At approximately fifteen minutes past the tenth hour on the 23rd of Rosellum a large conflagration erupted in the warehouse district abutting the Sanorah Dockside. The flames spread quickly from building to building, the intensity of the blaze being blamed, at least partly, on the fact that many warehouses had been stocked to full capacity. The crash in markets arising from what the Ironship Syndicate continues to refer to as the “Arradsian incident” has compelled many companies to hoard stocks of consumables against future shortages. Chief amongst these consumables are lamp oil and sugar, both highly caloric substances which undoubtedly did much to fuel the unfolding inferno.
By the eleventh hour at least two-thirds of the warehouse district was aflame along with a sizable portion of the Dockside buildings. Only valiant efforts by the Sonora Fire Watch, augmented by the City Constabulary, prevented the fire from spreading into residential environs. For a time it appeared that the blaze might be contained and the damage, whilst severe, would at least have been manageable. It is at this point in the narrative that your humble correspondent must ask his readers to trust the veracity of the subsequent account. Incredible though it may appear, I can only attest with simple honesty that what follows is the unexpurgated truth as witnessed by my own eyes.
Having been roused from my slumber at some point past the 10th hour by the general discord rising beyond my bedroom window, I proceeded, as all dutiful correspondents must, to the scene of the action. On reaching the Dockside my progress was impeded by a cordon of City Constabulary who were stringent in forbidding any closer approach. Fortunately, I espied a near by crane and duly made good my ascent to its topmost platform whereupon I found myself afforded a most excellent view of the dreadful spectacle below. A single glance proved sufficient to confirm the loss of most of the warehouses, the centre of the inferno blazing with such intensity that to look upon it pained the eyes. However, I could see the hoses of the Fire Watch hard at work on the fringes of the blaze and at that instant it appeared well contained and unlikely to pose further danger to the wider metropolis.
Then she appeared.
Regular readers will know well this correspondent’s repeated scepticism with regard to the so-called “Blessed Demon” said to have conducted a fiery rampage through the Marsh Wold and beyond in recent months. It is therefore with great humility that I must now attest that this monster is in fact all too real.
She came striding out of the smoke that covered the wharf beyond the constables’ cordon, tall and straight of back, one might even call her bearing elegant but for the rags she wore. The raging fire at her back cast her face in shadow but for a single instant. Just as she fixed her gaze upon the line of constables and called forth the fire in her veins, her face became clear and it was a face I knew well.
I know not whether it was the shock of recognition that froze me to the spot, or witnessing the horror of her unnatural flames consuming the servants of the law. In either case I must confess to a moment of absolute immobility in both mind and body as I stood and looked upon none other than Miss Catheline Dewsmine.
I should like to report that the face I looked upon was that of a madwoman—a cackling, wild-eyed hag bent on mindless havoc. But that was not the case. The countenance I beheld was not one of insanity, but serenity. In the past I had many occasions to look upon the face of Catheline Dewsmine and often felt there to be a certain artifice to those finely made features. Her smile strained a fraction, her eyebrow arched a little too high bespeaking a well-concealed contempt. I saw no such artifice now. The woman I watched commit mass murder was possessed of a contented certainty the like of which I have never witnessed in another human being.
She saw me as the last constable writhed his final agonies, glancing up to regard the solitary statue of a man standing atop a crane and pondering the imminence of mortality. I assume it was the certainty of my doom that unfroze me, a desire to meet my end with at least a semblance of dignity. So, standing as straight as I could I called down to her with the only greeting that came to mind: “Miss Dewsmine. Are you well?”
She stood regarding me in silence for some time, long enough in fact for a thick sheen of sweat to form upon my flesh as the inferno crept closer. Then she spoke, and I must report that as her face was absent any madness, so too was her voice. It was, in fact, the same rich, melodious voice I recalled from so many society gatherings.
“I am very well, thank you, Mr. Talwick,” she greeted me in return. “And you, sir?”
“In point of truth, miss,” I replied, somewhat startled by my own poise, “I must confess to a modicum of alarm at this very moment.”
“Alarm?” she enquired, then gave a small laugh of realisation. “Oh yes, my little diversion,” she went on, casting a glance at the encroaching flames. “I’m afraid I shall have to crave your forgiveness, sir. But necessity has spurred me to some . . . excesses of late.”
“Necessity, miss?” I enquired, my gaze taking in the measure of her form. Underneath all the soot she remained as beautiful as ever, if noticeably thinner and clad in what appeared to be the torn and tattered remnants of a dress more suited to a high-status ball than a scene of wanton destruction.
“Yes indeed,” she replied. “A most pressing and important matter.” At this point she felt it appropriate to offer an apologetic smile. “One which requires me to cut this pleasant interlude short.”
“I see,” I said, standing straighter still and compelling my gaze to meet hers.
“Oh, don’t concern yourself, Mr. Talwick,” she assured me and I noticed a familiar arch to her brows, the form they adopted when she found herself in the company of one she knew to be her social and intellectual inferior. “I should like people to know, you see,” she continued, waving an elegant hand at the blazing storm now barely ten feet from where she stood. “It’s only fair after all.”
“Know what, miss?” I enquired, my previous poise quickly eroding towards panic.
“Why, what’s coming of course,” she told me. “I believe it will make things so much more entertaining, in time. And with that, sir”—she gave a brisk smile and inclined her head—“I must bid you a fond farewell.”