Chương 15: Man Conquers Fire

"Hold off on that sign, will you?" I stopped one of the sailors from repainting the Breakwater Inn sign. I turned to Wynnie.

"What do you think? Should we rename it The Best Inn?" She smiled broadly. We'd made more than seven silver on punch the day before, and now we were getting the inn repainted as part of a work exchange. It was the first time I'd seen her looking genuinely cheerful and relaxed since we'd met. The glow of happiness looked good on her. Really good.

"I love the idea, but no. As much as I don't like the name—especially compared to The Good Inn—it's all I have left of my family."

"Well, there's also your cousin."

"Yuck. I don't claim her. I'd like to stick with the Breakwater Inn. Maybe there's another way of getting called the best inn in town." I shrugged. I was on a roll with good ideas, so I pitched out another.

"Why don't you just write it as a slogan beneath the name on the sign? In big, bold script, it would say The Breakwater Inn, just as it is right now. Then, in fancy script below it, maybe with a couple of quotation marks, you could add 'The Best Inn in Town.'"" Seems cheesy, but why not? Let's do it." The sailor who was doing the painting overheard all of that and gave us a quick nod. With an artistic flourish, he dipped a brush into one of the paint cans and got back to work.

I watched in awe as the crusty young barnacle flexed his artistic muscle. With impeccable shading technique, he made the additional text look almost as though it was carved in to begin with. He finished it with a second coat, ensuring that it could stand up to more than a few coastal storms. The rest of the sailors seemed to be handling things with just as much skill. They earned their progress through efficient work; their every movement was made with a brisk, almost graceful purpose. But only almost graceful.

They were drinking. And somehow, in spite of the amount they'd drunk the night before—and how much they drank while working—they were moving surprisingly quickly. I could never. Or at least, not for the last few years. Even as a professional alcohol guy, heavy drinking took its toll on me. Maybe it was because I was in my thirties now. I couldn't just jump up and start my day as if nothing had happened anymore.

These guys, on the other hand, got a bit of the hair of the dog that bit them and immediately started working. Wynnie tried to keep up with their appetites, cooking up a constant string of simple dishes. She kept calling me in to help. Mostly, I stoked the fire and made sure the stove remained at an even heat. A couple of times though, I watched the hob while she ran out to get some more ingredients. By the time they finished work, it was once again late in the evening.

Most of them were now thoroughly stuffed and rather inebriated. A few had already retired to their rooms, while the rest clamored for more punch, even though there wasn't all that much left in the batch I'd mixed up in the morning. After last call, I retreated with Wynnie to a remote spot in the main room.

"Well, that was exhausting." She loosened the strings on her dress, letting her body take up more room. I tried not to stare too hard as she slumped into her chair by the fire. The light flickered over her features. A slight sheen of perspiration dotted her chest, which rose and fell lusciously with each breath. I regained my thought process.

"Imagine if we'd tried to paint that all by ourselves."

"Golly whillikers. That would've taken all week!"

"Yeah, I'm not sure what I was thinking. I'm glad I didn't sign us up for all that."

"The crew will be gone in the morning, and we'll have a fresh new inn to enjoy. That was from barely a day of labor. I'd make that trade anytime." You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. I thought about the pouch of coins we'd barely dipped into.

"Even after feeding the crew, we still have more than seven silver to our names. I'd say we're doing pretty well."

"Yeah. Now all we need to do is kick our feet up and relax by the fire." About that. I was trying, but it wasn't as easy for me as Wynnie made it sound. We'd dramatically improved the exterior of the Breakwater Inn, but the inside was still choked with billowing black clouds. I'd have to remember to get the sailors to help me remove the painted seals from the windows before they left in the morning. A draft would help. But in the meantime, maybe there was something we could do about the sputtering hearth.

I grabbed a poker and adjusted the logs. They still weren't burning well. More smoke filled the room, stinging my eyes and scratching my throat. I coughed.

"I don't suppose there's a way to make this fire stop spewing smoke into the room, is there?" Wynnie shrugged haplessly.

"I have no gosh darn idea. No matter what kind of wood I put in there, it burns like crap. If I blow on it, it gets better for a second, but then it's right back to smoke again." There were two things that made a fire struggle so much. The first was if it was young, wet wood. I sincerely doubted that Wynnie was dipping her logs in water before tossing them on the pile. That pointed me to the second. Insufficient air. All this was giving me an idea. Another one.

I was worried I might be testing my luck, having so many in such a short period, but I had to try.

"I don't suppose there's a flue or anything we could open?" I crossed my fingers, hoping that I didn't sound like an idiot. I wasn't even entirely sure I knew what a flue was. Wynnie furrowed her brow.

"What's a flue?" Welp. At least that made two of us who didn't understand fireplaces. I was about to make my best guess about the word and hoped I sounded smart. If I was right, we could be onto something.

"It's, um, a thing that opens and closes the chimney."

"Oh. That sounds familiar, sure."

"If there's a way to open it, then all the smoke would go up instead of out into the room." My guess was that a flue would also improve the airflow in the fire, leading to a cleaner burn and less soot. We might run through more fuel, but at our current pace, we could easily cover the cost. With any luck, opening the flue would also open the ductwork that was supposed to warm the rooms. I suspected that the lack of heat in the inn was simply a structural issue. A malfunctioning heater, basically.

The place didn't need a fire mage so much as an open flue. That is, if I was right about what a flue was. My apartment had a mini split with Wi-Fi. Wynnie glanced at the hearth like it might lurch out and bite her.

"Well, you can be my guest if you want to look for it. There's no way I'm going to stick my head in the fireplace." Yeah, me neither. We would have to wait until it had died down. Unless there was a way to adjust it more conveniently… It was worth a quick inspection. I crouched forward, getting onto my knees. Heat from the fire blasted me in the face as I squatted to get an eye-level view of the hearth. At first, it was hard to see anything.

The flickering brightness of the flames blinded me, and everything else was covered with a thick layer of caked-on soot from years of operation without cleaning. There was more black-on-black than a wardrobe from Hot Topic in the 90s. As my eyes adjusted, I saw something interesting. A small chain hung from farther up in the chimney. I almost missed it since it was covered in the same thick carbon as everything else, but it caught the light differently than the brick behind it.

A hook in the brick secured the chain, which it held taut.

"Any idea what this chain is for?" I looked back to see if she knew anything. She shrugged and made an, I don't know face.

"I figured it holds something? I didn't want to mess around with it in case I broke something." I was less concerned about breaking something. Already, it operated at bottom-tier efficiency. I messed around with it. Using a curved poker, I hooked the chain. Even the iron of the tool burned hot in my hand as I tugged the chain down. WIth some careful maneuvering, the chain slid free from the hook that caught it.

Then, feeling an upward pull from the chain, I slowly released it, letting it rise several inches in my hand. Almost immediately, the fire roared to life. Suddenly, the chimney sucked up the smoke that had been blowing out of the fireplace and into the room.

"Oh, thank goodness." I breathed a sigh of relief and grinned as I returned to my seat. Wynnie looked at me in awe.

"I can't believe you fixed it! This is going to change everything! No more smoky room. The guests are going to love it." I was pretty sure that nobody would love it more than we would. Extra warmth would be nice, sure. The inn didn't exactly benefit from modern insulation, and it was a bit drafty thanks to its aging construction, but that didn't mean that keeping a fire inside was safe. I could only imagine how much carbon monoxide Wynnie had breathed over the last several years.

So, not only was the inn more comfortable now, but safer, too.

"I can't believe how much you've turned my fortunes around so far. I'm really glad you died." Wynnie gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Oh, sugarplums. I can't believe I just said that!" I chuckled and waved her concerns away.

"It's weird, but I'm starting to feel glad I died, too."

"Just don't die again. Not when I'm starting to like you." Once again, Wynnie seemed to realize what she'd said and searched nervously for something else to say.

"I mean, who knows what we can accomplish next?" I held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. First the fire grew, and now I was pretty sure there was an additional spark in the room.

"Yeah," I said.

"Who knows?"