Also by Scott Westerfeld The first book in the trilogy ... - Webgarden

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“Do something, Mr. Sharp,” cried Dr. Barlow above the din. “We appear to have been captured!”
“Aye, ma’am, I noticed!” Deryn reached for her rigging knife, but of course her full-dress uniform had
no pockets to speak of. She’d have to use bare fists.
“How do I get down to the saddles?” she asked the howdah pilot.
“You can’t from here, sir,” he said, his knuckles white on the trunk’s controls. He was pushing people to
safety as the machine stumbled through the panicking crowd. “The leg pilots climb on from the ground,
while the elephant’s kneeling.”
“Blisters! Do you have any rope aboard?”
“Afraid not, sir,” the man said. “This isn’t a sailing ship.”
Deryn groaned in frustration—how could any ship not haverope ? The machine stumbled again, and she
grabbed the railing to keep her footing.
Making her way around the edge of the howdah, Deryn saw that three of the pilots had been replaced
by impostors in blue uniforms. Only the foreleg pilot on the port side remained in his seat. But the rope
was still around him, stretching down into the crowd. He’d be pulled off soon enough.
In the meantime three of the walker’s legs were scraping and stamping, trying to get the contraption
moving again. As she watched, the huge right forefoot stamped down on a vendor’s cart, scattering
peeled chestnuts like hailstones across the street.
“Barking stupid machines!” Deryn muttered. A real beastie would know who its proper masters were.
Suddenly the trunk swung to the port side. It reached among the protesters and found the man trying to
drag the foreleg pilot off his seat. The man shrieked, letting go of the rope as he was flicked aside.
“Good work!” Deryn said to the howdah pilot. “Can you yank the impostors off?”
The man shook his head. “Can’t reach the rear saddles at all. But maybe …”
He twisted at the controls, and the trunk whipped about to the starboard side. It curled back, reaching
for the pilot on the foreleg, but stopped a yard short, metal segments grinding.
“It’s no use, sir,” the man said. “She’s not as flexible as a real beastie.”
However inflexible, the machine was barking powerful. It was lurching down the street now, scattering
people and vehicles in all directions. One of its huge feet stamped down on a wagon and smashed it into
splinters. The remaining British pilot struggled to bring the machine to a halt, but there was only so much
that one leg could do against three.
“Can you grab something to use as a weapon?” Deryn asked the howdah pilot. “You only need another
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