“That is why the life of the spiders is based on obedience. They have no imagination, so they naturally obey orders.”
Simeon nodded. “I’ve often noticed that the spiders cannot think for themselves.”
“It’s not that they can’t think for themselves. It’s that they can see no reason to think for themselves. Why should they? They have a regular food supply. They have no need to be afraid of enemies. What would they think about?”
Doggins shook his head. “They must be able to think. Somebody has to organise the city.”
“That is true. The Spider Lord has to think. He is like the queen in a nest of ants. He gives the orders and everyone else carries them out. But if the queen is killed, the ants are thrown into confusion. And if we killed the Spider Lord, the same thing would happen to the spiders.”
They looked at one another and at Niall. Doggins said finally: “You could be right.” It was clear that he was still troubled by doubts.
Milo’s eyes reflected his excitement. “I think he’s right.”
Simeon said: “But would we be right if we killed the Spider Lord? In the long run, no one can benefit by an act of treachery. And while there is no official state of war between the beetles and the spiders, any attempt to kill the Spider Lord would be an act of treachery.”
Niall asked: “And was it not an act of treachery when the Spider Lord tried to kill me?”
“Of course. But two acts of treachery do not cancel one another out.”
“But would you agree that it gives me the right to try and kill the Spider Lord?”
Simeon frowned and took a deep breath.
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
Niall said: “Then why not leave me to decide what should be done?”
“You’d do it alone?”
“If necessary.”
Milo interrupted: “This is wrong! We would be guilty of cowardice if we allowed Niall to act alone. I, for one, am willing to help him.”
Ulic said: “So am I.”
Doggins interposed soothingly: “Let’s not argue about it. We don’t have to make a decision tonight, do we?” He laid his hand on Milo’s shoulder. “Let’s wait and see what happens. If I’m not mistaken, the spiders will make the next move. We can afford to wait.” Milo smiled, deferring to the older man’s authority; but he was obviously unhappy about it. Doggins squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your opportunity to fight the spiders.”
“I hope so.”
Doggins reached for the jug and refilled their cups.
“Let’s drink to it.” They raised their cups. “To the destruction of the spiders.”
But although Niall raised his cup to his lips, he made no attempt to drink. The smell of the liquid reminded him of Odina, and he experienced sudden revulsion at the thought of associating her memory with the idea of destruction.
In the early hours of the morning, Niall had an appalling nightmare. He was alone in the spider’s city; it was night, and he was on his way to kill the Spider Lord. As he crossed the square towards the headquarters of the Death Lord, he held the Reaper in front of him, his finger on the trigger. But the square was deserted, and there were no guards on the door. When he kicked the door, it flew open; the hall beyond was empty. Keeping his back pressed against the wall, in case of a sudden attack, he mounted the stair. Everything was silent. On the third floor, he felt the soft carpet under his feet, and found himself facing the black, leather-covered door that led into the hall of the Death Lord. He approached it cautiously, convinced that it was a trap. He listened outside; there was no sound. Then he kicked open the door and pulled the trigger of the Reaper. As he did so, he realised with a shock that he was firing at his brother Veig. It was too late; Veig’s body dissolved into a blue mist. There was a cry of despair, and his mother came running from out of the shadows, shouting, “What have you done?”
Niall woke up with a shock; his heart was beating hard, and he was covered in perspiration. It was an immense relief to realise that he had been dreaming. He pushed back the blankets and sat up, fighting off a choking sense of despair and guilt. As his senses returned, he began to feel better. But the dream had puzzled and frightened him. Why should he dream of destroying his own brother?
The room was dark. Long curtains had been drawn, covering the outside walls from floor to ceiling. But through the circular window he could see the grey light of dawn in the sky. He sat staring at it, emptying his mind of all thought and feeling until his breathing returned to normal. Then he deliberately concentrated his mind, inducing that glowing point of light inside his brain; for a moment, the room became strangely silent. He relaxed so suddenly that it was as if a trapdoor had opened under his feet.
It was as he was sinking into this effortless calm that he noticed the shadow that had appeared between himself and the lightening sky. It sloped across the circular windowpane at an angle of forty-five degrees, like the branch of a tree. He stared at it curiously and without alarm, trying to determine precisely what it was. The window opened on pivots at the top and bottom, and stood slightly ajar. As he watched, there was a faint creaking noise as it opened further; then he saw that the branch-like shadow was moving. With mild astonishment, he realised that it was some large insect, like a caterpillar, and that it was crawling in through the widest point of the open window. But, for a caterpillar, it seemed surprisingly long. Then something about the wriggling motion struck him as familiar, and he realised that it was a millipede or centipede.
In the total silence, he could hear the brushing of its body against the windowframe. It was so long that, as its tail finally wriggled through the gap, its head must have been close to the floor. A moment later he head the soft impact as it lost its grip on the wall and landed on the carpet.
It was only now, when he could no longer see it, that he experienced a sense of danger. Quietly, he reached out and placed his hand on his tunic, which lay on the chair beside the bed. Underneath it, he could feel the hard outline of the telescopic rod. As his hand gripped the cold metal he was surprised at the electrical tingle that ran through his fingers. With the solid metal tube in his hand, he ceased to feel vulnerable.
He could hear the slight rustling movement as the centipede crossed the floor. For a moment he was afraid that it would disappear under the bed, forcing him to search for it; then a faint tug at the bedclothes told him that it was climbing upward. He stared intently at the foot of the bed, watching for the first sign of movement.
It was only when something brushed his foot that he realised it had crawled inside the coverlet. His instant reaction was to withdraw his feet, and scramble into a sitting position on the pillow. Then, as he saw the movement of the coverlet, he struck again and again with all his force. The coverlet rose as the creature thrashed in agony; Niall held it down with one hand while he continued to strike with clenched teeth. The tail, which was still unencumbered by the blanket, twisted upward and struck him on the head; but he ignored it. He knew that the centipede’s poison, like that of a spider, is contained in venomous claws just behind the head. With each blow he could feel the yielding of the soft body. Yet the creature seemed to be surprisingly strong, writhing like a snake. He went on beating frantically until the tail collapsed on to the floor; the coverlet was so wet with blood that it covered both his hands.
In spite of his excitement, he was feeling strangely cold, as if the temperature in the room had dropped to zero. His teeth were chattering as he climbed off the bed and stood upright on the carpeted floor. Softly, afraid of awakening the rest of the household, he drew back the curtains; pale morning sunlight streamed through the blue-lined walls. With the cylinder raised above his head, he drew back the coverlet with his left hand, then jumped back as the blood-soaked body gave a violent jerk. A moment later it collapsed, and he realised that this was a purely reflex movement.
He pressed the button that caused the rod to expand, and cautiously poked the dead centipede. Then, he pulled the bed covers on to the floor, and used the rod to lift the broken body clear of the bed. As it hung there, he could see that it was a grey-green centipede, with black bands. It was about as thick as a child’s forearm, and more than four feet long. The legs, like plump fingers, were spread out on either side of the body; the long jointed antennae had both been broken by his blows. It was these that had brushed his foot, and given him warning. Drops of clear-coloured venom dripped from the fangs and fell on to the bed. He pushed open the window, and dropped the centipede out on to the flower-bed.