Peter followed the summons, bringing empty tankards to the bar—normally Addie’s job—for an excuse for a better look. His hands trembled. He stood closer than necessary, breathing in the man’s scent, all leather, sweat, metal, and temptation.
No, he couldn’t risk his business and his good name by making improper suggestions to a stranger. For all he knew, this man was a city guard in disguise, actively looking for a lawbreaker to haul into jail, though why he’d be in the lower city, Peter didn’t know.
His clothes were of good quality, though worn; neat, even stitches closing a rent in the sleeve of his shirt. But, when he brought one foot onto the rung of the barstool, he exposed a patch on the sole of his boot.
Not a wealthy man then.
Only one table remained unfilled, and by the time work ebbed enough for Peter to return to the bar, the table had filled, but the bar stood empty.
No stranger.
“Who was he?” Peter asked aloud.
“A whole lot of trouble, if you ask me,” Addie said, slapping Peter on the back and cackling. “Them’s the best kind.” She waded into the crowd, exchanging bawdy tales with the patrons.
She’d return with her pockets full of coins—she swore the patrons surrendered them freely, and she didn’t resort to magery.
No, she wouldn’t. Too much at stake. Peter missed Mitta on nights like this when the former tavernkeeper who’d taken Peter under his wing would have been holding court by the hearth.
Mitta, who’d lain on his deathbed, clutching Peter’s hand, declaring him nephew and heir.
Leaving Peter the owner of the Stone’s Throw. How Peter missed Old Mitta, another who’d taken him in without asking too many questions, basing opinions on a man’s honor and work ethic, not parentage.
Addie had the main room under control. Peter headed into the kitchen.
“Good eve,” the kitchen maid said, a girl of nineteen he’d hired to help Addie.
“Good eve.” Peter helped himself to some pie, perching on a stool in the corner to eat. The scent of burning wood teased his nose, though not from his own hearth fires. He sniffed the pie. Nope. Smelled fine. He stepped out into the main room, stalking straight for the back door and throwing open the wooden panel.
The smell grew stronger here. He headed toward the scent, picking up his pace. On the streets, people went about their business. Did no one else smell smoke?
The smell beckoned him away from the safety of the tavern. He searched the rooftops for a telltale orange glow and found nothing.
Yet.
Plenty of derelict buildings in this part of the city, some used by pirates to house illegal wares, others used as shelter for those without a home. Deep inside, something urged Peter on. Somewhere, someone needed him.
He hurried down the wharf at a trot, pausing to consult his senses every few moments. His breath fogged before his face. There! He darted to an abandoned warehouse, throwing open the door. Flames licked at the wooden walls, leaving char in their wake. Soon they’d reach the ceiling.
Two boys beat at flames with smoldering flour sacks.
“What are you doing? Go!” Peter ordered them, snatching the bags from their hands.
“We can’t, mister. Toby’s in there,” the larger of the two wailed.
From a room behind them came a whine. Peter’s heart stuttered. A child? “Go! I’ll get him.”
“Promise?”
Peter tried to keep his voice confident for the children’s sake. “Promise. Wait for me at the docks.”
The boys ran off on bare feet. Peter faced a wall of flames and heat. Where to begin? How could he…
Resuming the boys’ task, he beat at the flames with the flour sacks. Instead of quelling the fire, the fanning sent it higher. Though he couldn’t see to the second floor, he heard the rush of flames as something caught. Orange glowed through the boards overhead. No, no, no, no, no!
Now! He must stop the flames now before the warehouse collapsed! Thick, black smoke obscured his vision, stinging his nostrils, and clogging his throat. Heat battered his skin. Tears leaked from his eyes. Peter doubled over in a coughing fit. The wall between him and the child burned hot, orange, red, and blue. A child! He must save the child!
“Toby? Toby!” he cried.
