And Harry saw it: the stable door. He gave an inarticulate shout and coughed convulsively. One last, terrible heave and they were through the stable doors. The cool night air embraced them like the kiss of a mother. Harry staggered, still clutching the unconscious man. Then other men were there, shouting and helping them away from the flames. He fell to the cobblestones, Bennet beside him. He felt small fingers on his face.

He opened his eyes to see Will in front of him. “Harry, you came back.”

“Aye, I did.” He laughed and then started coughing, hugging the wiggling boy to himself. Someone brought a cup of water, and he sipped at it gratefully. He turned to Bennet, a smile on his face.

Bennet still wept. He coughed convulsively and clutched the unconscious man in his arms.

Harry frowned. “Who—?”

“It’s Mr. Thomas,” Will said in his ear. “He went into the stables when he saw the fire. Because of the horses. But he didn’t come out, and Bennet ran in after him.” The boy patted Harry’s face again. “He made me stay with that man. I thought he’d never come out again. And then you went in, too.” Will wrapped his thin arms around Harry’s neck, nearly throttling him.

Harry gently pried loose the boy’s arms and looked at the man they’d pulled from the stable. Half his face was blistered and red, the hair singed black and short on that side. But the other half was recognizable as Bennet’s older brother. Harry held the side of his hand beneath Thomas’s nose. Then he moved his fingers to the man’s neck.

Nothing.

He touched Bennet’s shoulder. “He’s dead.”

“No,” Bennet rasped in an awful voice. “No. He grasped my hand inside. He was alive then.” He raised red-rimmed eyes. “We pulled him out, Harry. We saved him.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry felt helpless.

“You!” Granville’s roar came from behind them.

Harry jumped to his feet, fists clenched.

“Harry Pye, you goddamn criminal, you started this fire! Arrest him! I’ll see you—”

“He saved my life, Father,” Bennet choked out. “Leave Harry alone. You know as well as I that he didn’t set the fire.”

“I know nothing of the sort.” Granville advanced menacingly.

Harry took out his knife and sank into a fighting crouch.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Thomas is dead,” Bennet said.

“What?” Granville looked for the first time at his eldest son, lying by his feet. “Dead?”

“Yes,” Bennet said bitterly. “He went in after your damn horses and died.”

Granville scowled. “I never told him to go in there. Stupid thing to do, just like everything else he’s ever done. Foolish and pointless.”