The Great Fire of 1521
- Enekos
- Aug 15, 2023
- 10 min read
In a quiet office of the Ordo Divitiarum, lies a ledger. It’s open on a page where the numbers don’t quite add up. And each time they try to make the numbers add up, the numbers change again. The woman furrowed her brow. The only thing worse than a ledger that wouldn’t balance, was a ledger that didn’t want to balance.
“Well ma’am, we even the talisman away to Ghenu you see, to see if it affected their numbers.” The woman looked up at the voice, waiting patiently for the next line and when it didn’t come, she offered some help, “And…”
“Oh, and it had the same effect there too.”
“And when you took the talisman to Ghenu, what happened to your ledger in Veraku?” This time she turned to the owner of a fabled gambling den known for its lions.
“It took a few days but then everything settled down.”
“And then you brought it back here, instead of leaving it for Ghenu to sort out?”
The man nodded. “Our fear is that if more of these talismans begin to appear, then trade and commerce as we know will become problematic.”
“Yes Lord Hok. And the talisman came from where?” the woman asked, still calm and seated.
“FFS?”
“Sir?”
“Answer the lady.”
“Yes sir. Epumatara mi lady. It’s a village to the west of Veraku. Out in the back of nowhere where they probably do their business behind trees.”
The lady considered this for a moment and suggested they take the talisman away from her ledgers and return with it to Epumatara, find whoever sold it, find out if the person has sold any more. Retrieve them all. Melt them down and drop them into the Blue Sea. “And maybe the maker follows them, sir… ma’am.” FFS was nothing but thorough…
She sighed as the two men left her chambers and looked out across the square to that damn statue and cursed the recent spell of warm – dry – weather.
Horatio was having an enjoyable, but relatively uneventful journey to Veraku. He was careful with his money, and could easily afford the express coach, but taking the meandering trade wagon gave him both the time to consider life in Veraku, and see some of the world. It felt, he mused, that he’d been trapped in the academy for so long, that his soul was beginning to rot.
The wagon driver (Dobson) came from the farming town of Shema and was now distributing various fruits and beverages to the towns and villages along the road towards Veraku, along with three large barrels of a potent apple juice marked with a fire symbol, destined for the Cider House tavern in central Veraku. A cloth was hooped over the wagon to give his produce some shade.
At each stop, Horatio helped Dobson unload produce and replenish these with any new goods he purchased to sell in towns closer to the capital. It was a decent little business for Dobson which got him out of the house for a week and made him a fountain of knowledge. From what he heard, Horatio decided to avoid the poorer parts of the city and head for the leafy boulevards, find a nice tavern with a beer garden and plan how to spend his time.
Every day was a new village, and every night was a new bed to sleep in, new friends to make, the odd punch-up, and a chance to be helpful. In Verasoom, he helped Dobson repair a leaky pipe of the widow Foster, cleared the fallen branches of an old oak that had been stuck by lightning and found himself lift bales of hay for an old farmer who leant on his pitchfork, shouting words of encouragement.
In Hymargo, he helped Dobson load a coffin onto the wagon to take it the next village for burial. There, he found the deceased was the husband of a lady called Beatrice who was so distraught that she fainted in the garden. Horatio helped settle her and then went back into her garden and finished pruning roses, planting vegetables, and generally tidying up. He even repaired the old fence and gave it a lick of whitewash.
In the mountains of the Menavariyam, the first snowstorm had arrived and in lower elevations this turned to torrential rain which found its way into the brooks and streams that fed the Veku River which piled higher, breaching beaver dams and thundered down the mountain…
Each day the wagon rumbled on and the two became firm friends with Dobson suggesting that if things didn’t work out for him in Veraku, that Horatio should consider working with him. Horatio agreed – this past week had been fun, with bright sunny days and an air of optimism.
But, as they approached the final river crossing of their journey on the outskirts of the capital, the roar of water filled their ears, the river swelling suddenly as a wall of thundering water crashed through the valley and expanded into the pastures.
Farm-workers cut-off from the village ran to small islands that formed in the fields, or else climbed to the top of an old barn. Dobson steered the horse and wagon to a safe high point and then helped Horatio rescue three people from the raging waters.
In Veraku, the river rose the height of one man with a small boy on his shoulders. A few river-facing homes and cafes were flooded, but not severely. The high water entered the sewers and pushed water a little further into the city where it settled around the Veraku square where a young lady called Euph waited for the rain.
She didn’t just hate the blind monk and his self-proclaimed role of saviour for no reason: she had her reasons. They started with hearing his sermons so long ago – his false promises that seemed to weave into her soul. She believed for a while; but that changed, and she foretold the danger he offered to the future of Veraku. And that was coming to pass now – now that the statues had become prevalent. The new one in view of the respected Ordo Divitiarum was just a step too far.
Under the statue, the special mixture the young lady had prepared, began to dampen. It fizzled a little. It was waiting. Patiently.
That night, a weary Dobson and Horatio rocked as the wagon reached the cobbles of Veraku. Horatio should have been filled with excitement, but now he just wanted to find somewhere to take a hot bath, rest his head, and dream about tomorrow.
As they passed through the gates the rain began to fall.
“Just one more stop General Horatio, sir,” offered Dobson, “At the Cider House tavern. Maybe’s they can offer you a room for the night. I hear it’s very nice inside with good music.”
The rain reached the Veraku square, prompting the young lady to make a mug of coffee and sit on the window seat and watch what would happen next.
The wagon rumbled through the streets and made its final turn past a temple with a statue of a bald man. Horatio half-opened his mouth, which Dobson saw and filled in the blanks.
“The blind monk, sir. One hundred hands high, they say. Damn pillock if you ask me. Cider House is just here sir. Help me with the barrels and we’ll get you sorted out with a room.”
Horatio took a small bite from a tomato, held his gaze on the statue for one moment, and then hurled the red fruit at it. This caught the attention of the temple guard.
The rain puddled and then found the cracks made by the young lady. At first a few drops and then a steady stream. It pooled below the slab and very slowly crept towards the mixture. If the mixture had eyes, they would be very wide now.
The wind was whipping up and the rain was steady, but not torrential. A quick glance up suggested a passing shower. Just enough, thought Euph.
Merriment came from the tavern as Horatio and Dobson manoeuvred the first barrel to the edge of the cart, laying it on its side. “Now be careful with this one, sir. It’s very expensive and the coin I get will feed my family for the next month.”
At the temple of the blind monk, a strange white gas was coming from the feet of the statue and one of the guards, torch in hand went to investigate. His report from that evening detailed that with the rain, came the arrival of a wagon and two men carefully rolling out a barrel he presumed for the tavern, but they had stopped a bit away from the tavern; very suspicious. And then one of the men threw something at the statue but it didn’t go boom, but there was this white gas like a cloud. So, I went to investigate. Had my torch cos it was dark. Next thing… well sir…
The pool of water had reached the mixture prepared by the young lady and it became very excited now. It fizzed with joy with lots of white smoke that was mostly trapped in its small chamber. It began to find its way to the street outside and found something warm. It found fire and it got very hot, very suddenly and…
The fireball was bigger than the young lady had expected. Through her eyeglass she saw a guard scurry away. She was happy at this, for she enjoyed chatting to them. She then saw the horse and wagon near the Cider House, and it was startled…
‘Startled’ wasn’t’ the word Horatio would have used. There were much more succinct words than startled and he used a few of them as the horse lurched forward, throwing Horatio off balance, knocking the second barrel over with such force, it cracked, and the apple-scented liquid began to flow into the street.
Dobson had ducked for cover, as the merriment inside the tavern ended abruptly.
And well sir – the report continued – I jumps out the way as this fire came from nowhere and all kinds of things were on fire, which is never a good thing near the tavern. But that wagon was on fire too
“Oh, crap the wagon’s on fire, Dobson. Dobson?!!”
And then suddenly the orse bolted and the flaming wagon shoots forward but there’s no-one driving, and it goes through the market and then there’s a second boom near the tavern. Think it was one of those barrels and the flames they reach the Ms Gladstones confectionary shoppe and oh I do like her toffee apples and then it got really bad…
Dobson ducked again as he saw the fire reach the one barrel that would have fed his family for a month. The explosion was deafening, sending searing fire in all directions. At least one shop was ablaze when he opened his eyes and then he saw the statue of the blind monk lurch forward and crash to the ground heading straight for his wagon. Wait! Where was his bloody wagon?
Horatio, beat the flames from the cloth that covered the wagon as apple-scented liquid flowed onto the street until it met the scene of devastation, got suddenly very hot and became a conduit for a rapidly travelling line of fire that headed in the opposite direction, chasing the wagon through the market, where several stall-owners had only just regained their composure from seeing a flaming wagon, and now had to contend with a rapidly approaching wall of very angry fire.
So much was appenin. I heard the blind monk himself wail and he crashed to the ground and then there was this wall of flame that ran across the market square and those poor people. There was so much fire in the haberdashery area, but I lost sight of the wagon with the smoke and dust, but I kept hearing screaming and then there was the orange glow…
“Oh, crap,” whispered the young lady.
The horse only had one thought. A straight-line was the best way to escape the hot orange and yellow angry thing that was chasing it, so a straight line it will be and I’ll just head for that gap in between those houses.
It was ironic that, the moment Horatio realised that he had bigger problems than the cloth being on fire, the horse was approaching Veraku’s fire watch headquarters. A wall of flame was rapidly approaching him, and the horse had been forced to slow down, due to the tightly knitted streets of the city. It was then he saw the barrel was leaking and despite being half empty it had become stuck between two crates. If the fire reached him, that would be the end of Horatio.
His first thought would be to jump, but there was a wall of flame to contend with and so many things were catching alight. The horse was too spooked to stop, the wagon was still on fire. There was one more barrel of the potent apple juice on board and it needed to go before any more flames reached the wagon itself.
One of my men was on fire watch and he sees a horse pulling a wagon at some speed through the street and the wagon is one fire and a wall of fire is also chasing the wagon. And a lot of things are burning so he raises the alarm, but then sees a man on the wagon, rolling a barrel to the edge and we think he was doing it on purpose.
Horatio had got the first barrel to the edge of the wagon and was waiting for a safe place to drop it; safe from the perspective of other people and safe to get out of the way of the fire.
The barrel had a different idea and split the moment it hit the paved street, was engulfed in fire moments later and erupted into a fireball with flames reaching into warehouse district.
Forgive my notes being on parched parchment sir, but there was an explosion and fire engulfed the first warehouse owned by the Brandy Company & Sons, purveyors of the best brandy in the land and well, that didn’t end well. Next things we know, it’s now hot enough for that damn tar works to ignite and well, you know what happened two years hence. Anyways we sound the siren for the city watch and we heard the man on the wagon was being pursued. We heard they were angry.
The horse was getting tired now. It was aware that most things behind it were orange and things in front were moving up and down. Big things and there was the smell of salt in the air. And it was hypnotic and beautiful, and he headed for it.
Horatio remembers the final moments before the horse took an unexpected bath in the Blue Sea as him being chased by men on horseback who were obviously there to save him, the second barrel of potent apple juice now being empty and the wall of flame no longer chasing him, and then the horse had found the docks and was heading straight for ….. “oh monoao!”
Yes Flint, I was “walking” in the harbour area, minding my own business, hearing what sounded like explosions, seeing a horse thundering towards me, with a wagon that looked like there was some fire burning and the city watch close behind. The horse was heading for the end of the pier and there was a man jumping from wagon who looked a lot like…
Horatio jumped. He didn’t look. He didn’t care. He just jumped.
In the moments that followed, he recognised the face of an old friend. He was rapidly approaching that old friend, his flying knee connecting with the shoulder of that old friend, and spinning them both to the ground.
Winded the man managed, “Welcome to Veraku. I take it you want to leave now?”
“Yes, please Enekos.”
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