‘What is it, what’s happening?’

Gamache took the stairs rapidly, Beauvoir silent and following.

‘I don’t smell smoke,’ said Gamache, striding up to Nichol who was standing in the door to her room wearing pink flannel pajamas. She was wild-eyed and hyper-alert. ‘Come with me.’ His voice was even and composed. Nichol could feel herself breathing again.

As they descended they heard Gabri and Olivier calling to each other.

‘It’s along the Old Stage Road. Ruth has the address,’ Olivier shouted. ‘I’m heading over.’

‘Wait,’ said Gamache. ‘What’s happening?’

Olivier stopped in his tracks as though seeing an apparition.

‘Bon Dieu. I’d forgotten you were here. There’s a fire. The siren’s coming from the train station telling all the volunteer firefighters to get there. Ruth just called to tell me where the fire is. I’m the driver of the pump truck. She’s going there directly with Gabri.’

Gabri jogged down the corridor from their mudroom in his insulated khaki and yellow firefighter’s garb, reflecting strips round his arms, legs and chest, a black helmet under his arm.

‘I’m off.’ He kissed Olivier on the lips and squeezed his arm before running into the bitter cold.

‘What can we do?’ Beauvoir asked.

‘Get into your warmest clothes and meet me at the old railway station.’ Olivier didn’t look back, disappearing into the night, his parka flapping as he ran. Lights were appearing at homes all round the village.

All three raced upstairs, reassembling in minutes near the front door. Running across the village green Beauvoir could barely breathe for the searing cold. With each breath his nostrils froze shut and the air was like an ice pick in his sinuses, shooting pain through his forehead and making his eyes tear and freeze. By the time they were halfway to the train station he could barely see. Of all nights for a fire, he thought, struggling to keep his eyes open and his breathing even. The cold was already inside him, as though he was naked, his sweaters and jeans and warm clothing useless against this barbarous chill. Beside him Nichol and Gamache were coughing, also trying to catch their breaths. It was like inhaling acid.

The siren stopped as they got partway across. Beauvoir didn’t know what was worse, the shriek of the alarm or the shriek of the ground as though the earth itself was crying out in pain with every step they took. In the dark he could hear invisible villagers coughing and stumbling, rushing like doughboys toward God knew what Hell.

Three Pines was mobilized.

‘Put those on.’ Olivier pointed to firefighting clothes hanging neatly in open lockers. The three of them did as they were told and soon the place was full of other volunteers. The Morrows, Myrna, Monsieur Béliveau and a dozen or so more villagers all rapidly and without panic putting on their equipment.