Quicksand by John Brunner Read Free Book Online Page B

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attend to it while I get on with the rest? She'll probably take the . . .

ah . . . intimate details better from me than from a man."
     
     
Paul complied listlessly, unfolding the bandage of the sphygmomanometer

while Natalie drew on a rubber glove and proceeded to palpate the

girl's abdomen.
     
     
"I'm damned," she said after a few moments. "She doesn't like it at all.

Look at her, squirming away from my hand. You try!" She stripped her

glove off with a snapping sound.
     
     
Unwillingly Paul proceeded with what was necessary, and the girl objected

less to his attentions than she had done to Natalie's, lying still with

her almond eyes fixed on his profile.
     
     
-- Nothing about this makes sense. If Faberdown did assault her, and it

was traumatic, you wouldn't expect her to prefer a man poking about like

this. . . .
     
     
"Any traces?" Natalie inquired.
     
     
"Mm? Oh -- no, he didn't get at her. Nothing worse than this mud on her

bottom. No bruising, either. Soft ground. Did you -- ? Oh yes. I didn't

notice you dressing her foot."
     
     
"You're only half here, Paul," Natalie said. "It's unfair to dump this

on you after last night."
     
     
"I don't mind. If I went home I'd only lie awake puzzling about her."
     
     
"As you like. Oh -- intacta , by the way?"
     
     
"No. But for a long time, and quite normal."
     
     
"What Mirza would call well reamed," Natalie commented caustically,

and Nurse Kirk scowled.
     
     
So to completion: reflexes checked, eyes and ears inspected, scratches

washed, mud rinsed away. . . . Finish. They sat her up and clad her in a

cotton nightgown, heirloom of who could guess how many previous wearers,

and a towelling robe with CHENT HOSPITAL stitched around the hem, which

was at least snug. They put a chair beside the couch and she moved to

it apathetically.
     
     
"A cup of tea," Natalie said briskly. "And . . . Nurse!"
     
     
"Yes?"
     
     
"Bring the sugar and the milk separately."
     
     
-- Neat. I should have thought of it.
     
     
"Are you any the wiser after all this?" Paul said aloud.
     
     
"Not a sausage." Natalie took out a packet of cigarettes and gave him one.

Watching as they lit up, the girl suddenly giggled.
     
     
-- Breakthrough! But it only makes the mystery murkier. There is something

comic about people sucking smoke from a white stick. Only . . . Like the

cars, isn't it?
     
     
"Did you turn up anything on the physical?" he asked.
     
     
"If she were up for a life assurance policy I'd offer her optimum terms.

She's downright bloody fit. Feel that biceps muscle? I did, when I was

putting the sphyg on. Hard as a boxer's. Whatever's fouled her up mentally,

it hasn't affected her physique."
     
     
"I suppose she is fouled up." Paul hadn't meant to speak the thought,

but it leaked out past defences lowered by exhaustion.
     
     
"You're joking, of course. Granted, her lack of goosebumps indicates she

doesn't mind walking around starkers in winter. But most people simply

don't behave that way." Natalie cocked her head, listening to footsteps

outside. "Ah, here comes our tea."
     
     
The girl accepted her cup and saucer -- from sheer professional obstinacy,

Nurse Kirk had brought one cup without a saucer "for the patient,"

but Paul left it on the tray -- but seemed at a loss what to do with

it. She waited for the others to set an example.
     
     
Paul offered her sugar. She hesitated. Then she licked the tip of a finger

and dipped into the white mound, withdrawing just enough to taste.
     
     
-- Not so crazy, that, on the assumption that she literally doesn't know

what we're giving her. But that's crazy.
     
     
He showed her what the sugar was for, spooning some into his own cup,

and added milk from the bottle the nurse had brought.
     
     
-- Why the hell didn't the kitchen send up a jug? Kitchen? No, of course

not. Not at this time of night. Christ, it's past ten o'clock.
     
     
And on the realisation, heard the