The Dark Domain (13 page)

And maybe no one in the world was more qualified for this battle than Antoni Czarnocki, fire chief of Rakszawa.

His very nature, endowing him with an exceptional quality, destined him to be a conqueror of this element. The fireman’s body was completely invulnerable to fire. He could stroll in the middle of the greatest conflagration, surrounded by flames, without receiving the smallest burn.

Even though his position as a fire chief didn’t require him to personally fight a fire, he never spared himself and was the first to dash into the most frightful blaze. At times it seemed he was heading toward certain death, where no fireman had daring enough to go. But – wonder of wonders! – he would come back whole and healthy, a nice, slightly quizzical smile on his manly, reddened face, and after taking a breath of fresh air into his overstrained lungs, he’d return to the flames.

His compatriots paled when, with unparalleled courage, he would make his way up a blazing building, force his way through nearly burned-down porches, storm into gutted corridors and rooms.

‘He’s unbelievable!’ whispered the firemen amongst themselves, watching their chief with both fear and awe.

Soon Czarnocki acquired the nickname ‘Fireproof’ and became the idol of firemen and the populace. Legends and tales began to envelop him, flavoured with wonder, from which rose some double-faced figure of the Archangel Michael and the Devil. A thousand stories circulated about him in the city, oddly interwoven with fear and adoration. Today he was commonly thought of as a good sorcerer in collusion with the world of mystery. Every movement of ‘Fireproof’ gave food for thought, every gesture of his took on special significance.

People were particularly amazed that the fire chief’s asbestos-like characteristic seemed to spread to his clothing. At first it was thought that Czarnocki wore some unique fireproof material, a supposition quickly proven incorrect. For incidents occurred where the uncanny fire chief, caught unawares by a night alarm in wintertime, would grab hastily the first overcoat he came upon, to later emerge untouched from a fire – as usual.

Someone in a similar situation would have financially exploited such unusual gifts, but Antoni was content with people’s homage and admiration. At most, he occasionally allowed himself non-profit ‘experiments’ done for the amazement of his co-workers or close friends. He would hold large pieces of glowing coal in his bare hand for fifteen minutes or longer, without any sign of pain; and when he threw the glowing embers back into the fire, his audience saw an unscathed hand.

No less amazing was his ability to impart his invulnerability to fire to someone else. All he had to do was momentarily hold someone’s hand and that person would become impervious to fire for a while. Once, a few local doctors became obsessively interested in him, proposing several ‘seances’ in exchange for great remuneration. Insulted, Czarnocki rejected the offer, and for a long time ceased his informal ‘experiments.’

Other, even more astounding things were related about him. A couple of firemen, who had served under him for quite a few years, swore on all that was sacred that ‘Fireproof’ knew how to duplicate and triplicate himself during a fire; they had spotted him in a frenzied sea of flames in several different and highly dangerous places at the same time. Christopher Slucz, a respected and trusted fireman, solemnly vouched that he had once seen at a villa’s scorched bay-window three figures of Antoni, looking like triplets, flowing into a single Antoni, who then calmly went down a ladder to the ground.

How much truth there was in these tales, how much fantastic exaggeration – no one knew. What was certain was that Czarnocki was an unusual person, one who seemed born to battle with the destructive element.

Aware of his power, Czarnocki struggled with fire ever more fiercely, strengthening his attack and improving with each year the agents of combating fire.

This battle eventually became the meaning of his life; every day he pondered on more efficient means of fire prevention. Today, on this sweltering July afternoon, he had been going through his most recent notes and arranging material for his great study on fire. This would be a comprehensive work in two huge volumes, summarizing the results of his lengthy research.

And now, while smoking a fragrant Cuban cigar, he visualized the book’s design and arranged the chapter sequences … .

Finishing his cigar, he smothered the stub in an ash tray and got up from the ottoman, a smile on his face.

‘Not bad, not bad!’ he murmured, pleased with his meditations. ‘Everything’s in order.’

Then, changing his clothes, he went to his favourite café for a game of chess … .

Several years passed. Antoni Czarnocki’s activities took on wider range and depth. He was talked about not only in Rakszawa. The renown of ‘Fireproof’ grew and grew. People came from far away to see and be amazed by him. His book on fire was very popular and not just among firemen, for in a short time it saw several reprints.

But shadows also appeared. The fire chief, actively participating in fighting fires, met with several accidents during this period.

At a huge fire in a lumber warehouse in Witelowce a blazing beam unexpectedly fell, seriously injuring his right shoulder-blade. In two other fires he sustained injuries to his arm and leg from collapsing ceilings. Most recently, several weeks before Christmas, he almost lost his right hand: a heavy iron crossbar falling from a ceiling brushed against him – a few millimetres more and it would have crushed his wrist bone.

This brave man reacted to these accidents with admirable and dignified calm.

‘They can’t accomplish anything with fire, so they’re knocking down beams,’ he said, smiling nonchalantly.

Yet from that time, firemen carefully monitored his movements, not allowing him to plunge too far into a fire, particularly in places where disaster might result. Despite this, these accidents recurred with strange persistence and in situations where one least expected them. The fire chief’s presence seemed to torment the spirit of destruction: quite unexpectedly, footing beams, barely severed by fire, fell in his vicinity, ceilings not yet engulfed by flames tumbled, debris the size of cannonballs dropped, and now and then big, weighty rocks, from unknown places, fell where he stood.

During these occurrences, Antoni Czarnocki just smiled gently under his moustache and continued calmly smoking his cigar. But the men operating the water pumps would carefully move away, scowling. It was becoming dangerous to be in his vicinity.

There were other concerns that no one knew about as their terrain was the very home of the fire chief.

At first one smelled a strong stench and a burning scent throughout his house; it seemed that old rags were smouldering somewhere. The horrible stink loitered in invisible waves along the corridors, oozing heavily into rooms and hanging under ceilings. Eventually the odour touched all the furniture and penetrated into clothing, underwear and the bedding. Repeated airings didn’t help. Even though the doors and windows were open almost all day to the eighteen-degree cold, the disgusting smell remained. Every search to uncover its origin was to no avail; the situation was hopeless.

When, a month later, the atmosphere became tolerable, a more dangerous phenomenon arose: Czarnocki’s house was overrun by fumes. For the first few days one could try and blame the servants, who might have prematurely closed the stoves. But when, despite all precautions, the stifling scent of carbon dioxide still continued, one had to look for the cause elsewhere. Changing the fuel didn’t help much. Though Czamocki now ordered wood to be burned in the stoves and forbad blocking the vents, a few members of the household got burned badly at night, and he himself woke up in the morning nauseous and with a terrible headache. Finally, unable to stay in his own home, he had to spend his nights at the house of an acquaintance.

After several weeks the fumes went away. Antoni breathed a sigh of relief and returned home.

Although he initially didn’t comprehend the incidents that had visited his house so obtrusively, with time he examined their origin and understood the intention: the elementals were trying to frighten him and force him to give up the battle.

But for him this merely served to awaken the spirit of contrariness and a craving for victory.

During this time he was working on a fire-fighting system that would surpass in effectiveness all existing ones. The extinguishing method would not be water, but rather a special gas which, spreading in thick clouds over a burning building, would absorb easily into the oxygen and smother the fire at its core.

‘This will really combat fire,’ he said, innocently boasting to an engineer acquaintance during a chess game. ‘After my invention receives a patent, fires should cease to be so devastating.’ And he twisted his moustache with satisfaction.

It was the middle of January. In perhaps two or three months, in the spring, he anticipated completing his project and sending it off to the ministry. Meanwhile he worked hard, particularly in the evening, and midnight frequently saw him bent over his plans … .

One day, as Marcin, an old servant in his house, was removing unburned coal from the stove, Czarnocki threw a glance at the remains and noticed something intriguing.

‘Wait a moment, my good man,’ he said, detaining the servant on his way out. ‘Put that coal here on my desk, on the newspaper.’

Marcin, a little surprised, did as he was told.

‘Yes. That’s fine. You may go now.’

After the servant left, Czarnocki carefully examined the glowing embers. Since first spotting them, he had been struck by their shape. Thanks to the fire’s particular capriciousness, the remains assumed the form of characters from the alphabet. In wonder he scrutinized their outlines, their finished details: perfectly sculpted from the coal were capital letters.

‘An original puzzle,’ he thought, playing with their arrangement in various combinations. ‘Maybe something will come out of this?’

Somehow, after fifteen minutes, he got the words: FILAMENT – FLICKER – REDDEN – HYDROPHOBUS – SMOKER.

‘A pleasant company,’ he murmured, writing down the strange names. ‘The entire fire rabble; finally I know you by name. A truly original visit, even more original than calling cards.’

Laughing, he put away his notes in a cabinet.

From then on, he had the stove remains brought to him, to discover ‘mail’ every time.

And the correspondence became quite interesting. After the ‘preliminary introduction’ came ‘communications from the other dimension,’ letter fragments, warnings, finally threats!

‘Go away!’ ‘Leave us in peace!’ ‘Don’t fool around with us!’ ‘You’ll be sorry’ – these were the words which usually ended these ‘fire communications.’

For Czarnocki these admonitions gave a humorous rather than serious impression. Indeed, he rubbed his hands in satisfaction and prepared the decisive blow. He felt strong and certain of victory. The accidents that had occurred around him had stopped, and the unpleasant manifestations at his home were not being repeated.

‘Instead, they’re corresponding daily like good and proper friends,’ he scoffed, looking over his ‘fire mail’ every morning. ‘It seems that these little creatures can only exert their malicious energy in one direction. Now they’ve focused all their abilities into these “firemessages,” and that’s why I’m not threatened from any other side. How very fortunate. Let them write as long as possible; they’ll always find in me a zealous recipient.’

But the ‘correspondence’ abruptly ended in the beginning of February. For a while the coal remnants still adopted the shape of letters, but despite Czarnocki’s endeavours no words could be arranged; only jumbled consonants or a lengthy series of unrelated letters emerged. The ‘mail’ was clearly breaking down, until finally the embers lost the appearance of alphabetic characters.

‘The “firemessages” are finished,’ Antoni concluded, closing with a flourish his
Diary of Fire Communications.

For several weeks there was peace. Czarnocki finished up his fire-gas project and initiated efforts at obtaining a patent. But work on his discovery had apparently tired him out, for in March he felt a considerable decline in his strength. Also, the symptoms of catalepsy appeared. He had succumbed to this condition in the past during times of nervous agitation. Now the attacks came during his sleep; awakening in the morning, he felt extremely tired, as if after a long journey. Yet he didn’t fully take into account this abnormal state, for the transition to it occurred very gently, without the slightest jolt; only his sleep deepened. Along with his weariness upon awakening came a very clear and colourful memory of the journeys taken supposedly during sleep. Throughout the night he was climbing up mountains, visiting foreign cities, roaming in exotic lands. The nervous exhaustion he felt in the morning seemed directly related to his dream travels. And – a strange thing – that’s the way he explained it to himself. Because for him these wanderings were completely real.

He didn’t confide in anyone on this matter; as it was, people knew too much about him. Why overly reveal himself to strangers?

But if he would have paid more attention to his surroundings and what was being whispered about him, maybe even he would have been a little concerned.

Marcin, in particular, was looking at his master during this time with strange suspicion and a certain distrust.

He had good reason for this. Late one night in the first week of March, on the way from the kitchen to his little room, candle in hand, he suddenly spotted in the shadows of the corridor the quickly moving figure of his master. A little perplexed, he hurried after him, uncertain of what he had actually seen. But before he reached the end of the hallway, he saw that Czarnocki had disappeared.

Disquieted by this experience, he tiptoed to his master’s chamber, where he found the fire chief fast asleep.

A couple of days later, also at night, the same thing repeated itself on the staircase. Here Marcin spotted his master leaning over the railing and staring at the bottom. His flesh crawling, the old servant rushed to the fire chief, crying: