Guardian of the Night

5

Bilain joined a chain carrying buckets, tossing the contents upon the lower floors, lungs becoming tortured by the cruel smoke that seemed to crawl and spiral from everywhere within the building. It certainly smelled like oil, but she knew this building. Unless the haberdasher, on the ground floor, or the families in the floors above, had started to collect whale oil enough to warm a dozen homes all Winter long, she couldn't see why there should be so much of it.

The chatter and shouting drowned out almost every other sound, but, as Bilain tossed another bucket into the building, she felt certain she heard something else. A call for help from within and she couldn't believe no-one else had heard. Taking her scarf from about her throat, she dipped it into the water of one passing bucket, wrapped it about her face and raced into the building without a second thought.

Inside, the smoke was even worse than she had expected. And the heat. Her eyes stinging, she crouched as low as she could, wafting her hand before her face, searching for any sign of life. She saw nothing, but still heard the calls. Muffled, but within this building, that she felt certain. All around, burning material began to drip from above, falling atop hats and caps and scarves, setting even more of the place aflame.

Even with the scarf across her mouth and nose, the cloying, clinging smoke crept into her lungs, causing her to cough, her chest heaving, the heat prickling her skin. There! She heard it once more. A call for help in the far corner and she headed that way, shielding her head as debris fell to the side, catching at her arm and setting the sleeve to flame. She didn't even think about it, swatting at the flames on her sleeve with her palm and ignoring the searing pain.

A burning table stood between herself and the trapped citizen. Shifted by other falling debris, the table had lodged against a low door, a storage cupboard, no doubt. The fool had hidden inside thinking they could wait out the worst of the fire, but they couldn't. Housing in The Sprawl was a tinderbox, awaiting only a spark to become a conflagration. She thought everyone knew that. Clearly, they did not and, fool or not, it was Bilain's duty to find them and see them safe.

She moved to the side of the table that had seen the least of the fire, bending and straining to push it away from the door, her burned hand stinging as she pushed. The table stood firm, unmoving, and Bilain needed to try something else. At times like these, she wished she still carried that spear that had inspired her hated nick-name, but she had made it a matter of personal choice not to carry bladed weapons in the Watch and those below her had followed her lead. Only bully sticks were now carried by those under her command.

Coughing, the scarf almost dry, Bilain dropped to one knee, finding a tiny, thin respite below the ever-growing cloud of filthy smoke that filled the haberdasher shop and, there, beneath the table, she saw what caused her problem. A badly maintained floorboard, broken, long before the fire or due to it, she couldn't say. Regardless, one leg of the table had lodged in the hole and she would need to lift it before she could shove the table aside.

She didn't know how long she had spent inside the burning building. All she knew was that the bucket chain had not stopped the fire from spreading from the upper floors downward and now even this lowest floor had started to succumb to unstoppable fire. She only hoped the Watch and the people were managing to contain it in this one building. If not, nothing short of tearing down buildings in the path of the fire could even hope to stop it before the entire Sprawl became nothing but ash and cinders.

With her strength wilting, Bilain struck her shoulder to the table's underside, lifting with all the might that remained to her. She had stayed in the smoke for too long, her mind becoming a whirl, tiring, but she couldn't stop. She no longer heard calls for help, but there remained a moan, a long, trailing moan that did not bode well for the trapped man. She had little time left. The table lifted from the hole and she pushed it aside, revealing the door at last, flinging it open and catching the man as he toppled forward. Now she only had to drag him out.