...the explosion in the fume-laden store sent the door crashing back on its hinges. Quagg flew backwards through the air and landed on his back in the muddy field twenty feet away from the door. The paint store erupted in a flash of orange and white flame. With a scream of pain he tore off his burning cap and flung it away. Flames licked at the skirts of his coat. He instinctively rolled in the dirt to smother them.

As the fire roared, Quagg raised up on his knees in the mud and clamped his hands to his head. The hair on his forehead and eyebrows felt crisp and matted. The pain in his right ear was agonising. He whimpered breathlessly as he swayed from side to side. Get away! Got to get away! With a great effort, Quagg heaved his trembling and bruised body up and turned away from the heat. He stumbled blubbering with pain across the field to the safety of the shadows at the edge of the water meadow.

The greedy fire raced up through the ceiling of the paint store and burst like a bomb into the cavern of the boatyard building. It lit up the river and the towpath with an intense yellow-orange light. Windows exploded. Glass showered onto the towpath. A column of red-hot sparks raced high into the sky. Exploding paint cans hurtled through the air like giant fireworks. Volatile varnishes and old, dry wood joined together to create a great column of flame. It rose into the night sky in a conical column that danced like a gigantic, whirling dervish. Debris fell back into the river where it guttered and sizzled before dying and floating slowly downriver among the beer bottles in a bobbing wave of flotsam.

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