Malone considered the question. “Why am I in California? Or why am I in disguise, instead of snapping photos with the other reporters?” “Aye, both!” “Happy to explain everything,” Malone said. “But first we need to get aboard your ship. Otherwise those fellows are about to give me a thrashing.” Deryn turned to follow Malone’s gaze, and saw a trio of burly men in dark blue uniforms striding across the airfield. “Who in blazes are they?” “Pinkertons—security guards in the employ of Mr. Hearst. You see, my paper was owned by a fellow called Pulitzer, and he and Hearst weren’t exactly pals. So let’s not dawdle.” The man started to drag her toward the Leviathan’s gondola. “Surely they won’t set upon you in broad daylight!” “Whatever they do, it won’t be pretty.” Deryn looked at the men again. They carried truncheons in their hands. Perhaps it was better to be safe than sorry. The Leviathan’s gondola was still too high to jump aboard, and she and Malone would never make it past the Pinkertons to the gangplank on the other side.
