Besides, how was he to
judge what was normal in extreme cases of surgery?
He managed to struggle up to a sitting position in the bed, trying to
make out more of his surroundings. But the room was dark now. As his
eyes adjusted, he made out a small brazier there, with a cadaverous old
man in a dark robe spotted with looped crosses. On his head was
something like a miter, carrying a coiled brass snake in front of it.
The old man's white goatee bobbed as he mouthed something silently and
made passes over the flame, which shot up prismatically. Clouds of white
fire belched up.
Dave reached to adjust his glasses, and found again that he wasn't
wearing them. But he'd never seen so clearly before.
At that moment, a chanting voice broke into his puzzled thoughts. It
sounded like Ser Perth. Dave turned his head weakly. The motion set sick
waves of nausea running through him, but he could see the doctor
kneeling on the floor in some sort of pantomime. The words of the chant
were meaningless.
A hand closed over Dave's eyes, and the voice of the nurse whispered in
his ear. "Shh, Dave Hanson. It's the Sather Karf, so don't interrupt.
There may be a conjunction."
He fell back, panting, his heart fluttering. Whatever was going on, he
was in no shape to interrupt anything. But he knew that this was no
delirium. He didn't have that kind of imagination.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25