what almost seemed like a form of salute. Then, he chose back, disappearing in the opposite direction, down the aisle.
The flames ran in sheets across the roof and a beam, now weakened by the heat, crashed down. The remaining aisle was now also alight and Winterburne knew that if he was to chase after Courtenay he would have to risk cutting off his own exit. He ran forward trying to get past the burning wood. Maybe it would hold for just a second, he thought, maybe he could get to him.
The back section of roof, now too heavy for the single beam that remained, fell, the sparks and embers flying and settling on what left of the unlit timbers and spreading the blaze further. Courtenay was gone now, to the back of the warehouse. The aisle where the man had stood, only moments before, burst into flame and Winterburne saw that he had but seconds to run before this whole section would become the place where he, himself, died.
Winterburne dived forward, just as the flaming beam fell, missing his head by inches. He lay on the ground, above him the timber forming the lid of a smoking coffin. He would have to crawl out but the wood above him would be hot and he did not want to risk burning himself more than necessary. He could already feel the heat searing his flesh and the singeing smoke was filling his lungs. The more he exerted himself the more he could feel the burning gases in his throat, but he kept going, pulling himself along.
Up ahead, he could make out the doors of the warehouse, so close, but so far, and even they were starting to burn. He had but seconds before this exit too would be cut off, but if he could just get a bit further then he might have a chance to survive.
He gave one last effort, one last pull, and he was free of the tunnel. He glanced behind him and saw the gap through which he had crawled collapse, it too becoming an inferno. No longer having the strength to stand, he crawled the last few feet until he found himself outside.
People had seen the flames and had come down to the harbour forming a fire chain with the first buckets pouring their contents onto the pyre. He coughed fitfully as the cold air hit his lungs and he could feel that he was burned inside. He looked behind him just in time to see the remainder of the roof collapse as he watched, exploding in a mass of sparks and flame.
There had been nowhere for Courtenay to go, and if even if he had still been alive when the roof came down, then he must surely now be trapped inside a burning prison.
29
The Sixteenth Day of Midspring,
Imperial Year 2332
Winterburne sat on the wall of the dock and raised his eyes towards the east where the sky at the horizon was already brightening; dawn was not too long away. The warehouse was gone, in its place lay a smouldering mass of blackened timber and ash. People milled around the harbourside, their faces sooty and strained from a long night of effort as they had tried bring the flames under control.
Cromwell handed Winterburne a mug of cold water. 'You should go home and get some rest,' he said. 'It's been a tough night, I'm sure you would benefit from the sleep.'
'I can't,' Winterburne replied, taking the cup. 'Not yet, anyway.' He gulped down some of the cold liquid. His throat was burned and dry and he needed it more than he had realised. 'I need to look in there,' he said, nodding his head in the direction of the ruins. He stood and stretched his aching muscles, glancing around him as he did so, his gaze settling on the ship in the dock, down below. 'I assume that you managed to arrest all of the crew?'
'Eventually, Sir,' Cromwell smirked. 'A couple of them dived into the harbour, but we fished them out soon enough.'
Winterburne held out the mug and Cromwell took it from him.
'What do you think will happen to them?' Cromwell asked.
'Well,' Winterburne raised his eyebrows as he considered their likely fate, 'there's no evidence that they have actually done anything wrong. If it were up to me, and it's not, then I would send them on their way, barring their return to Highport. It might score some points with the Queen, too. But I don't know what the Emperor will do. He tends to play politics rather well, though.'
'I suppose that would be the best thing.'
'I almost forgot,' Winterburne turned his attention back to the ruined warehouse. 'How is the Emperor? And what of the guard?'
'The Emperor has a face like a bag of blueberries, Sir,' Cromwell smiled, 'but the Empress is looking after him.'
Winterburne chuckled as he conjured up the image of Kateryn treating Frederick like a baby. 'He'll like that,' he said. His own nose was throbbing again and he winced as he touched it. It was obviously a mess.
'The guard will be fine, in time,' Cromwell said, 'but you'll need to get that looked at. It's swollen already, and the longer you leave it the worse it'll look. They can do wonders these days with a bit of wool packing. I imagine it will hurt when they fix it, though.'
'Thanks for that.' Winterburne frowned as he imagined the grim procedure in his mind. 'Anyway, I don't have time for pampering right now. I'll take a visit to the infirmary on my way back to the Watch House.' He sat in silence for a moment and then thought back over the previous evening's events. 'Did you find the body of the guardsman?'
'In the North Quarter,' Cromwell said. 'The Commander has been informed. He's dealing with it.'
'He was my first.'
Cromwell turned to face Winterburne with a puzzled look.
'The first to die by my command,' Winterburne added.
'Oh,' Cromwell answered.
Winterburne looked down at the ground as he remembered the man's face moments before he had sent him to his death.
Cromwell reached over and placed his hand on Winterburne's shoulder. 'You were just doing what you thought to be right.'
'I know, but it doesn't make me feel any better.'
Cromwell turned away. 'Alyssa wanted to come down and make sure you were safe,' he said. 'She was worried. I told her that it was still a forbidden area for civilians at the moment.' He paused and looked across at Winterburne. 'I said that you would go and see her as soon as you had finished here. Was that the right thing to say?'
Winterburne nodded. 'I will speak to her as soon as I can.' He was still looking over at the ruins, deep in thought.
'You think a lot of her, don't you?'
Winterburne paused, thinking about what he wanted to say to the man in reply. His private life had always been something that he had been reluctant to share, but what harm could it do. 'Yes,' he said.
To him, that simple response, and the self-acknowledgement of his feelings, said more than any long explanation. In truth, he had never given much thought to his future, but now this incident seemed to be over, maybe he owed it to himself to do just that.
Winterburne's mind came back to some of the unanswered questions he harboured in his mind. 'Did you ever find out where Allington went last night?' He suspected that the man's whereabouts would turn out to be no longer important.
'His bed, apparently.' Cromwell smiled. 'He told everyone that he was suffering a headache. Although, the word is that he was appalled to see everyone enjoying themselves when, in his words, ''the very fabric of the Empire is threatened''.'
'My Lord Allington did always strike me as being somewhat over-dramatic.'
'That's funny, Sir. That's exactly what Lord Cole said.'
Winterburne smiled at Cromwell. He was unsure whether Cromwell had meant his words to be amusing but he found them that way anyway. 'Lord Allington does have a point, though, don't you think?'
'Perhaps,' Cromwell agreed.
The townsfolk had done their best to put out the blaze, but the burning timbers had been consumed so fast that the whole of the warehouse had been razed to the ground within a half hour. In truth, the fire chain, while best intentioned, had made little difference.
'We've got to search the place,' Winterburne said. 'I need to see his body.'
'No one's been in there yet, Sir. I told them to keep away until it was safe to go in. I told them to wait until you said it was alright.'
Winterburne walked over to where t
he doors had once stood. What was left of them was now lying on the ground, the frames to which they had been attached had collapsed when the walls came down. 'Are you coming?'
Cromwell put the mug down on the harbour wall before joining Winterburne and the two men entered what now remained of the building. Winterburne could still feel the warmth radiating from the timbers, their blackened fingers pointing skywards. Thin columns of smoke rose from them, spiralling upwards into the air, before being caught by the wind and dispersed into the air. He took special care; he certainly didn't plan on barely getting out of the inferno with his life only to suffer burns from being careless now.
His foot kicked something hard and heavy, and he looked down. Lying at his feet was his sword, still intact, although the handle was blackened and scorched. He picked it up. It was still a little warm to the touch but the weapon would make a good poker and he used it to prod at the ashes to either side of him as he walked.
'The whole thing is a nightmare,' Cromwell shook his head as he looked around him at the devastation.
'He went back into the fire,' Winterburne said, trying to find his bearings in the tangle of beams and roof timbers. 'He went back in rather than fight me to get out. Why would he do that?' He pointed in the direction that Courtenay had gone. 'He ran that way.'
'Perhaps he thought that dying in the flames was better than dying by the headsman's axe.' Cromwell followed Winterburne further, towards the area where the roof had come down first.
Winterburne shook his head. 'No, I can't believe that. The man was no fool. There was a reason for everything he did. I would give my arm to know what he was thinking at the moment he turned back.'
'Who knows what went through his mind in his last moments?' Cromwell followed Winterburne, still looking down to the ground in case anything had been missed as they passed. 'Men don't always think rationally when they face their end.'
'He went this way into the flames.' Winterburne carried on towards the back of the building, retracing what he believed to be the man's final steps.
The far corner of the warehouse backed onto the sea cliff and the two men headed in that direction. As they reached the corner of the building, Winterburne looked around him, down to the ground, continuing to turn over the ashes with his blade. Its end hit something hard.
'Hold this,' he said, as he passed his sword across to Cromwell. He bent down to pick up the object.
'What did you find, Sir?'
Winterburne turned the object over in his hand. The axehead was blackened and charred, and the wooden handle burnt, but it was unmistakably the weapon that he had been attacked with the previous evening.
'Get the men to search every inch of this place,' he said. 'I need to know if you find his body.' He handed the axe to Cromwell.
Winterburne walked over to the cliff edge, where the remains of the back wall of the building still stood. Thirty feet below, the waves rose and fell in the endless rhythm of the sea. He stared down at the deep green of the water. The tide had reached its lowest point but the rocks, although visible, were still quite a way beneath the surface.
'It would have been high tide at the time of the fire,' Winterburne said, 'so the rocks would have been even deeper below the waterline.' He looked out to sea. 'A man could easily have jumped down there without injuring himself.'
Winterburne bent down and picked up a charred sliver of timber. He turned it over between his fingers for a moment, deep in thought, and then threw it over the edge of the cliff. It fell for a while before the wind took it, blowing it sideways for a little distance before hitting the water. 'Keep looking,' he said. 'Tell me immediately if someone finds his body.'
'If? Surely you don't think—'
'I don't believe that you will find it here.' Winterburne's eyes lifted to the horizon. The light from the east
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