Thus far the odors had been of the sun-sweetened water crossed with those of the underground dank, and were pleasant. But presently a faint pungency invaded the cold air. I knew by the change in Beelo’s breathing that his quick sense had discovered it. It suggested things over which my memory halted. Christopher gave no sign. With unflagging watchfulness, aided by a perception far keener than mine, he kept the raft free in the stream, except for occasional bumps.
“Do you smell it, Christopher?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Sir?”
“What is it?”
There was an interval before his answer, “Fire, sir.” Beelo cowered in my embrace. Since Christopher had mentioned it, I knew it was fire; I cannot say how I knew, because the odor was unlike that from any combustion I had ever known.
“Do you know what is burning?” I asked.
“Me, sir?”
“Yes.”