Door Handle.
You look through the doorway at the dark inside the pub. "Wait," you say. "I'll go in alone, for now."
Ned looks at you with an expression that suggests he thinks you are mad.
"I am smaller," you say. "Lighter. It may be safer for me." As if to back up your reasoning, a shower of rubble clatters on something metal inside.
He hesitates. "Don't try any heroics, lad. Just tell us what you see."
A man pushes through the crowd and offers a hand-lantern, its candle flickering behind yellow, horn panes. You take it from him, and with a deep breath you step through the doorway.
It is almost pitch black inside. The mix of smoke and dust in the air stings your eyes as you squint into the murky darkness. Dull embers glow from beneath a layer of rubble in the fireplace. All the lanterns have been put out or smashed; the falling dust has smothered their flames too.
You feel with your hands and feet as you clamber over a pile of timber beams, brick and plaster. Your lamp illuminates little more than the fog around it, and you splutter at the taste of dust in your mouth.
Behind you, Ned's fuzzy silhouette fills the doorway. "Alf! Can you see anything?"
"Not yet." As you squeeze past a broken table, something crashes to the floor. You freeze.
"Alf!" Ned shouts from the door. "Are you still there?"
"Still looking!"
"Help me!" The landlady's voice drifts through the darkness from above. From its clarity you guess that a portion of the ceiling has gone.
You look up and shout 'Hullo!' and wait for a reply.
"Who is it?"
"Alf. The fruit seller. Are you hurt?"
"No..."
"Can you move?"
"No..." her voice broke with a sob. "It was too heavy... too heavy for her... it fell through the floor... There is no way down..."
"What was too heavy?"
"ALF!" Ned's voice booms into the darkness.
You look up in the direction of the landlady's voice. "Are you near a window?"
"Yes... over the stable yard!"
"Ned! Find a ladder! We must try to bring her out through the window above the stables!"
There is a shout of acknowledgement from outside. Now that they're distracted for a while you pick up your lantern and stumble on through the darkness. Something brushes over your head and liquid drips onto your face. You wipe it away and hold your lantern higher.
A woman's hand dangles from above, blood running along its palm and dripping from its fingertips. You lose your footing on the rubble and spread your arms to steady yourself, coughing as the dust sticks in your throat.
She hangs up-side-down from the ceiling, her face crushed and caked in a thick layer of congealing blood and dust which has seeped like oil into her long, matted hair. Her body is limp like a rag, her neck and arms suspended at impossible angles, as if held together only by her clothes. Beyond her waist you cannot see; her lower half is still wedged somehow among the splintered beams above your head, trapped by the metal edifice behind her.
Ducking to avoid contact with the smashed body you move towards this monstrosity so that more of it looms within the light of your lantern. Its cigar-like shape stretches from floor to ceiling and beyond, protruding through the ceiling to the upper floor. It begins to make sense to you, what might have happened. This poor soul had been upstairs when she was crushed by its weight, and her body taken with it as it crashed through the floor. The landlady had been luckier, but remained stranded upstairs.
But a thing of such size how could it have been brought into the building in the first place? No window or door could have taken its bulk.
The crack of splintering wood above reminds you that this building is not stable. You can hear the men outside helping the landlady out through the upstairs window. You cannot stay here.
Ned looks at you with an expression that suggests he thinks you are mad.
"I am smaller," you say. "Lighter. It may be safer for me." As if to back up your reasoning, a shower of rubble clatters on something metal inside.
He hesitates. "Don't try any heroics, lad. Just tell us what you see."
A man pushes through the crowd and offers a hand-lantern, its candle flickering behind yellow, horn panes. You take it from him, and with a deep breath you step through the doorway.
It is almost pitch black inside. The mix of smoke and dust in the air stings your eyes as you squint into the murky darkness. Dull embers glow from beneath a layer of rubble in the fireplace. All the lanterns have been put out or smashed; the falling dust has smothered their flames too.
You feel with your hands and feet as you clamber over a pile of timber beams, brick and plaster. Your lamp illuminates little more than the fog around it, and you splutter at the taste of dust in your mouth.
Behind you, Ned's fuzzy silhouette fills the doorway. "Alf! Can you see anything?"
"Not yet." As you squeeze past a broken table, something crashes to the floor. You freeze.
"Alf!" Ned shouts from the door. "Are you still there?"
"Still looking!"
"Help me!" The landlady's voice drifts through the darkness from above. From its clarity you guess that a portion of the ceiling has gone.
You look up and shout 'Hullo!' and wait for a reply.
"Who is it?"
"Alf. The fruit seller. Are you hurt?"
"No..."
"Can you move?"
"No..." her voice broke with a sob. "It was too heavy... too heavy for her... it fell through the floor... There is no way down..."
"What was too heavy?"
"ALF!" Ned's voice booms into the darkness.
You look up in the direction of the landlady's voice. "Are you near a window?"
"Yes... over the stable yard!"
"Ned! Find a ladder! We must try to bring her out through the window above the stables!"
There is a shout of acknowledgement from outside. Now that they're distracted for a while you pick up your lantern and stumble on through the darkness. Something brushes over your head and liquid drips onto your face. You wipe it away and hold your lantern higher.
A woman's hand dangles from above, blood running along its palm and dripping from its fingertips. You lose your footing on the rubble and spread your arms to steady yourself, coughing as the dust sticks in your throat.
She hangs up-side-down from the ceiling, her face crushed and caked in a thick layer of congealing blood and dust which has seeped like oil into her long, matted hair. Her body is limp like a rag, her neck and arms suspended at impossible angles, as if held together only by her clothes. Beyond her waist you cannot see; her lower half is still wedged somehow among the splintered beams above your head, trapped by the metal edifice behind her.
Ducking to avoid contact with the smashed body you move towards this monstrosity so that more of it looms within the light of your lantern. Its cigar-like shape stretches from floor to ceiling and beyond, protruding through the ceiling to the upper floor. It begins to make sense to you, what might have happened. This poor soul had been upstairs when she was crushed by its weight, and her body taken with it as it crashed through the floor. The landlady had been luckier, but remained stranded upstairs.
But a thing of such size how could it have been brought into the building in the first place? No window or door could have taken its bulk.
The crack of splintering wood above reminds you that this building is not stable. You can hear the men outside helping the landlady out through the upstairs window. You cannot stay here.