Fields of Home by Marita Conlon-Mckenna

move.
    ‘Out of here!’ shouted Michael firmly, grabbing Dolores by the arm. ‘Move!’
    As if he had waved a magic wand, the two girls got to their feet. He had broken the spell.
    He pulled up a bit of old, worn carpet off the ground. Follow me!’ he ordered, trying to hide the quiver in his voice.
    Mercy was holding a wound-up sheet. ‘I damped this, Michael,’ she said. Doubling the sheet around her neck she ran with the rest of them across the narrow landing, burning her hands as she touched the door leading to the stairway. It was slow going in the darkness, trying to manoeuvre down the winding, narrow wooden steps. It would be far easier to fall going downwards.
    ‘Nobody talk!’ said Michael. ‘The air is too smoky.’
    Mercy covered her mouth with the sheet and Lizzie, following behind, used the other end of it. The heat was getting more intense, the smoke choking them. They scrambled down as fast as they could. Suddenly the darkness disappeared and giant yellow-orange flames blazed up at them, blocking their path. They all stopped in a line. They were stuck. The door on the first landing had burst through and Michael could see that this whole section of the stairs had caught fire! He peered through the smoke. It seemed that only a section of the stairs was burning yet – if they could get through that bit, they should be safe.
    ‘We must go through it!’ Michael said quietly. Theflames were racing upwards, second by second. The banisters were too hot to touch.
    Quickly Mercy unwound the heavy sheet. ‘It’ll only give us a second or two,’ she murmured.
    She tossed it down in front of them, and as the flames died for that second or two, the four of them stumbled forward, ignoring the pain in their legs and feet. In a flash the fire had destroyed the water-soaked sheet, but they had all managed to jump away from it and tumble down the rest of the wooden steps.
    Gasping and choking, they emerged out into the kitchen. Michael grabbed Mercy’s hand as the four of them stumbled through the smoke and escaped out the door.
    Dolores flung herself on the ground in shock; part of her frizzy hair was singed and her foot was blistered. She was confused and scared, and wailed quietly to herself.
    ‘All I want is to throw meself in that lake and cool down,’ said Lizzie. ‘I thought me hour had surely come!’
    Michael took in the scene on the front lawn. More help had arrived. In the distance he could see Lord Henry directing operations. They had broken the large bay windows of his study on the side of the house overlooking the lake, and the men were lifting out books and tables and trying to drag out the massivemahogany desk which seemed to be stuck.
    Michael let go of Mercy’s hand. ‘I’d better go and help, love. You stay here. I’ll come back to you later, I promise, Mercy!’
    He ran over to help with the lifting, ignoring the searing of pain he felt as he moved. The study was soaked. They were flinging bucket after bucket of water against the door, giving Paddy and Toss a chance to lift things out.
    Young Brendan was way back down the line and Michael realised that he was calling him over.
    ‘What is it, Brendan?’ quizzed Michael, going to him.
    ‘I’m right worried about the horses, Michael,’ said Brendan.
    ‘They’ll be fine,’ murmured Michael. ‘They’re far enough from the house.’
    ‘I think we should go and check on them.’ Before Michael could object, young Brendan took off, and, without knowing why, Michael followed after him down the avenue.
    The smell of smoke was heavy in the air and the horses in the far paddock whinnied anxiously. The carriage-horses were going wild, nostrils flaring, as they kicked against the fencing, trying to escape the choking smoke that blew across from the yard.
    As they rounded the final bend in the avenue they saw that the smaller haybarn was ablaze, and Michaelknew instinctively from the silence of the two stables close beside it that the horses