” Alek breathed.

“The contents of your father’s personal safe,” Count Volger said. “Entrusted to us as part of your inheritance. We won’t lack for money.”

“I suppose not.” Alek sat back. “So this is your little secret, Count? I must admit I’m impressed.”

“This is merely an afterthought.” Volger waved a hand, and Klopp began to seal the panel back up.