by C. J. Archer
"Let us in!" one of the women cried. She was dressed in rags and wore no shoes. Her hair was black from soot and wild with tangles. Her hands were wrapped in cloth. "Let us in to see our men!"
"No," barked Zeke, one of the guards. "When the dead are all brought out, then you can look for your loved ones amongst them."
One of the women burst into tears.
"Zeke," I said. "Have some compassion."
"Sorry, Josie."
"Can they not see if those already brought out are their menfolk?" Meg asked. "One of you could go with them, ensure it's done in an orderly manner. Perhaps you could record names."
Zeke and Quentin exchanged glances. "Not me," Zeke said. "I don't want to look at them. Besides, I ain't no good with grief."
"I'll go," I said.
Quentin dismounted. "Me too." He handed the reins to Zeke. "But I've got no paper to write names on."
"I've got paper," came a voice from behind the group of mourners.
Zeke frowned and rose up in the saddle to see over the heads. "That you, Balthazar?"
The group parted and Balthazar limped his way through. "I'll record the names," he said, waving a small book. His clothing was clean, his face and hands free of soot, but he looked just as tired as the guards.
"How did you get here?" Quentin asked.
"Some of the maids came in to help where they could," he said. "I arrived with them on a cart." He glanced past Quentin to the bodies and leaned heavily on his walking stick.
"I'll do it, if you like," I said.
"No. But I would appreciate your help with the mourners." To Zeke, he said, "Allow one in at a time."
"Only one?" someone shouted.
"This must be managed. No mistakes can be made. You may come first."
"So we're just supposed to wait?" asked another.
"Is that water?" said another of the women.
"It is," Meg said. "Please, have some."
"Thank Hailia for your mercy," Zeke said, dismounting. "I'm parched."
I headed along the street with Quentin, Balthazar and one of the women. The closer we got to the burned buildings, the harder my heart pounded, and the deeper it sank. I hardly recognized the area. Where before there'd been derelict houses, lean-tos and crates used for shelter, now there was nothing but the occasional brick chimney standing guard over the rubble and smoldering ash. The fire had ravaged the whole area.
No, not entirely. Wide spaces on both sides of the street leading to The Row were untouched by fire. There was no rubble there, no fuel for the flames. The fire had nowhere to go. If not for these fire breaks, Mull would still be burning.
"Whose idea was that?" Balthazar asked Quentin.
"Captain's," Quentin said. "Sheriff wasn't so sure it was a good idea to destroy perfectly good homes, but Captain Hammer convinced him. We pulled the buildings down with hooks and ropes and carted the rubble away. It was hard work."
"But well worth it," Balthazar said. "If not for those breaks, the fire would have spread through the entire village."
The woman surged forward upon reaching the first of the charred bodies. She covered her mouth as she made her way along the rows of the dead. When she reached one near the end, she suddenly fell to her knees.
I did my best to console her, but my words had no effect. Somehow we managed to extract a name from her, and I helped her back to the gathered crowd. There were more than before, and not all of them the ragged poor from The Row. I recognized some women I'd known all my life. Their husbands had probably helped to fight the fire and not yet come home.
We let the mourners in, one by one, and took down the names of the dead. I counted twenty-eight, a smaller number than I'd first feared, but far greater than I ever wished to see.
As the hazy sky turned darker with dusk, the bodies were all accounted for, and no new ones were brought out of the rubble. There was no sign of Dane. Lyle arrived, leading some neighbors with carts, all laden with barrels of water.
"We should get this to those still working in there," I told Balthazar.
He leaned both hands on his walking stick and slumped forward. He nodded.
"Go and sit on the back of the cart," I said gently. "There's little to be done here now."
He was joined by some of the palace maids. They'd been giving out food, water and clothing to those in need, offering words of comfort. Among them was Dora. Her distressed gaze connected with mine. She would probably know some of the dead.
"I want to find the captain," I said to no one in particular.
"You can't go in," Zeke said. "Sorry, Josie, but it's too dangerous. Captain'll have my head if I let you in."
I sighed and sat on the back of the cart with Balthazar.
"You look exhausted," he said. "You were up all night, weren't you?"
"I got some sleep this morning."
He cast a glance along the street towards the burned buildings. "Did anyone see the wounded coming to you?"
"No," I said with more confidence than I felt. While Meg had sworn everyone to secrecy, we couldn't be sure they hadn't been seen, despite the darkness.
"He won't like it."
"Who?"
He nodded toward the soot covered figures picking their way out of the rubble. I immediately recognized Dane from his physique and the way he walked, all confidence but no swagger. He'd stripped down to his shirt. Some of the men were bare chested altogether, their jerkins nowhere to be seen.
I jumped off the back of the cart and almost ran to him, but checked myself.
Balthazar fought back a smile. "Take the water," he told me. "It won't look so obvious if you have a reason to go to him."
Meg liked his idea just as much as I did. We dragged the cart together and filled up cups with water from the barrels. I handed one to Dane then poured another and handed it to the sheriff. Meg passed a cup to Max and offered him a weak smile. He thanked her and drank deeply. They all did.
"How do you feel?" I asked Dane when he handed back the cup.
"Fine," he said, his voice husky from the smoke.
He didn't look fine. The only clean part of him was his eyeballs and they were red-rimmed from exhaustion and the smoke.
"Are you having difficulty breathing?" I asked in my best professional voice.
"A little."
"Is your throat sore?"
Sheriff Neerim coughed. "You wouldn't be giving out medical advice, would you, Josie?"
I bit my lip and shook my head.
He grunted and walked past. Balthazar met him and they spoke in quiet tones.
"Have you retrieved everyone?" I asked Dane.
"I doubt it, but there won't be any survivors. It's no longer a rescue; it's a recovery." He glanced past me to the crowd of mourners. "You've been supervising them?"
"Balthazar took down names of the dead where they could be identified. Some are beyond recognition."
He closed his eyes. "I could have stopped this."
"How?"
He opened his eyes and pinned me with his familiar, deep stare. "I know where the gem is, and Brant claims he has the remaining wishes. I could have forced him to use one to end the fire before it was too late."
"He wouldn't have done it. He wants those wishes for himself."
"But—"
"No, Dane. No. This is not your fault. You stopped the fire from burning the rest of the village." I cupped his jaw and stroked my thumb along his cheek, smearing the soot. I wanted to do more, to embrace him and comfort him, but…
Forget all that. Forget what was right, that we didn't know if he had a woman somewhere. He needed comforting after witnessing the harrowing events of the night, and I needed it too.
I drew him into my arms and held him. He circled his arms around me and buried his face in my shoulder. I could hear his shortness of breath and feel the rapid beat of his heart. His shudder was unexpected.
We clung to one another. It wasn't until that moment of shared despair that I realized I did feel des
pair, and I needed to be wrapped in his arms. The outcome could have been worse. One guard was dead; other rescuers, too. It could so easily have been Dane, yet he was alive. Holding him, and being held by him, made me realize just how lucky we were.
The embrace was over too briefly, however, as we both pulled away from the other at the same time.
"I have to speak to my men," he said with ominous foreboding. "Some are missing."
I clutched him, bunching his shirtsleeves in my fists. He lowered his gaze to mine and I saw the heartbreak in them before I'd even uttered a word. "I have some terrible news." The words came out as a whisper. "One of your guards died last night. I don't know his name."
His throat moved with his swallow. "How do you know?"
"He's in Meg's house."
"How do you know?" he asked again. "Who brought him there? Who brought him to you?" His vehemence surprised me. Of course he wouldn't want me performing a medical task under normal circumstances, but this was an extraordinary situation.
"It doesn't matter," I said.
"It does to me. Whoever took him to you, endangered you. If he was seen—"
"He wasn't."
He looked as though he was going to ask more questions, but changed his mind. I was grateful. I was too heartsick to disagree with him.
He limped off toward his men.
"Your foot," I pointed out. "I forgot about it."
He glanced down. "I'll use that salve on it as soon as I get back to the palace."
I joined Max, Meg and the other guards while Dane headed towards Balthazar and the sheriff. He made slow progress. People kept stopping him to shake his hand or slap him on the back. He looked uncomfortable receiving their gratitude.
"Don't tell him it was you who brought that guard to Meg's house," I whispered to Max.
He frowned. "Why?" Then his brow cleared. "Right. I ain't going to hide, Josie. I made a decision, and I'll own up to it."
"You will not," Meg said, crossing her arms. "I forbid it."
Max arched his brows. Quentin snickered.
"How is he?" Max asked me.
I bit my lip and shook my head. "He didn't survive. I'm so sorry."
Quentin stumbled backward, his hand to his stomach. Zeke groaned and lowered his head. Max strode off, pushing through the crowd of mourners as Meg and I watched on helplessly.
"We should follow him," I said. "He's probably heading to your house."
Meg didn't need prompting and trailed after Max. Quentin fell into step alongside me in their wake. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand even though he was too dry to shed tears.
Dane caught up to us as we entered Meg's house. Her mother was in the kitchen, cleaning. She placed a finger to her lips for quiet.
"Everyone is asleep," she whispered. "You should go back to the palace and get some rest too."
"After we take our friend," Max whispered back.
"Not yet. Not until it's dark."
"But—"
"No."
Dane placed a hand on Max's shoulder. "Mistress Diver is right. We must wait until nightfall. I won't risk Josie or the Divers."
Max shrugged him off. "No one will blame Josie for helping last night. She was needed. Doctor Ashmole couldn't fix them all."
"We'll come back later." Dane turned to Mistress Diver. "Thank you to you and your family for your assistance. I'll see that there are no repercussions for you."
"The villagers would riot if there is," she said.
After they left, Meg and I helped Mistress Diver until the kitchen showed no signs of the night's activity. Not even the scent of amani spice hung in the air. Then we rested. Meg and I slept on the kitchen floor, neither of us wanting to share a room with a dead man.
I awoke some time later with a stiff neck. It was dark inside except for a single flame flickering by the door. When my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I realized someone held a candlestick but I couldn't see who.
"It's just us," came Quentin's tired voice. He lifted the candle to his face. It was still black from soot. He had not been back to the palace yet.
Other shadows emerged, and I recognized Dane and Max's silhouettes. They moved silently through the house and returned, moments later, with the body carried between them. They took it outside and Dane returned alone.
"It's on the cart beneath a pile of rubble we're removing from the site." He whispered so as not to wake Meg.
"Will you go to the palace now to rest?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
"If I find out that you've broken that promise, I'll come to the palace and sneak a sleeping tonic into your ale. Don't think I won't find out, either. Balthazar and Theodore will spy for me."
His teeth momentarily flashed white in the dark. "The three of you make a formidable team." Before I knew it was happening, he rested his hands at my waist and pressed his lips to my forehead.
"Thank you," he murmured, drawing away.
I didn't know what he was thanking me for, and I didn't ask. My emotions swelled, surged, the good tangled with the bad so that I couldn't separate them—the thrill of being the recipient of his affection and the sorrow of recent losses. My heart felt as though it would explode with the intensity of them.
"Goodnight," he murmured. Then he was gone.
Chapter 5
A new day brought with it an overwhelming sense of relief that the fire hadn't caused more destruction. But it also brought absolute despair to those who'd lost everything, including loved ones. It was a difficult time, yet I was proud of my village. A skeleton crew operated at the harbor to process incoming and outgoing ships while everyone else joined the operation to clear away the debris left from the fire. Even the elderly women helped by doling out food and ale to the workers. Clothing and shelter was given to those who'd lost homes, no matter if they were not Mullian-born.
The cleanup was slow, however. The enormity of the task seemed insurmountable. At times, the amount of rubble looked like it would never get smaller. But every day it did. At the governor's request, Dane took charge of the operation. The governor had asked the sheriff first, but Sheriff Neerim said the captain was better suited, being used to mobilizing a large group of men.
I saw the proof. It wasn't so much that Dane was used to being in command, it was more that the men respected him. All the men, no matter if they were Mullian locals, immigrant Vytillians or palace servants. All accepted his authority.
There was no sign of the Deerhorns, although the governor's speech after the mass burial of the victims referenced them frequently and without humility.
"Lord and Lady Deerhorn have promised to rebuild the village!" he declared from where he stood on the back of a cart just outside the graveyard. Most of the mourners had remained to hear what he had to say, although none seemed enthused by his bombastic speech. "This is an opportunity to make Mull even better than it was before! A grand center of commerce, fit for its new and magnificent status as The Fist Peninsula's most important harbor."
Most of the listeners remained silent. Most were too heart sore after the burials to think about rebuilding already. Only one brave soul near the front asked, "What do you mean by a better Mull?"
"An improvement." The governor gave the sort of encouraging smile one gives to a child attempting a new task.
"Who smiles at a time like this?" Meg muttered.
"The council will reveal plans for the vacant land as soon as it has been decided," the governor went on.
"It's not vacant yet," someone called out.
"Will the new houses be affordable?" someone else asked.
The governor put up his hands for calm. "All will be revealed soon."
Discontent rippled through the group.
"Who will fund the rebuilding?" Meg asked.
"Good question," someone said.
The governor's smile tightened. He gazed longingly at the village road. "The Deerhorns," he said as one of the sheriff
's men helped him down from the cart.
"At what cost to us?" asked Torren Bramm.
The governor mounted his horse. "All will be revealed as soon as the details are settled." He rode off, leaving us staring after him.
"Turd," someone behind me spat.
"Heartless, that's what he is," said Meg. "How can he discuss making a new and better Mull just after we've buried those who gave their lives to save this Mull?"
"Aye," said Tammara Lowe. "He made it sound like it was a stroke of luck the slum was destroyed so Mull can be improved, as he calls it." She spat into the verge. "He's scum."
"Him and the Deerhorns," Meg said. "I'll wager the rents will be too high for even us to afford, let alone those who were living in The Row before the fire."
"What will happen to them now?" Sara Tolly asked.
"We'll take care of them," Meg said.
"How? We've got nothing to give."
No one had an answer for her.
I stopped listening after that. Tammara's words niggled at me like woodworm. The Row's destruction was convenient for the Deerhorns. Now they could implement their plans to replace the slum. No doubt the agreement they came to with the council over the land would benefit the Deerhorns more than Mull. It was too neat a solution for my liking. I had to tell the sheriff.
I spotted one of his men at the feeding station the women had set up near the edge of the burned zone. "Have you seen the sheriff?" I asked him.
"He's in there, talking to the captain," he said.
Tracks had been made through the rubble and ash for access. The gaping expanse that had once teemed with life now looked like a barren wasteland. Men threw blackened bricks and timbers into carts while women sifted through the ash for possessions. It was dirty, back-breaking work.
I found the sheriff and Dane talking in a clearing. Dane glanced up as I approached and nodded a greeting. He looked little better than the morning after fighting the fire all night. His clothes were filthy, his boots and gloves gray from ash. Clearly he wasn't merely standing about and supervising the clearance.
"Everything all right?" he asked. "Has anyone…bothered you since the night of the fire?"
"Nothing like that," I said. "I wanted to speak to the sheriff about something that just occurred to me. You should listen too."