Inside Inferno

There might still have been enough time to save her.

Moving through the House of Red Blossoms, it was one of the worst burning building he had been in. The number of victims inside when the fire was lit, the height of the structure, everywhere he looked was agony and destruction. Collapsed rooms with broken timber jutting like teeth from the doorways, shards of charcoal limbs scattered across the reception, the floor a well-played Go board of demon fire and veneered wood. He could feel himself sweat into his innermost layer and knew it wouldn’t be long until all the water in his jacket evaporated off.

Turushno and the monk would never scalp Uesugi in the entryway, they would corner her somewhere without as much foot traffic. Whatever the place was, it wasn’t somewhere a client would be invited, unless potentially for maximum privacy. If it was for maximum security, Arata could only think of one place it could be. Somewhere on the top floor in the centre of the building.

He took the stairs with practiced steps. Arriving at the first floor up, his route further up was blocked by a blackened bonfire of crossbeams explaining why those further up had to jump to escape. There wasn’t time to waste, the count must already have been halfway gone.

Through the fire, shadows focussed into courtesans who dashed past him to the exit downstairs. Two more figures waded behind them, as if underwater, and soon the padded hoods of witch hunter coats came into view.

“Shibagaki?” Arata could barely hear Nagami’s voice. For worse, his missing arm immediately identified him on the force. “Did Sawatari send you in?” The pause that came after was all the answer she needed and she stormed forward to grab at the rim of his collar. “Just get out, you’re not as much of a hero as you think you are.”

“You’re saying that to me when you’re turning back?” He retorted, pulling himself up to his full height and towering above her.

She didn’t flinch. “If you haven’t noticed, the way further up is blocked. We’re going back down to man the nets.”

Arata shook off her hand with a jolt of movement. “I’ll find my own way up.” That jolt turned into a run to the nearest window he could see across the landing, Nagami’s cries of ‘idiot!’ chasing after him. He clipped the hook to his rope, spun it across his body to build momentum, and crashed through the ripped paper shoulders first. The air felt like a shock of air as he turned, throwing the hook the second floor up. His knowledge of the brothel’s layout wasn’t anything to be proud of but he knew an identical window was built into the floor above. The hook snagged on its rim, he grabbed hold, and swung back into the building’s outer wall. Then came the difficult part. Rolling the rope over his palm, he had to take each step slowly. The bones in his hand screamed at the tension but there was no other choice, until at last he was close enough to give one last leap up and grab hold of the ledge itself. He muscled his way onto the second floor.

The staircase continued further up on the opposite side of the landing, through a forest of blue flame, and with his hood limiting his vision, he was surprised he caught sight of the woman. She was almost hidden by a doorway, just a dark body amidst the contrast of the flames, but Arata still slowed just to check.

“Can you hear me? You need to wake up.” By a turn of fate, she collapsed from the smoke without any fire reaching her and Arata had to hope it hadn’t been wasted on someone already dead. He shook her hard. The courtesan stirred, blinked at Arata, before realising the situation she was in. Arata considered handing her his rope but after just coming back to consciousness, there was no chance she wouldn’t just fall. Instead, he held out an arm, the woman took hold, and together they stumbled up the stairs.

Arata immediately saw the large windows people had been jumping from, weighed his options, and slung the woman off his shoulders out into the open air. A second later, she impacted a net, but by then Arata was already off. If his hunch was correct, Uesugi would be in the room furthest from the street, through the most number of doors, down as many corridors as possible. Perfect for this scenario. The count must have already been up, no doubt Nagami and Zaitsu already told Sawatari about Arata’s activity—he had to hope it was still ongoing. Drawing the time close to the edge, Arata began throwing open doors. Each was the same, too bright for anything living to still be living aside. Smoke crowded his lungs, the sweat on his brow beat down, his jacket sleeves had steam evaporating. Where was she?

Arata decided he was down to his last three doors before turning back when he had an answer to that question. Lying on her side, her whole body turned to charcoal, was Uesugi. Only her robes set her apart, the same mourning kimono he saw earlier that day, every other part of her was unrecognisable. Her hair was missing, cut off at the scalp whilst her face had crumbled into pits. She was dead before he walked into the building.

“Help...” The voice crackled like the flames. “Please help…”

Arata turned in the direction of the sound and his eyes met a man’s no older than twenty, A fallen beam trapped his body, only his left hand was free, half of his face grey from the ash he was lying in. Arata grabbed hold of the outstretched hand and pulled. With the sound ripping paper, the limb sheared at the shoulder. Demon fire had already spread to his body, a minute or two later and it would reach his heart. That would be it. But he could still be useful in the meantime.

“Did you see who did this?” Arata pointed at Uesugi’s burnt remains. “The man who set the fire?”

“A man…” The response came slow, his throat was already charring. “No, a monk… a monk with a black finger. The ring finger, his right hand.”

A black finger, one exposed to demon fire. Arata stowed his hook and drew Crowsbane. “Thank you.” He gave the man a noble end.

If he could find the monk missing a finger, he would have his colluder. With a newfound confidence, he looked back the way he came just for all of the confidence to be snuffed out. The roof had collapsed in. His exit was blocked.