The neighborhood wakes up pretty fast.
Water and sand keep the blaze from spreading far, but throwing them on Silhouine’s shop just seems to make it angry. They can barely get close enough to do so: the column of fire is godlike, taller than the roof ever stood.
It isn’t until morning that it runs out of fuel. The shop is a well of molten stone.
“Damn those pirates,” says another shop prentice, anonymized by soot. “The bridge, our homes–they’ll bomb the whole city soon!”
“It was a bomb,” says Silhouine slowly.
“Of course it was,” says Dulap, exhaustedly giggling.