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from a couple of well-muscled guardsmen.
He also noticed a small but elaborately set whetstone. It was placed near the foot of the bed and could
be operated with one foot. Its purpose escaped him for a moment. It was too low to conveniently
sharpen a knife, for example. Then he realized it was for putting an edge on one's own chiv.
That must be the normal routine on awakening, he mused. Rise early, wash, clean, and sharpen your
feet.
Something else was troubling him more, until he chanced to open the heavy chest. It was filled with thick,
wide furs. They weren't as smooth-looking as the odd diaper-like coats everyone wore, but they were
heavy and warm. There was no fireplace in the room, and the single window was open to the sky.
Without the furs there would be no way he could sleep through the temperature drop at night.
He walked over to the window, which was high and narrow. There was a complicated wooden shutter
arrangement that would serve to keep out the wind if not the cold.
It wouldn't keep out a determined enemy, though. Then he looked out and down. He'd forgotten how
many steps they'd mounted.
The south side of the island was precipitous here, and the castle of Wannome was built right to the edge.
It was a killing fall to the ice below. With a little imagination he could almost see waves breaking against
the cliff. Perhaps they had once, millions of years ago. This side of the castle, at least, was invulnerable.
Leaning out into the biting wind, he squinted and saw that the high cliff continued westward for a fair
distance before dropping down to the ice. An occasional flash of green broke the whiteness.
A look at the sky. Let's see, he thought. The tran have their evening meal at sunset. That should leave
him a couple of local-time hours before he'd be expected to put in an ap-pearance. When he had time it
might be a good idea to revisit that tailor. Maybe he could make underclothes as well as coats. The outfit
he'd been wearing on theAntares when he'd been abducted-was that one or two thousand years ago?-
was not conducive to strenuous living.
The special survival parka he was wearing was holding. up beautifully. But below the surface, so to
speak, things were beginning to get a bit raunchy. There was a knock at the door.
"It's open," he said without turning.
The voice that replied did make him turn. It said, "Good wind," and wasn't human.
The Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata, heiress to the throne of Wan-nome, closed the door gently behind her. Her
caution was dis-concerting. She bolted it. That was ominous.
"I apologize for these rooms." Her speech was husky. "'They were the best father could do on such
short notice. And we've little idea of your needs."
Ethan walked away from the window and not incidentally put the bed between them. If that was
supposed to faze her she didn't show it. She walked over and sat on the end. The human contour analog
was astounding. She drew swirls in the silken coverlet.
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"Do you really come from another world?" she asked breathlessly. Her outfit was done up like holiday
packaging by a clumsy six-year-old. The fact that the skin beneath was covered with light gray fur made
it appear no less naked. Excepting the feline head and broad feet, and those piercing vertical pupils, she
might have passed for a tridee starlet clad in skin-tight mink.
"Yes, we do," he replied eventually, with some emphasis on the "we." If she was expecting him to
prolong the conver-sation she was sorely mistaken. He couldn't for a moment forget that her father was
not only a grouch with a reported short temper, but also had the power to remove head from shoulders
with a wave of his hand. Until he knew a great deal more about local mores, he was going to be as quiet
as a monk. This was no place to depend on mestaped information.
Besides, she was as tall as he was and much broader, which made for rather an intimidating personality.
"It's surprising. You're not so terribly different from us, it seems," she said, her flashing yellow eyes fixed
on him.
Dammit, if only she weren't so farking attractive! Now watch that, he told himself. She isn't even of the
same species. Of course, there were aberrant humans who had a thing for other species. He knew one
chap who ...
Quitthat!
"I think this is all very exciting," she said finally into the growing silence. The finger paused in its silken
whirlpool. " You don't even have any fur on your bodies, except on top."
"Actually," Ethan responded, trying to be scientific, "that's not entirely true. We do have some
elsewhere." He was about to mention "chest" when she interrupted him.
"Really? Let me see." She made a spring that carried her halfway across the bed.
In dream-troubles most folk are the epitome of suaveness and sophistication. Ethan was no exception.
Reality-cold reality, to say the least-had too many improvisations.
First of all, he couldn't quite decide whether she was trying to kill him or kiss him. Apparently loveplay
on this world was as aggressive as its climate.
He'd have told her to stop it, but his mouth kept getting full of gray fur. It seemed certain she was trying
to bite him. At least, those four major canines gave that impression. Now, if someone like that Darmuka
fellow or her father were to stroll in, bolt or no bolt ...
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