Florence's words reverberate around Clarissa's head as she pulls out a hidden stash of emergency clothing from her wardrobe. It took her a moment to snap into action, the shock slowing her down, but now she dresses quickly, her mind going into overdrive as she tries to figure out what is happening and what to do.
"Which ports?" She asks as she takes out a heavy wax overcoat and shrugs it over her loose shirt and trousers. Her fingers fumble with the buttons as she does them up.
"Victoria North and Strada," Florence gasps, wiping soot from her face, "There's a horse from the livery outside for you and Iwan ran to get the fire brigade," Panic enters her voice and she starts to shake, "I am sorry, I didn't know what else to do!"
Clarissa knows she doesn't have time to comfort her friend. She laces up a pair of sturdy tall black riding boots and crosses to the bedside table where she removes the false bottom and picks up her heavy silver pistol. The cool metal against her skin calms her racing heart and fuels a jolt of determination.
"What are you going to do with that?" Flo asks, her eyes wide and frightened. Clarissa doesn't know what to say. Pistols aren't exactly effective against fires, but she needs something to ground her. She is saved from answering as at that moment her father and mother appear in her doorway, a candle guiding their way.
They look from Flo's terrified expression to their daughter's harsh one but is Clarissa's outfit that has her mother horrified, not the cruel intent dancing in her eyes.
"What's happened? What's all this noise?" Silas demands to know, the sleep in his voice making him sound croaky rather than threatening.
"Who are you?" Marie says rudely to Flo, who shrinks back at her glare, "What are you doing in my house?"
"I don't have time to explain," Clarissa tells them as she seizes her friend's wrist and slips the pistol into her coat pocket. Florence keeps her head lowered as Clarissa pushes through the middle of her parents, not caring for their cries of complaint. She hears her friend say something but she doesn't register. She needs to get out of the house but her parents are on her heel as she marches down the corridor and hurries down the stairs.
"What is this is madness?" Marie questions, aghast, flapping her hands worriedly.
"Go to sleep mother," Clarissa calls behind her, unlocking the front door and dropping her grip on Flo.
A large brown mare is tied to the railing in front of the house, all tacked up and ready to go. She walks up to the horse and strokes its nose first, making the powerful animal aware of her soon-to-be rider. She glances over her shoulder, she is surprised to see that her parents have followed her outside and watch from the doorway. The horse snorts a little and paws its foot, its intelligent eyes on an anxious Florence.
"Alright, it's alright Whisper," Clarissa murmurs as she checks the girth before untying the knot and hoisting herself up into the saddle. She hears her mother start muttering curses and prayers in french but she pays them no heed. She leans down the left side of the horse and holds out her left arm to Florence, gathering the reins in her right hand.
"Oh god, Silas, do something," Marie pleads desperately. Her husband sighs and walks over to Whisper as Florence takes Clarissa's arm and is helped onto the back of the saddle. Clarissa shifts forward so her friend can have more of the seat to sit in.
"Put your arms around my waist." She instructs, "We have to hurry." She feels the resistance in the reins and looks down to see her father's hand on Whisper's bridle.
"Clary, what's going on?" Silas asks. She tries to form words, but her head is too jumbled. Instead, she gives him an imploring look and tries to communicate the chaos she is feeling, begging him to just let it go. Something must have registered with him because he lets go of the reins and takes a step backwards.
He clears his throat, "Come home safe."
Marie gasps and flies towards her daughter to stop her, but she seized by her husband before she can make it and is held in a tight embrace. She looks up at him, fear and confusion etched onto her beautiful face, but she cannot find words to question him.
"I beg your pardon Mr and Mrs Lenoir," Florence mutters apologetically, tucking her head into Clarissa's shoulder. Clarissa nods to her father and nudges Whisper into a trot before he can change his mind. Whisper is in a steady canter when they reach the end of Queen Anne's Gate, Marie and Silas behind in the distance.
The early morning light is advantageous as little to no people walk the streets and the clear dawn means that Clarissa can navigate the streets easily at this fast pace. Whisper is responsive to the lightest touch and can sense the urgency of her riders, she flies past butchers and bakers her long long stride never faltering.
Clarissa smells the fire before she sees it. They are passing Westminster pier when the charred smell of wood and oil reaches her nose. It hangs heavy in the air, like thick smog, alive and consuming. She raises her head and sees thick smoke billowing in the sky, it looks like a black tornado of rage consuming the light of the morning sky.
It is only minutes before Victoria North port comes into view, except it's no longer a port; it's a giant mass of red hot swirling flame. The flames lick up every wooden beam, and spread, devouring the nearest boats. The people surrounding it are like tiny pinpricks trying to battle a monster of pure rage and hatred, their tiny fists and silent cries are enveloped by the fire.
"Oh, my word." Florence breathes over her shoulder and into her ear.
Clarissa is silent, she pushes Whisper until they are less than 20 meters away from the fire. Then she jumps off the horse and runs to where Peter is yelling orders at the groups of men gathered around. It's a maze of bodies and frantic energy, she hears children crying over the rush of flames but she doesn't look back.
"Use the water from the river." Peter shouts over the roar of flames, "Target the fuel, the whisky and wood. Keep it away from the other ships!" His face falters when he sees her in the crowd, but he continues to give orders, "Grab any container you can and move to the river, the fire brigade are on their way but we need to stop it from spreading before they arrive. Now move!!"
The men scatter, most of them heading towards the group of people already in the river, throwing water onto the flame. Most use bucket and cups but a few are simply using their hands to scoop the water.
"What are you doing here? Peter asks roughly as she heads over to him, "Women and children are to be evacuated away from the fires."
"I am not here as a woman or a child." She tells him as she follows him towards the port. "These are my people and this is my port."
Peter looks like he wants to argue but then there is a large cry and bellowing sound. Everyone looks across the river where one of the boats at Strada port has exploded in a cloud of fire and wood.
"Shit!" Peter swears, he grabs the collar of the nearest man. "Get a group over to Strada now!"
His voice carries such authority that all the man can do is nod. Clarissa watches as the two ports burning with a fiery vengeance. Most of the locals are out, fighting this beautiful blazing creature but their efforts seem to be having little effect.
"If you are staying then you need to help," Peter says snapping her out of her thoughts as he shoves a bucket into her arms. She looks down at the wooden container, unsure what to say but Peter races off before she can reply. She stares at the fire, feeling sick to her stomach as people who come too close to the orange abyss are swept into its burning tongue.
The bucket falls to the ground, her hands shaking. What is she thinking? She can't fight fires, she's not been taught to handle this. A hand tapping on her shoulder makes her jump and reach for her pistol. She spins around, prepared to hit but Florence slaps her hard in the face before she can move.
"Get it together." Flo speaks harshly, a bucket gripped in her other hand, "Your people need you."
Clarissa looks around at the people running, at the people screaming and crying as the fire stalks closer to them. It's a horrific sight. She picks up her bucket. Florence takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Clarissa nods and the two girls hurry towards the shore. They wade into the river, about half a meter away from the flame and joins the line of men frantically throwing water onto the flames.
Cold water seeps into Clarissa's boots and drenches the bottom of her coat but luckily the water doesn't rise above her knees. Her back aches and her hands are being rubbed raw but she doesn't stop filling her bucket. For 20 minutes she helps her people to douse the flames. At last, the fire brigade arrives and it takes a combined effort to reduce the fire to nothing more than a lit twig. The Strada port is easier to diminish and that too burns out in under an hour thanks to the efforts of the people. With the fires out people go home, exhausted, in need of sleep. While the fire burnt furiously it only destroyed the two ports and the boats near it, leaving most of the nearby houses undamaged and stable. It's a small mercy.
Clarissa is sitting at the side of the river after everyone has left, her eyes on the wreckage of black wood and timber. There is little to show that there was ever a port standing there. She digs her bare feet into the beach, her boots discarded to the left. Her thick coat had helped to keep her warm from the Thame's strong current but her feet haven't been so lucky. She has rolled up the bottom of her trousers to keep the damp material off her skin. She pulls the pistol from her pocket and scrutinises it, the water has reached the gun powder, making it currently useless. Her fingers run over the barrel and squeeze the hard wood of the handle. All her training, the lessons, the tests meant nothing against the fire, she didn't prove her competence. She froze like a child.
"Clarissa?"
She turns, Flo stands there, her arms wrapped around her body, fighting to keep herself warmer.
"Chuck has made ginger tea, I thought you might like a cup," She nods towards the pub where a steady light glows, "Most people are gathered inside,"
Clarissa shakes her head wordlessly and turns back to face the river. Florence lets out a frustrated sound, fidgeting on the spot, unsure what to do. Sighing she tucks her legs under her body and sits next to her solemn friend. The silence coats the street, the smell of burning is still thick in the air. Florence snuggles closer to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders.
"You should come inside, it's almost five, people will start to wake up soon and they can't find you like this."
Clarissa sucks in a harsh breath. Time has gone so much faster than she had anticipated.
"I don't know what to do..." Her voice cracks, her throat suck. She turns her ashen face to Florence who is shocked at how deathly pale her friend is. She feels her start to shake under her arm. Florence doesn't know what to say so she stands up and pulls her friend to her feet. Clarissa grips onto Florence like a lifeline, all disputes forgotten between them. She picks up her boots and allows herself to be lead away from the destruction, but that doesn't stop her from glancing back, a feeling of failure and despair settling in her stomach. Her bare feet on the cold ground is the only other feeling in her body.
It takes the pair a shaky 15 minutes to cross the river and walk down Florence's street. She lives in the middle of a row of identical small houses with dark brown doors and windows. Florence unlocks the door to number 8 and starts to light a number of candles in the front room. Clarissa glances around the living room, vaguely aware that in so many years of friendships she has never seen the inside of her friend's house. It's small, about the size of her bedroom, but it's well decorated and cosy, with a large sofa and coffee table in front of the fire. The door on the back wall leads to a bedroom while the door next to the fireplace leads to a small kitchen and dining area.
Clarissa sinks down into the squishy sofa, staring unseeing at the small grate in the fireplace.
"Do you want to sleep in my bed?" Florence asks, concerned, taking off her jacket and shoes and tidying them away. Clarissa shakes her head. She drops her boots to the floor and lies down on the cushions, curling her feet up into the fetal position.
"I'll get you a blanket," Florence says picking up the discarded boots and taking them to the kitchen. She exits the dark kitchen and disappears into her bedroom, returning with a grey throw. She places it over Clarissa's still body and tucks it around her stiffened body.
"If you need me, I am just next door." She whispers, before going to sleep in her bed.
Clarissa dozes in and out of sleep for the next few hours. Her dreams are violent and bright, orange light strikes through every one, fire consuming her thoughts and feelings. She gives up on sleeping peacefully as the morning streams through the front window and shines on her face. She gets up off the sofa and softly walks over to the open bedroom door. She peeks inside and a pair of wide-awake eyes look back. She gently lies on the empty side of the bed, turning onto her side to see Florence's face. Florence does the same and reshuffles her blanket to drape it over her companion. She places her right hand in-between them and Clarissa takes it gratefully.
"How many people?" Florence murmers into the silence. Clarissa grimaces and closes her eyes, concentrating on her own breathing and the sound of the birds outside.
"7," She replies lowly.
Florence lets out a sharp breath of air and squeezes her hand, "It could have been much worse."
Clarissa opens her eyes and smiles sadly. 7 people are still too many to lose.
"Yes, we got sort of lucky," She admits.
Florence senses her internal struggle and tries to reassure her, "This isn't your fault, there was nothing you could have done to prevent this."
Clarissa doesn't believe that is entirely true. She doesn't know whether this was a planned attack or simply an accident. In her heart she knows that accidents like this don't just happen, the timing is too perfect not to be an attack from one of her many enemies. The question is which one? A silver-eyed criminal comes immediately to mind.
"How many people did Roderick lose?" Florence's question snaps her out of her thoughts.
"I don't...I don't know...." Clarissa frowns, thinking about all the people she had known, who had died under her grandfather's rule.
"Well he wasn't a saint, he lost a lot of people, but that didn't mean he made a mistake, or that he was a bad leader. Losing people is part of this way of life." Florence says. She sits up and stretches, "Do you want tea? I think I have some crumpets in the cupboard if you fancy breakfast?"
Clarissa's stomach lurches at the thought of eating, she shakes her head, "I am fine thank you,"
She sits up and yawns. Florence gets off the bed and pads towards the kitchen, she looks back, regret on her face, "I am sorry about what I said, I don't want anyone to replace you."
Clarissa nods, glad to be finally putting this fight to rest, "And I am sorry for being so selfish and vain. I have a responsibility to The Strand that I need to take seriously,"
Florence smiles, "I'll put the kettle on,"