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Fire at the Foundry (Vivien)

The carriage was waiting by the door - and within a few minutes, they were all inside, and it was setting out for the small ironworks at a spanking pace. As they went, Olivia explained something of the process undertaken there.

"It's what you might call an integrated water-powered works. There's the mill stream - and the water from that powers two waterwheels, which drive the massive tilt-hammers, the bellows for the forger's hearth, giant grindstones and a boring lathe. Almost all the processes used in the production of blades on Aquila - whether swords or table knives - are carried out there on one site. The only process carried out off site is rolling crucible steel bars flat before they are forged.

"The main industrial features of the site are the crucible furnace, where crucible steel for the tools is made, the tilt forge where the large hammers forge tools flat, and the grinding hull, where the blades are sharpened.

"The first building we'll see is the Crucible Furnace, which supplies the works with quality steel for toolmaking. Oh, and the same building also houses a Pot Shop, where clay crucible pots are made for the furnace, and a Charge Room where the ingredients for the steel are prepared and weighed. Temperatures in the crucible furnace reach the most tremendous temperature and the strength of the 'puller out', who lifts the weight of molten steel from the furnace is legendary. Bill Baines, he's called - although you should call him Mr Baines. And then there's Tibbs, the 'teemer'. who's also a highly skilled worker, carefully pouring the steel into ingot moulds with strength and precision.

"Then there's the Tilt Forge which houses two massive tilt hammers. They're driven by the site's main waterwheel, and the forgemaster and hammer man sit before them on working days, making crown scythes. They do this by forge-welding a piece of crucible steel between two pieces of wrought iron, like a sandwich. And other blades are made there too, of course.

"But the explosion's in the Grinding Hull, I believe. That's where edge tools are sharpened to a fine cutting edge. There are 6 grindstones and 2 glazing stones, all powered by a waterwheel. The stones were 6 feet in diameter when new, and hung in a trough filled with water to keep the stone wet when grinding. The grinder sits astride a wooden horsing over the stone, and holds the blade against the stone as it spins round. There are lots of accidents there - but they're usually lacerations when a piece of metal flies off. Blindings, if they haven't worn their goggles." She shook her head as the carriage turned into a bumpy, rutted lane.

"It sounds terrifying," Vivien breathed. Actually, she sounded half nervous, half excited.

Now the carriage began to be lit by a dim, orange glow. It was possible to see Olivia's tense face by its light. She leaned forward and looked out of the window, so see the glow of the fire - the brightness lighting up the night sky. And they were getting closer.

"It looks bad," she said. "The other buildings - they can douse them with water from the mill stream. But the fire seems to have got a good hold on the Grinding Hull. And the people who were inside ... "

She broke off and sat back in the carriage, her face resolute.

Vivien looked suddenly very green, staring at the burning buildings. There was no longer any trace of excitement in her features. "They aren't... stuck in there...?" she said weakly, reaching out with both hands and taking hold of her brother's bicep.

Suddenly she looked very young.

"There may be some," said Olivia. "But they'll be doing all they can to get them out." Her tone was soothing - the tone she might use on a patient with an unexpectedly dangerous condition.

The carriage drew to a halt, still some distance from the burning building.

"Carson will stay this side of the mill-stream," said Olivia. "We can walk along the top of the weir - can you do that, Vivien, Liev? It's a foot or so wide ... just don't look down."

"I'm not afraid of heights," Vivien said in an absent tone which suggested that there was something else present that did frighten her. She continued to hold on to her brother's arm.

But there was not the opportunity for Vivien to cling to Liev much longer. People were making their way across the weir, sure-footed denizens of the foundry area, who crossed the weir a dozen times a day. One dark-haired girl, with her skirts tied up around her knees to ease her passage, took a bundle of blankets and balanced them on top of her head, holding them there securely with one hand. The other she stretched out to Vivien, so that she might help the Greywood girl across.

Vivien reluctantly let go of Liev and took the offered hand. She was usually graceful and surefooted, but she was also very nervous, and she stumbled once, but she didn't fall.

Olivia followed behind, sure-footed.

On the far side of the weir, they found the courtyard was full of long chains of people, passing busckets of water hand from hand, forming chains from the millstream to the centre of the fire - the grind mill. Men and women worked together - their faces grimed with soot, ash and sweat, their expressions grim.

"We've doused the other buildings!" a burly, thickset men told Olivia and her cousins. "They should be safe enough - although there's no saying what stray sparks might do!"

Olivia nodded.

"Where are the wounded?" she shouted over the roar of the fire and the sounds of the people struggling to put it out.

The man pointed to a pair of buildings set back at some distance.

Olivia nodded. "Come on," she said to her cousins, picking up her skirts to hurry. "We need to improvise a hospital."

Vivien followed as quickly as she could, knotting her skirts into makeshift shorts to allow herself better mobility. Her nervousness had been submerged into a sort of pale appreciation of the gravity of the situation. She might be sick later, but other things were more important now.

Liev had studied tai chi at the monastery as part of his recovery process. While it had been intended primarily as a meditative tool, the art has also left Liev with a respectable sense of balance. Transversing the weir had been a simple matter, the narrow ledge seeming as wide as a staircase as long as the lanky Graywood kept his focus.

Focus that was severely tested once Liev reached the opposite side. He quickly made to follow along with his sister and Olivia.

"We'll need, uh, water for the patients and to sterilize the ... um ..." his eyes darted quickly to his younger sister. "Equipment and so forth. I can redirect some of the buckets, but can we get a hose for a direct feed? Brandy or other alcohol could be useful to sterilize and ... uh ... calm the casualt...er...men. Large pots to boil the water. Do you have all the tools you need? I could ask the men about," Liev pauses as 'saws, axes, machetes' flash through his mind. "Uh, tools we could adapt."

Liev was more familiar with burns and the other trauma inflicted on fragile human flesh and bone by industrial accidents. Before the scandal and his dismissal from the zaibatsu, Liev had investigated the financial mismanagment that led to the removal of safety protocols and led to industrial accidents on dozens of colonies. Whenever he felt that he had become too complacent or a dead end in his inquiries he ran VR simulations of the accidents.

Burning. Drowning. Dismemberment. Radiation exposure. Asphyxiation. He had experienced them all first hand in the VR tank, with the screams of the afflicted all around him. Physically untouched, but with the sensory controls set just below fatality. The VR memories still blended with his own. He would do anything to spare his little sister those images of horror.

"Maybe Olivia and I could do a quick review of the hospital and Vivien, would you feel comfortable askiing about water and alcohol? You know how awkward I am with the, uh, men?"

Vivien nodded quickly. "Whatever you think would be best," she said, tongue darting out nervously to moisten her lips. She glanced around, at a complete loss. "Um... who should I ask?"

Olivia shot Liev a grateful look.

"If you find an older woman - Mrs Mavring," she said to Vivien, "she'll be able to help you. And she's well known - anyone out there will tell you where she is."

She gestured towards the yard.

"Only - be careful," she added. "Stay well away from the fire!"

At this point across the weir a carriage thundered up to the edge. It was the carriage the University clinic used for an ambulance. As it came to a stop people started to tumble out of it and began to unload medical supplies.

Isabel Gallfrey climbed out, assisting Maple Gallfrey from the carriage even as she stretched her tall form. "Tight enough in there for you mother?" she asked with her usually dry humor. "Tight enough for me with all the interns. I'll ride back on top."

She turned to look at the burning buildings, the dark toxic smoke almost light against the dark sky. "This isn't good." She shrugged off her coat, tossed it in the carriage as she reached in and pulled her bag out from under the seat. "Everyone! Get the supplies over there! That's where the injured will be. See if there's another way to get there by horse or wheel so we can transport the injured to the hospital!" she yelled to the nurses and interns there.

With her long legs Isabel strode quickly toward the narrow weir, intent on getting closer to the fire.

One of the nurses, who came from the Foundry, gave the driver directions of how he might get to the other side - a much longer journey that would take him an additrional half an hour. Then she hurried after Isabel.

Vivien had paused to watch the carriage arrive and to listen to the new arrival, since she obviously knew what she was doing. After a moment, she looked back at Olivia, said, "Mrs. Mavring, yes, of course," and headed off in the direction indicated.

Looking around somewhat frantically, she finally flagged down the least busy-looking man she could see and said, "Excuse me, do you know where I can find Mrs. Mavring, please?"

The man pointed a long arm towards where a blowsy woman with her skirts rolled up was directing the efforts of a group of girls to fill buckets of water by the millstream.

"Thank you," she said somewhat breathlessly and hurried over to the woman and the girls. "Your pardon," she said to Mrs. Mavring. "I'm Dr. Greywood's niece, and we've come to help any way we can. They sent me to you to arrange for water and alcohol."

Mrs Marving nodded, straightening up from her task.

"Maveen, you take over here," she instructed, as a lanky girl with dark hair and a pock marked face moved forward to take her place.

"Now," said Mrs Marving, "what does Dr Greywood need - and how much? The men and the women can't be spared - but some of the older children could be running errands for you, I'll wager."

"She and my brother were setting up a little field hospital or something over there," Vivien said with a gesture. "I'm not sure how many wounded there will be - I think they were trying to get me out of the way. At any rate, I'd say they could take as many buckets of water as can be spared and a dozen bottles of alchohol or other disinfectant if you've got any."

She glanced up at the burning buildings, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Or, well, while this is still on fire, I don't think I should ask you to give up too many buckets - perhaps we could rig a trough, or collect some large pans and dishes for the clean water at the site. Do you think that might be possible?"

The woman nodded. "Iffen we use the childer, they won't be carrying heavy buckets anyway. Saucepans and pots will do - and they'll be better for the work, seeing as they'll have been scoured daily. As for disinfectant - there's none of that around here, lass, unless the doctor's not too proud to use some of the plants we grow. But alcohol I can do you - in abundance." Her face was grim. "'Twas gin at the bottom of this mess, I'll be bound. And it'll be no less than a pleasure telling one of the knocking shops that they should give up their vile spirits for a good purpose for once.

"Do you have a strong stomach, lass?"

"I don't know," Vivien said breathlessly, offering a non-commital smile. "But I'll do whatever needs to be done."

Her fingers twitched toward her voluminous pockets... Oh, Lord, could she use a drop of laudanum now...

Mrs Mavring nodded with approval.

"This way," she said.

She led Vivien down a narrow alleyway between two houses and into a main street, across it, down another alley - and into an area of the city where Vivien had never been before.

The filthy and miserable appearance of this part of the city could hardly be imagined by those who had not witnessed it. Wretched houses with broken windows patched with rags and paper: every room let out to a different family, and in many instances to two or even three - fruit and 'sweet-stuff' manufacturers in the cellars, barbers and red-herring vendors in the front parlours, cobblers in the back; a bird-fancier in the first floor, three families on the second, starvation in the attics, a 'musician' in the front kitchen, and a charwoman and five hungry children in the back one - filth everywhere - a gutter before the houses and a drain behind - clothes drying and slops emptying, from the windows; girls of fourteen or fifteen, with matted hair, walking about barefoot, and in white great-coats, almost their only covering; boys of all ages, in coats of all sizes and no coats at all; men and women, in every variety of scanty and dirty apparel, lounging, scolding, drinking, smoking, squabbling, fighting, and swearing.

Then Vivien and Mrs Mavring turned the corner of the street. What a change! All was light and brilliancy. The hum of many voices issued from that splendid gin-shop which formed the commencement of the two streets opposite; and the gay building with the fantastically ornamented parapet, the illuminated clock, the plate-glass windows surrounded by stucco rosettes, and its profusion of gas-lights in richly-gilt burners, was perfectly dazzling when contrasted with the darkness and dirt they had just left.

"I think we'll find the alcohol we need here," said Mrs Mavring grimly, and she pushed open the door.

The interior was even gayer than the exterior. A bar of French-polished mahogany, elegantly carved, extended the whole width of the place; and there were two side-aisles of great casks, painted green and gold, enclosed within a light brass rail, and bearing such inscriptions, as 'Old Tom, 549;' 'Young Tom, 360;' 'Samson, 1421'. Beyond the bar was a lofty and spacious saloon, full of the same enticing vessels, with a gallery running round it, equally well furnished. On the counter, in addition to the usual spirit apparatus, were two or three little baskets of cakes and biscuits, which were carefully secured at top with wicker-work, to prevent their contents being unlawfully abstracted. Behind it, were two showily-dressed damsels with large necklaces, dispensing the spirits and 'compounds.' They were assisted by the ostensible proprietor of the concern, a stout, coarse fellow in a fur cap, put on very much on one side to give him a knowing air, and to display his sandy whiskers to the best advantage.

The two old washerwomen, who were seated on the little bench to the left of the bar, were rather overcome by the head-dresses and haughty demeanour of the young ladies who officiated. They received their half-quartern of gin and peppermint, with considerable deference, prefacing a request for 'one of them soft biscuits,' with a 'Jist be good enough, ma'am.' They were quite astonished at the impudent air of the young fellow in a brown coat and bright buttons, who, ushering in his two companions, and walking up to the bar in as careless a manner as if he had been used to green and gold ornaments all his life, winked at one of the young ladies with singular coolness, and calls for a 'kervorten and a three-out- glass,' just as if the place were his own.

'Gin for you, sir?' said the young lady when she had drawn it: carefully looking every way but the right one, to show that the wink had no effect upon her.

'For me, Mary, my dear,' replied the gentleman in brown.

'My name an't Mary as it happens,' said the young girl, rather relaxing as she delivered the change.

'Well, if it an't, it ought to be,' responded the irresistible one; 'all the Marys as ever I see, was handsome gals.'

Here the young lady, not precisely remembering how blushes were managed in such cases, abruptly ended the flirtation by addressing the female in the faded feathers who had just entered, and who, after stating explicitly, to prevent any subsequent misunderstanding, that 'this gentleman pays,' called for 'a glass of port wine and a bit of sugar.'

Two old men who came in 'just to have a drain,' had finished their third quartern a few seconds ago; they had made themselves crying drunk; and the fat comfortable-looking elderly women, who had 'a glass of rum-srub' each, having chimed in with their complaints on the hardness of the times, one of the women had agreed to stand a glass round, jocularly observing that 'grief never mended no broken bones, and as good people's very scarce, what I says is, make the most on 'em, and that's all about it!' a sentiment which appeared to afford unlimited satisfaction to those who had nothing to pay.

It was growing late, and the throng of men, women, and children, who had been constantly going in and out, had, in addition to those mentioned, had dwindled down to two or three occasional stragglers - cold, wretched-looking creatures, in the last stage of emaciation and disease. The knot of labourers at the lower end of the place, who had been alternately shaking hands with, and threatening the life of each other, suddenly became furious in their disputes, and finding it impossible to silence one man, who was particularly anxious to adjust the difference, they resorted to the expedient of knocking him down and jumping on him afterwards. The man in the fur cap, and the potboy rushed out; a scene of riot and confusion ensued; half the labourers were shut out, and the other half were shut in; the potboy was knocked among the tubs in no time; the landlord hit everybody, and everybody hit the landlord; the barmaids screamed; the rest was a confused mixture of arms, legs, staves, torn coats, shouting, and struggling.

Mrs Mavring had drawn Vivien to one side as the fight was in progress.

"This happens every night," she said. "Everyone of those men is a father, with children. But there'll have been no food on the table at home tonight - it was all given to that man there." And she indicated the proprieter behind the bar.

Then she strode forward.

"Five bottles of spirits," she said without preamble. "We want 'em for the those injured in the fire at the Foundry."

"Oh you do, do you?" responded the proprieter with a sneer. "That'll be five gold stanners, then."

Mrs Mavring turned an alarming shade of purple.

Vivien's face was cold and pale. She had always had the air of someone used to privilege, but now she might have been a queen. She pulled her purse from her pockets (it was somewhat lighter than it had been the previous morning when she had gone out to explore the city, but still clinked satisfyingly.)

"We haven't the time to argue with this man," she said, slowing and deliberately clinking each coin on the bar. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. She with-held the last one. "Even if it is wretched to require full price to help the injured, especially when one is obviously doing so well."

"I don't know about that," said the publican, eying the remaining coin with glistening eyes. "I'm just a poor tradesman, I am. I have a living to make, same as everyone else."

Mrs Mavring snorted. "Give him the money and we'll be on our way," she said with disguist.

"But of course," said Vivien lightly, flipping the coin so that it spun as it landed on the counter. "I was only testing."

He grabbed it quickly and stuffed it away - having the grace to look a little ashamed of himself.

"Here you go," he said sullenly, and placed five large, thick green grass bottles on the counter before them, with thick corks stoppering the necks. In spite of this, they still reeked of alcohol.

"Come along," said Mrs Mavring with a final glower at the publican. "We'd best be getting back."

Vivien nodded, replaced her purse in her pockets and picked up two of the glass bottles.

Mrs Mavring manoeuvred the other three, one under one of her ample arms, the others in her hands.

As they left the gin palace, she said grimly to Vivien, "Drunk for a copper, dead drunk for two and clean straw for nothing - that's their boast. Strong drunk has been the ruin of many, Ma'am ... and it will ruin many more households yet. Just you ask the doctor."

"He'll get a poor man drunk for a copper, but it's a gold a bottle even to help the injured, eh?" Vivien said, her lip curling. This was not a question.

After a moment she said, "I'm glad I came here. There's a knot like a fist in my stomach and I don't think it will go away for days... But I'm glad anyway."

"Aye," said Mrs Mavring, "it can take you like that. But you've been a brave girl to come here and try to help. People around here won't forget that, you know. There's a lot that thinks their Lord and Ladyships is good for nothing but taking our money, but that's not Lady Greywood."

It was easier to find their way back - they just moved towards the red glow that showed above the roof tops.

"If you like," said Mrs Mavring said suddenly, "I can find you tasks outside the hospital. It won't be pretty, in there. And no blame to you for helping in other ways."

"Well, I..." Vivien hesitated. "I'll go wherever I'm needed most. If they need me inside I can go inside. Olivia and the other woman doctor aren't that much older than I am and they don't hide from things that frighten them. I'll wager you don't, either." She tried to smile again but it wasn't very convincing.

Mrs Mavring looked thoughtfully at Vivien. "Do you have any experience with small children? Do you know many fairy tales, nursery rhymes, and so on?"

Vivien looked surprised. "I... know some fairy tales, from when I was little... But I don't have much experience. When I was twelve, I baby-sat for some little cousins, but that's been seven years. And they were just infants at the time."

"That will do," said Mrs Mavring. "There are the smaller children, you see - we've herded them into one of the cottages. But they need someone to supervise and comfort them, and generally be in charge, because all they have at the moment are a few ten year olds. Do you think you could do that?"

Vivien was starting to feel that she wasn't completely certain she could do anything, but she nodded. "Yes, I can do that."

Mrs Mavring led her to one of the cottages, one of a row set at a right angle to the improvised hospital. She rapped on the door, and it was opened by a skinny girl of about ten, wearing a pinafore dress that was about three sizes too big for her.

"Oh, Ma," she said at once. "Charlie's cryin' sumfing fearful an' I can't get 'im to shut up."

"Never you fret, Dora," said Mrs Mavring. "This is a young lady from one of the great Houses, and she's come to look after you all."

Dora looked up at Vivien doubtfully.

Vivien's returning look was not much more certain. "Hello," she said. "I'm Vivien." She smiled at the girl warmly, but she didn't bend over or speak in a higher pitch, as she noted people commonly did to children.

" 'llo," said Dora. "You know sumfing about kids crying? Only Charlie's lorst 'is Mum, an' now 'e's setting the rest of 'em orff."

Vivien tried her best to project a warm, friendly confidence, not unlike that of her grandmother. Mother had never been particularly good with children, even her own.

"Let me see him," she said, still smiling. She glanced at Mrs. Mavring. "Thanks for the education."

"That's not a problem, my dear," said Mrs Mavring. "If only more of you came down here and saw what we had to face." She patted Vivien's arm. "I'll come back when I can, and make sure news is sent to you ... "

Then she was gone, and Vivien turned to see a sea of wary faces looking up at her warily. One girl, perhaps no older than eight, was sitting on the stairs, rocking a crying toddler to and fro as she held him in her lap.

Vivien's heart plummeted... in a way this was even more frightening because she ought have known how to deal with it. Smiling as serenely as she could manage, she moved softly into the room, sat down on the stairs next to the girl with the crying baby, and, holding out her arms for him, said, "Do you all like stories?"

There was a moment's wary heasitation, and then three of the children nodded. This seemed to encourage the others, and there seemed to be general agreement that yes ... they did like stories.

"Do you know the one about the little girl and the bad wolf?" asked Dora hopefully.

"I do," said Vivien. She lifted the sobbing Charlie, smoothed back his hair gently, while she wiped away some tears with her thumb. Then, rocking him absently in her arms, she said, "Let's go somewhere where we can all sit down."

She led the children into whatever sort of living room or family room the house had, took a seat in one of the sturdier chairs with Charlie on her lap, and smiled.

"Once upon a time," she began...

Octavio seated himself with the other children, looking up at Vivien with wide brown eyes in hope.

"...There was a pretty little girl who lived with her mother and father in a little village in the country. On her sixth birthday, her grandmother sent her a lovely red cape, with a hood. The little girl loved the cape so much that she wore it everywhere, and so what do you think people began to call her?"

Vivien looked around at the children, smiling.

There was a little shiver of pleasure that ran through her young audience.

"Red Riding Hood!" came a chorus of voices.

One small girl wriggled closer and slipped her hand into Vivien's.

She stroked the hand with her thumb, attention still divided between each child. "That's right. Red Riding Hood. Well, only a little while after she'd sent the cape, Red Riding Hood's grandmother got sick. Red's mother decided to send the little girl to visit, carrying a basket full of bread and sweets to help lift Grandma's spirits. 'Now, be careful,' her mother said. 'The woods are dark and dangerous. Don't stray from the path, and don't talk to strangers.'"

As the story went on, she became conscious that the children were calming, listening to the familiar tale.

When it was finished, there was a murmur of appreciation, before one little voice piped up.

"I wan' a dwink of water!"

"I'm thirsty too." Octavio put in, in a squeak.

"Of course you are," said Vivien, rising to her feet. "That was a nice, long story."

Adjusting the baby on her hip, she moved toward the kitchen. There weren't going to be enough cups for all the children, most likely, but she wanted to know how much of a differential there'd be.

"Now, who all is thirsty, raise your hands."

Octavio plainly tried to hold his hand down until some other child raised his or her hand before adding his in.

He didn't have very long to wait before a veritable sea of hands was waving.

Then a little voice said, with grave detrmination, "I want mil-erk!"

This seemed to occasion general agreement - a few clung to water, but there was clearly a large party who favoured milk, and one stout ambitious young lad of about three asserted firmly, " 'ot milk!"

Octavio giggled as his fellow student stood firm on the Great Milk-Water debate amongst the children.

"It's all right," said Vivien, raising her hands for silence. "Hush... let's see how much milk's here, eh?"

She looked in the icebox and shrugged. Kids didn't generally need that much of anything - they were smaller, after all.

She began pulling out all the cups she could find in the cupboards, as well as a little saucepan.

Then she set about filling the cups with a little water or milk while she heated up the remainder of the milk in the saucepan.

She didn't hand any of the cups out until after the milk was warmed; instead she said, "Now, what are all your names?"

She didn't expect to remember them all, but it would keep the children distracted for a moment.

"Octavio!" Octavio said triumphantly.

The other children gave their names too. Some were of the Dora, Nora, Flora variety - with the boys bearing robust names like Peter, Tom and Sam. Jem short for James seemed popular. Others, like Octavio, had names that suggested greater aspirations - there was an Augusta and a Vishandra. Then there were several whose names had a familiar ring - an Iolanthe, a Delan and a Rosalor.

The children all accepted the milk and water gravely and without fuss, but as they drank there were demands for another story.

Vivien obligingly moved them back into the living room, took a few children onto her lap and began the story of Sleeping Beauty.

By the end of it, the heroine was not the only one who had succumbed to sleep. Dora tugged at Vivien's sleeve.

"It's awful late. Should we try to make beds for 'em here?"

"Good idea," Vivien said, nodding. "Do you know where the blankets and things are?"

"I think I know!" Octavio piped up.

So too did Dora - but the store of blankets for so many children was pitiable small - and what blankets there were seemed to be threadbare or much patched. There was also only one big bed - Dora informed Vivien that was like her house, were everyone slept together in winter for warmth - and in summer they slept near the "win'ders".

Vivien tried to arrange the meager blankets to make as comfortable beds as possible for the children that wouldn't fit on the big bed, not worrying too much about covering them up as it wasn't very cold. She hummed an old lullaby of her grandmother's as she lifted the children up into their beds; her voice was pleasant but not practiced - she wasn't going to win any prizes, but the low smooth quality was comforting.

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