Battlesaurus (18 page)

“Claw marks,” somebody says.

It is only when Monsieur Lecocq drops to his hands and knees and peers under the neck that the awful truth starts to become clear.

“There is a buckle here,” Monsieur Lecocq says. “These rags are not caught on its back, they are strapped around its neck.”

“Like a collar,” Monsieur Claude says.

“A
collar!
” The word is repeated around the crowd, and there is consternation as the ramifications of that sink in.

“These scratches are from its own claws,” Monsieur Lejeune says. “As if it had been trying to remove the collar.”

Jean is examining the fabric, tearing it with his hands to reveal more of the shredded leather underneath. He pieces two fragments together and looks up, confused.

There is embossing on the leather and, with an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach, Willem recognizes the markings of the French emperor Napol
é
on. Now he notices the royal blue of the cloth, the imperial color.

“It is not a collar,” Jean says. He has unearthed a molded hump of rounded leather. Willem has seen this shape before, but cannot place it in his mind. Then with sudden, horrible clarity, it comes to him.

“What is it?” Fran
ç
ois asks.

Monsieur Lejeune speaks what Willem already knows.

“A saddle horn,” he says.

The great beast shudders a final time, then moves no more.

*   *   *

A good deal of time passes after this before Willem remembers his pet, hidden in the smithy. He unbraces the door and uncovers the bucket to find Pieter still frozen, comatose. The last time, it took many hours for him to return to normal.

Willem whispers soothing words to him and blows gently on his face. But as he goes to pick Pieter up he notices the eyes. They are not wide and flickering around as before. They do not move at all.

Pieter is not comatose.

The cheeky little microsaurus has simply died of fright.

 

THE MEETING

Town meetings in Gaillemarde are usually held in the church, but the church is damaged, so this meeting is held in the square.

The mayor is flanked by the brothers, Father Ambroise and Monsieur Lejeune.

Monsieur Claude holds his hands up for silence. There is a respectful hush. By now the entire village knows that it was Jean and Willem who brought down the meat-eater, but most of them will never forget the sight of Monsieur Claude standing heroically over the beast with a musket aimed at its eye.

Madame Claude is not present, that Willem can see. He suspects that she is off tending to the injured. Some villagers were hit by debris from the saur-fence as the animal crashed through, and a number of the children received cuts and bruises in the church. Madame Claude was everywhere last night, patching minor injuries and helping Madame Gertruda with the more serious ones. It is more than he expected from the mayor's stout wife.

Monsieur Claude thanks Jean and Willem for their role in helping to kill the giant saur. Willem accepts the nods and pats on the back of those around them with a gracious nod of his head, although he feels it should be H
é
lo
ï
se receiving the praise. If not for her, he would have been frozen in place. But he knows that even if such praise was offered, it would not be accepted.

When the adulation dies down enough, Willem turns to Fran
ç
ois, who is at his other side.

“They praise me and Jean,” he says. “But I would not be here to accept it, if not for you.”

Fran
ç
ois smiles but says, “It is God you should thank, Willem.”

“I have done that already, in my prayers,” Willem says. “But last night you were his instrument and I will be forever grateful for it.”

Fran
ç
ois accepts this with just a slight bow of his head.

“We have all heard the stories of the terrible lizards,” Monsieur Claude says. “The ‘dino' saurs that Colombo and Vespucci were said to have discovered in the New World. We now all see the truth in those tales.”

“But what was it doing here?” someone calls.

Monsieur Claude phrases his answer carefully. “I know no more than you. But it wears a saddle and bears the emblem of the French emperor.”

It is some moments before the mayor can continue, and before he can, Monsieur Lejeune speaks. “Yesterday when we were hunting the firebird, we saw French soldiers in the forest. I believe now that they were searching for this very beast.”

When the hubbub dies down he says, “I don't know what it is or where it came from. But I do know that the body of Napol
é
on's dinosaur lies dead in our field.”

“What if there are more of them?” a voice calls from the crowd.

“I do not believe that is possible,” Monsieur Claude says, and it is the first time that he smiles. “If a herd of dinosaurs was rampaging around the Sonian Forest, surely someone would have noticed them before now.”

“But what if there is another one?” Monsieur Lejeune says. “We must alert the British. Already there is talk of invasion by the French. The British cantonment is close to the forest. Imagine the carnage if a creature such as this was set loose among their ranks.”

Monsieur Lecocq walks to the front, just below the podium. Already tall, he stretches himself up to his full height and turns to address the crowd. “An invasion by the French? An invasion? Do you forget that we
are
French? Even as we speak, those fools in Vienna seek to carve up Europe to their own map. They are about to sign agreements putting us under the rule of those Dutch pigs in the North. Why? Did we ask for this? We are not Dutch, we are Walloon. We are French. And you want to pass information to our enemies?”

From the cheers, it is clear that there are many in the crowd who think the same.

“Like Lecocq, I am Walloon,” Monsieur Lejeune says. “Like Lecocq, I have lived here all my life. I speak like the French, I eat like the French. I make love like the French.” He pauses at the crowd's laughter, then continues. “I shed blood for Napol
é
on. I fought at Austerlitz and Borodino. But I am not French. I am no more French than I am English or Italian. I am Walloon, and I will not be ruled over by a Corsican who fancies himself emperor of Europe. Napol
é
on's time is past. There is peace on our continent. I for one do not want to see a return to the blood and mayhem of the European wars.”

Monsieur Lecocq now climbs up next to Monsieur Claude, as Father Ambroise, who is surprisingly subdued, steps out of the way.

“Europe stands divided,” he declares. “A pathetic collection of weakling states. There may be peace now, but it is a fragile little bird. We face threats from the Ottomans in the East, from the Russians in the North. Europe must be united to be strong, and there is only one man who can do that. A man sent by God. Napol
é
on Bonaparte, the rightful ruler of Europe!”

There are cheers and applause for his speech.

Monsieur Claude steps forward. He speaks more softly than Monsieur Lecocq but there is power in the timbre of his voice. “We are but a small village in a small country. We risk being caught between the boot of the French and the rock that is the allied army. If Napol
é
on discovers that we have killed his dinosaur, then I fear the consequences. If he discovers that we have sided with the British and the Prussians, then I fear we will pay a heavy price.”

“This is madness,” Monsieur Lejeune thunders.

Monsieur Claude says calmly, “We are not English. We are not French. We are Walloon. We must remain neutral for now, and then we can align ourselves with the victor.”

“There is no remaining neutral,” Monsieur Lejeune shouts. “To do nothing is to side with the French.”

“There will be a vote,” Monsieur Claude declares. “Right here. Right now. All able-bodied men, over the age of fifteen. If you vote to warn the British about what we have discovered, raise your hand now.”

He makes a show of counting the hands although the result is already clear. The hands are few and scattered.

“And if you vote to remain neutral, please raise your hand.”

This time many hands are raised.

“Then I think it is clear. We do nothing that would align ourselves with either side,” Monsieur Claude says.

“Then be it on our heads,” Monsieur Lejeune says quietly, and steps down from the platform.

“Marcel!” The mayor stops him.

Monsieur Lejeune turns back to the stage.

“The village has decided, and we act as one,” Monsieur Claude says.

“So I saw,” Monsieur Lejeune says.

“You were not thinking of acting against our decision, of warning the British yourself?”

“Of course not,” Monsieur Lejeune says. “I would not go against the village.”

He turns away, and the crowd parts like the sea of Moses to let him through.

Jean looks at Willem and Fran
ç
ois and jerks his head after his father.

They wind their way through the crowd and see Monsieur Lejeune heading to the smithy.

Jean stops them halfway there, and checks that nobody is around to listen.

“They are fools,” Jean says. “My father is right. To do nothing is to side with the French.”

“I feel the same,” Willem says. “But I am Flemish, how else should I feel? I am one of the Dutch pigs that Monsieur Lecocq spoke so eloquently about.”

“Well, I am not Flemish, but neither am I French,” Jean says. “Like my father and his father, I am Walloon and proud of it.”

He stops for a moment, thinking.

“Jean?” Fran
ç
ois asks.

“My father will not go against the village, but somebody must,” Jean says. “What if there is another one of these creatures? What if there are more? Someone must warn Wellington what hides in the Sonian Forest. Despite what our dithering, philandering mayor says.”

“The village has voted,” Fran
ç
ois says. “The decision is made.”

“The village is swayed by Monsieur Lecocq, who plants his lips firmly on the emperor's arse,” Jean says. “And they follow the lead of that clown who calls himself mayor. A storm is coming and they hope to ride it out by shutting their eyes. But they are fools.”

Fran
ç
ois seems about to argue, but thinks better of it. “You are right,” he says. “I will go. I know these woods better than anyone.”

“I will come with you,” Jean says.

“I can move faster and more quietly by myself,” Fran
ç
ois says. “It takes but one pair of lips to deliver a message.”

Willem shrugs, but Jean insists. “Cousin, when have I ever let you do something by yourself? God save something as vital as this. I will come with you to make sure you don't trip over your own feet.”

“There is no need,” Fran
ç
ois says.

“I do not agree, cousin,” Jean says. “And what if you are spotted, and captured by the French soldiers we know are patrolling these woods? Who then will pass on the message? We both go, and if one of us is taken, then the other can deliver the message, as well as return to the village to let them know what has happened.”

“Cousin—”

“There can be no more argument,” Jean says. “We must leave immediately if we are to make it by nightfall. I will go home quickly to gather some provisions.”

He leaves before Fran
ç
ois can argue further.

“My cousin is crazy,” Fran
ç
ois says. “He goes against the village. I will reason with him as we walk.”

“He does what he believes to be right,” Willem says, then smiles. “And he is not one to be argued with.”

“That has always been true,” Fran
ç
ois says, and there is a strange sadness to his voice.

He takes out his pipe and a packet of tobacco, and takes his time filling it, tamping it, then lighting it. Willem waits, sensing that Fran
ç
ois has something more to say. He moves upwind of Fran
ç
ois, disliking the pungent smell of his pipe smoke.

“The way in which you entranced the dinosaur. How did you learn that?” Fran
ç
ois eventually asks.

This is a question that Willem has been dreading. But he knows that soon others will be asking the same thing. “It is a simple trick,” he says. “It is the same trick I used to train Pieter.”

He has avoided answering the question but even so it seems to satisfy Fran
ç
ois, whose mind is clearly on a different trail.

“H
é
lo
ï
se says that when she was attacked by the firebird, in the forest, there was a boy. She doesn't know where he came from. The firebird attacked him and that was how she was able to escape.”

Willem's mouth drops. He is stunned by this. Firstly that H
é
lo
ï
se saw, and remembers that day, and secondly that she has told Fran
ç
ois. Then he remembers all the hours the two of them spent together during Fran
ç
ois's convalescence. They must have talked about many things.

“I thought she was dreaming,” Fran
ç
ois says. “No boys were missing from the village. It made no sense until I saw you bewitch the monster last night.”

Willem stares at him mutely, then finally nods. It would be foolish to deny it. “That boy was me.”

“And you did to the firebird what you did to the dinosaur.”

“Yes, then I cast pepper into its eyes and it ran into the forest.”

“Yet you have not told her,” Fran
ç
ois says.

“I have told no one,” Willem says.

“Why, Willem?” Fran
ç
ois asks. “You saved her life. As you saved ours last night. You are a hero.”