The pool of fire by John Christopher

Author:John Christopher
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Language Arts & Disciplines, Action & Adventure - General, Magic, Action & Adventure, Science Fiction, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Juvenile Fiction, Men, Fantasy & Magic, General, Children's 12-Up - Fiction - Science Fiction, Fantasy, Christopher, Adventure, Boys & Men, John, Boys, & Magic, Fiction
ISBN: 9780689855061
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2003-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

We made the ritual bow of reverence. Fritz said, "The Master is hurt, Master. We do not know how."

Once more their absolute confidence in the devotion of their slaves gave us the chance we needed. Without hesitation or suspicion, he came forward and bent down slightly, probing at the other with his tentacles. That brought the openings which were his nose and mouth within reach of Fritz's fist without his having to jump. This one dropped without even crying out.

"Drag them out of sight behind the machine," Fritz ordered. "Then get on with the work."

No urging was necessary. We had about half an hour before the third Master came back. Two worked in the tunnel, bringing the containers out along the narrow ledge; the rest of us carried them, two at a time, from there to the drinking water conduit, and tipped them in. There were about a hundred containers altogether. A dozen trips should do it. The colorless liquid splashed into the water, mixing with it and disappearing.

I ticked off my staggering runs. Nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . .

The tentacle caught me without my even seeing it. The Master must have come to the top of the ramp and for some reason paused to look down, instead of proceeding with the usual slap of feet, which we would have heard. It was the supervisor, we realized later, making one of his periodic visits. He obviously saw the procession of slaves with containers, saw the contents being tipped into the conduit, and was curious. He came down, spinning-which was their equivalent of running and which was almost silent because only the point of one foot made intermittent contact with the ground. His tentacle tightened around my waist.

"Boy," he demanded, "what is this? Where are the Masters?"

Mario, who had been directly behind me, dropped his container and jumped. He was gripped by the second tentacle in midair. The one that held me bit in, squeezing breath from my body. I saw the other two coming up, but could do nothing. I heard myself scream as the squeezing became unbearable. With his third tentacle, the Master flailed at the Dutch boy, Jan, tossing him, as though he were a doll, against the nearest machine. He then picked up Carlos with it. The three of us were as helpless as trussed chickens.

He did not know of the two in the tunnel, but that was small consolation. They would be bound to check the water. We had come so close to success, and now . . .

Jan was getting painfully to his feet. I was upside down, my masked head brushing against the lower part of the Master's body. I saw Jan get a hand on something, a bolt of metal, about six inches long and a couple of inches thick, which was used in some way for adjusting one of the machines. And I remembered-before he was switched to this expedition he had been preparing for a possible entry in the Games .

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