Harry rouses at the first scream. As soon as he comes to his senses he can smell the smoke. Everything is too bright for this depth of night. Iain bolts awake too, rolling out of bed and grabbing for his shirt. ‘Fuck,’ he growls.
The ceiling is glowing at the edges, from the side adjacent to the great hall. Iain sees it and his eyes grow wider. ‘Fuck,’ he repeats.
Harry yanks his shirt on and grabs his sword belt, already heading for the stairs. ‘Iain!’ he shouts over his shoulder. Iain is standing in the middle of the room, tying his own belt, looking around the room, eyes sharp and panicked.
‘Come on!’ Harry yells.
‘You go,’ Iain says. ‘Get everyone out of the hall. I’ll follow.’
‘What are you doing?’ Harry says, pausing as he reaches for the door.
Iain waves his arm towards Sir Simon’s books, towards his mother’s mirror. ‘Your things,’ he says.
‘Forget them,’ Harry says, throwing the door open. A hot wind slams into him, singeing his hair and eyebrows, and he backs into the room, coughing. The hall is an inferno.
Judging by the panicked shouts outside, it seems like a goodly proportion of the hall’s residents made it into the courtyard. Harry runs to a window and shouts down for Annie, for Kit, for anyone.
It’s Kit who responds. ‘Get out!’ the man yells. ‘The roof’s already going in over the kitchens!’
Iain pushes past him and shoves a bundle in a knotted cloak out the window. ‘Kit! Catch!’ Then he turns to Harry. ‘What else?’ he asks.
There’s the sound of a horse screaming. Harry looks out. The fire hasn’t reached the home barn or the stables yet, but the wind is sending sparks that way and the animals are beginning to panic. ‘Forget the things,’ he says. ‘Get the horses.’
Iain nods, and throws a leg over the window sill. It’s a tight squeeze; the windows are small so they can be covered easily in colder weather, and Iain is broad. He jumps, and Harry watches him as he lands and dashes towards the stables.
Harry looks back over his shoulder one last time at his family’s big bed with its heavy wool curtains, now starting to smoulder. At the carved chest that was made for his grandmother’s marriage. At the little room that had been his home for his entire life, and is now blazing into ashes.
Then he, too, jumps.
Iain comes out of the stables on Numbles, bareback, leading the other horses by ropes. All are panicky, high-stepping and tossing their heads. Even if the fire never gets to the stables, there’s too much chance of the horses bolting or injuring themselves to let them stay this close to the blaze. Horses instinctually know the evil that fire does, even if they’ve never experienced it.
Harry yells, ‘Take them to the north barn, and stay with them all night,’ and Iain nods. The north barn is where they store straw, and it’s three pastures away. Ironically, it was built distant from the house in case the straw ever caught fire.
As Iain leads off the little group of horses, Harry can see both his dagger and Harry’s old sword at his belt, and a hunting bow slung over his shoulder. Harry grunts, pleased that Iain thought to raid the weapons they keep in the stables, but wishing he’d grabbed a hauberk too.
Harry strides out into the courtyard, the heat from the fire hammering at his back, as he mentally counts the people gathered there. Everyone is huddled together, watching the hall go up in flames. It’s hard to tell who’s who in the mass of cloak-wrapped bodies, faces obscured by smoke, hands clutching whatever paltry belongings they could salvage.
Harry identifies Annie. Piers. Katie. Kit. With lambing so close, Jed would be out with the livestock, so him being missing isn’t a worry, yet. Two of the three kitchen girls. Six other servants.
‘Annie,’ Harry says, pushing through the terrified crowd towards his steward. ‘Who’s missing? Did everyone make it out?’
Annie nods. She’s crying, her eyes wide and wet, as she clutches an iron cook-pot in her arms. It’s filled with the kitchen knives Iain used to try to steal. ‘We’re all here. Cecily’s off visiting her family, her ma had another baby and needed the help, and Adam’s helping Jed with the lambing.’ Then Annie flinches as a terrible crack sounds through the air.
All eyes turn to the immolation of their home, the unspoken terror of what now, what next? running through everyone like a fever. The hall’s roof slowly collapses. It’s as if the house is bowing to them, knowing this is its final performance and apologising for the state in which it’s leaving.
‘I double-checked everything in the kitchen tonight, Harry,’ Annie gasps through her sobs. ‘You know I always do. All the lamps and candles were out, the fire was down to embers behind the screen …’
‘I know you’re careful,’ Harry says. He brings his arms around her, cook-pot and all. ‘It wasn’t any of us. I’m sure of it.’
Annie looks up at him then, her eyes red from smoke and tears.
‘It was Rabbie,’ Harry whispers. ‘I should have told you to keep an eye out. He’s angry about losing the Newmarket tournament, and we met him again on the road back. Iain had … a confrontation with him.’
He realises it’s not enough, that Annie deserves the full truth. He sucks in a breath, hot and bitter with ash. ‘Annie, Iain and I are …’
Annie pinches his arm. ‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘Would that we all could find someone who looks at us the way you two look at each other.’ She shifts too, her manner heavy with guilt. ‘There were some young ’uns helping us out over Christmas in the kitchens. One asked a lot of questions about Iain. I sent the little rat packing with a whack on the head from my ladle for the trouble, but I think somehow
