Shadowland. Spider World 06 by Colin Wilson

“Isn’t that natural?”

Gerek looked surprised. “I don’t think so. The karvasid goes to a great deal of trouble to make sure the workers are comfortable and well fed. Why should they want to be alone?”

They were passing the quarry with the entrance to the third level, and Gerek interrupted himself to say: “I’m afraid we shan’t have time to go down there after all. But I don’t think you would have enjoyed it anyway.”

“Why not?”

“It contains nothing but mines. Even I try to avoid it as much as I can.”

Soon they entered the wide tunnel, with its throat-catching smell of soot and coal smoke. A few minutes later, the gelbs halted at the bottom of the shaft, with its giant fan that still belched clouds of white smoke. The lift was where they had left it. Gerek drove the cart onto the platform and pressed the button. As they began slowly to ascend, he suddenly looked more cheerful.

“Ah, this is the part I always enjoy.” He turned to the captain and spoke telepathically. “I hope you have enjoyed your tour of Shadowland?”

The captain replied with formal courtesy: “Thank you. I found it very instructive.”

Niall suspected that he meant more than the words conveyed.

It had been a long day, and as the cart rattled across the flat landscape toward the city, Niall reflected that it seemed strange to be surrounded by the same even blue daylight when his body clock told him it should be approaching dusk. In fact, the light here was so much brighter than on the second level that it created an illusory sense of dawn.

His mind reverted to a question that had occurred to him in the factory hostel.

“Don’t the workers object to wearing the same dull clothes all the time?”

“Why should they?”

“Well, women, for example, prefer pretty clothes, like those worn by the women in your city.”

Gerek smiled.

“Ah, but they are not real colors. They are created by the illusion machines.” When Niall looked blank he said: “You asked me this morning about the conical towers and I explained they store electricity. But they affect your sense of sight, so you see colored stripes. They also affect your sense of smell, so you think you are breathing pleasant scents. What scent do you smell when you are near the towers?”

“A sweet smell, like cotton candy.”

Gerek turned to the captain. “And you?”

“The smell of flies that have been trapped in a web for a week.”

Gerek smiled at Niall. “You see?”

Niall asked Gerek: “And what do you smell?”

“A scent like roses, my favorite flower.”

Niall asked: “Why does the karvasid not build illusion machines on the second level?”

“It would be too costly. Besides, the workers have been taught to enjoy the smell of smoke.”

“Taught? How?”

Gerek chuckled.

“That is one of his secrets. Ask Typhon — he understands it.” They had passed over the rim of the crater, and since, on this flat terrain, there was no reason to stick to the northern track, Gerek was driving the cart directly toward the city, which Niall guessed to be about ten miles away.

What Gerek had said interested him deeply. Now that he understood about the illusion machines, Niall found himself thinking about the old woman he had seen from his bedroom window that morning, who in spite of her wrinkled face had struck him as oddly attractive. Then there was the woman he had seen driving in a cart the day before, and toward whom he had again experienced that same instant feeling of attraction. Was this the effect of the illusion machines?

If so, what about his brother Veig, who fell in love at least once a week, always with the same kind of pretty face? The girls who attracted Veig might have been created by the same doll maker. Clearly, he was hopelessly susceptible to illusions.

At this point, his complacency was disturbed by the thought that his own response to Princess Merlew was equally automatic. He knew she was spoiled and self-centered, yet he experienced the same powerful attraction every time he looked at her. Surely her attractiveness was real — some magnetism that had been bestowed on her by nature, not by his own mind?

Or was nature itself a trickster? That thought disturbed him deeply, unsettling the foundations of things he took for granted.

Then he had a thought that restored his cheerfulness: that when the guard was leading him to Typhon’s house, he had been able to control the intensity of the illusions. If he concentrated hard, the colors became richer and deeper. So he was not simply being sucked into a web of deception: his own mind played an active part. And in the same way, Veig was not simply being taken in by pretty faces; he wanted to be taken in. With that insight, his momentary pessimism evaporated.

Half an hour later, the pointed shapes of the conical towers appeared on the horizon. At this distance they were gray. He watched them closely as they approached, waiting for the first sign of color. When they were a few hundred yards from the gate — the same gate by which Niall had entered before — faint red, blue, and yellow stripes appeared. This faint-ness was not the effect of distance, for a moment later they deepened into full color.

The guard opened the gate and saluted. This was not the same man as yesterday, and as they went past him, Niall tried probing his mind. The result was disappointing. The guard obviously was unaware of what Niall was doing; but his mind was a blank, conscious only of the present moment, and of vague anticipations of his next meal.

As soon as they entered the avenue of the conical towers, Niall observed a change in the atmosphere. Most of the towers had steam issuing from vents close to the top, and the colors were undoubtedly brighter, giving them a festive air. Since Niall now knew that they were “illusion machines,” he recognized that the towers themselves must be responsible for this effect. Even the sky above them looked different; it seemed to shimmer with a brighter blue.

People were sitting on the benches; one-wheeled bicycles lay on the ground, and many carts with gelbs were standing nearby. These citizens had clearly made special trips to be close to the towers at this evening time of day. As their cart passed one of the towers, Niall experienced a warm glow, a sudden feeling of lightheartedness, which became fainter when it was behind them, but increased again as they approached the next tower.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere was heavy with steam that was hissing from the cracks in the ground, so that a thin layer of moisture condensed on Niall’s face. The steam had the typical sweet cotton candy smell, but there was more than that. As he breathed in deeply, Niall seemed to be able to detect other scents: for example, the rose petals Gerek had mentioned, and many more. This, surely, was the Magician’s way of compensating his subjects for living in this rather dreary land? The total effect was intoxicating.

It was also fascinating and mysterious. Niall had experienced illusions before — auditory as well as visual — when he was in the Delta; but those were some kind of hypnotic force exuded by the plants. The illusions of Shadowland were an effect devised by the Magician. Could it be due to some chemical substance in the steam? Or to some subtle vibration that affected the brain?

The gelbs halted in front of Typhon’s mansion, and the guard threw open the gate. As they entered the courtyard, the fountain leapt higher, as if greeting them with a glittering array of color, and once again Niall responded with a sense of delight.

Katia came toward them with a tray with glasses of a sparkling orange-red drink. She was obviously delighted to see them again — perhaps bored with being alone — and her smile made her tiny protruding front teeth seem charming. Only this morning Niall had thought she was pleasantly attractive but certainly not pretty; now she seemed delightful, and the weak chin no longer seemed to matter.

Gerek took her earlobe between his finger and thumb and said: “You’re looking lovely this evening.”

She laughed with pleasure and replied telepathically: “That’s not I me. That’s just the karvasid’s machines.”

Her reply surprised Niall. So the illusion machines were common knowledge?

But as he drained the glass — the atmosphere of the second level had made his throat dry — he reflected that it was better to see a girl as pretty rather than only minimally attractive. After all, falling in love had the same power.

In his room he found his own tunic on the bed; it had been washed and ironed. Although it was of coarser material than the one he was wearing, he decided to change into it. It reminded him somehow of his purpose in being in Shadowland. As, half an hour later, they prepared to leave for the palace, Niall asked: “Will Typhon be returning here?”