A rocket whistled out of the cart, shooting skyward with a shrill scream. It burst above in a sphere of golden stars, turning night to midday for a split second. The merchant's heart pounded with equal parts terror and relief at least that one had gone up, not into the tents.
Even as he thought it, another fuse caught. A second rocket sputtered and shot out at a crazy angle. It streaked toward Madame Zora's fortune-teller tent and exploded on impact in a burst of red sparks.
Shouts erupted as the canvas canopy caught fire. The merchant stumbled back, throwing his arms up as heat washed over him. With horror, he saw that his entire cart was now ablaze. One after another, rockets began firing off erratically, turning the carnival grounds into a chaos of sound and light.
He acted on instinct. Gritting his teeth, he lunged through a shower of sparks, grabbed the burning rocket box off the cart, and hurled it with all his strength toward the open field beyond the tents.
He was mid-throw when one of the larger shells inside ignited. The box blew apart in a blinding flash, the blast knocking him off his feet. The night lit up in a strobe of blue, white; a thunderous boom rattled the ground. The merchant landed hard on his back, ears ringing, the taste of smoke and blood in his mouth. For a moment, he lay stunned as burning paper and embers rained down around him.
Screams and yells rang out through the drifting smoke. Carnival workers stumbled from their wagons, panicked and confused. "Fire!" someone hollered. Flames were devouring the fortune teller's tent, casting wild shadows across the midway.
The merchant forced himself up, a bolt of pain shooting through his left arm where a shard of wood had gashed it. He staggered toward the flames just as a few roustabouts arrived with buckets sloshing water. They formed a ragged bucket line from a water barrel, and he jumped in, heaving water onto the blaze.
For desperate minutes, they battled the fire. Water hissed on burning canvas, and black smoke billowed into the night sky. At last, soaked and sooty, they managed to douse the flames before they spread to the other wagons. Madame Zora's tent collapsed into a charred, steaming husk, but the rest of the carnival was saved.
Coughing, the merchant dropped his bucket and surveyed the wreckage, chest tight with dread. His beautiful cart was a blackened skeleton, wheels still smouldering. Scattered all around were the shattered remains of rockets and shells. The air reeked of smoke and saltpetre. The night that had begun in quiet emptiness was now filled with ruin.
The ringmaster came striding through the gloom, eyes blazing with anger. He seized the merchant by the collar. "What in blazes happened?!" he shouted, shaking him once.
The merchant, dazed and trembling, stammered, "It was an accident... one of the rockets must have lit... I did not mean for"
The ringmaster released him with a shove, cursing under his breath. He took in the scene: scorched grass, the burnt tent, the frightened eyes of a few carnies hovering nearby. "We'll discuss this at dawn," he said in a low, dangerous voice. Then, louder for all to hear, "Everyone, back to bed. We will sort this out in the morning."
Gradually, the onlookers dispersed, some casting the merchant looks of sympathy, others shaking their heads in scorn. The ringmaster gave him one last glare and stalked off into the darkness.
So, the merchant stood alone amid the charred debris of his livelihood. The adrenaline that had carried him through the crisis ebbed, leaving exhaustion and dread. His arm throbbed where it was cut, and when he pressed a hand to it, his fingers came away wet with blood.
A small scuffling sound drew his attention. From behind the overturned crate near his wagon, the rat appeared with grey fur matted with soot. It limped over cautiously, one of its ears scorched and a patch of its whiskers singed away, its tail bared at the tip. Its usual sly gleam was absent from its eyes; in them, the merchant saw a reflection of the fear they had just survived. It sat a short distance from the merchant, sides heaving as it caught its breath.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment. They simply looked at the devastation in silence, the wisps of smoke against the predawn sky, the dark shapes of ruined fireworks littering the ground.
At last, the rat broke the silence, its voice unsteady. "Fear… it sears itself into memory, doesn't it?"
The merchant sann to sit on the damp grass, the weight of the night pressing on him. "I've made a mess of things," he croaked, staring at the blackened earth. He expected the rat to gloat or scold, but it did not.
"No one died," the rat said softly. "It could have been worse."
The merchant let out a shuddering breath. "I wanted to give them a night to remember," he whispered. "Now this is what they'll remember instead."
The rat looked up at him, whiskers drooping. "I didn't want it to end like this for you," it murmured.
In the dim dawn light, the merchant noticed the poor creature's injuries. He reached out a hand instinctively. "You're hurt..."
"I'll live," the rat replied, managing a faint, rueful smile. "Takes more than a little fire to get rid of me."
Sighing, the merchant tore a strip from his already ruined sleeve and wrapped it around his bleeding arm. The two of them began to clean up in silence, him picking up larger splinters of wood and twisted metal, the rat nudging small burnt fragments into a pile with its nose. It was a grim task, but it gave them something to focus on.
After a time, the merchant spoke, voice low. "Did you see what set it off?"
The rat dropped a charred scrap it had been dragging. "I think a spark from your lantern caught a fuse. I smelled sulphur just before the first rocket went off."
The merchant closed his eyes, a wave of self-reproach washing over him. A tiny spark of carelessness, and his world had nearly gone up in flames. "All my fault," he whispered. "Such a stupid mistake."
"You tried to stop it," the rat offered. "If you had not thrown that box, it would have been far worse. You saved the rest of u, and even saved seven lives."
"And almost got me killed doing it," he replied with a hollow chuckle. He slumped onto the crate, cradling his bandaged arm. "What am I going to do now? The ringmaster might send me packing. Even if he does not, I will be paying for that tent and rebuilding this cart for months…"
The rat hopped up beside him. "Then you'll do what needs doing," it said matter-of-factly. "Make amends. Rebuild. If they throw you out…" It hesitated, then gave a tiny shrug. "There are worse things. At least you will be alive to start over."
The merchant managed a tiny smile at the rat's version of encouragement. The eastern horizon was beginning to glow with morning light. Whatever fate awaited him, the world had not ended this night.
He looked down at his unlikely companion. "Why did you stay?" he asked suddenly. "After all your talk… why are you here with me instead of slinking off?"
The rat was quiet for a moment, nose twitching. "Maybe I wanted to see how it all turned out," it said. "Maybe I… don't like to admit it, but I didn't want you to face this alone." It cleared its throat, which came out as a little chitter. "Truth is, I saw something in you that first night I snuck close to your firework show. You were standing there after the crowd left, staring at the empty sky like you had lost something. I guess… I felt a kinship. Two creatures who come alive at night and wonder where they fit when the light returns."
The merchant felt a sting in his eyes that had nothing to do with smoke. "I'm glad you stayed," he said quietly. "I don't think I'd have managed this night alone."
The rat gave a tiny, self-conscious nod. "You're not as insufferable as I thought," it conceded. "Flawed and a bit foolish, but you have a good heart, I suspect."
A soft laugh escaped the merchant. "High praise from a critic like you."
"Don't let it go to your head," the rat quipped. "By nightfall, I'll be back to picking you apart."
Together they watched as the sun inched over the horizon. Pale gold light spilt across the carnival grounds, illuminating every scorch mark and damp patch left behind. Somewhere beyond the trees, a bird chirped a tentative morning song, the first normal sound after the night's horrors. The Ferris wheel's silhouette loomed against the sky, and a few workers were already up, examining the damage in dismay.
The rat's eyes gleamed as it regarded the merchant. "So," it said softly, "who do you think will be remembered this morning?"
The merchant looked at the ruins of his fireworks and the blackened tent poles, then at the small soot-streaked creature by his side. Despite everything, a faint smile touched his lips. "I will remember you," he answered.
The rat blinked, then its whiskers twitched in what might have been an emotion too complex for words. It hopped down from the crate. "And I you," it replied quietly. "See? I told you I would leave an itch in your mind."
At that moment, a gruff voice cut through the air, the ringmaster calling the merchant's name from across the lot. The new day's judgment was at hand.
One of the roustabouts spotted the rat and made a swipe at it with a broom. "Git, vermin!"
The rat deftly dodged and scurried a few yards away, but not before shooting the merchant one last look. In it was a glint of gratitude and camaraderie born of darkness shared.
The merchant raised a soot-stained hand in a subtle wave. The rate dipped its head, then vanished under a torn tarp, disappearing into the remains of the night.
Drawing in a steady breath, the fireworks merchant rose to his feet. He turned to face the ringmaster and the coming day, squaring his shoulders. He felt charred and hollowed out, as if he were one of his spent rockets, yet inside, a small spark remained. The memory of a strange, dark friendship and the truths it revealed would burn quietly within him, lighting his way through whatever dawn would bring.