His brash young constable wasn’t one to resist a challenge. Casting off his backpack, he climbed swiftly up to the nest, the structure surprisingly solid despite its age and disrepair. With Luka in place, Chandler handed him one of the rusted buckets that sat at the foot of the tower and in return was passed down a full one, water slopping over the sides and soaking his clothes.

Chucking the contents of the bucket into the smouldering mix, ash and smoke exploded out and around him like dry ice at a concert. Coughing up some rancid ash, he returned to the tank for a refill.

Back and forth he went with bucket after bucket, dampening sections of the buildings in turn, trying to avoid being scorched by the heat and random flicker of flames that popped out of nowhere.

Blinded by the searing heat and intense light he struggled to the tank.

‘Is there much left?’ he asked, spitting out ash that had dried out his tongue.

‘Half. Plenty,’ shouted Luka as Chandler returned to the embers, turning his head to the side and casting the water on to another smouldering patch, the ash whipping up and away, revealing what looked to be charred metal remains flashing in the waning sunlight. The discovery drove Chandler on, his eyes stinging, and after about half an hour he had the fire under control. The pair of impromptu firefighters exchanged congratulatory pats on the back, Chandler’s blackened paws smearing his colleague’s sweaty shirt in dark handprints. What lay in front of them didn’t look like much, but they had saved whatever was left.

Chandler stepped to the edge. Peering into the warm sludge he could see twisted metal. It would need to cool a little more before he could handle it.

‘Arson?’ asked Luka.

‘Hard to know for sure but looks like it.’

The fire had been savage, destroying whatever dwelling this had been, but though the surrounding trees had been scorched by the flames the fire had remained localized, the parched wooden slats acting as kindling. Chandler knew that they were lucky that it hadn’t started a major bushfire.

Grabbing an already charred branch he began to circle the ruins, combing through the debris, discovering chunks of metal that had resisted the heat of the flames: right-angled joints of a table or workbench, a saw that had welded with the heat to a hatchet to create an unwieldy instrument. Fishing into the mess with his stick, he looped it through a set of manacles, the chain-links solidified, and dragged them out on to the ground to cool.

Stepping around the cabin, carbonized wood and paper floated on the thermal draught, suspended in the air, too heavy to float away but too light to fall back to earth. Chandler reached out for a few pieces but they crumbled into dust.