and candlesticks.
A ragged line of firefighters were assembled, ferrying slops of Thames water into the angry maw of the fire from a few small buckets. Elsewhere more innovative locals were tossing milk and beer towards the burning bakeries.
Ahead of Charlie was a blazing curtain of flame. The escaping boy cast a brief, terrified glance back, and then ran for a narrow gap in the fire. He made it through with Charlie hot on his heels. But as the boy’s skinny frame vanished into smoke, the flame billowed wider in a sudden gust of wind.
Charlie hesitated. The battered leather of his close-fitting coat was thick enough to deflect flame. Fastening the row of tiny buttons, Charlie steeled himself and plunged towards the flames. A rush of hot air enveloped him and he emerged, dark-blond hair singed and scalp sweating, the fire behind him.
He was just in time to see the boy turn right, towards Leadenhall Street. Despite Charlie’s rapid pace the boy, animated by fear, was proving a fast competitor.
Charlie slipped into the more considered pace of the long distance runner. The boy seemed to be slowing now, ducking through the maze of smaller alleys rather than maintaining a straight sprint. But as he turned back out through Bishops Gate and fled north, Charlie realised he was heading towards Leadenhall Butchers’ Market.
Ordinarily this would have been an expert move. The boy could slip into the sea of animals and traders. But with the fire so close it marked desperation. The market would be chaos.
A wall of noise hit Charlie as they spun through Bull’s Head Passage. Spurred by the fire, traders were deserting with their stock. A mayhem of sheep and cattle coupled with the men shouting, cursing and hitting at the herd with sticks poured forth in a torrent. Smoke and ash whirled in the air, whipping the animals into a terrified frenzy.
During the pursuit the boy’s shirt had ridden up and was flapping loose in the breeze, and Charlie was within a few yards of grabbing hold of it. But his target swerved suddenly, heading towards the cattle herd. The boy hesitated, judging his point of entry. Then he plunged into a maelstrom of hide and hooves.
The boy vanished for a moment, before reappearing bloodied and filthy on the market side. He paused, locking eyes with Charlie, and then raced into the market building.
Charlie watched for a moment. In his panic the boy had flung himself through where the herd was thinnest. A better place to cross was the most crowded, where animals moved slowest.
Charlie scanned where the cows were bottle-necked, pitching against one another in their haste to move forward. There was a windowsill at waist height.
In two moves Charlie had one foot on the sill and another on the flat back of a jostling cow. The animal bellowed in outrage, twisting so Charlie had to fight to keep his balance. He stepped both feet on to the terrified cow, and in an ungainly four-limbed manoeuvre, he began stumbling over the backs of the cattle, in the direction of the market entrance.
A cry of fury went up from one of the drovers, and Charlie ducked a flying stick. As he reached the edge of the tussling herd, all the cattle-herders were roaring obscenities. Charlie dodged a calloused fist, slid down the final cow and sprinted into the market building.
Chapter 12
Charlie scanned the wide expanse of Leadenhall. Under the market’s majestic medieval beams, the boy was nowhere to be seen.
The high wind whipped through the market corridors, channelling vast plumes of smoke through the walkways. Charlie coughed, squinting to see through it.
At the periphery were a few remaining animal pens, their livestock crammed in so tightly that hooves lifted from the ground. Deeper in, a handful of traders were hastily concluding their business. They made a tableau of stench-laden scenes, scraping guts, boiling bones, or cutting the throats of animals into tin buckets. Gore-splattered boys, ferrying buckets of blood to be boiled
A ragged line of firefighters were assembled, ferrying slops of Thames water into the angry maw of the fire from a few small buckets. Elsewhere more innovative locals were tossing milk and beer towards the burning bakeries.
Ahead of Charlie was a blazing curtain of flame. The escaping boy cast a brief, terrified glance back, and then ran for a narrow gap in the fire. He made it through with Charlie hot on his heels. But as the boy’s skinny frame vanished into smoke, the flame billowed wider in a sudden gust of wind.
Charlie hesitated. The battered leather of his close-fitting coat was thick enough to deflect flame. Fastening the row of tiny buttons, Charlie steeled himself and plunged towards the flames. A rush of hot air enveloped him and he emerged, dark-blond hair singed and scalp sweating, the fire behind him.
He was just in time to see the boy turn right, towards Leadenhall Street. Despite Charlie’s rapid pace the boy, animated by fear, was proving a fast competitor.
Charlie slipped into the more considered pace of the long distance runner. The boy seemed to be slowing now, ducking through the maze of smaller alleys rather than maintaining a straight sprint. But as he turned back out through Bishops Gate and fled north, Charlie realised he was heading towards Leadenhall Butchers’ Market.
Ordinarily this would have been an expert move. The boy could slip into the sea of animals and traders. But with the fire so close it marked desperation. The market would be chaos.
A wall of noise hit Charlie as they spun through Bull’s Head Passage. Spurred by the fire, traders were deserting with their stock. A mayhem of sheep and cattle coupled with the men shouting, cursing and hitting at the herd with sticks poured forth in a torrent. Smoke and ash whirled in the air, whipping the animals into a terrified frenzy.
During the pursuit the boy’s shirt had ridden up and was flapping loose in the breeze, and Charlie was within a few yards of grabbing hold of it. But his target swerved suddenly, heading towards the cattle herd. The boy hesitated, judging his point of entry. Then he plunged into a maelstrom of hide and hooves.
The boy vanished for a moment, before reappearing bloodied and filthy on the market side. He paused, locking eyes with Charlie, and then raced into the market building.
Charlie watched for a moment. In his panic the boy had flung himself through where the herd was thinnest. A better place to cross was the most crowded, where animals moved slowest.
Charlie scanned where the cows were bottle-necked, pitching against one another in their haste to move forward. There was a windowsill at waist height.
In two moves Charlie had one foot on the sill and another on the flat back of a jostling cow. The animal bellowed in outrage, twisting so Charlie had to fight to keep his balance. He stepped both feet on to the terrified cow, and in an ungainly four-limbed manoeuvre, he began stumbling over the backs of the cattle, in the direction of the market entrance.
A cry of fury went up from one of the drovers, and Charlie ducked a flying stick. As he reached the edge of the tussling herd, all the cattle-herders were roaring obscenities. Charlie dodged a calloused fist, slid down the final cow and sprinted into the market building.
Chapter 12
Charlie scanned the wide expanse of Leadenhall. Under the market’s majestic medieval beams, the boy was nowhere to be seen.
The high wind whipped through the market corridors, channelling vast plumes of smoke through the walkways. Charlie coughed, squinting to see through it.
At the periphery were a few remaining animal pens, their livestock crammed in so tightly that hooves lifted from the ground. Deeper in, a handful of traders were hastily concluding their business. They made a tableau of stench-laden scenes, scraping guts, boiling bones, or cutting the throats of animals into tin buckets. Gore-splattered boys, ferrying buckets of blood to be boiled
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