and although the wind was the wrong way , it seemed to him that he could smell cinnamon and spice , rotting cerements treated with weird drugs , sand , blood so old it had dried to flakes and grains of rust ... 'we all float down here , '' the mummy-clown croaked , and ben realized with fresh horror that somehow it had reached the bridge , it was now just below him , reaching up with a dry and twisted hand from which flaps of skin rustled like pennons , a hand through which bone like yellow ivory showed .