Doggins said: “We don’t have to venture into it. We should be able to fly over it in a balloon — shouldn’t we?” He looked at Simeon.
“There’s no reason why not — provided the wind’s blowing in the right direction.”
They all sat looking at the charcoal lines on the cloth, as if they could somehow force them to yield more information. Doggins asked Niall:
“What do you suppose this thing looks like? Some kind of gigantic tree? Or a plant?”
“It may not look like anything. Perhaps it’s simply a concentration of force.”
Doggins said: “It doesn’t matter what it’s like. The Reapers should deal with it.” There was a grim note in his voice.
The door opened; it was Doggins’ youngest son, the five-year-old. He announced in a clear voice:
“There’s a beetle at the door and he says he wants to talk to you.”
“Thank you, son.” Doggins caressed the child’s head as he went out of the room, and Niall was struck by the tenderness of the gesture.
Doggins was back a moment later. He beckoned to Niall.
“The Master wants to see the two of us. The rest of you had better wait here.”
Outside, the air had become still, as if exhausted by the heat of the day. The shouts of children could be heard from a long way off. In this peaceful atmosphere, thoughts of death and destruction seemed oddly unreal.
Neither of them spoke as they followed the guard back into the town hall and down the ramp into the underground corridor. As he trod cautiously over the uneven floor, and guided himself in the dim light by touching the rough-hewn walls, Niall understood why the beetles had left this part of the building in an unfinished state. They disliked the human world, with its flat, smooth planes and exact right angles, and dreamed of former times, when life was simple and instinctive.
The guard halted, and pulled open the door of the council chamber. The dim green light made it look like an undersea grotto. The beetles, each resting against its upright podium, might have been carved statues. Merlew was seated in an alcove in the wall, and her hair seemed to glow in the dim light like precious metal. A black death spider stood before the seat of the Master. It turned to survey Niall and Doggins, and Niall could feel the force of its will as a cold sensation that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Doggins made a low bow before the Master, and Niall followed his example.
The Master spoke in his strange, sibilant voice, with almost no movement of his forelegs, and once again Niall was astonished that he understood it as if it had been in his own language.
“We have asked you to return to learn if you have reached any decision about the murder weapons?” The beetle language had no equivalent of the word Reaper.
Doggins spoke with his eyes averted. “Our decision is to do whatever the council recommends.” He was not being consciously dishonest or evasive. In this atmosphere, before the council of the beetles and under the gaze of the Master, no other answer seemed possible. In spite of the thought mirror, Niall himself felt like a helpless child in the presence of the Master. The Master said:
“Good. Then hear the decision of the council. Subject to the completion of the Peace Treaty, we have decided that the murder weapons shall not be destroyed.” Niall resisted the impulse to glance at Doggins. “But they will be held in trust by the beetles, and no human being shall have access to them without the permission of a member of the council. We have reached this decision in view of your concern about the numerical superiority of the spiders. This is a concern that we do not share — the beetles have implicit trust in their allies the spiders. But we also wish to meet the objections of our human servants.
“Subject to the completion of the Peace Treaty, relations between the spiders and the beetles will return to those of the first Peace Treaty. But where our human servants are concerned, the clauses forbidding the possession of books shall be removed from the Treaty. This change has been suggested by the Spider Lord, who has also suggested revising the clause about the use of machines to permit the use of certain simple mechanical devices. I have already expressed my thanks on your behalf for his generosity. The exact nature of these mechanical devices will be decided by a joint committee of all parties concerned.
“The only question that remains concerns the escaped prisoner, Niall. The spiders have agreed that he shall no longer be regarded as a prisoner, but shall be free to decide his own future. I have expressed my willingness to allow him to remain here as a beetle-servant.” Niall looked up and nodded his thanks. “But the spiders have also invited him to return to their city as the consort of the new female overseer.” He glanced at Merlew, who was staring at the floor, obviously unable to understand these strange noises. “If he decides to accept this offer, his safety will be guaranteed by a separate appendix to the Peace Treaty. If he wishes to leave at any time, his freedom will also be guaranteed.”
Niall said: “Thank you.” Merlew looked up at him and smiled.
The Master looked at Doggins. “Do you have any comments or questions?”
“No, Master.”
“Very well. Tomorrow morning, three members of the council and three ambassadors from the spider city will meet to discuss the wording of the Peace Treaty. If you wish to be present, you have our permission.”
Doggins bowed his thanks; Niall did the same. Something in the Master’s manner told him that the interview was at an end. Both made an obeisance and turned. The death spider watched them impassively; as they left the chamber, Niall felt a clumsy attempt to probe his mind. A moment later they were alone in the corridor.
Neither of them spoke as they made their way back to the main hall; both were preoccupied with their own thoughts. The hall was deserted; outside, it was dusk, and the day’s business was at an end. Doggins indicated the door labeled “Director of Explosives.”
“Come into my office.”
The room was in half-darkness; through the window they could see the remains of the sunset over the rooftops. Doggins flung himself into the chair behind his desk and indicated another chair for Niall. He sat frowning at his desk top, making a clicking noise with his tongue. Niall asked:
“Are you pleased?”
“What?” Doggins seemed to wake up. “Pleased about what?”
“They’ve given you what you wanted — permission to read and write, and the use of machines.”
Doggins snorted. “That’s not a concession. All the beetle servants know how to read and write. And they didn’t say we can use machines. They said “certain mechanical devices.” They probably mean egg timers and kitchen scales. And we already use them — without the permission of the spiders.”
“But they’ve agreed not to destroy the Reapers.”
Doggins shrugged. “What they’ve done is almost as bad. If we hand over the Reapers to the beetles, we shall never see them again.”
“But at least you can be sure the spiders won’t dare to launch a surprise attack.”
Doggins made a grudging gesture of assent. “That’s true. But if they take the Reapers away, we’ve lost our bargaining power. We’re back where we were before.” He gave a sigh of disgust.
“Not quite. If you’re allowed to read books, you could learn how to build machines on paper. They couldn’t stop you from doing that. You could even learn how to make a Reaper.”
“Impossible. For that we’d need a whole nuclear technology. And the spiders will make sure we never get that far.” He shrugged. “Oh well, I suppose we’d better get back to the others and tell them what’s happened.” He began to stand, then sat down again. “But what about you? What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not accept the spiders’ offer? If it’s guaranteed under the Peace Treaty, you can’t come to any harm. And you can always leave if you don’t like it.”
Niall shook his head. “No. I can’t do that. Kazak made me almost the same offer, and I had to refuse.”
“But why?” The practical Doggins obviously found Niall’s attitude incomprehensible.
“You don’t understand because you’ve never lived in the desert. But if you’d spent your life hiding under the ground, you’d understand why. I don’t want to make friends with the spiders. I don’t even want to learn to work with them.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I suppose I want to see them all destroyed.”
“That may not be possible.”
“Perhaps you’re right. All I know is that men were once the masters of the earth, and now the spiders are.”