"Colin Wilson - Spiderworld 03 - The Fortress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Colin)

Although the wind continued to press the material against his bare flesh, none of its
cold seemed to penetrate. He might have been wearing a garment of thick animal fur.
Now only his hands, feet and head were exposed, and the arms and legs were
sufficiently long for him to be able to retract his hands and feet. Investigation of a
lump at the back of his neck revealed a tightly-rolled hood; when his fingers had
learned the secret of unrolling it, he discovered that it covered his head completely,
and that a draw-string enabled him to close it until only his nose and eyes remained
exposed. Further investigation revealed similar rolls at the wrist and ankles, but he
decided to leave examination of these until the daylight. It was easier to exclude the
wind by holding the ends of the sleeves with his fingers and folding the last six inches
of the legs under his feet.
When he once again turned the thought mirror away from his chest, he was
overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue which was transformed into a delicious weariness
by the warmth that now encased him. Even the wall behind him failed to
communicate its coldness through the paper-thin material. A few drops of water
pattered against the suit and made him aware that it was raining; when the moon came
out again, he could see the rain falling steadily onto the dark moving surface of the
water. But his eyes were unable to focus for more than a few seconds. His eyelids
closed and his consciousness merged with the darkness.
When he awoke, the sky over the eastern reach of the river was turning grey.
His neck felt stiff where his cheek had pressed against the wall; but the recess had
kept him from rolling sideways. In spite of the awkwardness of his position, he felt
relaxed and rested. The only discomfort was a cramp in his right leg and the stinging
sensations where the tentacles had gripped his flesh.
His stomach was rumbling with hunger; he was just beginning to regret his
failure to provide himself with food when he recalled the brown tablets; he unzipped
the garment -- letting in a wave of cold air -- and extracted the box from his pocket.
The tablets looked pathetically small, and he was tempted to swallow a handful. He
took one and placed it on his tongue. It had an agreeable lemony flavour and quickly
dissolved as he sucked it, creating a pleasant sensation of warmth. As he swallowed,
the warmth increased until it ran down his throat like liquid fire. A few moments later
it reached his stomach; suddenly, the hunger vanished and was replaced by a glowing
sensation that felt exactly as if he had eaten a hot meal. He was now glad that he had
resisted the temptation to swallow several; more than one would undoubtedly have
made him feel sick.
Now it was time to take his bearings. First, he removed the metallic garment,
shivering in the dawn wind that blew up the river. He carefully flattened it on the
ground, then folded it lengthwise; a touch on the button made it roll itself up into a
tube that felt as hard as solid metal. Niall slipped it into the pocket of the grey smock.
Next, he tiptoed cautiously to the west side of the bridge and looked upward.
From that position he could see the rectangular guard box; but without moving farther
from the bridge, it was impossible to obtain a clear view through its window. He
decided that the risk of being seen was too great.
On the other side of the bridge, there was no guard box. Here he discovered a
flight of steps leading up to street level. He climbed these warily, pausing for at least
half a minute on every step. When his head emerged above the top step, he could see
across the damaged bridge to the opposite bank. The guard box was a small, open-
fronted building which contained only a stone bench; in the days when this city had
been inhabited by men, it had evidently been a pedestrian shelter. The wolf spider
inside it was crouched against the wall, and was so completely immobile that Niall