The Temple of Forgotten Secrets (After The Rift Book 4)

by C. J. Archer

  "Wallace, come in, come in," Mr. Diver said. "What's wrong? Is that smoke I smell?"

  I smelled it too. Then I saw the glow above the rooftops. "Merdu," I said. "Fire!"

  "The Row," Wallace gasped out between his coughs. "It's burning."

  "All of it?" Meg asked.

  Wallace nodded gravely. "Me and some who live near it tried to help, but it was too hot. And the smoke…"

  "Lyle!" Mr. Diver shouted as he ran back inside. "Lyle, get up! Get dressed!"

  Outside, several other men up and down the street were dashing out of their homes, pulling on coats and gloves, blankets or pails slung over their shoulders. If The Row were on fire, they'd need more than that.

  And then I saw the stream of people making their way to the Ashmoles' house across the way. Women and children, mostly, and a few men barely able to stand. They coughed and spluttered, and cradled injured arms. They cried, some even wailing as they hurried forward, carrying a limp loved one. The air was clogged with smoke and the sounds of pain, misery, and utter desperation.

  There were so many, and all heading in the same direction. To my old house.

  "Josie, can you look at my arm?" Wallace asked.

  "She can't help you," Meg said. "You know she can't. I'm sorry to turn you away, but you have to go to Doctor Ashmole."

  "He already has too many patients," Wallace rasped.

  "I know but—"

  "Please, Josie. No one will notice if I come in. Patch me up so I can go back and help fight the fire. If it spreads, all of Mull will be in danger."

  The figure of Mistress Ashmole appeared in the doorway opposite, candlestick in hand. She let in the first person in the queue and refused entry to the next in line. The woman cradling a baby slumped against the wall as a coughing fit overtook her.

  Mistress Ashmole glanced toward us and lifted her candle higher.

  Meg bundled Wallace outside and he trudged away, coughing, and joined the queue outside the Ashmoles' house. One of the patients in the middle of the queue, a man clutching the side of his face, stepped out of line and approached her.

  "Wait your turn!" Mistress Ashmole snapped. She disappeared inside and slammed the door shut. I heard the bolt slide across.

  "Why won't she assess them and prioritize the order according to the severity of their injuries?" Meg asked.

  "She doesn't know how," her mother said. "She's overwhelmed."

  I headed back to my room and quickly dressed.

  "No, Josie," Meg said, blocking the doorway. "You're not going over there. Doctor Ashmole will just have to see them one at a time. Perhaps he will look at the queue and pick out who to see first."

  He might, but it wouldn't matter. He was only one man, one doctor. Even if I did help prioritize the patients for him, he could only work so quickly. Most of the injuries would be burns and there was little to do except slather on the sap from the pomfrey tree. But Mistress Ashmole wouldn't have enough of it, and the patients would be coming all night.

  "There is something we can do," I told them. "Doctor Ashmole will need more sap and bandages. Much more."

  Meg's eyes lit up. "We'll ask the other women in the street to help us collect as much as we can carry." She snatched up her cloak and flung it around her shoulders, not bothering to put on a gown over her shift first. "We'll take it to Mistress Ashmole."

  Mistress Diver met my gaze. "And bring some back here?"

  I nodded.

  "Mother!" Meg cried. "You can't ask Josie to do that."

  "It's my choice," I told her. "I won't stand by when I can do something."

  "It's too dangerous. It won't be a fine this time. You'll be imprisoned. Or worse."

  "Bring the patients in the back way through the courtyard," I said. "We'll swear them to secrecy."

  Meg made a scoffing sound.

  Her mother picked up Meg's boots and handed them to her. "They'll agree if it's going to save them and their loved ones."

  I hoped I could save some of them. Burns were difficult to treat, and breathing in smoke could be just as deadly, if not more so. Some people would die from their injuries. I prayed it wouldn’t be many.

  Chapter 4

  I prepared the kitchen as best as I could while Meg and her mother gathered pomfrey sap in the forest. I tore linen into strips, cringing as I did so. It wasn't my linen. But Mistress Diver would have done it if she were there, and I knew she would have it no other way.

  Torren Bramm, a fisherman, came to the front door, coughing so hard that he could hardly speak. His eyes watered and both of his hands were wrapped in cloths.

  "You can't come in," I told him. "Not this way. Go around the back. Don't let the Ashmoles see you."

  He nodded, understanding my meaning, and left, his body bent as another cough wracked him. Torren was a good man, and I knew his daughters well. He wouldn't cause trouble for me.

  I realized as I returned to the kitchen that only the men would come to me for help. Few people from inside The Row knew I had medical knowledge, so they would not come. Long-time locals from outside The Row who tried to put out the fire would be men. It was they who would approach me when they saw the long queue of injured at Doctor Ashmole's house.

  Before I reached the kitchen, someone else banged on the front door. It was another man I knew, a good friend of my father's. I told him the same thing I'd told Torren Bramm. As he walked off, I glanced again at the fiery glow in the night sky. It had grown. The stars and moon had disappeared behind clouds of smoke. Mull was being smothered from above and burned from within. I'd seen fires before, although not on this scale. I knew how fast they could spread. If it wasn't put out soon, it would reach my street.

  I glanced westward, in the direction of the palace. Could they smell the smoke from there?

  I was about to close the door when I spotted a shadowy figure moving in the window opposite. Mistress Ashmole, perhaps, keeping an eye on me, or on the long queue that was growing restless as they waited to be seen by her husband.

  Torren was waiting for me in the kitchen when I reached it. I helped him to drink a tankard of water then set a large pot to boil on the stove, adding a pinch of amani spice I found in Mistress Diver's larder. The steam would help clear his airways. Then I unwrapped the bandages around his hands. They were blackened and swollen, the skin blistering.

  "There's nothing to do except wait for the pomfrey sap," I said. "Until then, try to relax and steady your breathing.

  My second patient arrived, bringing with him the smell of smoke. I gave him a drink and bade him to stand near the boiling spiced water to allow the steam into his airways. I instructed Meg's sisters to block gaps in the window frames and around the external doors. The air inside needed to remain as fresh as possible.

  I wanted to ask both men how bad the fire was, how many were helping and if people were trapped, but I didn't want them talking too much. Their throats would be raw and their breathing still sounded labored.

  Meg returned, out of breath, a jar of sap in hand and rolled cloths under one arm. "Did anyone see you come in here?" she demanded of my two patients.

  They both shook their heads.

  She handed me the jar of sap and began tearing up more cloths. "There'll be more sap soon, but I thought it best to bring back what we had now."

  I gently spread the sap over the burns then wrapped cloth strips around Torren's hands. "The sap needs time for its healing properties to work. Be sure to keep the bandages on as long as possible before changing them."

  Both men stood when I finished and headed for the door.

  "Where are you going?" I demanded.

  "To The Row," Torren said. "We have to help."

  "But your injuries!"

  "We have to," he said again. He opened the door, letting in the smoky air, then left.

  It wasn't very long before another patient arrived. Mistress Grinsten, a neighbor, also returned with more sap and linen. By the time I finished bandaging his burns, another man showed u
p at the kitchen door, then another and another. They all had burns, but more worrying was their breathing difficulties.

  They couldn't speak without a coughing fit taking over. They were also exhausted and agitated in equal measure. The fire must be out of control.

  "I'm going to check," Meg said after another patient arrived. "I need to know."

  She was gone a long time. More patients came. The kitchen filled with the coughs of a dozen of Mull's able-bodied men, and the smoke they brought with them. The spiced steam helped their breathing but it made the enclosed space very hot. Sweat dripped down my back as I worked, applying the sap and trying to alleviate sore throats and coughs.

  Women from the street came and went with sap and bandages, but the elderly were beginning to show signs of breathing problems too. I assured them we had enough sap and sent them home.

  Meg finally returned, a scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth. Her eyes streamed and she coughed incessantly. I directed her to stand near the boiling pot and waited until her breathing steadied before asking my questions.

  "How bad is it?"

  "Real bad," she said. "From what I can see, there'll be nothing left by dawn."

  "Nothing left of The Row?"

  Her worried look gave me the answer I dreaded. The entire village was under threat.

  "The line outside Doctor Ashmole's house?" I asked.

  "Long."

  "Did you tell anyone that I can treat them?"

  "Are you mad? Of course not."

  I pressed the back of my hand to my hot forehead. It came away damp from sweat. "This is ridiculous. I'm going over there—"

  She grabbed my arm. "No, you are not. Do what you can for those who come to our back door."

  I huffed out a frustrated breath, not sure whether to defy her or listen to her counsel.

  "The captain's here with most of his men and lots of servants from the palace," she said. "They've set up a human chain from the harbor to The Row, passing pails of water along it." Her grim face told me it wouldn't be enough.

  One of her sisters cried as she came into the kitchen; the other tried to hold back her tears. Meg ushered them out again. "We're going to pack a few things," she told them. "Just what we can carry."

  Some of the men left to return home and prepare their families to flee. Others left to fight the fire, while the ones sporting the worst injuries remained with me. More arrived, and the kitchen became crowded again. It was an ongoing fight against smoke and fire—one I couldn't win.

  All night, they came and went. The hours blurred together. I immersed myself in my work and the fear of discovery was forgotten. Meg was an invaluable help, and despite her own fears, she managed to calm many nerves, including those of her sisters.

  Until a badly burned and unconscious guard arrived, carried in the arms of Max. Meg sent her sisters out of the kitchen.

  "Lay him down on the table," I instructed.

  "You've got to help him," Max said before he succumbed to his coughs.

  I quickly assessed the injuries, noting the burns on the man's face, hands and arms. Patches of his uniform were burned too. But it was his ragged, shallow breathing that worried me the most.

  "Meg, help me remove his clothing."

  "No," Max said.

  "You need to rest," I told him. "You can hardly breathe. Get yourself a drink and take a seat."

  It wasn't until Meg gave him a little shove that he moved away and allowed her to get close to the guard. I didn't know his name, but only yesterday he'd nodded at me as I passed him at the gate.

  I set to work with Meg's assistance, applying the sap to the burns. Once they were bandaged, there was nothing more to do. The steam would help his breathing, but only if he hadn't inhaled too much smoke already. There was no way of knowing.

  Max studied him from beneath heavy lids. "When will he wake up?"

  "I don't know," I said.

  Max coughed again, his chest and shoulders heaving with the effort to breathe through the fit. Meg watched on, nibbling her lower lip until it bled. We both felt utterly helpless.

  When Max finally suppressed the cough, he headed for the door.

  "Where are you going?" Meg said, hands on hips.

  "I have to get back. They need help."

  "You're not fully recovered. Tell him, Josie."

  "She's right," I said. "If you breathe in much more smoke, you'll be unconscious too."

  His fingers touched Meg's before dropping away. "I'll be careful."

  We watched him go. Another three patients left with him, all of them sporting injuries, none of them fully recovered.

  When she turned back to me, Meg's eyes were full of tears. "What's the point in bandaging their burns when they'll just get more?"

  I didn't tell her that they were in danger from the smoke more than the flames.

  Mere hours later, the guard became my first casualty. He passed away as I watched on helplessly, willing his breathing to return to normal, yet listening to it dwindle away to nothing. When Meg realized, she burst into tears.

  One of the other patients helped me move the guard's body onto my bed, out of the way, then he too left to go fight the fire again. I didn't try to stop him, even though I knew he might soon be back, struggling to breathe. They needed every man they could get out there or we could be in danger, even here. Meg's sisters sat with a bag each near the door, dolls cradled to their chests, waiting for instructions.

  As I closed the door after yet another patient arrived, I realized the hazy glow in the east signaled the rise of dawn, not our entrapment by fire. It offered no comfort, however. The village still burned in the west.

  Every newcomer looked grim, as sick with worry as they were with the pain of their burns.

  Then finally Mistress Diver returned, exhausted and coughing, but with good news. "It's contained," she managed to rasp out. "It won't spread further."

  I almost cried with relief.

  "How?" one of the patients asked.

  "Someone had the idea to pull down the houses around the fire and clear away the rubble so it had nothing to burn. The gap was wide enough for the fire not to cross."

  "How far has it spread?" I asked.

  She shrugged as another coughing fit overtook her. I directed her to sit down and gave her a cup of water.

  "It's light now," Meg said, returning to the kitchen. She'd been outside in the street, gauging the number of injured across the road at the Ashmoles'. "We can't accept any more patients."

  "We have to," I said. "Now that the fire is contained, there'll be more."

  "They'll be seen coming here."

  "This is an emergency, Meg. No one will care if I help. No one is that cruel, not even Mistress Ashmole."

  "What about the Deerhorns?"

  I concentrated on applying sap to my patient's hands.

  "Meg's right," Mistress Diver said. "You can't take any more patients in, Josie. Meg, go outside and direct any newcomers to Doctor Ashmole."

  I blinked at her. She'd been my ally last night. What had changed?

  As if she'd read my mind, she said, "It's daylight now. It's too easy to see the injured coming and going. I'm sorry, Josie, but I can't risk my family."

  I felt ashamed for not thinking of them. Of course she would worry about the consequences for her family. They might be punished for allowing me to work in their house. I wasn't the only one taking a risk.

  Most of my remaining patients left when their breathing improved. Four remained, too injured or ill to leave. Once we cleaned up, there was little more to do. I snatched some sleep on a stool in the corner while Mistress Diver went to bed.

  Mr. Diver and Lyle returned around midday. They drank deeply then sat beside the steaming pot of spiced water until their ragged breathing improved. Their exposed skin was blackened from soot, but neither sported burns, thank Hailia.

  "Well?" I asked, when they seemed recovered enough to speak. "Is the fire out?"

  Lyle nodded. "The sher
iff's men and the palace guards are keeping watch to make sure there's no flare ups, but it's mostly embers and ash now."

  "How far did it spread?"

  "The Row's completely gone."

  "The people?"

  They exchanged glances. "There are several dead, and they'll find many more when the rubble's cleared away," Mr. Diver said.

  I sat heavily and buried my face in my hands. It was too awful to contemplate.

  "And outside The Row?" Meg asked. I hadn't heard her come in. She looked tired, her face pale from the strain of the night, her eyes red from smoke and crying.

  "Some homes in the streets nearest The Row were destroyed," Lyle said. "I think everyone got out though. We'll know more soon."

  I couldn't wait for news to reach us, however. I needed to know if Dane and the other guards were all right.

  Meg joined me, telling me she wanted to see the damage done to Mull, although I suspected she was more interested in news of Max. We pulled a barrel of water on a cart behind us, past the patients leaving Doctor Ashmole's house. There were more leaving than arriving, thankfully, many with bandaged limbs, all covered in soot.

  Smoke hung in the air, but a sea breeze worked valiantly to disperse it. There was no better healing agent for smoked lungs than fresh air.

  We stopped behind a group of people, mostly women, blocking the way forward on a street that led to The Row. Some wailed, others begged to be let through. I pushed my way past and saw why they could advance no further. Four guards on horseback, all blackened from soot, wouldn't allow anyone beyond that point.

  "Josie!"

  "Quentin?" I hardly recognized him. He was covered head to toe in soot and ash. "Thank Hailia, you're all right. Do you have any injuries?"

  "Not much. Not like some," he added heavily.

  My heart surged into my throat. "The captain?"

  "And Max?" Meg asked.

  "Both unharmed. They're helping the sheriff's men look for survivors." He glanced over his shoulder toward The Row. I followed his gaze and suddenly realized why they weren't allowing anyone through.