"Good," Childermass says, absolutely no sarcasm or dryness involved this time, "Fire will be your best bet, barring iron. If I'd known more people were going to be here, I would have—" He stops there, gives his head a shake. "Not that it matters now. I can't drum up suitable arms at the drop of a hat."

He can move around and collect all sorts of items quickly, but not iron, never iron. It burns him just as badly as it would burn the Queen's creatures.

"But fire will do and, careful, you aren't all that far off from there being feral daffodils. Just add 'ten foot tall' to that and you'd be closer."