“I couldn’t help it.”
“I saw what she did. She bit your ear.” She reached up and touched the lobe of his ear. “Did it hurt?”
He said modestly: “No, not much.”
Dona said with conviction: “She’s a dreadful cheat.”
Her tone made Niall feel guilty. “Perhaps I am too.”
“No, you’re not!” She took hold of his arm, and laid her cheek on his shoulder.
That evening, as he and Ulf were on the point of going to bed, Ulf said: “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Niall could not keep the dismay out of his voice.
“Don’t you want to go home?”
“Yes, of course.” His voice lacked conviction. “But couldn’t we stay for just a few days more?”
Ulf laid his hand on Niall’s head. “Do you think you’d be ready to go then?”
Niall said doubtfully: “Yes.”
Ulf stared at him with furrowed brows, then shook his head. “Would you like to live here?”
“Yes, of course.” He could not keep the eagerness out of his voice. “If we all lived here.”
Ulf shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
“But why, father? Don’t you like it here?”
“Oh yes, I like it here. But I don’t think I could live here.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too complicated to explain.” He climbed onto the mattress and pulled the blanket round his shoulders. “But if you want to stay here, I could go back alone.”
He said with dismay: “Oh no, you couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? I know the way back. Hamna wants to come with me to the far side of the plateau. I’d be almost home by then.”
“And leave me here?”
“We could fetch you later. Sefna says she’d like you to stay.”
It was very tempting — to stay in the same house as Dona, who was like an adoring young sister, and be able to see Merlew every day. . .
“What about the king?”
“It was Kazak who suggested it.”
“And what do you think?”
“I want you to make up your own mind.”
A few minutes later, Ulf’s regular breathing revealed that he was asleep. But all Niall’s desire for sleep had vanished. From the next room, the tiny light of a single lamp percolated past the curtain that hung in the doorway, making a moving shadow on the ceiling. From outside, in the corridor, he could hear voices, the comforting sound of human beings going about their business — it was still two hours to midnight, and the palace of Kazak never fell silent until the early hours of the morning. (Absence of daylight meant that it was easy to lose the habit of sleeping at night.)
The temptation to stay here was enormous. His presence was not needed in the burrow. Since Veig had domesticated the ants and the pepsis wasp, hunting had become a sport rather than a necessity. There was food in plenty within five miles of the burrow. And he could — as Ulf said — go home any time he wanted. Why not stay here for a few weeks, a few months, longer. . . ?
Niall badly wanted to convince himself. But the thought of deserting his family touched his conscience, and made him question his own motives. The chief motive, he was well aware, was Merlew. He thought of the cool touch of her lips, of her small white teeth biting his ear, of her slim legs locked around his own, and a feeling of enormous joy made his heart expand. He allowed himself to daydream of becoming Merlew’s husband, perhaps of taking Kazak’s place as king. And it was then that he suddenly began to experience the cold finger of doubt. He remembered Eirek’s comment: “There’s nothing much to do here except eat. . .” and tried to imagine what it would be like to be cooped underground for year after year. At home, at least, he was free to come and go as he wished. There was a whole world to be explored, a world full of marvels like the country of the ants and the great fortress on the plateau. Here, they spent their lives hiding from the spiders.
Now he saw the problem with great clarity. If he lived here, life would be pleasant and safe. But it would also be predictable. A child could be born here, grow up here, die here, without once experiencing the excitement of discovery. Why did Dona question him endlessly about his life in the burrow and his journey to the country of the ants? Because for her, it represented a world that was at once dangerous and full of fascinating possibilities. For the children of this underground city, life was a matter of repetition, of habit.
And this, he suddenly realised, was the heart of the problem. Habit. Habit was a stifling, warm blanket that threatened you with suffocation and lulled the mind into a state of perpetual nagging dissatisfaction. Habit meant the inability to escape from yourself, to change and develop. . .
He was distracted by the sound of laughter from outside; two children were chasing along the corridor. It brought back the memory of the games in the great hall, and the thought of Merlew. All his certainty vanished. How could he ever become bored when he could see Merlew every day?
He had been lying awake for more than an hour and still felt no desire to sleep. He began thinking of Kazak. Why had the king asked his father if he could stay? Could it have been Merlew who suggested it? If only he could talk it over with someone instead of lying there with his head full of unanswered questions. . . Perhaps Sefna was still awake?
Very slowly, so as not to awaken his father, he slipped from under the cover and tiptoed to the door. But the room next door was empty. He tiptoed across it, and listened against the curtain of the room where Sefna and Dona slept; the sound of steady breathing told him they were also asleep. He went to the main door and peered out into the corridor. Hamna’s younger brother, Corvig, was strolling by, his arm around a girl.
“Hello, Niall. What are you doing?” he said.
“Nothing. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Sleep! It’s too early to sleep. We’re going to Nyris’s house to play a game of brads. Why don’t you come along?”
He said apologetically: “I don’t think I’d better. We may leave in the morning and I ought to get a good night’s sleep.” He was disappointed that Corvig had a companion; he would have liked to ask his advice.
Corvig tucked his arm through Niall’s. “Well, walk along with us anyway.”
The girl, who had large, attractive eyes, asked him: “Why do you have to leave so soon?”
“My father wants to get back. I wish I could persuade him to stay a few days longer.” He turned to Corvig. “Couldn’t you ask your father to talk to him?”
They had emerged into the main thoroughfare, the one that led to the great hall.
“He’s over there,” Corvig said. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
The king was walking alone, looking at a roll of parchment which he held within a few inches of his nose. Passers-by acknowledged him respectfully, but he paid them no attention. Corvig approached him, bowed his head, and said: “Father. . .” Kazak glanced up irritably, then saw Niall and smiled.
“Excuse me, sir, but Niall wants to ask you something,” Corvig said.
“Yes, yes, he’s very welcome.” He took Niall’s arm. “What is it, my boy?”
“It’s about leaving tomorrow, sir. . .”
Kazak frowned. “Tomorrow? As soon as that! Why can’t you stay longer?”
That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Couldn’t you ask my father?”
Kazak shrugged irritably. “I’ve asked him already. He says he’s worried about his family. But that’s no reason why you shouldn’t stay.”
“I’d like to sir.”
“You would? Good!” A guard approached them and saluted the king. Kazak said: “Look, I’m busy at the moment, but why don’t you go and talk to Merlew. You’ll probably find her alone.”
“Thank you, sir!”
The king’s dwelling was two storeys high, the main door approached by a short flight of steps. The guard who was standing in the doorway stood aside to allow Niall to enter. He found himself in a wide entrance hall supported by pillars of stone; the walls were covered with dyed curtains in royal green. A dozen lamps made it almost as bright as day.
There seemed to be no one about. He crossed to a curtained doorway and peeped in. The large, comfortable room had rushes on the floor and wooden carved furniture; it was also lit by many lamps. But there was no one there.
To the right of the entrance hall was a flight of stairs. Standing at the bottom of these, Niall thought he could hear voices. He hesitated — it seemed wrong to walk around someone’s house like this — then remembered that he had the king’s permission. His bare feet made no sound on the stone steps. He found himself in a low, well-lit corridor, with several curtained doorways to the right and left. From behind one of these came the sound of women’s voices. Niall approached it hesitantly, and was about to call: “Is anybody there?” when he heard the sound of a woman’s laugh. He recognised it immediately; it was Ingeld’s voice. Again, he was tempted to retreat. But as he turned away, he heard the sound of his own name. As he hesitated, Ingeld went on: “It wasn’t his fault. I blame his father and brother.”