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Page 65
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He was determined to avoid any risk of disorientation; he was also determined
to keep himself physically as close to the top line as possible. He had no
idea when the Ice Master would call for him, or whether that call might pitch
him straight into a situation where he could survive only by using every bit
of strength and speed he possessed.
So he kept track of the time, did calisthenics, did unarmed-combat exercises,
jogged (and in the process of the jogging estimated the size of the room and
memorized his estimates). He bathed regularly in the huge sunken tub-pool
(which had no adjustment for water flow or temperature; one slapped a
projecting plate at the head end and the water flowed in until the tub was
full, water always slightly too cool for Blade's preference). He ate the food
which appeared in a recess in the wall regularly twice a day a thick gray stew
filled with blue lumps tasting like overaged and undercooked chicken and green
glutinous lumps that both looked and tasted like a cross between half-baked
bread and rice pudding. He drank the hot liquid that accompanied the food a
sweetish liquid the color of weak coffee and the most palatable part of the
meal. He decided after the first two meals that the Ice Master's intention to
treat him well did not extend to providing good food. He only hoped that none
of the lumps in the stew were protein processed from human victims brought in
by the Ice Dragons.
He was taking his bath on the "morning" of the third day when, without any
warning, the door opened with its characteristic low swisssh and an unseen
hand shoved one of the Girls into the chamber, so violently that she fell to
her knees. Blade was instantly alert, springing out of the bath without
bothering to dry or dress himself. The girl's eyes widened as she ran them
over his body, standing naked and dripping in front of her. He examined her in
his turn, and found the examination a pleasant enough task.
His initial notion that she might have been sent to him as a subtle way of
killing him rapidly shrank away to nothing. He found it hard to believe that
the short trunks that were her only garment could conceal anything lethal, and
he found the notion of poisoned finger- or toe-nails ludicrous. Her skin was
pale, but with a healthy tinge of pink, and a light dusting of freckles over
her shoulders and down on to the small, firm breasts. There was firm-toned
muscle under the curves of waist and hips and legs, and the toes and fingers
of the small feet and hands were long and sure of their movements. The
ponytail that flowed down her back was shorter than usual it reached only just
below her shoulder blades and its color perhaps the least attractive
feature about her a sort of dirty blonde. The face was small,
square-chinned, with high cheekbones and a delicately chiseled snub nose. The
eyes were wide, deep blue, with lashes that half the women Blade knew could
match only by going out and buying them. And those eyes struck the jarring
note in the whole agreeable picture, because they were wide, staring, and
filled with a stark terror that Blade could almost feel crackling in the air
like static electricity.
He stepped over to the girl and reached down, putting his hands under her chin
to lift her head. It came up stiffly, as though she were setting her neck
muscles against it, and the terror in her eyes flashed
stronger yet.
"What is your name?" he asked in a voice as low as he could make it and still
hope that it would reach her ears.
"I am I am a Girl," she said in a voice with a faint tremble in it.
"I know that," Blade said. "I can tell the difference between boys and girls."
The attempted note of lightness fell away into nothing, like a stone hurled
into a canyon. She shivered as though the winds from the glaciers far above
were sweeping through the room. His hands tightened briefly on her shoulders,
trying to reassure her, but the shivering faded only slightly.
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