The Terrible Conflagration up at the Place, Ray Bradbury

The Terrible Conflagration up at the Place

The men had been hiding down by the gatekeeper’s lodge for half an hour or so, passing a bottle of the best between, and then, the gatekeeper having been carried off to bed, they dodged up the path at six in the evening and looked at the great house with the warm lights lit in each window.

“That’s the place,” said Riordan.
“Hell, what do you mean, ‘that’s the place’?” cried Casey, then softly added, “We seen it all our lives.”

“Sure,” said Kelly, “but with the Troubles over and around us, sudden-like a place looksdifferent.It’s quite a toy, lying there in the snow.”
And that’s what it seemed to the fourteen of them, a grand playhouse laid out in the softly falling feathers of a spring night.

“Did you bring the matches?” asked Kelly.
“Did I bring the—what do you think Iam!”
“Well,didyou, is all I ask.”

Casey searched himself. When his pockets hung from his suit he swore and said, “I did not.”
“Ah, what the hell,” said Nolan. “They’ll have matches inside. We’ll borrow a few. Come on.”
Going up the road, Timulty tripped and fell.

“For God’s sake, Timulty,” said Nolan, “where’s your sense of romance? In the midst of a big Easter Rebellion we want to do everything just so. Years from now we want to go into a pub and tell about the Terrible Conflagration up at the Place, do we not? If it’s all mucked up with the sight of you landing on your ass in the snow, that makes no fit picture of the Rebellion we are now in, does it?”

Timulty, rising, focused the picture and nodded. “I’ll mind me manners.”
“Hist! Here we are!” cried Riordan.

“Jesus, stop saying things like ‘that’s the place’ and ‘here we are,’ ” said Casey. “We see the damned house. Now what do we do next?”
“Destroy it?” suggested Murphy tentatively.

“Gah, you’re so dumb you’re hideous,” said Casey. “Of course we destroy it, but first … blueprints and plans.”
“It seemed simple enough back at Hickey’s Pub,” said Murphy. “We would just come tear the damn place down. Seeing as how my wife outweighs me, I need to tearsomethingdown.”
“It seems to me,” said Timulty, drinking from the bottle, “we go rap on the door and ask permission.”

“Permission!” said Murphy. “I’d hate to have you running hell, the lost souls would never get fried! We—”
But the front door swung wide suddenly, cutting him off.
A man peered out into the night.

“I say,” said a gentle and reasonable voice, “would you mind keeping your voices down. The lady of the house is sleeping before we drive to Dublin for the evening, and—”
The men, revealed in the hearth-light glow of the door, blinked and stood back, lifting their caps.

“Is that you, Lord Kilgotten?”
“It is,” said the man in the door.
“We will keep our voices down,” said Timulty, smiling, all amiability.

“Beg pardon, your Lordship,” said Casey.
“Kind of you,” said his Lordship. And the door closed gently.
All the men gasped.

” ‘Beg pardon, your Lordship,’ We’ll keep our voices down, your Lordship.'” Casey slapped his head. “What were we saying? Why didn’t someone catch the door while he was still there?”
“We was dumfounded, that’s why; he took us by surprise, just like them damned high and mighties. I mean, we weren’tdoinganything out here, were we?”

“Our voiceswerea bit high,” admitted Timulty.
“Voices, hell,” said Casey. “The damn Lord’s come and gone from our fell clutches!”
“Shh,not so loud,” said Timulty.
Casey lowered his voice, “So, let us sneak up on the door, and—”

“That strikes me as unnecessary,” said Nolan. “Heknowswe’re here now.”
“Sneak up on the door,” repeated Casey, grinding his teeth, “and batter it down—”
The door opened again.

The Lord, a shadow, peered out at them and the soft, patient, frail old voice inquired, “I say, whatareyou doing out there?”
“Well, it’s this way, your Lordship—” began Casey, and stopped, paling.
“We come,” blurted Murphy, “we come … toburnthe Place!”

His Lordship stood for a moment looking out fit the men, watching the snow, his hand on the doorknob. He shut his eyes for a moment, thought, conquered a tic in both eyelids after a silent struggle, and then said, “Hmm, well in that case, you had best come in.”

The men said that was fine, great, good enough, and started off when Casey cried, “Wait!” Then to the old man in the doorway, “We’ll come in, when we are good and ready.”
“Very well,” said the old man. “I shall leave the door ajar and when you have decided the time, enter. I shall be in the library.”

Leaving the door a half inch open, the old man started away when Timulty cried out, “When we areready”?Jesus, God, when will we ever be readier? Out of the way, Casey!”
And they all ran up on the porch.

Hearing this, his Lordship turned to look at them with his bland and not-unfriendly face, the face of an old hound who has seen many foxes killed and just as many escape, who has run well, and now in late years, paced himself down to a soft, shuffling walk.
“Scrape your feet, please, gentlemen.”

“Scraped they are.” And everyone carefully got the snow and mud off his shoes.

“This way,” said his Lordship, going off, his clear, pale eyes set in lines and bags and creases from too many years of drinking brandy, his cheeks bright as cherry wine. “I will get you all a drink, and we shall see what we can do about your … how did you put it … burning the Place?”

“You’re Sweet Reason itself,” admitted Timulty, following as Lord Kilgotten led them into the library, where he poured whisky all around.
“Gentlemen.” He let his bones sink into a wing-backed chair. “Drink.”

“We decline,” said Casey.
“Decline?” gasped everyone, the drinks almost in their hands.
“This is a sober thing we are doing and we must be sober for it,” said Casey, flinching from their gaze.
“Who do we listen to?” asked Riordan. “His Lordship or Casey?”

For answer all the men downed their drinks and fell to coughing and gasping. Courage showed immediately in a red color through their faces, which they turned so that Casey could see the difference. Casey drank his, to catch up.

Meanwhile, the old man sipped his whisky, and something about his calm and easy way of drinking put them far out in Dublin Bay and sank them again. Until Casey said, “Your Honor, you’ve heard of the Troubles? I mean not just the Kaiser’s war going on across the sea, but our own very great Troubles arid the Rebellion that has reached even this far, to our town, our pub, and now, your Place?”

“An alarming amount of evidence convinces me this is an unhappy time,” said his Lordship. “I suppose what must be must be. I know you all. You have worked for me. I think I have paid you rather well on occasion.”

“There’s no doubt of that, your Lordship.” Casey took a step forward. “It’s just, ‘the old order changeth,’ and we have heard of the great houses out near Tara and the great manors beyond Killashandra going up in flames to celebrate freedom and—”

“Whose freedom?” asked the old man, mildly. “Mine? From the burden of caring for this house which my wife and I rattle around in like dice in a cup or—well, get on.Whenwould you like to burn the Place?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble, sir,” said Timulty, “now.”
The old man seemed to sink deeper into his chair.
“Oh, dear,” he said.

“Of course,” said Nolan quickly, “if it’s inconvenient, we could come back later—”
“Later! What kind of talk isthat?'”asked Casey.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said the old man. “Please allow me to explain. Lady Kilgotten is asleep now, we have guests coming to take us into Dublin for the opening of a play by Synge—”
“That’s a damn fine writer,” said Riordan.

“Saw one of his plays a year ago,” said Nolan, “and—”
“Stand off!” said Casey.

The men stood back. His Lordship went on with his frail moth voice, “We have a dinner planned back here at midnight for ten people. I don’t suppose—you could give us until tomorrow night to get ready?”

“No,” said Casey.
“Hold on,” said everyone else.

“Burning,” said Timulty, “is one thing, but tickets is another. I mean, the theater isthere,and a dire waste not to see the play, and all that food set up, it might as well be eaten. And all the guests coming. It would be hard to notify them ahead.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” said his Lordship.
“Yes, I know!” shouted Casey, shutting his eyes, running his hands over his cheeks and jaw and mouth and clenching his fists and turning around in frustration. “But youdon’tput off burnings, youdon’treschedule them like tea parties, dammit, youdothem!”

“You do if you remember to bring the matches,” said Riordan under his breath.
Casey whirled and looked as if he might hit Riordan, but the impact of the truth slowed him down.
“On top of which,” said Nolan, “the Missus above is a fine lady and needs a last night of entertainment and rest.”

“Very kind of you.” His Lordship refilled the man’s glass.
“Let’s take a vote,” said Nolan.

“Hell.” Casey scowled around. “I see the vote counted already. Tomorrow night will do, dammit.”

“Bless you,” said old Lord Kilgotten. “There will be cold cuts laid out in the kitchen, you might check in there first, you shall probably be hungry, for it will be heavy work. Shall we say eight o’clock tomorrow night? By then I shall have Lady Kilgotten safely to a hotel in Dublin. I should not want her knowing until later that her home no longer exists.”

“God, you’re a Christian,” muttered Riordan.
“Well,