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to life.

“Load the cannon!” Master Klopp cried to the men below.

    “THE S.M.S. BEOWULF .”

    Alek found himself deposited into the commander’s chair as the machine began to move. He struggled with the seat straps, but a terrible thought took hold of his mind, freezing his fingers.

If they’re trying to kill me … it’s all true.

Count Volger crouched beside him, yelling over the rumble of engines and gunfire. “Take heart at this impoliteness, Alek. It proves that you are still a threat to the throne.”

SIX

    The second broadside of cannon shells fell closer, a spray of gravel and wooden splinters rattling against the viewport’s grill, the smaller pieces spilling through.

Alek spat dirt from his mouth.

“Vision to half!” Master Klopp cried, then cursed. The two crewmen were below, and Volger was halfway up through the hatch again, his legs dangling from the ceiling.

Klopp glanced apologetically at Alek. “If you please, Your Highness.”

“Certainly, Master Klopp,” Alek said. He unbuckled and pulled himself up from the commander’s chair. The cabin rocked and swayed, and he grasped the straps overhead to keep his footing.

He tried to turn the viewport’s crank, but it wouldn’t budge. Taking it with both hands, Alek strained harder, until the massive armored visor grudgingly closed a few centimeters.

Another broadside shook the earth beneath them, and the walker staggered forward. Count Volger’s riding boots flailed, kicking Alek in the back of the head.

“They can still see us!” Volger shouted from above. “We’re too tall!”

Master Klopp twisted at the saunters, hunkering the Stormwalker lower. The hornbeam trees rose up in the viewport, the walker’s clumsy gait sending Volger’s boots swinging again. For an astonished moment Alek watched Klopp’s hands on the controls—he’d never seen a walker shuffle along in a crouch like this.

Of course, he’d never imagined a Cyklop Stormwalker having to hide from anything. But against a dreadnought this walker was practically a toy.

Grunting and heaving, Alek managed to close the right viewport to half. He reached for the other crank.

“Young master, the antenna!” Klopp cried out.

“Yes, of course!” The Stormwalker’s wireless antenna stretched up above the trees, the archducal flag snapping in the breeze. But Alek had no idea how to lower it. He looked around the cabin, wishing he’d paid more attention to the crewmen when learning how to pilot.

Finally he spotted a windlass beside the wireless set. As he darted for it, Volger’s dangling boots delivered another blow to his shoulder. The windlass spun wildly the moment Alek unlocked it, the antenna telescoping closed a few centimeters from his ear.

He started back for the commander’s seat, then saw that the left viewport was still open. He reached across the lurching cabin and began to crank it tighter.

Volger dropped back into the cabin, closing the hatch above him against a sudden rain of dirt and pebbles. “We’re out of sight now.”

Another broadside rumbled in the distance, followed by more explosions flickering among the trees ahead. Debris struck the Stormwalker, but the viewport’s grills were squeezed as tight as a comb’s teeth now; only the fine dust of pulverized forest floor filtered through.

Alek felt a moment of satisfaction—he’d done something useful. This was his first real battle, when only hours before, he’d been playing with tin soldiers. The rumble of explosions and the shriek of engines somehow filled the hollowness inside him.

The Stormwalker was thrashing through dense forest now. Of course—any cleared path would be clearly visible from the Beowulf ’s lookout towers.

Alek’s heart was beating fast as he slipped back into the commander’s chair and watched Klopp’s hands on the saunters. His long hours of piloting practice seemed suddenly trifling. All that time in runabouts had been pretend-play, and this was