In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter 21

The crack of splintering wood broke ahead of her, and Charlie urged her horse faster, her booted heels digging into Sir Rupert's flank. The stables burned, a menacing array of dark red and bright orange, licks of yellow, sending spirals of dark smoke unfurling into the sky. The hairs on her neck stood on end as the screams of horses mixed with children's sobs and men's shouts for more water.

People scurried back and forth as Charlie dismounted, her feet sinking into the muck made from the frantic call to put out the flames.

Throat dry, Charlie silently prayed that the fire would cease spitting and sputtering, as she remembered the way in which Greyson had spoken of his estate only moments before. The pride he had in working with his own hand, the work that he provided to the people who depended on him.

Charlie walked into the pandemonium, people flying past her, as her eyes fell upon the deafening crash of earlier. The left side of the stables had crumbled, a heap of stone and ash, mixed with flying strands of straw fluttering around faces like rain.

She had walked closer, her eyes staring in disbelief at the destruction before she was unceremoniously thrown to the side. A gruff voice rumbled in her ear, as a man's arms sheltered her body on either side.

"Oy, lad! Be careful!"

A piece of debris barely missed her head as it had shot from the inferno. Her hat was lost in the scuffle as, astounded, she turned her head to meet kind, blue eyes.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Best watch where yer going, lad." And then the older man trundled off, his back disappearing into the fray.

She was amazed as a thud shook the ground, another part of the stables shaking into shards as the heat licked at its boards, casting them into nothing more than blackened timber. Decades of work within the structure - all the hands that had nailed boards into place, their arms bulging as they settled each slat into place. Years of work turned into soot in mere minutes.

It would take years to rebuild she knew. Years in which the tenants living and thriving within the earl's sphere would suffer, not relying on the income it would bring.

It made Charlie angry. The waste that was left in its place. Charlie vowed it wouldn't end that way for the earl. She owed him, and she would do what she could.

Determined, Charlie cast her eyes toward the long line that hard formed a ways off, abled bodies - women and children and men - hauling bucket after bucket, passing the tub filled with water from person to person until it could be dashed onto the flames. She watched as remnants of water cascaded from the buckets, the frantic pitching back and forth of the handlers making it swish angrily over the wooden rims.

Charlie found herself running, falling into line as her boots sunk into the cesspit that had become of the earl's land. A bucket was shoved into her awaiting hands, a splinter slivering into her skin, unnoticed, as it was delivered to the man beside her. Her arms strained under each weight, her mind chanting that it couldn't happen. It wouldn't.

Tears tumbled down her face, and she swiped at them in frustration, the dust and smoke blowing into her eyes.

A horse whinnied, screaming in fear, as the strains of fire licked into the stalls, taunting its inhabitants with its heat. All sides of the stables were victims to the flame, men's bodies flickering in and out as they saved horses, some running out with equipment, others running next to another who coughed, their frames wracking with each one.

Charlie didn't know how long she had worked, how long since she had quenched her own thirst, before she fell back, wiping sweat from her brow with her now stained shirt. How much longer would she last? She wondered, her hands falling onto her knees, the debilitating smoke making her chest seize.