Well, the simple answer to that is solemnly resolve that, in the future, he won't burn down any pods of Blemmyae. A butterfly flaps its wings, tornadoes happen elsewhere, problem solved!

Somehow, he doesn't imagine that this particular Blemmyae will be satisfied with that.

The complex-but-easiest answer is to wait for Black Coleman to show his face. Potential problems is that he might not be here, but the odds of that were fairly slim. But even if he were to negotiate with himself, there's no guarantee that this Black Coleman is one who comes before the tribe got wiped out. Spilt milk and all that, though it's a strange term to apply to genocide.

The simple-but-no-no-please-no answer is to delve to the center of the carnival--brave the midway, pay homage on the Jet Coaster, breathe deep the toxic fumes of the elephant ears until they practically glow with festivity... and ask the Ringmaster for help.