“God, how he screamed!” A strong shudder ran through Young piratian’s slender frame, and I came round the end of the sofa to sit next to him and take both his hands.
The seaman had reeled backward, clawing at his face, and upset the small forge, knocking live coals everywhere.
“That was what started the fire,” the boy said. “I tried to beat it out, but it caught the edge of the fresh paper, and all of a sudden, something went whoosh! in my face, and it was as though the whole room was alight.”
“The barrels of ink, I suppose,” Ragul said, as though to himself. “The powder’s dissolved in alcohol.”
The sliding piles of flaming paper fell between Young piratian and the back door, a wall of flame that billowed black smoke and threatened to collapse upon him. The seaman, blinded and screamin
