To Tang's disappointment, he had not dreamed at all.
People often did not dream when they were utterly exhausted.
So, for Tang, it had simply been a matter of groggily waking and sleeping, sleeping and waking, before he finally managed to shake off his exhaustion.
"You're saying I actually woke up lots of times, and every time I asked you the same question-how much time had passed. But I fell asleep again before you could answer?"
"Yes."
"So how much time has passed?"
"Thirteen hours, or fourteen."
"Did you count that yourself?"
"Yes."
"Then I probably haven't slept that long."
In principle, humans were not particularly sensitive to the passage of time. It mainly depended on how deeply they concentrated on something.
For instance, Tang often felt time passed too quickly when he wrote in his diary. When bathing, however, it passed very slowly; he always thought at least an hour or two had gone by.
"According to the internal clock, it has been ninety-seven hours, eleven minutes, and thirteen seconds since Poet lost consciousness. Fourteen seconds, fifteen seconds..." No. 17's mechanical voice sounded beside his ear.
"Doesn't that mean it's been four days?!"
Tang realized Shalti was not human at all-a long-lived elf would only have a duller sense of time than a human.
He abruptly sat up in bed.
Only then did he discover that he really was lying in a bed.
Looking around, he realized he seemed to be in some unremarkable apartment in Gold City. The dust had been cleaned out of the room, though the bedding was what they used on their travels.
That proved at least one thing:
"We made it out alive?"
He looked at Shalti, then at No. 17.
"Did someone carry me out?"
Shalti shook her head. No. 17 could not