Then finally Mistress Diver returned, exhausted and coughing, but with good news. "It's contained," she managed to rasp out. "It won't spread further."
I almost cried with relief.
"How?" one of the patients asked.
"Someone had the idea to pull down the houses around the fire and clear away the rubble so it had nothing to burn. The gap was wide enough for the fire not to cross."
"How far has it spread?" I asked.
She shrugged as another coughing fit overtook her. I directed her to sit down and gave her a cup of water.
"It's light now," Meg said, returning to the kitchen. She'd been outside in the street, gauging the number of injured across the road at the Ashmoles'. "We can't accept any more patients."
"We have to," I said. "Now that the fire is contained, there'll be more."
"They'll be seen coming here."
"This is an emergency, Meg. No one will care if I help. No one is that cruel, not even Mistress Ashmole."
"What about the Deerhorns?"
I concentrated on applying sap to my patient's hands.
"Meg's right," Mistress Diver said. "You can't take any more patients in, Josie. Meg, go outside and direct any newcomers to Doctor Ashmole."
I blinked at her. She'd been my ally last night. What had changed?
As if she'd read my mind, she said, "It's daylight now. It's too easy to see the injured coming and going. I'm sorry, Josie, but I can't risk my family."
I felt ashamed for not thinking of them. Of course she would worry about the consequences for her family. They might be punished for allowing me to work in their house. I wasn't the only one taking a risk.
Most of my remaining patients left when their breathing improved. Four remained, too injured or ill to leave. Once we cleaned up, there was little more to do. I snatched some sleep on a stool in the corner while Mistress Diver went to bed.
Mr. Diver and Lyle returned around midday. They drank deeply then sat beside the steaming pot of spiced water until their ragged breathing improved. Their exposed skin was blackened from soot, but neither sported burns, thank Hailia.
"Well?" I asked, when they seemed recovered enough to speak. "Is the fire out?"
Lyle nodded. "The sheriff's men and the palace guards are keeping watch to make sure there's no flare ups, but it's mostly embers and ash now."
"How far did it spread?"
"The Row's completely gone."
"The people?"
They exchanged glances. "There are several dead, and they'll find many more when the rubble's cleared away," Mr. Diver said.
I sat heavily and buried my face in my hands. It was too awful to contemplate.
"And outside The Row?" Meg asked. I hadn't heard her come in. She looked tired, her face pale from the strain of the night, her eyes red from smoke and crying.
"Some homes in the streets nearest The Row were destroyed," Lyle said. "I think everyone got out though. We'll know more soon."
I couldn't wait for news to reach us, however. I needed to know if Dane and the other guards were all right.
Meg joined me, telling me she wanted to see the damage done to Mull, although I suspected she was more interested in news of Max. We pulled a barrel of water on a cart behind us, past the patients leaving Doctor Ashmole's house. There were more leaving than arriving, thankfully, many with bandaged limbs, all covered in soot.
Smoke hung in the air, but a sea breeze worked valiantly to disperse it. There was no better healing agent for smoked lungs than fresh air.
We stopped behind a group of people, mostly women, blocking the way forward on a street that led to The Row. Some wailed, others begged to be let through. I pushed my way past and saw why they could advance no further. Four guards on horseback, all blackened from soot, wouldn't allow anyone beyond that point.
"Josie!"
"Quentin?" I hardly recognized him. He was covered head to toe in soot and ash. "Thank Hailia, you're all right. Do you have any injuries?"
"Not much. Not like some," he added heavily.
My heart surged into my throat. "The captain?"
"And Max?" Meg asked.
"Both unharmed. They're helping the sheriff's men look for survivors." He glanced over his shoulder toward The Row. I followed his gaze and suddenly realized why they weren't allowing anyone through.
The dead had been arranged in rows, with more being carried out and added to their number. Meg gasped and covered her mouth.
"Let us in!" one of the women cried. She was dressed in rags and wore no shoes. Her hair was black from soot and wild with tangles. Her hands were wrapped in cloth. "Let us in to see our men!"
"No," barked Zeke, one of the guards. "When the dead are all brought out, then you can look for your loved ones amongst them."
One of the women burst into tears.
"Zeke," I said. "Have some compassion."
"Sorry, Josie."
"Can they not see if those already brought out are their menfolk?" Meg asked. "One of you could go with them, ensure it's done in an orderly manner. Perhaps you could record names."
Zeke and Quentin exchanged glances. "Not me," Zeke said. "I don't want to look at them. Besides, I ain't no good with grief."
"I'll go," I said.
Quentin dismounted. "Me too." He handed the reins to Zeke. "But I've got no paper to write names on."
"I've got paper," came a voice from behind the group of mourners.
Zeke frowned and rose up in the saddle to see over the heads. "That you, Balthazar?"
The group parted and Balthazar limped his way through. "I'll record the names," he said, waving a small book. His clothing was clean, his face and hands free of soot, but he looked just as tired as the guards.
"How did you get here?" Quentin asked.
"Some of the maids came in to help where they could," he said. "I arrived with them on a cart." He glanced past Quentin to the bodies and leaned heavily on his walking stick.
"I'll do it, if you like," I said.
"No. But I would appreciate your help with the mourners." To Zeke, he said, "Allow one in at a time."
"Only one?" someone shouted.
"This must be managed. No mistakes can be made. You may come first."
"So we're just supposed to wait?" asked another.
"Is that water?" said another of the women.
"It is," Meg said. "Please, have some."
"Thank Hailia for your mercy," Zeke said, dismounting. "I'm parched."
I headed along the street with Quentin, Balthazar and one of the women. The closer we got to the burned buildings, the harder my heart pounded, and the deeper it sank. I hardly recognized the area. Where before there'd been derelict houses, lean-tos and crates used for shelter, now there was nothing but the occasional brick chimney standing guard over the rubble and smoldering ash. The fire had ravaged the whole area.
No, not entirely. Wide spaces on both sides of the street leading to The Row were untouched by fire. There was no rubble there, no fuel for the flames. The fire had nowhere to go. If not for these fire breaks, Mull would still be burning.