Somehow, over the roaring and shouting, he heard the thin wail. He swung in its direction and saw Will, held physically off the ground by a burly footman. The boy struggled and fought, his gaze fixed on the flames all the while. “Nooo!”

It was Bennet in there.

Harry jumped from his horse and ran to the line of men hauling water. He grabbed a full bucket and up ended it over his own head, gasping as the cold water slapped him.

“Oy!” someone yelled.

Harry ignored the shout and plunged into the stable.

It was like diving into the sun. The heat embraced and overwhelmed him, pulling him greedily down. The water in his hair and clothes hissed as it turned to steam. A black wall of smoke blocked his way. Around him, horses screamed their fear. He smelled ashes and, horribly, burning flesh. And everywhere, over all the rest, the awful flames eating the stable and everything within.

“Bennet!” He had the breath for one bellow.

His second breath brought ashes and burning heat into his lungs. Harry choked, unable to speak. He pulled his damp shirt up and covered his nose and mouth, but it made little difference. He stumbled forward like a drunkard, desperately feeling with his hands. How long could a man live without air? His foot struck something. Unable to see, he fell forward. He landed on a body, felt hair.

“Harry.” A ghastly rasp. Bennet.

Harry searched quickly with his hands. He’d found Bennet. And another man.

“Have to get him out.” Bennet was on his knees, struggling to pull the man, moving the dead weight only an inch or two.

Nearer the floor, the air was a little better. Harry gasped, taking in a lungful, and grabbed one of the unconscious man’s arms. He heaved. His chest burned and his back ached as if the muscles were tearing. Bennet had the man’s other arm, but he’d obviously reached the end of his rope. He pulled only feebly. Harry hoped, prayed, that they moved in the direction of the stable door, that he’d not gotten turned around in the smoke and screaming and ashes and death. If they went in the wrong direction, they would die here. Their bodies would be so thoroughly burned that no one would know which man was which.

My lady needs me. He grit his teeth and pulled against the agony in his arms.

I will be a father soon. His foot caught and he staggered, but kept himself upright.

My child will need me. He could hear Bennet sobbing behind him, whether from the smoke or from fear, he didn’t know.

Please, God, they both need me. Let me live.