“Forest fire!” Heppa swears as roof fires begin to light up the night sky. More flaming projectiles periodically fly through the air. The pause between each one suggests to her that the catapult is not just being reloaded, but also adjusted.
Tric begins shouting as he rushes to the closest burning building. “There’s a fire! Get your water brigade out! Or whatever humans have. You know how to fight fires, right?” He bangs on the door to alert the people within. “Your house is on fire! The catapult’s gone crazy!”
Her cousin runs up to the burning building, but Heppa hangs back so that she can have enough space to lob something up onto the roof. After rooting around in her satchel for a bit, she finally seizes on the small jar she is looking for. When she worked on Kachen’s medicine, she had some idle time during one of the simmering cycles to whip up a few other experimental ideas. Given her past experience accidentally setting a bush on fire with her magic, she thought it might be handy to have some fire suppression powder on hand, in case of any magical mishaps as Tric learns to channel fae energy. That is just the thing for this situation.
Heppa’s throw flies true, and the simple clay pot smashes near where one of the pumpkins did. A puff of white powder explodes out of the shattered crockery and keeps expanding, smothering the flames around it.
People pour out into the street in response to Tric’s cries. Some grab buckets and rush off to the nearest well. Heppa’s alchemy has settled one fire, but there are other buildings under threat. While one concerned person rushes back inside their home to save their pet turtle, Tric heaves the fine cart from which they make their livelihood away from the building so that it will not catch fire too.
Among all the shouting and alarmed cries, Heppa picks out some more sinister words. She catches Tric’s attention. “That fellow over by the alley there was complaining that this was being dealt with too quickly. The problem is more widespread than just some hooligans at the catapult. There are watchers in place in the city monitoring the results! They might even help spread the fires further.”
Tric looks over where Heppa is pointing and sees the fellow is slipping away into the darkness between two undamaged buildings. “I’ll see if I can find out where they came from or who they’re meeting up with,” he tells his cousin, flicking up his hood and preparing to give chase. Heppa worries about how they will find each other again in the chaos, but Tric reassures her, “We have birds; you can be found.”
“Good point,” Heppa acknowledges as Mate flaps over to her shoulder.
“Do what you’ve got to do. I’ve got this.” Tric vanishes around a corner.
Alone now except for a magpie, Heppa turns her attention to the larger problem. What is going on? she wonders. Are these pumpkins really just being launched at random? A three story building is just down the street, door gaping wide open. Its previous occupants are all busy fighting fires or gawking at them. Heppa runs in and up, coming out through the attic onto the roof to get a bird’s-eye view of the city. The fires glow brightly around the city, but in the darkness between them, it is tricky to make out what parts of the city were targeted. The longer she looks, though, the more she recognizes. As she sketches it out in her mapbook she realizes that everything seems to be around the cheaper part of town, with newer flaming pumpkins circling in on it. Oh no! Butterbell! She’s trapped in her stall. If the livery gets hit, she’s in trouble, Heppa worries. Those early fires are just the result of ranging shots. The real target is the lower-class quarter where the Parting Glass is. And the pumpkins are getting closer and closer to hitting Alric’s inn. If the roof gets hit, poor old Arkut might not be able to make it out of the aviary in time! Heppa shares her theories with Mate and sends the bird off to let Tric know. In her haste, it does not occur to her to write out the message.
Meanwhile, down in the twisting alleys of South Tower, Tric just manages to keep pace with his quarry. Unfortunately, he does not learn anything actionable. The fellow stops every now and then to watch for something. During one of these lulls, Tric considers approaching him and pretending to be on the same side, but ultimately he rejects that plan. The man may have seen him warning people earlier. Suddenly, Mate swoops in, yodeling up a storm. “You want to eat at a time like this?” Tric admonishes him.
Now that Mate sees he has Tric’s attention, the magpie begins mimicking words and sounds he has heard before. “Forest fire!” he squawks. That is followed by a falcon call, a horse whinny, and bagpipe music. “Forest fire!”
“Oh no, they’re going after the Parting Glass?” Tric blows out a long breath, considering his options. “Okay, buddy, you got this. Do you remember the catapult? And the really nice rope used to lower it?” Tric lays out his plan to Mate and then pulls out a piece of jerky. “Confirm that catapult is down, and this can be yours,” he promises. The magpie flies off with a mission.
The area around the catapult is shrouded in darkness, the main source of light being the flickering of carved pumpkins. The ruffians pushing the device to adjust its aim take no notice of the medium-sized bird who alights atop it. Mate picks at the knot up there with his beak, detaching the winching rope where it binds the arm. Someone will have to climb up there and resecure it well before they can lower the bucket for loading again. For good measure, Mate also swoops down to ground level and snatches the L-shaped tool used to transfer the tension for firing. Now any catapult operators will face the personal danger of standing right at the bucket themselves when it goes hurtling up and forward.
When Mate returns to Tric, he shows off his prize, preening a bit with it as a backscratcher. Then he offers it to Tric, looking pointedly at the pouch where the jerky is stored. “Very well,” Tric says, agreeing to the exchange. “Well done, Mr. Magpie. Now take me to Heppa.” The immediate problem of flying flaming pumpkins is dealt with for now; it is time for more strategic action.