A/N: *laughs nervously* Um, hi? I'm back... after like a month... OH GOSH DON'T HATE ME...

(Remember when I was all like, "Oh, yeah, I'll be posting a ton of stuff over the summer for you guys," and y'all were like, ":D"? Aha. Ahaha. AhahahahaHAhahaha that didn't happen. :/)

I had a wonderful trip to Europe, if anyone still cares. Saw lots and lots of Hapsburg and WWI stuff and fangirled the entire time... I even got a few story ideas ;) But that's no excuse, really. UGH WHY AM I SO DESPICABLY LAZY? WHY?!

It's very nice to know that lots of you acutely missed the presence of my updates—thanks, guys!—but I'm sure you'd rather we got this show on the road than have me ramble on about how lovely reviews are, yes? So I have a chapter for y'all. It marks the conclusion of the visiting-home family arc, which will displease some of you and please others, I think. It also sets stuff up. Some of this stuff will be pleasing to you... I think... I DON'T EVEN KNOW ANYMORE. TT_TT

DISCLAIMER: I'm not Scott, and I therefore own nothing. This should be obvious to you, as I sincerely doubt Scott abandons his work for this amount of time, since his, y'know, livelihood depends on it. He also has an actual work ethic. Gee, do I need to get me one of those. XP

In Deryn's opinion, the train ride back was dead boring, compared to the one that had brought them to Glasgow.

And she had spent the one out sleeping, so that was saying something. Although at least this time she had something—or several things—to occupy her mind, the foremost of which being, of course, whether or not the aunties and Ma had permanently put Alek off of her.

She was inclined to think, even if it was just wishful optimism, that they hadn't, thankfully. If anything, he had seemed barking amused by them, as if they were an exhibit in a sodding zoo: "A Typical Darwinist Family of Old Maids," maybe. Deryn would be the first to admit that Auntie Gertie in the right mood—or at the right level of tipsiness—could do some bloody hilarious things. Her ma had twenty years' worth of stories about holiday party incidents, after all. But somehow, Deryn failed to find such incidents—or comments, or sodding clothing dictation—quite as funny when they involved her.

They hadn't left any permanent marks on Alek, though, and they seemed to approve of her new occupation more than they had of soldiering, so Deryn reckoned she had come out ahead. Maybe they would like it a squick less if she told them all of the spying bits she'd hopefully be doing soon... but that was what purposeful omission was for, aye? What they didn't know couldn't fret them.

Besides that, Alek had seemed to enjoy Glasgow itself—parks, shops, the airfield, all of it. Deryn had taken him everywhere in their week, all of her favorite spots, and must have told him a barking million stories about herself as a wee lass. Best of all, though, was when he'd reciprocated with stories of his own childhood at his castle, or in Vienna or Berlin. It was dead fascinating, hearing about the bloody silly things royalty did sometimes, about how their lives were different from regular people's. Not all of the differences were between Clanker and Darwinist, either. It had left Deryn with a burning curiosity, a desire to know and see more—Konopischt's famous rose gardens, which the Kaiser himself had come to admire; Alek's da's hunting trophies, which had apparently given him nightmares about reanimated deer heads coming for him every night for a month when he was five; his other tutors, who sounded pure dead awful but had a variety of amusing quirks; and mostly, his parents, whom she would never meet.

If things had been different, maybe—but if his parents had lived, she and Alek would never have met, and instead he'd still be in his stuffy old castle, reciting his lessons and piloting his runabout and waiting to be married off to some princess.

And no matter how terrifying or fussy or nosy her family were, Deryn hoped—knew, really, in a way she couldn't explain—that Alek would put up with far worse than they to stay by her side, to keep far, far away from the life he had almost had.

So the visit hadn't been all bad, tense as it had been for her—especially not, she had to admit, the sleeping arrangements. She had gotten over her embarrassment right quick—and had come up with a few ideas almost as fast. Alek hadn't taken them very well, though, and her mum and the aunties, while the architects of said arrangements, had been chaperoning, if discreetly, so she'd restrained herself. Still... the possibilities had been exciting.

The only damper on the whole thing, after the family crisis was averted, had been the news. Sodding Germans, sodding war, sodding worry it had caused Alek! He'd fretted about it far too much for Deryn's liking, and she was fervently hoping their upcoming reunification with Dr. Barlow would reassure him—or at least provide them with new, encouraging information. And perhaps their imminent journey to Russia would allow them to strike back at the Germans.

Really, the ride was only boring because she was so eager for it to be over.

By midafternoon, the train was winding through London's suburbs, thanks to their seven-a.m. departure. They weren't anywhere near the Scrubs, sadly; Deryn would've liked to get a look at their airship for the journey. It wouldn't be as grand or as hers as the Leviathan—it might not even be a military ship, she cautioned herself—but—well, it would be a reminder, a taste again of the life she still missed.

Dr. Barlow found them almost immediately in the train station, carving a wake in the crowd like a clipper ship on a breezy day. Deryn reckoned this was probably because the lady boffin was proceeded by an extremely overexcited Tazza and followed by a supremely disdainful Volger, a panting Arty dragging a trunk, and a man, presumably the conscripted driver of some kind of transportation, burdened with several others. It was, by any measure, quite the entourage.

"Ah, Mr. Sharp, Mr. Hohenberg!" Dr. Barlow cried out upon catching sight of Deryn and Alek. Her voice carried authoritatively over the dull roar of chatter filling the station. "Pleasant to see that you've arrived. It would have been ideal to know just which train you had taken beforehand, however. Mr. Barrington—" she indicated the luggage-carrier; so he wasn't a cab driver— "has been waiting here for hours, in case you had taken one of the early ones. We ourselves have just arrived, fortunately. Come, we have an omnibus to catch."

"Has she been like this the whole time?" Deryn asked Arty in an undertone as they hurried for the station entrance.

The other girl grimaced. "Yes. Some vacation. Tension you could cut with a knife between her and Volger every second, and I angered Mr. Barlow within five minutes of meeting him by almost breaking a vase..."

"So he exists?" Alek asked, grinning. His nap hadn't been interrupted by any sort of yackum worry, Deryn thought grumpily.

"Surprisingly, yes. Dr. Barlow's house is in Cambridge, and he works... um, for the government, I think, in London, but he came out for a couple of days to see her. He is also an extremely avid collector of Ottoman and Chinese art, much of which is all over his house and in the way." She made a face and a sweeping gesture with her arm, indicating widespread knock-and-smash destruction.

Deryn winced. "Sounds as if you had a brilliant holiday. You saw her children?"

"They're adorable." Arty grinned. "Although the nanny seems to spoil them rotten. And no one in that household seems to be the least bit interested in normal, civil conversation. I'm glad to be back." She rolled her eyes. "I trust yours was slightly more restful?"

"Aye," Deryn assured her, "except when—" But she had to cut herself off; they had reached the omnibus' stop, and Dr. Barlow was shooing them on, barking luggage-storage orders all the while at poor Mr. Barrington.

It was a wee bit nostalgic, actually—Deryn's first ride to the Scrubs had been in a vehicle almost exactly like this, down to the broad, muscular hippoesque between the shafts. Just as she remembered, the seats were two abreast, and in the shuffle Volger snagged Alek, leaving Deryn to sit with Arty and Dr. Barlow—with Tazza, of course—to settle herself in the pair behind them.

"This ride oughtn't to take long, Mr. Sharp, Miss Black," she informed them, leaning forward slightly. "Our ship won't lift off until the evening, but it is pleasant to acquaint oneself with one's accommodations while still on the ground, I find."

"Well, of course," Deryn muttered under her breath. "What surprises me is that you've condescended to use public transportation with the rest of us peasants, ma'am."

"What was that, Mr. Sharp?" Dr. Barlow's hearing was almost as acute as Mr. Rigby's.

Deryn tried to arrange her features into the most innocent expression possible. By the look of the lady boffin, she didn't entirely succeed. "Nothing, ma'am."

"If you insist, Mr. Sharp." Beside Deryn, Arty was trying desperately not to snicker.

Dr. Barlow favored them both with a delicately arched eyebrow and turned to examine the scenery outside of her window as the omnibus rumbled into motion.

Arty leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs—not at the ankle like a proper lady, but at the knees. "So," she addressed Deryn, "this vacation of yours?"

Deryn filled her in on all the relevant details—some of it was a wee bit private, but as a general rule she enjoyed an appreciative audience, and Arty was nothing if not appreciative. She laughed in all the right places—she found Alek's musical talents, or lack thereof, just as hilarious as Deryn had—and only sobered when Deryn got to the bombing bit.

"Dr. Barlow was concerned about that," she said in a grim undertone. "She started talking to herself about 'contingency plans' and 'incubation periods' until she remembered I was in the room and ordered me out."

Deryn twisted her fingers together, wishing she had Bovril to hold—the beastie had a way of wicking away stress. But it was across the aisle and up a row with Alek, out of reach for now. "'Incubation period'? Sounds like Dr. Barlow has some sort of beastie stewing for us."

Arty turned her head, glancing back at where the lady boffin was still staring fixedly out at dull London shopfronts, and lowered her voice still further. "Do you think maybe—her project that she's been working on so often?"

"Aye," Deryn nodded, "a bloody schemer, that one. It's no use trying to find out about it beforehand—she'll tell us when she's good and ready, and not a squick before." She sighed, recalling Dr. Barlow's infuriating vagueness in the past—no doubt her mention of the mysterious project in Arty's hearing had been more of the same, entirely intentional and calculated to pique the girl's already-rampant curiosity. "I just wish I knew what I'd signed up for."

"As long as it means the Germans won't bomb any more cities," Arty said fiercely, "I'm all for it. Besides—maybe, if she needs an extra hand, she won't send me off to my family right away."

Deryn remembered, suddenly, why Arty was coming to Saint Petersburg with them—not as Dr. Barlow's permanent apprentice or an employee of the Society, but as a stepping stone on her way to live with her Russian aunties and uncles. "She won't rid herself of you till she's done with whatever business she has," she said, as reassuringly as she could manage. "And who knows how long that might be?"

"I hope it's a while," Arty sighed, nervously smoothing the wrinkles out of her jacket. Looking up, she made eye contact with Deryn and smiled. "I've enjoyed spending time with you—and Alek, of course. You're so interesting."

Deryn grinned back at her, squashing the urge to look away in embarrassment under a boy's braggartly swagger. "What can I say? Intrigue and danger shadow our every footstep. And you aren't shabby company yourself, you know."

Arty cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I try."

Despite the fact that anyone who noticed her would be wondering what in blazes a fifteen-year-old lad was doing making noises of that pitch, Deryn couldn't stop herself from giggling.

"Barking spiders."

It was unmistakable. Unlike the day they had disembarked from the Leviathan, the skies were clear and the sun was bright—perfect conditions, perfect visibility. And the yard-high letters on the airship's gondola were designed to be legible at distances greater than a paltry couple hundred feet.

"Whatever is so exciting, Mr. Sharp?" the lady boffin enquired, tilting back her hat to give the airbeast a once-over of her own. "I had imagined that you would be pleased to be berthed in a military ship—and a Medusa-class, no less—but you sound simply exultant."

Deryn's grin only grew. The Medusas were brilliant ships; although they were neither as big as the Leviathan nor as heavily armed—more of an light cruiser to its dreadnought—they made up for their size with ample speed. But it wasn't the airbeast's breed that had cheered her right up. "Well, ma'am, that's His Majesty's Airship Minotaur, aye?"

"Yes, the Minotaur. Newly pulled from patrol duty in the North Sea, I believe. Why? Is this particular ship of some personal significance to you?"

"You could say that." Deryn turned to Alek. "You remember how I wished you'd've gotten to meet Jaspert?"

"Your brother?" Alek looked vaguely mystified. "Of course, but—you're not saying that he's on that ship?"

"Aye, that I am. Unless he's been transferred, but I reckon they would've notified me or Ma if that'd happened. Except—" she cleared her throat— "we, er, told the Service that he's my cousin, not my brother."

"Mr. Sharp," cackled Bovril, standing on its hind legs to examine the ship as well. Volger snorted.

"Quite." Dr. Barlow looked amused. "In that case, Mr. Sharp, I shall celebrate this fortunate coincidence. You haven't seen your cousin for, ah...?"

"Seven months, ma'am," Deryn supplied, resisting the urge to spin in giddy circles. Jaspert might be an arrogant sod who thought too highly of his sense of humor sometimes, but he'd been the only one who'd understood, after Da died. She wasn't about to say it outright and sound like a daft, soppy lassie, but she'd missed her brother.

"You have a— um, a cousin in the Service?" Arty sounded dead interested. "How old is he?"

"Three years older than me—eighteen." Deryn eyed her askance. "And don't get any silly ideas, lassie. He isn't a prime catch, take it from me."

Arty blushed. "I wasn't—" she began to protest, but Volger gave a dry cough.

"As important as the eligibility of Mr. Sharp's... relative might be, I believe we are to board shortly? That young man crossing the field looks as though he might wish to offer guidance."

Deryn scowled at Volger, then turned to look at their approaching guide. She frowned. Even at this distance, he looked vaguely familiar... dark hair, around her age...

Her eyes widened in recognition. "Tyndall!" she called in surprise.

The boy looked up smartly, then broke into a trot, covering the last few yards in a squick. "Oi, Sharp!" he said, grinning at her, the Welsh accent as pronounced as Deryn remembered. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same of you, Mr. Tyndall. Didn't think I'd ever see you again after you got booted off the Leviathan." Deryn returned his grin. They hadn't been particularly close back when they'd been middies together—he'd been just another of the pack—but he'd been likable enough, if a bit clownish. "So you're serving here?"

"Aye, the Minnie's a good ship." His eyes drifted past her to Arty, Alek, and the adults. "But the bosun said I was to escort a party of important civilians, not your sorry bum."

She bowed as extravagantly as she could manage. "And you're looking right at them. May I present Dr. Nora Barlow and her, er, assistants, Miss Artemis Black, Mr. Aleksandar Hohenberg, and Wildcount Ernst Volger. Oh, and me too, of course."

Tyndall's gaze sharpened. "Hang on— that wouldn't be the lady boffin who got me kicked off? And you're her assistant?"

"Yes, I gather that I am the reason you were reassigned from the Leviathan." Dr. Barlow lifted an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. "And you are Midshipman Tyndall, I presume?"

Tyndall blanched, looking properly terrified. "Er—aye, ma'am, that'd be me. I served with Mr. Sharp here for a month or so."

"Would you mind giving us a hand with our luggage?" Dr. Barlow extended Tazza's leash to the midshipman, and Deryn had to smother a smile at the thought of her foisting beastie-walking duties off on someone else for a change. "There's a good boy."

Tyndall managed to carry only the lady boffin's massive trunk, but with Deryn hefting Volger's trunk in addition to her own bag, they got the whole group up a gangway and into the gondola. Inside, the hallway was a bit smaller and less posh than the Leviathan's, but similar enough in design to be achingly familiar.

Tyndall led them around a corner and into another corridor, indicating a row of doors. "These are your cabins for your journey—one each, captain's orders." He looked a bit jealous, and Deryn wondered if the middies were crammed in three a tiny room like they'd used to be on the Leviathan. If so, and if the passenger staterooms here were as spacious as the other ship's, then he had a right to be. It had been thoughtful, though, for the lady boffin to think of the situations that might arise if Deryn had to share a room.

"Once you're settled," Tyndall continued, "Captain Asterion requests your presence on the bridge, just for a courtesy visit." His eyes traveled over them again, full of sharp-edged curiosity as to why a lady boffin and her ragtag bunch of assistants were important enough to merit passage on the Minotaur and personal attention from its captain. "After that... you're free to spend the journey as you wish, I reckon. Just send the bridge a lizard if you need anything. There're Klaxons at mealtimes, ask anybody for directions to the officers' mess."

Dr. Barlow waved a hand dismissively, and he backed away with a respectful nod, catching Deryn's eye for a squick. The message was clear: Meet up with me later so you can tell me what in blazes is going on. Deryn gave him a tiny nod, and he was gone.

Behind her, the lady boffin already had her door open and was clucking in disapproval. "These are smaller than the Leviathan's," she sniffed to no one in particular, "if newer, I suppose. I do wish we'd been able to secure passage on a liner instead of one of these cramped military ships, but this was the best available." She sighed. "Deposit your luggage and we'll go see what the captain wants. Tiresome formalities, no doubt. You military types do like your ceremonies." She gave Deryn a wry look.

Deryn kept her face blank. "Me, ma'am? I'm not in the military. You've already talked me out of that but good, haven't you?"

Dr. Barlow chuckled. "Nevertheless—duty calls."

Deryn's room was twice as big as the middy's cabin she'd had on the Leviathan. "Blisters, beastie," she told Bovril, peering out of her very own window at the airfield below, "but this is nice, isn't it? Pays to be a fancy-boots' assistant." Maybe the Minotaur would never be quite as brilliant as the ship she still thought of as home, but she was aloft, or would be.

"Fancy-boots," agreed Bovril, already snuggling into Deryn's pillow.

Her doubts about working for the Society were vanishing as fast as an airbeast at full-ahead.

Well. Jaspert. *rubs hands together*

I love Jaspert, I really do. This is mainly because he is obviously adorably, overly attached to Deryn, and Deryn is so awesome that she deserves the entire world to be adorably, overly attached to her. That is all.

(Also, I think he has a lot of potential as a character that Scott didn't develop and that the fandom doesn't develop nearly enough, so I'm excited to dive into it and give him some TLC. Plus, writing him terrorizing poor Alek—you know it's got to happen, and I haven't tired of messing with Alek yet, oh no—is going to be hilarious. :D)

The reason I have Dr. Barlow's house located in Cambridge, rather than in a closer London suburb, is because it was actually in Cambridge. She was born there and she studied genetics there, and when she married James Alan Noel Barlow (much like Dr. Barlow, however, he went only by "Alan"), she saw no reason to move. (Mr. Barlow had grown up in London with his father, who was a doctor at a children's hospital there and later Royal Physician to Queen Victoria, King Edward VII, and George V, and attended college at Oxford. The Barlow family also had an estate in Lancashire called Greenthorne, but it was occupied by Mr. Barlow's aunt, Miss Annie Barlow.) In fact, I have tracked down the exact house that Dr. Barlow lived in until 1970: called "Sellenger", it is No. 3 Sylvester Road in Cambridge and now compromises student housing at Robinson College. It is not a mansion, but it appears to have been comfortably large, certainly capable of accommodating several guests.

In regards to Mr. Barlow, some of you may be wondering why I am calling him that instead of "Sir Barlow", as he is referred to in his Wikipedia article. In fact, he did not have a title until 1938. As a civil servant, he was made a member of two orders of chivalry—the Order of the British Empire and the Order of the Bath. However, he was not ranked highly enough to be a knight until 1938; after that, he received two more promotions, eventually making him a knight three times over. He inherited the title of baronet as well (which also entitled him to the use of "sir") when his father died in 1945. In addition to this, he is remembered for his remarkably extensive collection of, yes, Islamic and Chinese art, mainly pottery. In fact, after his death it was bequeathed to the University of Sussex, where it now resides.

Wow, is THAT ever a lot of unnecessary information about the Barlows... XD It's quite amazing what you can track down if you're determined enough. I had the friendly help of Wikipedia, of course, and also a remarkable website called "barlowgenealology" (dot com, of course, but one has to be mindful of FanFiction's paranoia), which apparently the extended Barlow family cared enough to create. Thank you, Barlow family, for your help in feeding my obsessive need for useless information! XD

I have already rambled on quite a lot, but there is another factual thing in this chapter that needs touching on: my naming of the Air Service's ships. For those that are unaware, a "class" of naval ships is a group built from the same blueprints—or, in a living airship's case, it would be a "breed" of ships sharing the same (or very similar) genetic code. (Basically, a class is the fancy naval way of indicating all the ships of the same design.) Generally speaking, the class is named after the first ship of that type to be built, so for the Medusa-class, the Medusa would have been the first ship of that breed hatched. Ships in the same class are often named in some kind of theme; thus why both the Medusa and the Minotaur are mythological names. :)

Oh, and one more thing: Deryn's "light cruiser to its dreadnought" comment. In her time (that is to say, during WWI), naval warships basically came in four types, most of which will be familiar to anyone who has played Battleship. The first was the destroyers, a type of light, fast ship used mainly for raiding and patrol. The second and third were the light cruisers and the battlecruisers (both developed from the armored cruiser, which was obsolete by WWI but still widely used). Light cruisers were a small, fast version of the armored cruiser, used for scouting and protecting merchant shipping, while battlecruisers were large versions, as big as a battleship and as heavily armed but more lightly-armored and faster and used for engaging other capital ships. The last two types were both versions of the battleship; dreadnoughts were large, armored ships with an armament composed of all large-caliber weapons, while super-dreadnoughts were larger, more heavily-armed and -armored, and faster improvements on the dreadnought, made several years later. In essence, with that sentence Deryn is stating what size the Minnie and Leviathan are and what types of duty they are fit for. Of course, naval terminology is not directly applicable to airships, but that's what analogies are for, no? ;)

Ohhhhhhkay, I REALLY hope y'all weren't lying when you said you liked historical notes, because that right there is RIDICULOUSLY long. But hey, it's educational! :D (Also, highly indulgent of my slight naval obsession. But we do not speak of this.) To wrap this behemoth up (yes, I know, BAD PUN, but I couldn't resist), I should hopefully have a couple more chapters FINALLY out in the next week or so, and after that... well, we'll see. Meantime, show me you appreciate my renewed presence and don't want me to disappear again and REVIEW!