‘It was him,’ said William, pointing an accusing finger at Eltisley. ‘This is the result of one of his vile experiments, not any gasses!’
‘I do not experiment with exploding compounds,’ protested Eltisley in a high squeak. ‘My mission in life is to repair and heal things, not destroy them. I have no need to explore the nature of such diabolical powders. But maybe it was him,’ he said, turning suddenly on Bartholomew. ‘He went out last night picking strange plants in the dark. Perhaps they did this.’
‘Do not be ridiculous,’ said Michael coldly. ‘But we should discuss this later. Now, I am more concerned about Alcote. Has anyone seen him?’
‘Alcote was in there?’ whispered Tuddenham in horror. ‘With my advowson?’
‘Damn the advowson!’ shouted Bartholomew furiously. ‘What about my colleague?’ He appealed to the crowd, desperation cracking his voice. ‘Have any of you seen him?’
There were shaken heads, and fearful glances toward the fire.
Eltisley followed their gazes, and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘My tavern! My home! My workshop! All gone!’ he groaned.
‘But Alcote!’ yelled Bartholomew, grabbing the shocked landlord by the front of his shirt. ‘He must still be in there. We have to put out the fire.’
‘If he was in there when it went up, he will be beyond any medicine we can give him,’ said Stoate gently, prising him away from Eltisley.
‘No!’ shouted Bartholomew, refusing to believe that the fussy little scholar should die in such a horrific manner. ‘He might be buried and still alive. We have to help him.’
‘We should douse the fire anyway,’ said Hamon practically, ‘or we might lose the entire village to it.’
Tuddenham dragged himself out of his state of shock, sensing the need for quick and effective action if the fire were not to spread to the thatched roofs of the neighbouring houses. ‘Fetch water holders,’ he ordered the gaping bystanders. ‘Anything will do: buckets, pots, pans. And form a line from the ford to pass them along. Well, do not just stand there like frightened rabbits! Move!’
The villagers raced off in every direction, appearing moments later with all manner of containers with which to scoop water from the river. Eltisley watched the scene distantly, as though it were a bad dream and he would wake up to find it had not happened. The man with the pig and the landlord of the Dog put their arms around his shoulders, and led him to sit on the grass away from the inferno. Nearby, Dame Eva was holding a cup of water to Mistress Eltisley’s bloodless lips, comforting her in a low, kindly voice.
Bartholomew watched the villagers’ feeble attempts to douse the towering flames that licked all over the rubble. Hot timbers hissed and spat as bucket upon bucket of water was hurled at them, but their labours were having little effect. Exasperated, and knowing that every passing moment was a lost chance to save Alcote’s life, he ran toward the burning inn, shielding his face with his arm as the heat hit him like a physical blow. He tried to move closer, feeling his clothes start to smoulder and the flames sear his skin. Cynric darted after him, grasping his arm in an attempt to haul him away.
‘It is unstable, boy. That wall will collapse at any moment!’
Three of the Half Moon’s four walls had already toppled, while the last leaned outward at an angle that defied all natural laws, and with flames pouring from its blackened windows.
Bartholomew thrust Cynric away and moved still closer, scanning the burning plaster, wood and thatch for any sign of Alcote. His eyes smarted, and the heat was so intense that the rubble wavered and swam in front of him. He thought he glimpsed something white, and he inched further forward, bent almost double as the heat blasted out like that from a blacksmith’s furnace. Unable to see properly, he stumbled over a piece of timber and fell flat on his face. At the same instant there was an ominous rumble, and the precarious wall began to teeter. He was helpless, lying full length on the ground at exactly the point where the wall would crash down. He felt himself hauled backward as it fell, and closed his eyes, lifting one hand in a futile effort to protect his head.
With a tremendous crash, the wall smashed to the ground. Pieces of plaster pattered over him, and he found himself completely enveloped in a dense cloud of choking dust. Someone grabbed his tabard again and the whiteness thinned, so that he found he was able to suck in great mouthfuls of clean air. When he could see, Michael was kneeling next to him, his black habit pale with plaster and both hands pressed to his chest as he hacked and wheezed.
Bartholomew sat up, eyes watering as he coughed the smoke from his lungs. The Half Moon was now completely unrecognisable as a building. All was engulfed in flames, and nothing surviving remotely resembled a door, or a window, or a piece of furniture.
‘What were you thinking of?’ gasped Michael furiously. ‘You might have been killed, and if Alcote was in there when it… well, whatever happened to it, then he is dead. You sacrificing yourself will do nothing to help him now.’
‘He was in there,’ said Bartholomew in a hoarse whisper, turning a tear-streaked face towards the monk. ‘I am certain I saw his hand before the wall fell.’
Michael was silent, green eyes fixed on the roaring, spitting heap that was now Alcote’s pyre. Cynric stood next to him, gazing up at the pillar of smoke that blackened the sky and mingled with the clouds far above.
‘You are a brave man, Brother,’ said William, touching Michael on the shoulder. ‘I thought you were both dead when you disappeared in that ball of dust. Matthew is lucky to have such a friend.’
‘And lucky to have one so strong,’ added Cynric, smiling at the monk in shy admiration. ‘I could never have managed to drag him back as you did.’
Michael acknowledged this praise with a gracious inclination of his head. ‘Thank you, Cynric. Perhaps you would keep an eye on him while I go and assist the villagers to douse the fire. Do not allow him to dive into the flames after corpses again.’
Wondering if he were in the depths of some hideous nightmare, Bartholomew watched the villagers struggling frantically to smother the flames. As Hamon had predicted, the wind had carried sparks to nearby houses, the thatches of which were already beginning to smoulder. People laboured furiously to spread wet blankets across them, while the nearest cottage had been deemed unsalvageable, and several men were hacking at the straw with long knives, struggling to tear the roof apart before it could ignite in earnest.
Everyone was battling with the blaze that threatened their settlement Even Dame Eva and Isilia were busy, standing in the line of people who passed water containers from hand to hand. Tuddenham ran this way and that, encouraging the labouring villagers with promises of cool ale, while Hamon stood nearest the fire, directing where the water should be thrown to best effect. Wauncy was to one side, bony hands clasped in front of him and his deep-set eyes raised heavenward like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, while Horsey knelt next to him, his hands folded in prayer, but his attention fixed on the greedy flames. Deynman was one of a group of young men who poked at the smouldering rubble with long sticks, trying to break it up to make it easier to douse, and William, Cynric and Michael were near the ford, using their brawn to help fill some of the larger vessels.
Unsteadily, Bartholomew went to join them, standing up to his knees in the river and filling buckets and pans as quickly as they could be passed to him. He lost count of the times he leaned down to scoop up water, trying to ignore the ever-increasing ache in his back. For a while, it seemed that the struggling villagers would lose the fight, and that the flames would spread to the other houses. Tuddenham seemed tireless, striding back and forth, and exhorting the villagers to work harder and faster, when most of them were so exhausted they were ready to give up and let the fire have their homes and belongings. Then they reached a stalemate, with the fire held at bay but still likely to send sparks flying toward the vulnerable houses at any moment. And then they began to win.