The quiet should come as a relief, but the atmosphere following that loud and unexpected boom still feels as charged and ear-ringing as if it had been a gunshot, the stillness somehow seeming more portentous now rather than auspicious— as much as Irving would much rather not have to acknowledge the possibility of cannon-fire or explosives, he's unfortunately too familiar with the violent, booming orchestra of artillery and ordnance to deny it. He looks over at Fitzjames and nods numbly, his expression grim and pale.

"I don't like to imagine that could be the case," he murmurs thoughtfully, again clearly unable to deny the possibility, though still reluctant to consider that it might in fact even be a likelihood. "But given this was a mining town, then it wouldn't be terribly shocking if there were any... surviving black powder barrels."

As well as dynamite too, probably, not that either of them would know that is.

"It sounded closer than anything else I've heard."