Willem’s mother is baking when he arrives. Her arms are coated with flour up to the elbows. Like most of the village she has been tireless. Working around the clock to provide the extra food required for the soldiers.
She sees Willem hurrying up the path and meets him at the door.
“What has happened?” she asks.
Willem shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “But I must leave Gaillemarde.”
“In the middle of a war?” she asks. “It is not safe.”
“Because of the war,” he says.
“What do you mean, child?” she asks.
He takes her by the hands, not minding the flour, and draws her to the kitchen table.
“Mother, there are two British soldiers in the hospital. I must help them escape, get back to England.”
She shakes off his hands and sits upright. “This is what you have come to tell me?”
“No,” he says. “I have come to ask your permission.”
This softens her. “Why these two?” she asks. “There are many soldiers in the hospital.”
He lowers his eyes. “It is not just the soldiers who must get to England,” he says.
“You? Why you?”
“Mother, the British officer says Napoléon’s new army cannot be beaten. The war is already lost. Unless…”
“Unless you go to England and teach them how to fight the dinosaurs.”
“Perhaps to breed and train dinosaurs of their own.”
“And then both armies would have these terrible creatures? And you think that is a good thing?”
“I think it is better than if they are only in the hands of a tyrant,” Willem says.
“And for this you ask my permission?” she says.
“It is not just about the British. What about me? What about you? If Napoléon conquers Europe, there will be no place for us to hide.”
She is silent for a long time. She says eventually, “I am your mother, and I could never give permission for such a thing.”
“Mother…”
“A child must ask permission from a parent,” she says. She rises and moves to his side of the table and when he rises to meet her she embraces him fully, for the final time as a mother with her child. “But you are no longer a child,” she says. “Do not ask my permission for I will not give it. But do what you know you must.”
* * *
At first Héloïse is regarded as a curiosity by the French soldiers who now guard Gaillemarde. A strange, wild-haired thing. Half-human and of no appreciable intelligence. By the end of the first day she is forgotten, unnoticed, paid no more account than a wild dog, or a free-ranging microsaurus.
So it is that when Baston arrives at the saur-gate, the guards see her, yet do not see her, slinking in the wild lavender outside the fence.
“Hold there,” the first guard says, presenting his musket at Baston. The second guard does likewise.
Baston dismounts. He wears the simple smock of a local peasant, but removes it, pulling it up over his head to reveal the uniform of a French captain.
Both guards lower their muskets and salute.
“I wish to see your commanding officer,” Baston says.
The captain of the guard, a squat, heavyset man, is in the middle of the village square, deep in discussion with a doctor and the mayor of the village. The doctor’s hands are bloody.
“Good morning, Captain,” the doctor says, looking up at Baston’s approach. Like the others, he does not see Héloïse drifting along behind the new arrival.
“Captain Baston, attached to the staff of General Thibault,” Baston says.
“Gronnier,” the captain says. “Captain of the Guard, Medical Division.”
“I am Dominique Larrey, chief surgeon,” the doctor says.
“Jacques Claude,” Claude says. “I am the mayor of this village.”
“How can I help you, Captain?” Gronnier asks.
“I bring orders from my general,” Baston says. He looks around to make sure no one is within earshot. “He comes soon to this village. No one is to leave until he gets here.”
“No one, Captain?” Larrey says. “But we are in the middle of evacuating a hospital.”
“No one,” Baston says.
“I must protest, Captain,” Larrey says.
“You may protest all you want, sir. The village is to be sealed,” Baston says.
“I will not allow it,” Larrey says. “We do not have the facilities to properly treat these people here. They must be evacuated.”
“I have my orders, sir,” Baston says.
“And I have mine,” Larrey says.
“I answer to General Thibault, and he answers directly to the emperor,” Baston says.
“Sir, it is clear that you are poorly informed,” Larrey says. “I am Dominique Larrey, Commander of the Legion of Honor and Chief Surgeon of the Imperial Guard. On matters of health and medicine, the emperor answers to me.”
Baston holds his poise for a full minute, then bows his head.
“The wounded shall continue to be evacuated,” he says. “But ensure that no natives attempt to slip out with them. Pay particular regard to any boys or young men who may try to escape.” He stops, noticing Héloïse. “Who is that?”
Gronnier smiles and taps the side of his head with a finger.
Baston scrutinizes the girl for a moment. She sees him looking and growls at him like a dog.
“I shall remain here to ensure the general’s orders are carried out,” Baston says.
“Who is it that you are looking for?” the captain of the guard asks.
“A boy who can talk to saurs,” Baston says. His eyes move quickly to the mayor, who has suddenly stiffened. “You know who this is?”
“I do not, sir,” the mayor says.
“The emperor of France knows of this child,” Baston says, “yet the mayor of his own village does not?”
“Perhaps your emperor is mistaken, sir,” the mayor says.
“The emperor is never mistaken, monsieur,” Baston says. “And he is also of the belief that somewhere in your village lies the carcass of a crocodylus.”
“A what, sir?” Larrey asks.
“A giant saur, bred and trained for battle,” Baston says.
“Ah, that Thibault,” Larrey says, with sudden understanding and more than a little distaste. “I have not seen a dead dinosaur here, and I daresay it would not be easily missed. But then again, I have been a little busy. As I am busy now.”
He turns and hurries away without excusing himself.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Claude says. “A dinosaur, in Gaillemarde? Look around, see for yourself.”
“We will, monsieur,” Baston says. “As soon as my general and his men get here. In the meantime, tell your people that they may not leave the village. Not for any reason.”
“Of course, Captain,” Claude says, and bows a little as he leaves.
Baston waits till he is out of earshot, then says, “I will personally inspect every wagon.”
Turning to tend to his horse, he sees a young man walking toward him.
“François, is it not?” Baston says.
“Monsieur, I do not know you, and you do not know me,” François says quietly.
“So be it,” Baston says. “Tend to my horse, and I will walk with you as you do.”
François nods, and takes the reins of the animal, leading it to a water trough. He finds a rag and wipes the dust of the journey from the horse’s hide.
Baston makes a show of looking for something in the saddlebags.
“Is the boy in the village?” he asks.
François nods.
“Where is his home?” Baston asks.
François looks to his right and says, “The one with the fire lit.”
Baston looks and sees a house with smoke trickling from the chimney. He raises an eyebrow. It is too warm for a fire.
“His mother is a baker,” François says.
“Thank you, François, you shall be rewarded,” Baston says.
“My reward will come when Europe is united under our great emperor,” François says.
“So it shall,” Baston says.