At that moment, their guide responded with a feeling of pleasure, and his face broke into a smile.
Niall was baffled by this phenomenon. Was the road really gray or really colored? Did the air smell like cotton candy, or like steam from a laundry?
Niall was struck by another thought. The raven had enjoyed having Niall behind its eyes because it made it feel more alive. And this, presumably, was why their guide was now smiling. But this flicker of insight still left Niall as unenlightened as ever.
Back again behind his own eyes, Niall continued to experiment. The road and buildings were once again gray, and the air smelled of steam. But when he stared at the cones and concentrated hard, their outlines instantly became sharper and somehow more real. Then, remembering how he had perceived them a moment earlier, he tried to restore them to color by wrinkling his face and concentrating hard. The grayness faded, and for a moment the buildings took on faint red, blue, and yellow stripes, which vanished almost immediately. The road, however, remained gray. He tried again, making a more sustained effort. This time, nothing happened. Somehow he realized, it was not a question of willed effort, but of some odd mental trick.
He imagined again being behind the eyes of their guide, and instantly saw what he was doing wrong. He was failing to make the assumption that the buildings were actually colored.
He tried again. It was as if he had pressed a control switch; everything instantly became colored, and the air was full of the sweet smell. The scene was now virtually identical with Niall’s dream in the cave of the chameleon men.
The road and the buildings had ceased to look dull and dreary, but seemed to glow with a friendly warmth. And as a cart passed by a hundred yards ahead, he could see that the two people in it were clad in striped, colored garments. The beast that pulled it was also wearing some kind of colored decoration, as if part of a carnival.
Niall could now see that the cart contained a man and woman, and that the woman was holding the reins. He could even see her face. Although it was not pretty, being rather too thin, he found something oddly attractive about it.
He also noted that, if he concentrated hard, the colors deepened. He tried this, screwing up his eyes and wrinkling his forehead. It had the effect he recalled in the dream: the colors deepened and became more attractive, intensifying the feeling of gaiety. The light also became stronger. The effect was rather like sucking a piece of honeycomb, or some tasty and slightly acidic fruit, in that it induced a shiver of pleasure. But when he concentrated harder still, it had the disconcerting effect of making everything become gray, while the sweet smell disappeared and was replaced by the laundry smell. Since he greatly preferred the colored effect, Niall concentrated less hard, and again found himself surrounded by rich colors and pleasant smells. Some of them, like the cooking smell that issued from the palace kitchen at home, reminded him that he was hungry.
He noticed that their guide’s smile had faded; he tried looking at the world through his eyes again, and discovered that everything had become gray and dull, which induced a sense of repetitiveness and boredom.
Now he was certain of at least one thing: the Magician dealt in illusions.
They had been walking for at least two miles through the empty streets, with no sound but the occasional crackle of lightning or hiss of steam. At last, there was a change in their surroundings. They could see, beyond the tower they were approaching, a long, rose-colored building with pointed towers about three times the height of the building. At least a mile beyond this, they could see people moving around.
Ten minutes later they stopped in front of the rose-colored building, which might have been a palace. It looked reassuringly like the larger buildings in the spider city — in fact, oddly like a house that had been a hostel for women — who, until Niall became ruler, had been kept segregated from males. They approached a wide but low flight of steps, at the top of which a guard stood in front of a wrought iron gate of elaborate design. He looked typical of the cliff dwellers, with a wide, sensuous mouth and a chin dark with a two-day growth of beard. His face seemed oddly familiar; then Niall remembered why. He looked like one of the assassins who had come to the spider city to kill Skorbo — and who had committed suicide rather than be taken alive. Niall could still remember the nausea he had experienced after being struck to the ground by the killer’s will-force.
Their guide addressed the man telepathically — Niall was unable to hear what was being said. But the guard stood aside and pushed open the gates, which were well oiled and silent. There was a wide courtyard with a fountain in the middle, which sprayed colored water; Niall was puzzled to see that the color of the water changed from moment to moment through red, blue, green, yellow, and violet, yet in the bowl of the fountain, it looked light green. This, presumably, was another of the Magician’s illusions.
Behind the fountain was a glass-paneled door. As they approached, this swung open, and a man came out. He was tall and thin, but the face was quite unlike those of the cliff dwellers, being distinctly handsome, with ascetic features and thin gray hair over a domelike forehead. He looked displeased to see strangers, and stared incredulously at the spider. Then, to Niall’s surprise, he spoke aloud in human language.
“What is this?” The voice was sharp and authoritative.
Their guide said something telepathically; again, Niall was unable to tune in to it.
The thin man’s face suddenly lost its stern expression, and became almost friendly. He looked at Niall and the captain with steely blue eyes.
“I am Typhon. What is your name?”
“I am Niall, the ruler of the spider city. This is my bodyguard, the captain.”
The man turned to their guide. “You may go.” Then he held out his hand to Niall, and they exchanged a handshake that involved pressing forearms together and grasping the upper arm. Niall observed that Typhon was wearing a gold band around his wrist, and that on this there was a small clock.
Typhon said: “It is a long time since we have received visitors.” His voice was clear and well modulated, the voice of an educated man. “So I am unprepared. But please come in.”
The room they entered might have been one in the palace of the late King Kazak, except that it contained items of furniture that had not been used in the spider city for many centuries: armchairs. Niall was also intrigued to see a clock on the wall, pointing to a quarter to eight. The Shadowlanders obviously had a preoccupation with time.
“Won’t you sit down?” He turned to the captain. “Please do whatever you prefer.” He spoke telepathically as well as aloud. The spider’s response was to make the typical gesture of thanks, and remain standing.
Niall took a chair, whose cushions yielded pleasantly. It was a relief to sit down. He could hardly believe that he was in the city of the Magician, and was speaking to a human being who seemed as civilized and cultured as Simeon.
“Are you hungry?”
Embarrassed, Niall shook his head.
“When did you last eat?”
“This morning.”
“Then you must be hungry.” He sent out a powerful telepathic signal. A moment later, a servant girl entered the room. She was wearing a plain blue dress like a smock. Although obviously descended from the cliff dwellers, she was almost pretty, with long, dark hair and dark eyes, and tiny protruding front teeth like a rabbit’s; only the weakness of her chin spoiled the effect. She stared at Niall and the captain with astonishment. Typhon said: “Bring food, Katia.”
“Yes, lord.” She replied telepathically. Niall was impressed; in the spider city, no servants could send telepathic signals.
“Wine?” Typhon lifted a carafe of ruby liquid from the sideboard.
“Thank you. Only a little.” He was afraid that, in his present state of fatigue, he would become drunk.
Typhon poured wine into two long-stemmed glasses, and placed one on the table in front of Niall. He sat down opposite.
“And what brings you to our city?”
Niall took a sip of the wine; it was dry, and was as good as any he had tasted in his palace.
“I came to ask help for my brother. He cut himself on an axe that came from your city, and now has a fever.”
Typhon looked concerned. “I am sorry to hear it. I am sure the karvasid will be able to help.”