They confronted a portal guarded by a pair of the largest spiders yet seen. Each had a body as big as Jon-Tom's, but with their loglike legs they spanned eighteen feet from front to back.
They were a rich dark brown, without special markings or bright colors anywhere on their bodies. The multiple black eyes were small in comparison to the rest of the impressive mass. Shocking-pink and orange silks enveloped torsos and legs. There was also a set of white scarves tied around two forelegs and the nonexistent necks. Huge halberds with intricately carved wooden shafts rested between powerful forelegs.
They didn't move, but Jon-Tom knew they were closely scrutinizing the peculiar arrivals. For the first time since they'd entered Gossameringue he was frightened. Thoughts of the friendly spiderlings faded from his mind. It would have been little comfort had he realized that the pair of impressive guards before them were there precisely to intimidate visitors.
Ananthos turned to them. "you will have to wait here." After conversing briefly with the two huge tarantulas he and his two associates disappeared through the round entrance.
While they waited, the visitors occupied themselves by inspecting the now indifferent guards and the gleaming silk walls. The silk had been dyed red, orange, and white in this corridor and shone wetly in the light of the lamps. Jon-Tom wondered how far from the entrance they'd come.
Mudge sauntered over next to him. "I don't know 'ow it strikes you, mate, but seems t' me our eight-legged friends 'ave been gone a 'ell of a long time now."
Jon-Tom tried to sound secure as well as knowledgeable. "You don't just walk in on the ruler of a powerful people and announce your demands. The diplomatic niceties have to be observed. History shows that."
"More o' your studies, wot? Well, maybe it do take some time at that. Never met a lot o' bureaucrats that did move much faster than the dead. I expect they're all like that, slow movin' an' slow thinkin', no matter 'ow many legs they got."
"Here they come," Jon-Tom told him confidently.
But it was not Ananthos and his familiar comrades who emerged from the opening but instead a tall, very thin-legged arachnid with a delicate body and eyes raised high on the front of his skull. His forelegs were tied up in an intricate network of blue silk ribbons and there were matching purple ones on the rearmost limbs.
One wire-thin leg pointed at Caz, who stood nearest the portal, while dozens of spiders of varied size and color suddenly poured from behind him.
"immobilize them and carry them down!"
"Hey, wait a minute." Jon-Tom was unable to get his staff around before he'd been seized by half a dozen hooking legs. Others thrust threatening spears and knives at his belly.
"There has been a mistake." Clothahump was already disappearing around a comer, carried on his back.
"Put me down or I'll cut your smelly heads off!" All fire and helpless frustration, Talea was being carted closely behind the wizard.
Then Jon-Tom felt himself turned on his back and borne on dozens of hairy legs, kicking and protesting with equal lack of effect.
They went down into darkness. How far he couldn't guess, but it wasn't long before they were dumped into a silk-andstone cell under the imperious direction of the emaciated and beribboned spider in charge.
The silk lining the chamber was old and filthy. There were no windows to let in light, only a few oil lamps in the corridor beyond. Jon-Tom gathered himself up and moved to inspect the cross-hatched webwork that barred their exit.
It was not sticky to the touch, but was quite invulnerable. He leaned against it and shouted at their retreating captors.
"Stop, you can't put us in here! We're diplomatic visitors. We're here to see the Grand Webmistress and…!"
"Save your wind, my friend." Caz stood at the outermost comer of the cell, squinting up the silk ladder-steps. "They've gone."
"Shit!" Jon-Tom kicked at an irregular, flattened piece of shiny material. At first he thought it was a piece of broken pottery. Closer inspection revealed it was a section of chitin. It clattered off a stone set in the far wall.
"God damn that sly-voiced Ananthos. He led us all th way by making us believe he was our friend."
"He never said he was our friend." Bribbens sat against wall, his head resting on his knees. "Merely that he w. doing his duty. Get us this far, then it'd be up to us, he said The frog chuckled throatily. "Certainly hasn't gone out of h way to make it easy for us, looks like."
Talea was sniffing the air and frowning. "I don't know it any of you have noticed it yet, but—"
There was a startled scream. Jon-Tom looked left. Flor had been standing there. Now she'd fallen forward and landed hard on the floor. Her foot had vanished through an opening in the wall and the rest of her was slowly following…
X
They hadn't noticed the passageway when they'd been chucked into the cell. There was no telling where it ran to or what had hold of Hor. Blood oozed from beneath her nails as she tried to dig her fingers into the floor.
Jon-Tom was first at her side. Without thinking, he leaned over and heaved a head-sized rock at her foot. There was a breathy exclamation of surprise and pain from beyond. She stopped sliding.
Caz and Mudge half dragged, half carried her across the cell. Whatever had hold of her had missed her leg, but her boot was neatly punctured just behind the calf.
As he backed away from the opening several legs scrambled through. They were attached to a two-foot-wide bulbous body of light green with blue stripes and spots. Jon-Tom took note of the fact that it wore only one black silk scarf tied around the left rear leg at the uppermost joint.
The visitor was followed closely by a second, smaller spider. This one was an electric maroon with a single large gray rectangle on its abdomen. A third spider squeezed into their cell, barely clearing the passageway. It was gray-brown with white circles on cephalothorax and abdomen and had shockingly red legs. All wore only the single black scarf on identical limbs.
The three spiders stood confronting the wary knot of warmlanders.
"what the hell," said the first spider who'd entered, in a tone so high and flighty it was barely intelligible, "are you?"
"Diplomatic ambassadors," Clothahump informed them, with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances.
The little arachnid bobbed his head in that maybe yes, maybe no movement Jon-Tom had come to recognize, "maybe you're diplomatic ambassadors to you," he said, "but you're just food to us."
"they look nice and soft," said the big one in a slightly deeper but still tenebrous voice. His body was a good three feet across, bulky, and with three foot legs. "diplomats or blasphemers, ambassador or storage-stealers, what difference does it make?" He displayed bright red fangs, "dinner is dinner."
"You think so? Touch one of us again," said Jon-Tom wamingly, "and I'll shove your fangs down your throat."
The first spider cocked multiple eyes at him. "will you now, half-limbed?" The latter was an apparent reference to Jon-Tom's disproportionately fewer number of limbs, "tell you a thing, if you can do that we'll treat you as something more than dinner, if you can't"-he pointed with a leg toward the shivering Flor-"we start with that one for an appetizer."
"Why her, why not me?"
The spider could not grin, but conveyed that impression nonetheless, "almost had a taste, she smells full of fluid."
It was too much for the terrified arachniphobe, that casual talk of being sucked dry like a lemon. She turned and vomited.
"there, you see?" said the spider knowingly.
Jon-Tom quelled his own rising nausea. He ignored the gagging sounds behind him to keep his attention on the big red-legged spider. It had scuttled off to the side, away from its companions.
"you can have me if you can get me," it taunted.
"Same goes for me," said Jon-Tom grimly. "Leave the others out of this."
"we'll do that for a start." The spider was sitting back on his hind legs, waving the four front limbs ritualistically as it bo
bbed from side to side. Then it brought them down and rushed forward.
It had been a while since Jon-Tom had practiced any karate. Four years, in fact. But he'd become reasonably good. before he'd quit. What he hadn't learned was how to attack something with eight limbs. Not that they would matter if the spider got those red fangs into him. Even if this particular arachnid's venom wasn't very toxic, the shock alone might be enough to kill.
The attacker's intent seemed to involve throwing as many legs as possible at its prey in order to distract him while the fangs bit home.
It was possible the spider wouldn't expect an attack. If the eight limbs were confusing to Jon-Tom, then perhaps his human length and long legs might equally puzzle the spider. Besides, the best defense is a good offense, he reasoned.
So he ran at his opponent instead of away from it, keeping his eyes on his target as he was supposed to and trying hard to remember. Up on the opposite foot, kick out with the right, left leg tucked under the other.
Agile claws reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. They scraped at Jon-Tom's neck and arms. They didn't prevent his right foot from landing hard between the eight eyes (there was no chin to aim for).
The impact traveled up Jon-Tom's leg. He landed awkwardly on his left foot, stumbled, and fought desperately to regain his balance.
It wasn't necessary. The spider had stopped in its tracks. Making mewling noises horribly reminiscent of a lost kitten, it sat down, rolled over on its back, and clawed at its face. The leg movements slowed like a clock winding down. Jon-Tom waited nearby, panting hard in a defensive posture.
The leg movements finally ceased. Green goo dripped from between the eyes, which no longer shone in the lamplight. The spider who'd entered the cell first scrabbled over to its motionless, larger companion.
"damme," he breathed in disbelief, "you've killed jogand."
Jon-Tom caught his breath, frowned. "What do you mean, I've killed him? I didn't kick him hard enough to kill him."
"dead for sure, for sure," said the smaller spider, turning a respectful gaze on the man. Blood continued to seep from the wound.
Fragile exoskeleton, Jon-Tom thought in relief and astonishment. Come to think of it, he'd seen a lot of clubs here. They'd be very effective against recalcitrant arachnids. Instead of a glass jaw, the spider possessed a glass body.
Or maybe he'd just slipped in a lucky blow. Either way…
He glared warily at the remaining pair. "No hard feelings?"
The first spider gazed distastefully down at his dead companion. "jogand always was the impulsive type."
They were distracted by a clattering in the corridor. A Spider they did not recognize approached the webwork silk bars. He was not the skinny one with all the ribbons. As they watched silently, he poured the contents of a pear-shaped bottle on a section of the bars. They began to dissolve like so much hot jelly.
Another figure emerged from the shadows to stand just behind the jailer: Ananthos.
"i am terribly sorry," he told them, waving many legs at the cell. "this was done without higher orders or good knowledge, the individual responsible has already been punished."
"Blimey but if we didn't think you'd sold us over!" said a relieved Mudge.
Ananthos looked outraged, "i would never do such a thing, i take my responsibilities seriously, as you well should know." Then he noticed the corpse on the cell floor, looked back into the cell.
" 'Twere 'is wizardship there," said Mudge, indicating Jon-Tom. Ananthos bowed respectfully toward the human.
"a good piece of work. i am sorrowful for the trouble caused you."
A pathway large enough to allow egress had been made in me bars. Ananthos' companions moved aside as the prisoners exited.
The small spider tried to follow Clothahump out and was promptly clobbered behind the head by one of the guards.
The spider shrank back into the cell.
"not you," muttered the guard, "warmlanders only." "why not? aren't we part of their party now?" He hooked foreclaws over the rapidly hardening new bars two of the guards were spinning.
"you are common criminals," said Ananthos tiredly. "as you must know, common criminals are not permitted audience with the grand webmistress."
The little spider hesitated. His head cocked toward JonTom. "you're going to see the grand webmistress?"
"That's what we've come all this way for."
"then we'll stay right here. you can't force us to come!' And both spiders drew back behind the bleeding corpse of their dead companion, scuttled for the tunnel leading to their own cell.
Their sudden shift sparked uncomfortable thoughts in John Tom's mind as he followed Talea's twisting form up the stairwell they'd so recently been hustled down.
"What do you suppose he meant by that?" She looked back down at him and shrugged.
"i told you i could do nothing for you beyond bringing you to gossameringue," Ananthos explained, "it must be consid ered that the webmistress not only might not assist you but may condemn you to rejoin those rabble in their hole," and he gestured with a leg back down the stairs.
"So we could find ourselves right back in jail?" asked Flor.
"or worse." He continued to point downward with the waving, silk-swathed leg. "i hope you will not hold what occurred down there against me. a chamberiaine overstepped her authority."
"We know it wasn't yc'ir fault," said Clothahump reassuringly. Pog seemed about to add something but kept his mouth shut at a warning glance from the wizard.
Before long they had retraced their ignominious descent and stood before the high, arching doorway flanked by the two immense guards. A small blue spider met them there. He was full of apologies and anxiety.
When he'd finished bobbing and weaving, he beckoned them to follow.
The chamber they entered was high and dark. A few narrow windows were set in the rear wall. Only a couple of lamps burned uncertainly in their wall holders, shedding reluctant amber light on vast lounges and pillows of richly colored silk. It did not occur to anyone to wonder what they were stuffed with.
More surprising was the large quantity of decorative art. There were sculptures in metal and wood, in stone anc embalmed spider silk. Gravity-defying mobiles stretched frorr ceiling to floor. Some were cleverly lit from within by tin;
lamps or candles. Some of the sculpture was representational but a surprising amount was abstract. Silken parallelograms vied with stress patterns for floor space. The colors of both sculptures and furniture were subdued in shade but bright of hue: orange, crimson, black and purple, deep blues and deeper greens. There were no pastels.
"the grand webmistress Oil bids you welcome, strangers from a far land," the little spider piped, "i leave you now." He turned and scurried quickly out the doorway.
"i must go also," said Ananthos. He hesitated, then added, "some of your ideas mark you almost akin to the eternal weave, perhaps we shall meet again some day."
"I hope so," said Jon-Tom, whispering without knowing why. He watched as the spider followed the tiny herald in retreat.
They walked farther into the chamber. Clothahump put hands on nonexistent hips, murmured impatiently, "Well, where are you, madam?"
"up here!" The voice was hardly stentorian, but it was a good deal richer than the breathy weaver whispers they'd had to contend with thus far; chocolate mousse compared to chocolate pudding. It seemed the voice had slight but definite feminine overtones, but Jon-Tom decided he might be anthropomorphosizing as he stood there in the near darkness.
"here," said the voice once more. The eyes of the visitors traveled up, up, and across the ceiling. High in the right-hand comer of the chamber was a vast, sparkling mass of the finest silk. It had been inlaid with jewels and bits of metal in delicate mosaic until it sucked all the light out of the two feeble lamps and threw it back in the gaze of any fortunate onlookers. The silk itself had been arranged in tiny abstract geometric forms that fit together as neatly as the pieces of a silver puzzle.
<
br /> A vast black globe slid over the side of the silken bower. On a thin thread it fell slowly toward the chamber floor, like a huge drop of petroleum. It was not as large as the massive tarantulas guarding the entryway, but it was far bulkier than Ananthos and most of the other arachnid inhabitants of Gossameringue. The bulbous abdomen was nearly three feet across. Save for a brilliant and all too familiar orange-red hourglass splashed across the underside of the abdomen, the body appeared to be encased in black steel.
Multiple black eyes studied the visitors expressionlessly. The spinnerets daintily snipped the abdomen free from the trailing silk cable. Settling down on tiptoe, the eight legs folded neatly beneath the body. Then the enormous black widow was resting comfortably on a sprawling red cushion, preening one fang with a leg tip.
"i am the grand webmistress OU," the polite horror informed them. "you must excuse the impoliteness of cleaning my mouth, but my husband was in for breakfast and we have only just now finished."
Jon-Tom knew something of the habits of black widows. He eyed the jeweled boudoir above and shuddered.
Clothahump, unfazed by the Grand Webmistress' appearance, stepped briskly to the fore. Once again he laid out the reason for their extraordinary journey. He detailed their experiences on the Swordsward, in the Earth's Throat, related the magical crossing of Helldrink. Even in his dry, mechanical voice the retelling was impressive.
The Grand Webmistress Oil listened intently, occasionally permitting herself a whispered expression of awe or appreciation. Clothahump rambled on, telling of the peculiar new evil raised by the Plated Folk and their imminent invasion of the wannlands. Finally he finished the tale. It was silent in the chamber for several minutes.
Oil's first reaction was not expected, "you! come a little nearer." She finally had to raise a leg and point, since it was impossible to tell exactly where those lidless black eyes were looking.
She pointed at Jon-Tom.
His hesitation was understandable. After the initial shock of their appearance, he'd been able to overcome his instinctive reactions to the spiders. He'd done so to a point where he'd grown fond of Ananthos and his companions, to a point where he could allow curious spideriings to clamber over his body. Even the three antisocial types they'd encountered in the cells below had seemed more abhorrent for their viciousness than their shape.
The Hour of the Gate Page 14
