Let Philippe see what soldiers she could make, out of nothing but peasants and fire. Let him see his chance to buy her friendship now, while it was cheap.
“Bring me that man with the missing leg,” she said.
Monoceros went silently. Good Monoceros. The pure expression of her will.
She let the young man go down upon his only knee, let him pull himself back up again, red-faced, before she spoke. The Chatelaine showed mercy in her own way and her own time, and the mercy she would show this young man would be subjection to her.
“You have come here because you wish to be transformed?” she asked.
He nodded. “I ask you for a leg. I am a farmer, my lady. Since I lost my leg, my family has had to pay for help. I have three children.”
“And in return? I must put something into the fire, you see, along with you. What will you will give me for my pains?”
He set his jaw. “I can work. Set me a task and I will do it.”
“Bah, I have no need of peasant labour. Can you fight?”
He bit his lip and inclined his head.
She glanced at Philippe but could read nothing in his expression. Did he not see? Did he expect her to make an army of men such as this? A farmer who had never wielded anything but his fists?
If only she had the use of those mercenary bands that Philippe used, then she would show him what she could do. But they had gone to England, to fight the Scots for the boy king. They refused to fight alongside the chimeras any longer. It was true that her centaurs had trampled through a line of Genoese crossbowmen but the crossbowmen had been taking too long.
Her poor centaurs, all dead now.
And here was a young man in want of a gait.
“One can never be sure how the fire will do its work,” she said, smiling at the young man. “When I put Monoceros in with a unicorn I thought he would come out with four legs, like a centaur. Instead, he barely seems equine at all, does he? The unicorn in him went … elsewise. But horses, now, they are more predictable. Every time I have put a man in with a horse, he’s come out with four strong legs to gallop and two strong arms for swords.”
The man’s red face drained to white.
“And what else of them is horse-like?” Philippe asked with a straight face. “Always distracted by curious camp followers, I imagine. Give me a knight any day.”
Yes, you son of a whore, give me a knight, she thought. Give me all the knights who owe their allegiance to the useless Count Louis of Flanders, whose battle I just fought. Give me my due.
But she said, “Knights cost a fortune to harness, and they need squires and destriers, and after the battle they go home. My chimeras live within their harness, and they are loyal to me, always.”
The man cleared his throat. “I do not wish to be a centaur. I am no knight, either. I only want something to help me walk the fields.”
“But I can make you better than you ever were, even with your leg! I can do more than fit a new part on you. I can make you whole!”
He said very quietly, “I am whole.”
She threw up her hands. “Go, then,” she said. “The fires only take willing men, and you are unwilling. You have wasted my time. Pray this is the last time you see the inside of Hell.”
She called a Mantis-man to take him away. She did not look at Philippe, at his smug face.
But when his Fool began to perform for her, tumbling and farting and juggling coloured balls, she called Monoceros to her side and beckoned so he bent low, so close she could smell his coppery skin.
“We bring down the walls of Bruges tomorrow,” she whispered. “I cannot wait longer.”
“We will lose many men,” said Chaerephon, leaning in.
She had forgotten Chaerephon was listening; of course he was listening. He listened to every report from Monoceros. He had even given Monoceros his name.
“Then lose them,” she snapped. “What good are men to me, if they cannot take a city of women? Use all the remaining black powder and blow the gate to heaven.”
“Suicide for whoever carries the powder,” said Chaerephon. “We could dig mines, if we can get under the moat.”
“No time,” she snapped.
The king turned toward them.
“Go now,” she whispered, leaning closer in to Monoceros, so that his horn nearly rested on her shoulder. “Ride back to Bruges, my pet. My remaining chimeras are encamped and waiting to take Bruges; let them wait no longer. Do not fail me.”
“I am yours to command.”
“And when you get inside the city,” she said, “show them mercy, but show them we are not to be trifled with. If you meet any resistance, slaughter to your heart’s content.”
Monoceros smiled. “What low regard you must have for my heart, my lady.”
CHAPTER NINE
It was pointless to negotiate with the Nix. The creature was as stubborn as an ox, always had been, and if anything it was getting worse. Still, Margriet spoke in its ear, in as kindly a tone as she could muster, whispering so Claude and Beatrix would not hear.
“Carry us down the stream, as near as you can to the abbey of Saint Agatha. It isn’t far.”
“If it isn’t far then you can walk,” the Nix rumbled.
“You must do as I ask.” She made a clicking sound as if urging on a horse. One must speak the language of boats with boats, the language of beasts with beasts, and the language of bullies with bullies, her father used to say.
“My demesne ends at the outer moat of Bruges. You know that, girl. You asked me to take you to Ethiopia when you were a child, don’t you remember? Has your brain gone soft?”
Margriet snorted. Were Claude and Beatrix listening? Beatrix would be astonished, no doubt. But then her daughter was so easily astonished. So susceptible to dreams and wonders, so ready to clap her hands in delight. She had stood no chance against Baltazar and his burning gaze, when he was alive. She stood no chance now against his revenant. Margriet must keep her eyes open.
Everything seemed so quiet out here beyond the city walls; the Nix swam nearly silently. But at any moment the chimeras might appear—or worse, Baltazar. Margriet could only hope her son-in-law’s shade was walking the streets of Bruges now, looking for Beatrix in vain.
“We’ll walk, then,” she said at last to the Nix. “And no thanks to you. If the chimeras catch me I’ll tell them to fit me with a dragon’s head, and then I’ll be back to tell you what I think of you.”
“Believe me,” the Nix muttered, “I devoutly hope that you find a swift road under your feet.”
As soon as the Nix deposited them on the bank of the second moat, with a small unnecessary splash of a tail, they filled their flasks. Then Margriet hurried the young women away from the water, into the bushes.
“We walk west,” said Margriet as they trudged. “Toward Ypres.”
“How do you know?” asked Claude.
Damn it, she might have cause to regret bringing this young mercenary and her delusions of power along.
But now there was no need to hide the fact that she’d gone out before, beyond the city walls. Her secret of the Nix was exposed. And yet it still hurt a bit to speak about it, as if she’d locked the secret away so long away that the key had gone rusty.
“I heard some chimeras talking,” Margriet said, slowly. “I had an errand, outside the walls. I heard them. They said the Hellbeast is in Ypres.”
“Mother!”
“What chimeras? What did they look like?”
“One had a helmet for a head, and nothing within it—a great void. That was one I knew as a boy. He used to hang about my husband’s shop. And the others had metal arms that shot fire.”