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Fred knew that if he was to kill the dragon he first had to get out of the
bed. The problem lay in how he could do that, of course. He clearly had to
begin by freeing his arm, whether by somehow removing the chain from it or
by pulling the chain free from the rock ceiling.
So his first act was to tug gently on the chain. He felt a stab of agonising pain that ran the length of his arm. His hope that the traction might be no more than a bluff, to make him think that the arm was broken when it wasn't, evaporated. He hadn't been able to suppress a grunt when the pain hit. "Are 'ou a' 'ight?" the woman asked. "I just tugged on the chain to see if I could get my arm free," Fred replied. "But it seems to be securely attached to my arm and to the ceiling. A really hard tug might work, but even a gentle one was agonisingly painful." "I 'ad no lu' wit' m' leg eit'er," the woman mumbled. She must have tried that before he came round, Fred thought. He couldn't imagine that anyone with a broken leg could tug on it and maintain total silence. The woman went on to say something else, which after a moment's thought Fred realised was intended to be: "If we're being looked after like this, then the dragon must have plans for us." "I'm sworn to kill the beast, not to serve it! I'd sooner die than do that." "Me too." That was clear enough.
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5/17/2003 10:31:07 AM
Extending Enabled
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