I'm back baby! Did anyone actually miss me and my crazy stories? Only answer if that's a yes.
"What do you think, George? Think I'll ever make detective?"
George cocked his head in his friends direction, and for a second their misty breath co-mingled.
"I don't see why not, Henry, after all, I made acting detective a few years back. If I can do it, so can you."
Henry looked at him uncertainly and the only sound was that of their feet crunching in the inch of crisp snow littering the sidewalk.
"If you say so, George."
George stopped moving so that he could face him and waved one gloved hand in agitation. "You've got to have more confidence in yourself, Henry! You are a wonderful constable! You just lack initiative!"
With eyes averted, his colleague said nothing. George sighed, took his place by his side and commenced walking again. A flurry of snow whipped past them, stinging their eyes. George brought a hand up to shield them. He glanced all around but very few people were out and about in this miserable weather, after dark. As such, their patrol had been rather uneventful. Thankfully, their shift was almost over and they would be heading home to their nice warm beds soon.
Further down the road they came to a familiar store display. One that George loathed with a passion. It was impossible for him not to say anything whenever they went by it.
George turned to face Henry who had also been looking at the darkened display with apprehension. Their eyes met.
"Please don't start-"
"How can I not, Henry!?" sulked George, pausing their forward momentum. "They stole my idea!"
Henry rolled his eyes. "For the last time, George, nobody stole your idea!"
"I beg to differ! I came up with *canned meat almost ten years ago!"
"Meat, George, meat! This is tuna! Not exactly the same thing!"
"No, but it's very close!"
"If this is bothering you so much, why don't you do something about it?"
"How do you mean?" he asked, looking puzzled.
Henry rolled his eyes again and said exasperatedly. "You've got tons of money, George! Just manufacture your godforsaken canned meat already!"
George opened his mouth to retort but there was a loud bang, instantly drawing both of their attentions sideways and then up into the overcast night sky. Heavy plumes of dark smoke were curling into the clouds, making them almost disappear. Urgent shouting could be heard in the distance. The two constables shared a look and then sprinted in that general direction, skidding once or twice on icy patches beneath the thin layer of snow. As they got closer, the yells became more distinct but were still unintelligible. Smoldering smells immersed their senses and made them pick up the pace even more. Turning a corner, they were met with an unwelcome (albeit not entirely unexpected) sight.
The fire was raging something fierce and the large multi leveled warehouse (George vaguely recognized as E. & S. Currie) was completely enveloped in flames. Adjoining buildings were also beginning to ignite. Civilians had taken to tossing buckets of water on the inferno. Needless to say, it had little effect. George's avid imagination likened the effect to a drop of water hitting the sun. There were no firemen in sight and he ordered Henry to call them but an old man slumped against the call box stopped them.
"I already done that, coppers," he said with a haggard voice. "They be on their way now."
"What is your name, sir?" asked George, kneeling down to better hear him over the roar of the blaze.
"Bernie Ryan."
Placing a hand on his shoulder he said, "Do you require medical attention, Mr. Ryan?"
The man coughed loudly in response and groaned just before passing out. George checked to make sure he was still breathing and when he was satisfied, stood up and said, "Get a doctor out here and inform the precincts and the fire halls."
"All of them?"
"Yes, Henry, all of them! We're going to need all the help we can get!"
As he finished speaking, the roof of the first building collapsed inward, sending a cascade of debris towards those present below. The civilians managed to get out of the way in time, all except for one. The man was hit in the chest with a burning piece of wood. He caught fire almost instantly and the man simply lost his head and ran around like a chicken with his head cut off. George charged over there and flung him face first into the melted snow. The man's coat and shirt were burned clean through but his skin was only slightly scorched. George helped him up and then herded them all like cattle.
"Everyone back up! It's too dangerous! It's time to let the professionals handle this!"
"Well, where the hell are they?!" exclaimed one indignant lady, in a rather undignified manner.
"I'm sure they'll be here any minute now, ma'am!"
The small crowd stood back a safe distance away while George and Henry began pounding on the buildings beside the burning ones, trying to evacuate any still unaware of the current situation. Luckily this was the wholesale district and not many were at work past eight o'clock because the warehouses had already closed. By the time the first of the firemen arrived, the fire had spread half a block along Wellington and Bay and if possible, seemed to be picking up speed.
The firemen had a slightly better system than the civilians in that they had ladders and a constant supply of water in cylindrical containers strapped to their backs. The small hoses attached to these devices did not have a lot of pressure or span and in essence were not much better than buckets. Firemen with bigger hoses that connected directly to the fire hydrants, got to work shortly after these first responders were deployed. Unfortunately the water wouldn't flow from them very well because part of the pipes were frozen solid. So the men relied on an older system of dispersal, that of large barrels of water brought in via waggon, and hand pumped out of the hoses. Again, it didn't help that several of the waggons water supplies were mostly frozen when they first arrived, making it difficult to get a strong, steady stream and for the firemen to refill their packs. However, the fire quickly helped in this regard and the ice was melted due to sheer proximity.
Not long after this, his boss (and wife) and his bosses boss came into view.
"Bloody hell!" bellowed Brackenreid as he took in the full extent of the carnage. It came out at a normal level over the roar of the flames.
"Oh my God!" mirrored Dr. Murdoch.
Murdoch appeared impassive, as usual. Could nothing rattle the man? George dismissed the thought as memories of a certain child snatching event flooded his mind. A steely voice broke through his depressing ruminations.
"Crabtree!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Have you evacuated the area?"
He nodded and feeling very warm from all of his running around near the extreme heat, began removing his winter jacket. "Most of it, sir. Constables from the other houses have been at it for some time now."
"Has anyone been killed?" said Murdoch. He didn't raise his voice much from his usual quiet level and George strained to hear.
"Not as far as we can tell, sir, but it's too soon to say. The firemen haven't been able to get inside any of the burning buildings yet."
"Where are the wounded?" enquired Dr. Murdoch, glancing around.
Even though the glow from the fire was bright enough to combat the flurries and darkness with aplomb, there didn't appear to be any civilians anywhere in sight.
He pointed way down the street on the opposite side to a building with some lights on. "Over there." She started to move away but stopped and half turned around when he continued. "Doctor, I suggest you start with the watchman, Mr. Ryan, he was the most injured. And be prepared to move at a moments notice, there's no telling if that building will continue to be safe."
She nodded that she understood and left the men to their own devices.
George directed his attention to the detective. "Sir, is there any way to unfreeze the pipes?"
Murdoch was thoughtful for a moment. He shook his head. "Not that I know of George. The best way to deal with this problem is to avoid having the water freeze in the first place by making sure enough impurities are present. This lowers the freezing point and-"
"Enough with the goddamn lecture, professor! If you don't have anything useful to say, don't say anything at all!"
"I was merely answering-"
"I know what you were bloody well doing, Murdoch, but-"
"Sirs!" exclaimed George forcefully. "This is no time to be arguing!"
Brackenreid gave him a death glare, grunted and then went to go speak with the fire chief to get a further update. Though there wasn't much point to this, it was obvious that the fire was winning. Most of the street was ablaze and there was no end in sight.
Some time later, Giles and the mayor himself turned up. Brackenreid quickly made his way over to them as did Murdoch and George. The chief constable addressed them coldly, like he always did because he still held a grudge against his two senior officers for never coming clean about their coverup of the Ava Moon case. At least that is what Murdoch assumed was the reason.
"How could you let this happen?" asked the mayor, wide-eyed at the continuing devastation of his city.
"We didn't let anything happen," said Brackenreid surly. Glaring at their political leader, "It was nice of you to finally show up!"
"I realize this is a trying time, inspector," said Giles sternly, "but mind your tongue." Brackenreid grumbled in response. The chief constable shared a look with all the men present. "I think what the mayor meant to say was how did this happen. I admit to being curious myself."
The inspector looked to George and he shrugged. "We don't know, sir."
The mayor gestured to the blaze. "This is unacceptable and can't be allowed to continue!"
"I agree, sir," countered Brackenreid, "but what exactly do you expect us to do about it? The fire chief is doing his damn best given the circumstances!"
"I won't remind you again, inspector."
"Bloody hell," muttered Brackenreid under his breath.
"Mayor Urquhart," said Murdoch formally.
The distraught, bearded man glanced at him. "Yes, detective?"
"Might a make a suggestion?"
"Go on."
"Perhaps you should get in contact with nearby jurisdictions, such as Hamilton and Buffalo. I'm sure they would be more than willing to lend a hand."
His eyes lit up. "Yes! That is exactly what I will do! Good thinking, detective!"
He rushed over to the same call box that was used to sound the original alarm, leaving the police men alone together. Giles started asking the same types of questions that Brackenreid and Murdoch already had and when he appeared to be satisfied, he moved on to the other inspectors.
Dr. Murdoch popped up at some point unbeknownst to George, for when he tore his eyes away from the blaze for a moment, there she was with her arm around the detective's waist. He wished his own wife was present as he was feeling incredibly weary all of a sudden and wanted a comforting hand for himself. However, the knowledge that his family was safe and sound, over a mile from here was enough to sustain him.
Feeling completely useless, George stood with his colleagues and watched as their beloved city burned.
*Okay it should be stated that this is not very accurate. Canned meat was around in the early 1800's. When I wrote this originally I was going off of what was said in the second episode. But I gather George's line about sending canned meat across the world was an ad-lib by Jonny and was actually meant as a jab at Spam (which came about in the 1930s). But I liked putting this joke in here so much that I said to hell with the historical accuracy. Besides, I've always considered the Murdoch world to be sort of a steam punk alternate reality, especially given the last season had 'talkies' about 25 years early. :p