Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

From off to the side of her, Arachne shook her head frantically. Obviously, the movement caught the eye of the naked water-woman. “Go away, little spider,” she hissed. “I kept him alive and he’s mine now. He looks quite strong for a mortal. I think I’ll keep him a while.”

Arachne was obviously protesting and indignant. It didn’t look as if she was going to prevail, however.

“I said go, spiderlet! Or shall I summons my fish to eat you?” The water-woman showed her teeth.

Arachne went, shaking a foot defiantly, as she moved up the roots towards sunlight and air.

McKenna was left very alone with a water creature with only one thing on her mind. She produced an amphora of wine. Drinking underwater from a rigid container means you’d better like your drink watered. Mac managed not to drink very much.

Normally, Mac would have thought that getting drunk and being seduced by a naked naiad sounded like a pretty good deal. And the nymph called Neiradne definitely came under the heading of “well built.”

Now, he just wanted to get out of there. Neiradne made it instantly clear that wasn’t an option. And she was unbelievably powerful, as he had found on his only attempt. So Mac had to bide his time. Her fingers worked at his buttons, or trailed over him. Which might have been fun if he wasn’t just about at the uncontrollable shivering phase of being cold. And besides, he was anxious to see how many of the balloon-makers had survived.

He couldn’t believe that Arachne had just left him like that. . . .

* * *

He noticed the change in the pressure first. Then he saw that it was definitely brighter under the roots. Whatever was happening he hoped that it would become warmer. Neiradne was trying to feed him pieces of raw fish . . . when she suddenly noticed the changes.

“My stream! What’s happening to my stream?” She shrieked and shot out of the grotto in a trail of bubbles.

As soon as she was out, Mac knew the time had come to bolt, if he was ever going to. His limbs were nearly numb and totally clumsy. But he forced himself to paddle—all he could manage—for the surface. It seemed like a long way.

Arachne was suddenly there, looping a rope over his shoulders, and he found himself being hastily dragged to the surface. When he’d gone into it, the hole must have been twenty feet deep. Somehow the water level had dropped. He crawled up the willow root-mass trying to get a grip with his numb fingers. Arachne and several thousand ordinary spiders hauled him up.

“You must get the magic water out of your lungs!” said Arachne urgently. They dragged him up the steep slope as the water streamed out of his nose and lungs. Gasping and spluttering, he managed to draw breath. There was still a lot of the liquid inside him, but whatever it had done to his lungs, it wasn’t ordinary water in there.

Coughing and retching, he managed to breathe again. Of course, he was also shivering uncontrollably. But there was sunlight on his back. And Arachne was clinging to him with all of her spider legs.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said weakly.

The spidergirl kissed his cheek. “We must get you warm.”

They carried him to a cave, as Arachne informed him that the farm’s houses were destroyed. He was amazed to be greeted by enthusiastic clapping and cheering from the assembled people. His wet clothes were stripped off without any attention to decorum; he was wrapped in a warm blanket and put in a prime position in front of the fire. Somebody thrust a goblet of hot mulled wine, full of honey and herbs, into his shaking hand.

“Arachne,” he said, as soon as he could speak, “thank you. I didn’t know how cold I was. I guess I’d just been getting slowly colder.” He still felt cold. He vaguely remembered the lectures on exposure. Once your core temperature starts dropping, then it is lassitude down into death. He hadn’t quite been there yet, but insidiously it had been creeping up on him. You can die in cold water just as easily as you can in minus-zero air. It just takes much, much longer.