Battlesaurus (33 page)

Willem looks around in a kind of horrified awe. This is where H
é
lo
ï
se spent six years of her life, fending for herself, feeding herself. Hiding from French soldiers. Sharing a vast dungeon with terrifying giant saurs.

“Are we safe here?” Willem asks.

H
é
lo
ï
se nods. “For now. They know we are here and will search the caves, but it will take them a long time to find this place,” she says. “I go, but will return soon.”

She scuttles out of the cave, leaving them in the almost dark, and the almost silence, broken only by the distant growls of the dinosaurs.

They wait without conversation, overwhelmed by the events and the sights of the day.

The light through the ceiling crystals shifts slightly as time passes, although how long H
é
lo
ï
se is away, Willem cannot tell.

When she returns she has two gray peasant smocks. She gives them to the British soldiers and indicates that they should cover their uniforms.

She also brings a small sack of food. That she can so easily raid the soldiers' supplies gives some clue to how she survived down here on her own for so long.

Willem glances again around the walls, looking at the world through the eyes of the girl, spending her childhood in this rock-walled cage. Suddenly he can bear the guilt no longer. He puts down the morsel of bread he is eating.

“H
é
lo
ï
se, I must tell you something,” he says.

She looks at him curiously, but says nothing.

“That day in the forest. When the firebird took your mother,” Willem says.

“It was you,” she says without expression.

“You already knew?” he asks.

“Since you killed the dinosaur in the village,” she says. “I knew then.”

“I am so sorry about your mother,” he says. “If I had done something sooner…”

“You could not have saved her,” H
é
lo
ï
se says. “And I am alive because of you. But this memory holds great pain for me. Please do not speak of it again.”

“I will not,” he says.

“I also must tell you something,” she says. “About your mother.”

“Please,” he says.

“She did not escape as she said she would,” H
é
lo
ï
se says.

“Fran
ç
ois told me,” Willem says.

“She was taken away in a cage. As was Cosette,” H
é
lo
ï
se says. “They were lucky.”

“Lucky? What do you mean?” Willem asks.

H
é
lo
ï
se looks at Fran
ç
ois, who looks away.

“He knows,” she says.

“I saw nothing,” Fran
ç
ois says. “I don't know.”

“He knows,” H
é
lo
ï
se says again.

Fran
ç
ois just stares at her, and when he will not talk, H
é
lo
ï
se does.

The cave seems to grow cold as she speaks and when she is finished, Willem is sobbing. Fran
ç
ois sits facing a wall, refusing to look at them. Shaking his head as if to shake out her words.

There is silence for a long time. The distant sunlight, filtered by the crystals, drifts farther and begins to fade.

“Where did they take Cosette and my mother?” Willem finally asks. He realizes even as he says it that, without thinking, he asked about Cosette first.

“I do not know,” H
é
lo
ï
se says.

“I must find out,” Willem says. “I cannot go to England while they are being held captive by the French.”

“You must go to England,” Frost says. “If you do not, then Napol
é
on has already won.”

“I cannot leave them here in the hands of the French,” Willem says.

“What will you do?” Fran
ç
ois asks. “Break them out of a French prison?”

“I will do whatever it takes,” Willem says. “But I will not leave here without them.”

The conversation has been in French, but Frost has been quietly translating for Jack, who now speaks. It is in English and although Willem understands the words, he cannot understand the meaning.

“What did he say?” Willem asks.

“A strong man can move a boulder. A wise man can change the world,” Frost says.

“I understood the words, but not the meaning,” Willem says.

“He means that you, by yourself, can do nothing to help your mother or the girl. You are just one man. But you can teach the world how to defeat Napol
é
on's monsters, and that is your best chance to rescue those you love.”

“Jack said that?” Willem asks.

“That was his meaning,” Frost says.

“I cannot go to England,” Willem says. “Yet I cannot stay here. I cannot win.”

“What do you mean?” Frost asks.

“They have my mother and Cosette,” Willem says. “If they know I am here, and alive, they will use them against me. If they think me to be dead, or in England, they will … have no further use for them.”

Frost relays this in English to Jack, who nods his understanding and mutters something.

“What did he say?” Willem asks.

“Jack thinks it would be easier if you just disappeared,” Frost says.

One of the dinosaurs along the corridor roars, and the reverberation is so strong through the narrow passageway that dust falls from the walls.

“Jack is much smarter than he thinks he is,” Willem says.

“I keep telling him that,” Frost says.

 

ANTWERP

They stay overnight in the cave, sleeping with the smell of dinosaur in their nostrils and the grunts and occasional growl in their ears.

When they awake, Willem is surprised to see H
é
lo
ï
se curled up in the arms of Fran
ç
ois. Fran
ç
ois himself seems just as surprised a few moments later when his eyes open, and he moves quietly away, to spare her the impropriety when she wakes.

Underground routes take them to the north, emerging in a cave by a stream. That takes them out to the very edge of the forest.

*   *   *

They spend the next night in a disused house barn on the outskirts of Brussels, not daring to enter the city.

The next day they find a horse in a field. A war horse from the British Heavy Cavalry. It is nervous and skittish but Jack somehow finds calming words and after removing any insignia, it becomes Lieutenant Frost's horse.

The crossbow fits neatly into one of the saddlebags, which relieves Willem. He has been worried they would have to discard it, as it would attract attention. They have few enough weapons as it is.

Keeping to farm tracks and open fields they avoid seeing any French patrols. They circle around Antwerp to the south and arrive at the gate in the great wall that protects the city. A pair of Dutch soldiers, their helmets now adorned with the red plume of the French emperor, glance at them incuriously as they pass through, not in a group, but individually, mixing with the other travelers and farmworkers who stream in and out of the gate.

Willem was concerned that someone might recognize the saddle and realize it was a stolen horse, but on arrival at Antwerp it becomes clear that is not a problem. They pass many other military horses, torn of their color, and now the property of whoever had found them.

Antwerp is a bustling port city, and French soldiers are everywhere. Finding a place to hide here looks impossible until Frost suggests selling the horse. An unscrupulous stable keeper takes her for a fraction of what she is worth, but still enough to pay for a room at a local inn.

*   *   *

“Up here, General,” Baston says.

There is a steeply sloping ledge, impossible to traverse if not for the ropes that have recently been rigged top to bottom. It is an arduous climb, but mercifully short, and at the top a series of passageways is well lit by lamps placed on the floor.

In a cave hidden behind the roots of a tree there are clear signs of habitation.

“Someone was living here?” Thibault asks.

“The girl, we think,” Baston says. “Possibly for years.”

“Incredible,” Thibault says. “How many in the group now?”

“Five,” Baston says. “Willem, two British soldiers, the girl, and our man, Fran
ç
ois.”

“You are certain he is your man?” Thibault asks.

“That is what I wanted to show you,” Baston says, pointing.

The writing has been scratched roughly and quickly into the stone of the wall by a crossbow bolt that lies nearby. There is only one word:
Antwerp.

“It could be a trick,” Thibault says.

“Perhaps. But I don't see what they would gain by it,” Baston says. “Fran
ç
ois had a crossbow with him when we met him in the forest. I think he leaves the bolt for us to find, so we will know the author of the note. And if it is, then we should act with all haste. From Antwerp it is but a short sail to England.”

“They would not succeed. The port at Antwerp is already under guard,” Thibault says. “As are all the coastal ports. But go to Antwerp, Captain. Blockade all the gates to the city. If they are inside the city walls, we will keep them there like flies in a trap. We will hunt them down, house by house if necessary.”

“Yes, General,” Baston says.

“Where are the demonsaurus?” Thibault asks.

“Back in their cages,” Baston says.

“And the woman and the girl?”

“Safe in Brussels,” Baston says.

“Not safe enough,” Thibault says. “Have them brought here.”

“At once, sir,” Baston says.

“I will follow with the demonsaurus,” Thibault says.

 

OLD FRIEND

Twenty-five, Avenue Quinten Matsys, is a large villa on the edge of a park, in the heart of the city. Willem watches it for many minutes before approaching, to ensure that no one else is showing interest in the house.

The connection between his father and this woman may be known to people other than his mother.

Satisfied that there is nobody watching the house, Willem takes a side street, then a narrow lane that brings him to the rear of the house.

He taps quietly on the scullery door and a few moments later what sounds like the thundering of a herd of elephants comes from within. The door is opened by an enormous man, in both height and girth. His hair is long and tied back in two pigtails, and his mustache would rival that of a walrus.

He glares down at Willem from a very great height and says nothing, waiting for Willem to speak.

In Flemish, Willem says, “I am Willem Verheyen.”

“So?” the man asks. “What do you want?”

“My real name is Pieter Geerts,” Willem says, and it is strange saying those words, sounds that he has not made with his mouth for a very long time.

The man stares at him. A voice comes from behind him, the voice of an old lady. “Get him off the street, Lars, and quickly. It is Maarten's son.”

Lars leads him to the parlor, where the owner of the voice is rising to meet him. She is younger than she sounds, or perhaps older than she looks. Her hair is gray and tied up in a neat bun. She is dressed elegantly in a flowing gown of some indeterminate dark color that shifts as she moves.

“Pieter?” she says.

Willem nods.

The lady steps toward him, surprisingly nimble. She wraps her arms around him tightly, then releases him and kisses him on both cheeks.

“It has been many years since I have seen you,” she says, and smiles. “You were much smaller then.”

“I do not remember,” Willem says.

“Naturally,” she says. “Come and sit down.”

“Is my mother here?” Willem asks, hoping against hope that his mother has found some way to escape. But Sofie shakes her head as she returns to her armchair.

Willem looks around for Lars, but he has gone. Willem hadn't heard him leave, and realizes that Lars can move as quietly as a cat when he wants to.

“It is true that you taught my father magic?” Willem asks.

“Do not be too surprised,” she says. “I, too, was quite famous in my day. Never to the heights of your father of course. Only a man could scale the heights that your father did.” Her face grows serious. “What brings you here, Pieter? And why do you ask about your mother? Is it to do with the war?”

“It is,” Willem says, and although he had intended to say as little as possible, there is something about this woman that makes him feel he can trust her, and over the next hour, he tells her everything.

“These are desperate times,” she says, when he has finished. “But we will do what we can to help.”

“We?” Willem asks.

She nods. “We lived under the boot of the French for twenty years. A year ago we exchanged one foreign ruler for another: in The Hague. Now it is again reversed. Our leaders may simper and bow down to Napol
é
on, our armies may fight for him, but there are many of us who would see Flanders independent once again.”

“You take great risks, helping me,” Willem says.

“You take greater risks, coming here,” she says.

“We must get to England,” he says.

“It will not be easy,” she says. “The ports are barricaded. Not even a fishing boat can leave without filing papers with the dockmaster and an inspection by the French army. This morning a party of British soldiers broke through the cordon, commandeered a packet, and tried to sail down the Scheldt out to the North Sea.”

“What happened to them?” Willem asks.

“There is a battery of forty-two-pounders on either side of the channel,” she says, “and the gunners are highly skilled.”