Myrten bit his lip. Laron was climbing awfully high. The salvage and reconstruction of this part of town had barely begun, but the town had rallied together to do what was necessary.
Of course, retrieving the sign from the third floor of the damaged tavern was far from what Myrten considered necesssary.
Laron was certainly nimble – that couldn’t be denied. But Myrten wasn’t sure tha the could scale the ruined building safely enough to retrieve the sign. He was up as far as the second floor now. To get to the sign, he would have to cross the stumbling stonework and push past wooden beams that were still smouldering, then somehow climb the remaining section of the third storey wall to reach the sign. Then he would have to cling on like a spider while he detached it from what remained of the wall, which did not look at all structurally sound.
A group of people, Myrten among them, were standing around watching. Laron had made it to the second floor. There were still some floorboards in place there, and he carefully tested their strength before putting any weight on them. That was good. The boy was cautious.
Laron carefully stepped on beans and made his way to the standing wall. The wall was constructed with wood panelling facing the street, attached to vertical beams with diagonals for bracing.
When the dragon had passed over this part of the city, its fiery breath had completely obliterated the building next door – a tailor’s shop – and the building had been quickly incinerated. The tailor himself had been lost in the conflagration, and his body hadn’t yet been recovered. If there was even anything left of it other than ash.
Myrten had been coordinating recovery workers – his loud voice and knowledge of building techniques had meant that people naturally looked to him for leadership. He had tried to reach out to the city watch for support and assistance, but they clearly had other priorities. It was up to the community to take care of its own.
There was a sudden collective gasp as Laron’s foot came down on a structurally unsound floor joist, and it broke under him. He caught himself, then waved to the crowd. It was not serious. The crowd let out its breath.
Laron resumed his slow exploration and climb. He was at a difficult spot now – he had to climb to a tiny fragment of the third storey floor by scaling the wall, then… well, Myrten supposed he’d have to just leap to the other wall where the sign was attached.
The woman standing next to him muttered something – it sounded like “get up there and help,” but she didn’t appear to be speaking to anyone in particular.
“Huh?” Myrten asked, without taking his eyes off Laron. She didn’t respond.
Laron was on the floor fragment now. Nervously he looked down at the crowd.
“You can do it, son!” a man called out – Laron’s father. As if this shout of encouragement gave the rest of them permission, other shouts rang out.
“That’s it, boy!”
“You can do it!”
“Go for it!”
“You’ve got this!”
Bolstered by this show of community support, Laron braced himself for the jump. He bent his knees and kicked off.
At that moment the fragment of floor broke and collapsed. Laron fell. Someone in the crowd screamed.
He fell only a few feet before his fall was somehow arrested. He dangled from one arm, as though he had caught something as he fell. But he hadn’t. He was dangling in midair.
He hung for only a moment before slowly descending to the mostly intact second floor.
“You saved him! Good boy! Now see if you can get the sign.”
Myrten looked at the woman standing next to him. So did several others, but she seemed not to notice. Her attention was still on the third floor, above where Laron was now standing bewilderedly rubbing his wrist. The woman continued to ignore everyone.
“That’s it! See if you can loosen it,” she called out.
There was another collective gasp from the crowd, and another scream. It sounded like the same person had screamed. Myrten looked up.
The sign, firmly attached to the third floor wall, was moving. It was shifting back and forth as though it were being pushed. The bolts holding it to the wall were steadily being loosened.
The woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “Yes!” she called. “Just a little bit more. One hard pull!”
The sign jerked, and the wood cracked and splintered. The sign was detached from the wall, but it didn’t fall. It hung in midair. The screamer in the crowd screamed for a third time. No-one else made a sound. Most of them had their mouths open.
Myrten watched as the sign slowly drifted down the wall, and across the ground to the woman, who grabbed it.
“Here you go,” she said, presenting it to him as though it were a new shirt. Automatically he reached out and took it. It wasn’t as heavy as he had expected. He looked up at the wall again, then back down at the woman, who smiled up at him.
“How… how did you…?” he stammered.
“Oh,” she said breezily. “It was my boy Dab. Such a good boy.”
Myrten just looked at her.
“You should close your mouth, sir,” she said with a wink. “You don’t want anything to get in there.”
She turned and walked away. Myrten noticed that a couple of young men also left the group, running off in the direction of the church.
Oh, that can’t be good, he thought.
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