Clash of Empires (33 page)

He is a man. A big, strong, brutal man.

But no man is a match for such magic.

 

TRICORNES

The simplest of tricks, given the right presentation, can perplex the brightest of minds. Yet even Willem is surprised at how well his illusion has worked.

The clouds were no more than steam, created by diverting the outlet pipe from the water boiler. The lightning, and its corresponding thunder, were achieved by cutting the thin lead pipe that carried the firedamp gas to the boiler. The firedamp, lighter than air, drifted up to the ceiling of the cavern, where it floated, waiting, until Arbuckle, on cue, ignited it at the pipe end.

It was as much good luck as good planning. Too much firedamp and the explosion would have annihilated everyone in the cavern. Too little, and it would not have ignited. But it did, with a huge flash that lit the clouds of steam and even to Willem looked just like lightning.

The rain was a bonus. The clouds of steam, condensing on the cold rock ceiling of the cavern and dripping down.

It was almost perfect. At that distance, in the darkness, it was always going to be a difficult shot, and he had hoped to unnerve the soldiers enough that they would not fire, or that their shots would go wild. It had worked. Almost. Just one soldier, somewhere in the ranks, had the steadiness of heart and aim, or the sheer good luck, to hit Willem dead in the chest.

For Willem the impact on the heavily padded metal plate strapped to his torso was like being kicked in the stomach by a mule. His already injured chest had screamed fire, and it took all of his energy to regather himself, to step forward and spit out the three musketballs he had placed in his mouth earlier.

Cosette helps him remove the metal plate as Arbuckle and Big Joe seal the entrance to the cave, lowering a wooden gate that is suspended from the celing. It is a massive gate for massive creatures, constructed of hefty timber planks buttressed by poles as thick as the mast of a small ship. It is hinged at one end. A heavy chain runs from the bottom of the gate up though a large metal pulley system on the ceiling of the cavern and down to a chain-stay and winch on top of a jagged spur of rock, rising like a huge claw in the center of the floor.

The gate slams shut with a thud and a cloud of dust.

“Quickly,” Arbuckle says. “That will hold them, but not for long. Where are the tricornes?”

“This way,” Héloïse says.

Willem follows them around a sharp corner at the rear of the cavern, and under a low knuckle of rock into another large cave.

Here there are tricornes. Four of them. Each is almost twice the height of a man, with two great horns jutting from its head, in front of a large flare of bone. A third, shorter horn is at the end of the snout.

Despite the horns they seem placid, incurious; they do not look up at the entrance of the humans but continue calmly chewing hay. Their saddles are long with two pommels, for two riders. A rope ladder hangs from the center of each saddle.

Holsters for three pistols are attached to the rear part of the saddle on each side. Six pistols per animal.

“Each saur will need a rider and a gunner,” Arbuckle says. “We have five soldiers, enough for only two of the beasts.”

“I can ride,” Cosette says.

“I will not allow it,” Willem says.

“And who are you to say what I may or may not do?” Cosette asks.

“It is a job for soldiers,” Willem says a little awkwardly. There are not enough soldiers.

“I do not know how to load or fire a gun,” Cosette says. “But I can ride as well as any man.”

Arbuckle chuckles and says to Willem, “I think there is no reasoning with your intended.”

“She is not my—” Willem stops, because she
is
his intended. As he is hers. He has known this since Gaillemarde. That is why he cannot bear the thought of her riding into battle. Yet he knows he cannot stop her.

“I will ride also,” he says. For many reasons he cannot let Cosette ride while he remains behind.

“Then we are short by just one rider,” Arbuckle says.

Willem looks around the cave, his eyes passing over Frost and settling on Héloïse.

“I will not ride the great demons,” Héloïse says. She stares at him, unashamed.

“Then I will,” Frost says. “That will give us eight. Enough for all the tricornes.”

“How can you ride?” Arbuckle asks.

“Put me in the saddle and I will show you how,” Frost answers.

“He has no eyes, but makes use of his other senses in ways that would astound you,” Willem says.

“Very well.” Arbuckle gestures to the other soldiers. “We will guard the entrance while you prepare the saurs.”

Cosette walks toward the nearest tricorne as Arbuckle and the other soldiers disappear back into the main cave. She stands in front of the first tricorne, well within range of its horns. Willem wants to cry out to her to be careful, but restrains himself. The tricorne looks up from its food and regards her briefly, then lowers its head again.

Cosette moves toward the hanging rope ladder.

“Wait,” Willem says, but she ignores him and takes another step.

The great animal turns toward her, a low, rumbling growl warning her away.

“Wait,” Willem says again.

Cosette remains perfectly still until the animal resumes feeding, then takes another step forward.

Willem holds his breath. He does not dare speak for fear of alarming the beast.

He examines the tricorne as Cosette moves closer and closer to the rope ladder.

Large metal blinders cover the beast's eyes. They are open, but can be closed by leather cords that lead up behind its neck. His father gave them detailed instructions on how to control the battlesaurs. To steer the great saurs you simply open one eye more than the other. It will turn in that direction. Leather flaps sit above the nostrils. Those too can be opened or shut. To stop, you shut both the blinders and the nostril flaps.

To get the beast to move requires something else. Something that seems magical, even to Willem.
Electricity.

Cosette grasps the ladder and pulls herelf up the first step.

“They neither fear us, nor want to eat us,” she says. “You do not need your sparkle tricks with these saurs.”

Willem is not convinced, but Cosette skips lightly up the rope ladder without any reaction from the tricorne. She does not try to ride sidesaddle but adjusts her smock so that she can put a leg over the other side. She examines the reins for a moment.

“There is no battery,” she says.

“The batteries are in the armory,” Héloïse says. “I will get them.”

Cosette climbs carefully down, patting the great beast gently on the side of its neck. It stirs, but makes no other movement nor sound.

Héloïse is quickly back with the battery, a small gray box. She carries four of them and places them at Willem's feet. “I will get the pistols,” she says, and disappears once again.

“Let me try,” Willem says.

Cosette nods.

Willem takes a battery and moves to the rope ladder, struggling to control his breathing. This is no meat-eater, he knows this, but its sheer size and power are terrifying. It could end his life with a misplaced footstep or a nudge of its head. He places a foot on the ladder, and before he can allow himself to think any further, he climbs.

The skin is rough and ridged. The beast feels cold to the touch. He reaches the top and slides a leg over the back of the animal, just behind the great bony shield. Here two wires protrude from the skin at the base of the skull, just like the ones he saw on that terrible night in the village.

The wires clip in to two connectors on the battery, and a small switch is marked
ON
and
OFF
. He ensures it is in the off position before connecting the wires.

Héloïse brings a supply of pre-loaded pistols from the armory, handing them up with one foot on the ladder. Willem slots them into the holsters by the rear saddles. He climbs down as Cosette climbs the ladder of the next tricorne.

Big Joe and Mogansondram arrive in the rear cavern just as Willem is slotting the last of the pistols into the last of the holsters on the last of the saurs.

“How are you faring?” Big Joe asks.

“I have just finished,” Willem says.

“Good,” Big Joe says. “There are sounds from outside the great door. We think they are preparing to attack.”

“Then it is time for us to mount the beasts,” Willem says.

“With your permission,” Frost says.

“It would be my honor to have you on board,” Willem says, as Frost, without any assistance, finds and begins to climb the ladder.

Willem turns his attention to the shackles chaining the tricorne to the rock wall. He releases a metal pin and slides out a heavy catch. The chains fall away. The beast is free.

It does not move at first, but merely stands where it was chained, as if unaware it has been released.

“You must hurry, Willem.” Frost's voice comes from the rear saddle.

Willem pulls lightly on the cords so that the creature will turn to the right, then flicks the lever on the battery for the merest fraction of a second. There is no reaction from the tricorne. He presses the lever forward a little longer and the animal stirs and shakes its head, but does not move.

He presses it forward firmly and the beast shudders and begins to step forward, veering to the right. Willem releases the lever and the beast continues to trudge along. He turns to see the other tricornes slowly forming a line behind him.

They round the corner to the main cavern and his tricorne stops immediately at the sight of the greatjaw shackled to the wall. He has to nudge it again with the battery to get it moving.

He is halfway down the length of the main cavern when the great wooden door explodes.

The shattering crash of thunder that comes from the entrance is followed by a deadly whirlwind of smoke, dust, and shards of wood.

Willem ducks behind the bony ridges of the shield at the tricorne's neck, instinctively hauling the noseflaps and blinders shut to protect the tricorne from the worst of the blast that washes over and around them.

Light pours in through the gaping hole where the great wooden door used to be.

The battlesaur shackled to the wall close to the door is falling, hit by the explosion—dead, unconscious, or injured, Willem cannot tell. There is a loud, meaty thud as it hits the ground.

The French are inside the cavern now, marching down the main ramp.

In the confusion of the smoke and dust Willem sees Arbuckle stand up in full view of the oncoming troops, a huge saur-gun in his hands. He fires and a sheet of flame belches out of the end of the gun, a cloud of musketballs filling the air. French soldiers scream or grunt as they fall, but behind them are more, rank after rank.

Already Arbuckle has dropped the saur-gun and picked up another. Another roar, and more French soldiers fall, but now Arbuckle is running, ducking and dodging as metal balls dig rock chips from the wall and floor of the cave around him.

The unstoppable tide of French soldiers pours into the cave and Willem knows all is lost. They are too few. They have pistols against muskets. The great, audacious plan is over before it has really begun. He cowers behind the body shield of the tricorne as musketballs pound into it.

But now there is a sound of a different kind and through the swirling clouds of dust and smoke Willem sees the battlesaur, back on its feet, free of its shackles, raising its head to the roof of the cavern and filling it with its terrifying guttural roar. Its eyes sweep around the cavern, finding Willem, who shudders, but its gaze moves on and it rampages forward, toward the light, toward the ramp. The French retreat in confusion before the beast, leaving bloodied and wounded comrades littering the ramp and the cavern floor.

“Now!” Arbuckle cries. He scales the ladder up the side of Cosette's tricorne, then hauls it up, hooking it onto the saddle.

Willem needs no encouragement. He rams the lever on the battery forward. The animal shudders and begins to move. Willem flicks the lever again and the beast breaks into a trot.

The ramp is short and the sunlight in the courtyard of the abbey is sudden and shocking for eyes that have spent too long in the dark reaches of the caves. Blinking through the pain, his eyes filling with tears, Willem sees the French soldiers screaming, running, only a very few aiming their muskets at the beast that rages in the enclosed courtyard.

Then they are through the abbey gate and onto the wide path outside. Willem steers the great animal to the west and feels branches and leaves brush at his legs as they begin the long charge.

To Calais.

 

BY THE RIVER

She finds François kneeling by the riverbank, staring at the water. She knows this place, and knows it is his favorite part of the forest. She has seen him here many times, and knew it was where she would find him.

He does not seem to hear Héloïse approach and so she stands for a while behind him, also watching the water. The way it moves, ripples that merge and form whorls before spinning away into nothing. She listens to the sound of the river as she listens also to the sounds of the forest around them.

It has not taken her long to find him. There are places known only to those who know the forest. Places of peace, of sanctuary.

She slides the bayonet silently out of her smock and moves close behind François.

“Do not move,” she says as she presses the edge of the blade against his neck. Her knees press into his back and her hand is on his forehead. He stiffens with surprise, but does not move.

“I was foolish,” he says. “To think that she could ever love someone like me.”

“Cosette,” Héloïse whispers softly.

“She is not like us,” François says.

“She is from a different world,” Héloïse says.

“So it is,” François says.