“The fire started right by the ladder,” Peter gasped. “I jumped over the flames but I guess Hans didn’t. I have to go back and get him.”
Mia held him tighter as he struggled. “With smoke that thick, you’ll pass out before you get five steps inside. Then someone will have to rescue you. You can’t hold your breath long enough to run the length of the barn, climb the ladder, climb down—”
Footsteps announced the arrival of a crowd. Henry was at the forefront, with a bucket dangling from his elbow and one of Luc’s water pitchers in his hand. “The pump is still broken. Form a bucket brigade!”
“Just what I was thinking,” said Luc, who had run up with more buckets. “Good job, Henry.”
“I have five buckets in my shop,” Mr. Nguyen shouted. “I’ll get them.”
“Hans is trapped in the loft!” Mia exclaimed.
Henry dropped the pitcher. It shattered at his feet. “What was he doing in there?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Luc raised his voice. “Sebastien! Bring ladders!”
“I don’t have any,” Mr. Nguyen called. “The closest one is at the south forge. I’ll go get it!”
Henry turned to Peter. “Were you in there? What were you doing?”
“Nothing!” Peter said. Mia let him go, since he’d stopped struggling. He grabbed at Luc’s arm. “We have to get Hans out!”
At the rate the fire was spreading, they’d never get to the south forge and back before Hans suffocated. Mia darted around to the side of the barn. Maybe Hans could escape through the trap door they used to pitch hay from the loft. But once she saw it, she realized why he hadn’t already. It was twenty-five feet up and latched from the outside.
Mia ran back to the front. The wind whipped into the barn, briefly blowing aside the curtain of smoke. She caught a horrifying glimpse of the entire front of the loft aflame. The ladder lay in smoking ruins on the floor.
“Where is he?” Alfonso Medina came tearing up, barefoot and out of breath.
Peter pointed toward the loft. “Up there!”
Alfonso flexed his fingers and toes, then leaped onto the side of the barn. His gecko pads stuck tight as he scurried straight up the wall to the trapdoor. He worked the rusty bolt to the side, then flung the trapdoor open. Mia held her breath as he vanished into the smoky darkness.
He reappeared with Hans clinging to his back. Alfonso eased out the trapdoor, spreading his fingers and toes wide. Mia gasped as he slid an inch or two, weighted down by Hans. He froze for a horrible moment, hanging twenty feet above the ground. Then, inching one hand and foot at a time, he began to descend again. Though a crowd had gathered with hands upraised to catch them both, everyone was so silent that Mia could hear the popping sound of Alfonso’s pads pulling off the wall each time he moved.
Henry was the first to catch them and help lower them down. Hans collapsed to the ground, coughing, as townspeople moved to check him and thank Alfonso.
Sheriff Crow had arrived at some point while Mia had been watching the rescue. She bent briefly over Hans, then turned to Alfonso. “That was very brave.”
“Town hero!” Henry said loudly as he clapped Alfonso on the back. “How’s it feel?”
Alfonso blushed, ducking his head until nothing was visible but smooth black hair. “Anyone would have done it.”
Sheriff Crow raised her voice. “Form a line! Pass the buckets along! If you’re not working, get away from the barn!”
Alfonso turned away, obviously glad to lose himself in the crowd. Mia moved to join the bucket brigade. In the distance, the bell tolled the patterns for Fire and Southwest.
A girl flew through the air and landed beside her. A strand of black hair whipped into Mia’s face as Summer made a grab for Grandpa Chen’s bucket. “Give me that. I’ll jump up and pour it right on the flames.”
He yanked it back. “Get in line!”
“I can use my power,” Summer insisted. “You need somebody up high. Just give me the bucket.”
Grandpa Chen pushed her toward the back of the line. “You do as you’re told.”
Summer backed away. “You can’t tell me what to do. If you don’t want me to help, fine. I won’t.”
Peter’s voice rose above the hubbub. “We didn’t do anything! A bale of moldy old hay just burst into flames!”
As Mia passed along a heavy bucket, she saw Sheriff Crow talking to Peter and Hans.
“It was like someone dropped a match through the hole in the roof,” Hans said. “We both looked up, but no one was there.”
Grandpa Chen pointed a bony, accusing finger at the departing Summer. “She just said she could jump onto the roof.”
“Are there any witnesses?” Sheriff Crow called. “Who was the first on the scene?”
Mia automatically raised her hand, then hurriedly grabbed the bucket Faviola was trying to pass her. “I was, I think. I mean, I was.”
“I think the bucket brigade can function without you.” The sheriff beckoned her closer. “Tell me what you saw.”
Mia told her story, concluding with, “I didn’t see anyone on the roof. But there was at least a one minute delay between when I first smelled smoke and when I got here. And the smoke had to have time to travel to me. So that would be . . .” She calculated. “. . . probably three and a half minutes.”
Sheriff Crow turned to the boys. “What were you two doing for three and a half minutes?”
“Trying to put out the fire,” Hans said defensively. “I tried to smother it, and Peter, uh, he tried to smother it, too.”
“Yeah,” Peter said.
Mia eyed the two nervous boys. If even she could tell that Peter hadn’t tried to smother it, Sheriff Crow surely could, too. The sheriff turned her head deliberately, giving the boys a good look at her skull face and lashless yellow eye.
Ominously, she said, “What were you doing in the loft in the first place?” Before they could reply, she added, “And your explanation had better include why you both stink of stale beer. And why Peter also stinks of whiskey.”
“Uh . . . uh . . . We stole—” Hans muttered.
“Borrowed!” Peter cut in. “We borrowed some of Grandma Thakrar’s beer.”
“It was left over from the campaign. No one was using it,” Hans said earnestly.
Sheriff Crow’s snake eye didn’t blink. “So you were hiding in the loft, getting drunk on stolen beer, when a bale of hay burst into flames. Are you sure you didn’t do anything to set it on fire?”
“No!” both boys exclaimed.
“And how exactly did Peter try to put out the fire?”
Peter hung his head. “I threw the whiskey on it. It’s liquid!”
And . . . that explained why the fire had spread so fast over damp, moldy hay. Mia barely stopped herself from suggesting that he get extra coaching in chemistry.
Sheriff Crow glanced over the boys’ heads at the barn. The bucket brigade had reduced the fire enough to prevent it from spreading, but the barn would be a ruin.
Mrs. Garcia spoke up from the end of the bucket line. “Someone used their Change power to set the fire. Rico Salazar can do that.”
“So can Grandma Wolfe,” Luc called from the front. “Are you going to blame her?”
Mia did not want an argument breaking out between Norms and Changed. She said, “Anyone can set a fire from a distance. Someone could have planted a fuse. Someone could have left two different chemicals that slowly heat up when they’re mixed together. Someone could have—” Everybody was staring at her. “Well, there’s lots of ways it could be done. It doesn’t have to be a Change power. I could have done it. I didn’t! But I could have.”
Sheriff Crow turned to Mia. “You know a lot about fires. Once this is out, could you take a look at it and see if you can figure out how it started?”
“Sure. I mean, I can try.” Mia meant to reply to the sheriff, but her voice came out in a nervous squeak that definitely carried to the entire line of onlookers.
“Good. We’ll mee
t back here in the morning, when all the embers have gone safely cold.” Sheriff Crow raised her voice. “My deputies will be guarding the barn, to keep it exactly as it was.”
* * *
Rain drummed on the remains of the barn roof as Mia picked her way through the ashy muck, followed by Sheriff Crow. The floor of the loft had collapsed, sending fragments of charred wood everywhere. She wasn’t certain what she was looking for, but she figured that if she found anything unusual, she could deduce from there.
A stream of rain spattered her shoes. Mia looked up at the hole in the roof, checked her mental map of the barn from before the fire, and made her first deduction. “Sheriff Crow, I remember where the hay bale was.” She walked to the place, then pointed back at the hole. “Most of the loft was empty. There was only the one hay bale. It’s not in line with the hole. Not even close. If someone dropped or even threw a match, it would have landed on the floorboards.”
Sheriff Crow nodded. “So we’re back to a Change power or a fuse or some such. Or the boys were lying. But I don’t think they were. See if you can find any remnants of a fuse.”
Mia got down on her hands and knees. She had a lot of charred wood and ash to comb through. But it was much more interesting, though also more cold and smelly, than tackling that pump again. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she finally found something different.
Wedged up against the southwest corner of the barn, half-buried in ash, was a chunk of a warped board with a hole burned in it. A weird-looking hole. Mia used the bucket of water she’d brought in with her to wash it off. It was even stranger when she got a good look at it.
A charred-edged hole shaped like a starfish or a flower had burned right into the center. The edges of the board were also charred. But everything between the hole and the edges wasn’t burned at all. It was as if a perfectly symmetrical fireball had landed in the middle of the board, then leaped up and sprayed fire in all directions.
“I found something,” Mia exclaimed.
Sheriff Crow crouched down to examine the board. “This is warped, like the wood has been water-logged. As if someone deliberately chose a wet board to test a Change power.”
Mia said cautiously, “I’ve experimented with a lot of types of fire. And I’ve seen lightning strikes, in trees and on roofs. But I’ve never seen anything shaped like this hole.”
“It certainly indicates a strong power.” The sheriff straightened up. “Mia, don’t mention this to anyone. But I’d like you to be there when I test our two fire starters.”
A few hours later, Mia joined Sheriff Crow in an empty jail cell. As she stepped inside, a jittery feeling made her glance back to make sure the door wasn’t closed, then shove up her glasses, then check the door again, then adjust her tool belt, then check the door again.
“Mia,” Sheriff Crow said. “We’re doing this in a cell because it’s private and the walls can’t catch fire. And I brought you here because I trust your opinion.”
Startled, Mia shoved her hands into her overall pockets. Then she relaxed. She was here to observe an exciting experiment, not as a prisoner.
Rico Salazar came, looking as nervous as Mia had felt.
“Rico, don’t tell anyone what I’m going to have you do,” Sheriff Crow warned him. “Just say I asked you some questions.”
“I didn’t set the fire,” Rico protested. “I don’t play with my power. And I can’t set fires by accident. I have to concentrate hard.”
“No one’s accusing you. I just want to see you set a fire here.” The sheriff pointed at the board lying between two sawhorses. “Can you burn a hole in that board?”
Rico closed his eyes and clenched his fists. A small flame appeared in the middle of the board, spreading slowly outward. He opened his eyes. Apologetically, he said, “If you waited long enough it would might burn a hole in it.”
Mia and the sheriff examined the board. A small charred depression had been burned into the middle, as if someone had dropped a burning match, with the fire spreading outward. No weird petal-like marks, and the fire hadn’t jumped. Mia had never thought Rico would set fires anyway.
“Thank you, Rico,” said the sheriff. “That’ll be all.”
He ran out of the jail. Sheriff Crow beckoned to Grandma Wolfe, who sat in the sheriff’s chair, watching with interest. “Your turn.”
“I have to admit, this is exciting. A hole, you say?” Grandma Wolfe got up and pointed at the board. A tiny fireball leaped from her finger. There was a white flash. A small, perfectly round, black-edged hole appeared in the center of the board a second before the entire plank of wood burst into flame from the hole outward.
As the sheriff doused the flames with a waiting bucket of water, Mia wondered, since Grandma Wolfe seemed to have excellent control of her power now, if she could have made petals if she’d wanted to. But she couldn’t imagine her old teacher setting a barn on fire.
“I trust you’ll tell me what you find?” Grandma Wolfe asked as she snapped out her umbrella.
“If we find anything, everyone will hear,” the sheriff said. “Thank you for your time.”
Once Grandma Wolfe left, Sheriff Crow took the board into her office. “Thanks for your help, Mia. I’ll let you know if I need you again.”
Mia was disappointed that her part in the investigation seemed to be over. It had been so interesting. And the mystery was still unsolved. “Do you know what happened now?”
“No more than you do. But since finding out how the fire was started seems to have hit a dead end, I’ll start thinking about why it might have been started.”
Chapter Sixteen: Kerry
Kerry was riding along the broad streets of Gold Point. Everyone saluted as she passed. But Nugget seemed disturbed, tossing his golden mane and neighing urgently, as if he was trying to alert her to something wrong.
Father’s coming.
Kerry jerked awake.
Father stood over her.
She flung herself backward with a strangled gasp, materializing a sword in her hand.
“Kerry!”
The winged brows and sharp cheekbones belonged to Paco. Bewildered, Kerry took in the scene. She was lying on the floor of a stable stall. Paco stood by her mare, Penny.
“I took over for Mrs. Riley,” Paco explained, his black eyes gazing down impatiently. “A horse on the dawn patrol got bitten by a coyote.”
Kerry came fully awake as he spoke, remembering that she’d decided to sleep in Penny’s stall because the mare was so close to giving birth. Feeling stupid, she let the sword disintegrate.
Penny kicked the wooden stall with a loud bang.
Kerry scrambled up to stroke the mare. “I think she’s going into labor. The royal horses give birth very quickly. Especially their first.”
“Everything’s ready,” Paco said.
Kerry and Mrs. Riley had already set up for the birth with fresh straw, soap, and a bucket of hot water in case she had to reach into the mare to help the baby out, a horse stethoscope, and a bigger bucket for the placenta. But Paco must have re-heated the water for her. It was still steaming.
“Thanks,” Kerry said.
They worked together as Penny labored, intent on the mare and saying little. In the small part of Kerry’s mind that wasn’t devoted to Penny and her unborn foal, she noted that Paco’s touch with horses went beyond his excellent riding. Royal horses were temperamental, and that went double for a birthing mare. But Paco’s hands were gentle and skilled, and Penny never so much as slapped him with her tail.
A bluish balloon emerged, then broke apart to reveal a tiny foal struggling to its feet, glittering like polished steel in the pale dawn light.
The foal chuckled softly. Penny’s head came around, her nostrils fluttering. She gave a tender whicker as she nuzzled her baby.
“A colt,” Paco said, wiping his forehead. “You’re lucky. You’ll have another stallion.”
“A stallion,” Kerry breathed, fizzing with happiness. Both b
aby and mother looked healthy. As the foal shook himself under his mother’s tongue-bath, his hair glistened blue-white. “A steel coat. I love those.”
Paco held out his fingers. The colt sniffed, then lipped them curiously before turning back to his mother. “How many colors are there?”
Before Kerry could answer, Penny began to strain again. Kerry made sure clean straw was waiting for the placenta. “Wait . . .”
“Here it comes,” Paco said.
Penny gave a fretful snort and shook her copper mane. Kerry and Paco waited until the mass of tissue landed with a splat, then checked it for missing pieces. If any remained inside Penny, she could get an infection.
“It’s whole,” Paco said.
“Good.”
It was the longest conversation she’d had with her brother since the queen lobster attack, and the first with him alone. She waited for him to speak next as they cleaned the stall, moving slowly so Penny wouldn’t get defensive. The mare watched them, ears flicking, but stayed calm. Paco said nothing. It seemed clear that if Kerry wanted to talk some more, she’d have to take the lead.
When the stall was fresh again, they left Penny and her foal alone to get to know each other. Kerry said, “You asked about the colors. There’s gold, silver, bronze, copper, steel, platinum, iron . . . oh! Titanium. They’re incredibly rare. I’ve never seen one.”
“What color is titanium?” he asked.
“Rainbow. It’s an ancient metal. But there haven’t been any titanium horses in Gold Point for generations. I hope the genes haven’t died out.”
At the words ‘Gold Point,’ Paco’s expression closed like a slammed door. “Looks like everything’s fine. I’ll haul this stuff to the mulch pit.” He hefted the sacks of dirty straw and started out.
“Wait!”
Paco waited, his shoulders tight, but didn’t turn around. This was their first real conversation, and she’d ruined it. She had to find something to distract him. Or something he could share.
“Want to help me name the foal?”
He shrugged.
“We name them after ancient places, and give them nicknames that start with the same letter,” Kerry said. “Penny is Pennsylvania Copper; Tigereye is Tennessee Bronze. Can you think of an ancient place that would sound good with steel?”
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