In a place where there was no death and the most horrific injury a fleeting inconvenience, acts of heroism such as plunging oneself into a fire to save another person took on a different meaning.
‘Goodness knows how many urchins are in there,’ Vek said, staring at the bright nebula of flame that was the ground floor of the building. ‘They all threw themselves in.’
But even if some of the urchins or other villagers had succumbed to the heat and were in the thick of the fire, when the cinders cooled they would be healed again. It was only temporary.
The same couldn’t be said for Sam, not with any certainty.
‘He can’t have perished. I don’t believe it,’ Damaris sobbed, striking her fist into her open palm.
‘Look!’ Simon shouted.
There was a lull as a figure tottered from what was left of the building with someone in their arms. The rescuer had been in the fiercest part of the blaze and was ailing badly. Whoever it was stood for a moment, silhouetted by the fiery light at the front of the building, before slumping to the ground.
‘Was that Sam he was carrying? Was it?’ Damaris asked, allowing herself to hope.
‘Can’t tell,’ Simon replied, stepping closer to see. ‘But it looked too big to be one of the urchins.’
Others were on hand to drag the rescuer and the body he’d recovered into the middle of the thoroughfare where they were laid out. Both had clouds of vapor around them and the rescuer was already moving. The other badly charred body was completely motionless, large flames springing from it.
‘See how that one’s still burning! It must be Sam!’ Vek shouted.
Damaris was already running over to the body, and she and Simon carried it nearer the Dormitories where the light from the windows allowed them to see it in more detail. ‘I think it is Sam!’ Damaris cried, then began to yell frantically to Randall for help.
‘But what can we do?’ he shouted back.
‘Fetch that cattle trough from around the back,’ Baby Pain shrieked from its vantage point on a table inside one of the open windows of the Dormitories. ‘You can fill it with water and keep him under.’
‘Yes, do that,’ Randall agreed quickly, breaking off from his fire-fighting duties for a moment as others did the same and collected together in the thoroughfare.
Dorry took over and organized a pair of villagers to bring the zinc-coated trough from the rear of the Dormitories, and in no time at all it had been filled and the charred body dropped in. Even so the flames all over it weren’t going out, the water broiling and splashing like a volcano erupting under the sea. The gathered crowd watched on in horror. A true death wasn’t something they’d ever witnessed first hand in the valley.
‘What do we do now?’ Dorry said, gesturing at a villager to tip the two buckets he’d brought out of the Dormitories with him out into the trough. ‘Because we can keep topping up the water as it evaporates, but look at it. It’s doing nothing to stop him burning.’
‘Never seen anything like it,’ Randall muttered.
‘There must be something else we can do,’ Tom said helplessly, his face back to normal as he turned to Damaris. ‘It wasn’t this bad before. It wasn’t so fierce … his whole body wasn’t alight.’
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
As someone approached along the main thoroughfare, the crowd began to part to allow him through. It was a figure in a long coat.
‘Holy cow!’ someone exclaimed, as another villager let out a whistle of amazement.
‘It’s the big man himself!’ Baby Pain announced in his helium voice.
Then there was absolute silence except for the roar of the fire and a crash as a section of masonry fell from the burning buildings.
All eyes were on the man.
‘It’s Curtis,’ a woman said unnecessarily, because there wasn’t a person there who didn’t know who it was.
‘Bring me a shovel,’ Curtis said, advancing with the swagger of a conquering general as he made his way through the rest of the crowd and straight toward Sam in the trough. He stopped beside Damaris and Simon, his gloved hand outstretched for someone to provide him with what he’d requested, his gaze fixed on the churning water in the trough.
‘Well, you heard the man,’ bellowed Randall.
Someone ran toward Curtis with a shovel. Taking it, he immediately went to the front steps of the Dormitories, glanced up at the facade to check his position, then counted out ten paces along the thoroughfare.
He came to a stop and ground his heel into the dirt to mark the spot. ‘Right here,’ he said, and began to dig in the compacted earth. Everyone heard as he struck something hard. Curtis worked quickly to clear the rest of the gravel-heavy soil, and a rectangular manhole cover was soon exposed. He inserted the tip of the shovel under one end of this and lent on it with all his weight. With a burst of soil, it opened. He put the shovel aside and bent to lift off the manhole cover. Once it was out of the way, he hinged something up from the dark opening. It had a tap on it.
‘Get a hose on this standpipe. You can use it to keep a constant supply on the boy.’ Curtis made a quarter turn and pointed to someone on the opposite side of the thoroughfare. ‘You there.’
The villager looked confused. ‘Me?’
‘Yes.’ Curtis picked up the shovel and slung it in the man’s direction. ‘Precisely five paces behind you is another standpipe. Get it up and running for the fire in the buildings,’ he said.
The villager was frowning as he studied the ground behind him. ‘Are you sure? Right here?’ he asked.
Curtis smiled. ‘I should know – I put it there myself.’
‘But what about Sam?’ Damaris asked Curtis. ‘Is there anything else we can do for him?’
As he went over and joined her in looking down at the turbulent water, the fire emanating from Sam was enough to throw a shifting uplight on Curtis’s face. ‘Yes, there is something,’ he said, then addressed the people again. ‘Gather as many metal items as you can. Small items … cutlery from your kitchens, tools … anything, but it must be ferrous … it must have iron content. Bring it all to me so we can drop it in with him and help dissipate the energy.’
Other than the villager who had retrieved the shovel from the ground and was already digging, no one else in the crowd made a move.
‘For Pete’s sake, what are you waiting for? Don’t just stand there!’ Tom yelled, running toward the entrance of the Dormitories with Vek close behind.
Simon clapped his hands together loudly. ‘Yes, look lively, everyone!’ he urged the assembled villagers. ‘A boy’s life is at stake here.’
Randall was quick to add his authority. ‘Those not helping me with the fire, hurry home and fetch any implements – tools, cutlery and the like – anything you can lay your hands on,’ he shouted.
Simon had gone off to supervise this, leaving Curtis alone with Damaris. He leaned in to her. ‘Obviously I’m here because I picked up your message,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Good thing Sam gave you my communicator for safekeeping.’
‘So the metal items will help take the energy away from him?’ Damaris asked, staring at the pulsing fire under the water.
‘No, they won’t make a blind bit of difference,’ Curtis confessed. ‘I just wanted to keep people occupied so they don’t have time to think about lynching me.’ He leaned even closer to Damaris. ‘You’ve got Sam’s communicator, but what about the photograph of Rachel? Where’s that now?’
‘It’s safe,’ Damaris replied, indicating a bag on the steps of the Dormitories. ‘It’s with some of my things I managed to grab before the fire really took hold.’
‘That’s good. Well done. But from time to time will you check that it’s still there?’ Curtis asked. As Damaris took a step toward the bag, he put his hand on her arm to stop her. ‘No, not now – don’t let anyone see it. I just need to know that it’s there.’
Damaris frowned. ‘Why?’
‘And do me a favor and keep checking, will
you? I need to know the moment it isn’t.’
‘But why shouldn’t it be?’ Damaris asked again.
‘Because if it isn’t, then it means Sam won’t be around to go back and help Rachel, and so he’ll never be given the photo,’ Curtis told her. ‘It means he doesn’t make it through the night.’
As the sun came up, Randall began to send members of his fire-fighting team back to their homes. They had battled for hour after hour, and it had been touch and go whether the whole terrace was going to be lost, but in the end, with the benefit of Curtis’s standpipe, they had contained the blaze and finally managed to extinguish it. Then it had been a matter of dealing with the last small pockets of fire and dragging an urchin or two from the smoldering ashes to recuperate.
Randall began toward Damaris who was kneeling by the trough and making sure that the hose was constantly replenishing the water. A little behind her, Curtis was sitting cross legged on the ground, several large heaps of metal objects around him. Randall had observed some forks and other pieces of cutlery being dropped in with the boy, but was surprised that more of the items hadn’t been put to use. As he went to stand beside Curtis and then peered over at the trough, the legendary founder of the valley seemed to be in a world of his own, balancing a knife on his index finger.
‘So he’s better – it’s working?’ Randall asked.
Damaris turned to look up at him. Her tears had made tracks in the grime on her cheeks. ‘Yes, the last flames died out about half an hour ago. He’s been healing, slowly.’
‘That’s excellent news.’ Randall was silent for a moment, then addressed Curtis. ‘Thank you for your help with the boy, and for showing us where the standpipes were. It could have been so much worse.’ He was looking at the five missing houses in the terrace now.
With a deft movement, Curtis swiveled the knife around his finger and into his palm, then grunted as he rose to his feet. Joining Randall in regarding the yawning gap in the terrace, he shook his head. ‘Such a dreadful waste,’ he said. ‘Have you any idea how long it took me to put those up? And the funny thing is I built them in the millennia I was alone. At the time there wasn’t even anyone in need of a place to live.’ Under his breath he added, ‘I don’t know why I bothered.’
Randall rubbed his palms together to rid them of ash. ‘Well, thank you for your help, anyway.’
‘My help?’ Curtis repeated several times. ‘You know that with a click of my fingers, I could have summoned enough of my machines to extinguish it in a matter of minutes.’ With the knife he indicated several points along the length of the terrace. ‘They’re buried in the meadows behind there right now. We might only have lost the first building, not five of the blessed things.’ A bitter tone had crept into his voice. ‘But if I’d sent them in, even with the veiling fields on, some simple superstitious soul would have claimed I was unleashing phantoms in the village. I’d be accused of bad voodoo again.’
‘Maybe we could have talked ab—’ Randall tried to suggest.
‘Yes, we had time for that, didn’t we?’ Curtis interrupted sarcastically. He lifted his head back with a decisive movement and, for a moment, was lost in the brightening sky. ‘A new dawn, but nothing ever changes.’ He turned to Randall. ‘That’s the problem right there; did you want another of those useless debates that goes nowhere.’ He threw the knife and it stuck in the ground by his feet. ‘And what do you suppose keeps everything ticking over here in the village and the rest of the valley? Keeps the water and sewage system functioning, the electrical supply online, and new clothes turning up in the store? Good fairies at the end of everyone’s gardens?’
‘I’m aware what you do for us,’ Randall said. He had been looking at the knife, but now raised his eyes to Curtis. ‘I was never against you, you know.’
‘Yes, but you didn’t exactly show your support through all the condemnation, did you?’
‘Most of them are terrified of you. They see you as some sort of godlike creator – their creator. You gave them this land and their new lives, and they th—’
‘Think I’m going to take it away?’ Curtis cut in, then laughed dryly. ‘Is that why they were so critical of me? Out of fear?’
‘They just needed to understand you. And you should never have abandoned us like that. It made things worse,’ Randall said. He took a breath. ‘Your dramatic reappearance last night … does it mean you’ve had a change of heart? Are you going to stick around from now on?’
Curtis had recovered his calm again. ‘No. Life’s too short for that. I’ll do what I can for the boy, then I’ll be leaving. It’s better that way.’ They were both looking at Sam’s now recognizable head resting against the side of the trough, moving slightly as fresh water lapped around it. ‘At least there’s someone who’s worthy of my help. Poor kid,’ Curtis said. Shrugging his coat off, he held it up in both hands. ‘Damaris, I’ll lift him out, then you put this around him.’
Damaris nodded. Sam’s clothes had burned away with the first flames.
‘So is he going to be all right?’ Randall asked. ‘Now all that energy’s out of him.’
Curtis shook his head grimly. ‘The contrary, I’m afraid. This episode has released a small proportion of what’s accumulated in him, but there’s so much more yet to come, and soon. By my reckoning he’s got one or two days left, at best.’ Curtis moved next to the trough, surveying Sam as he lay there unconscious. ‘Right, let’s carry him to my house.’ He passed his coat to Damaris.
‘Is it far?’ she asked.
‘No, my house … here in the village,’ he answered.
***
‘I feel like I could go on eating and eating.’ Sam made a satisfied noise as he set about the second plate of food Curtis had brought in. ‘It’s like cliff hunger, but not as strong.’
‘After the damage your body sustained last night, it’s undergoing a massive amount of regeneration,’ Curtis said.
‘Is this really your house in the village?’ Sam asked, his mouth full as he did his best to steer the conversation away from the fire; he couldn’t remember much about it, and what he could remember made him shiver.
‘It’s a bit different on the inside, isn’t it?’ Damaris replied. She was sitting beside him at the dark wooden table.
‘No kidding.’ Sam scanned around the room which wouldn’t have been out of place in a stately home with its elegant furniture and gilt-framed entomological displays on the walls. There was no dust or hint of disuse about the place, and the only odd thing was that it was daytime and yet the curtains were all closed – Sam assumed because the windows were still shuttered outside.
‘So how are you feeling now?’ Curtis asked him.
‘We really thought we’d lost you,’ Damaris said, giving Sam’s forearm a squeeze.
‘Fine … I’m just fine,’ he replied brightly, smiling at Damaris with his mouth full. Then his eyes fell on the two bundles of clothes that were tucked under Curtis’s arm. ‘Are those jeans?’
‘I had a pair run off for you and also Damaris if she decides to go along. When you’re back in your time, it’s important that you blend in,’ Curtis said.
Sam and Damaris remained silent as Curtis placed the clothes on the table, then took out the crown and put it on top of the pile. ‘You had a lucky escape last night. You don’t have a choice any longer, Sam,’ Curtis said. ‘It’s absolutely your call, but you should be aware that you’re almost at the point of no return. The next episode will categorically be your last.’
Putting his knife and fork down, Sam swallowed loudly. ‘It’s that close?’
Curtis nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. And if you don’t go through the cliffs, it’s not only your life, it’s Rachel’s too.’ He turned to Damaris. ‘You’ve got the photograph?’
She tugged it from her pocket.
‘So it’s still in existence, but check the reverse,’ Curtis said.
Damaris read it carefully. ‘Nothing’s changed.’
‘Nothing at all? You�
��re sure?’ Curtis asked.
She nodded. ‘What does that mean? That I’m going with Sam?’
‘It’s an interesting paradoxical loop. Do you allow yourself to be influenced by something you haven’t done yet, which if you do commit to, may influence you to do it?’ Curtis gave a shrug. ‘Listen, I’m not going to ask you to risk your life. Either of you.’ He pointed at the photograph. ‘But at the moment you’re both going, and you succeed. You bring her back here.’
Sam glanced at Damaris, then took the crown in his hand and turned to Curtis. ‘Okay, you’d better tell me what I have to do,’ he said.
‘You mean what we have to do,’ Damaris added, nudging him with her elbow.
Curtis didn’t miss a beat as if he’d never had any doubt that they weren’t going to go through with it. ‘Right. I’ve set the date on the crown for seven months before your death, Sam. As I told you, it’s going to be a little hit or miss until your first crossing as only then do I have an opportunity for precise calibration, but I don’t believe it’s going to be wildly off.’
‘Seven months,’ Sam repeated. ‘How do you know where Rachel will be then?’
‘I don’t,’ Curtis admitted, ‘but from what you told me, it sounds as though she was terminal about that time … so too ill not to be in hospital. I’m taking a gamble that’s the case, and if I’m wrong you’ll need to come back through and we’ll have another shot at it.’
‘Unless we grab her from home or wherever she is?’ Sam suggested.
‘That might be too risky, but just play it by ear when you get there,’ Curtis replied, glancing at his watch. ‘I don’t want anyone in the valley to know what we’re up to, so let’s make our way to the cliffs after nightfall. That gives us time to run through everything, then you both must get some rest.’
Sam chuckled nervously. ‘I don’t think that’s very likely,’ he said.
***
In the still of the night, Curtis helped Sam to put the crown around his head.
‘I don’t like this part.’ The boy gritted his teeth as Curtis activated the prongs and they embedded themselves in his skull.
Summerhouse Land Page 32
