Something moved in the gutter on the far side of the road. It was Kazak. He stood up slowly, then came across the road towards them, his steps as unsteady as those of a drunken man. His toga was torn, and both knees were gashed and bleeding. So was his face; a flap of skin hung loosely under his left eye, which was already beginning to turn black. He stopped in front of Niall, and asked in a thick voice:
“Was that necessary?”
Niall tried to speak, but his voice seemed to be trapped in his throat. It was Doggins who answered.
“Well, it seems to have done the trick.” He wiped his dripping forehead. “I didn’t think we were going to get out of that alive.”
Niall found his voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend that to happen. I only wanted to show them how powerful these things are.” He was surprised by the waves of calm that were now flooding over him.
Doggins laughed. “You certainly succeeded.” He turned to Kazak. “Well, are you going to stick with us?”
Kazak looked like a tired animal; the blood was now running down his cheek. He stared at Doggins for a long time, and it was difficult to guess what was going on in his mind. He said finally “No,” then turned and limped slowly away from them, moving in the direction of the river.
Doggins obviously found his decision incomprehensible.
“Is he cunning, or just stupid?” he asked Niall.
But Niall was also baffled. He stared after the limping figure with an odd feeling of concern.
“I don’t know.”
Doggins shrugged cheerfully. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter one way or the other.” He turned to the others. “Are you lads ready to go?”
They marched in a northerly direction, advancing down the centre of the wide street to avoid the risk of a surprise attack. All felt instinctively that this was unlikely; but it would have been foolish to relax their precautions. Doggins used his Reaper to slice through the webs that stretched overhead, and their strands hung like festive streamers down the walls of the buildings, fluttering in the stiff breeze from the south.
At the far end of the street, they found themselves at the edge of the town hall square. The City Hall was a massive pseudo-Greek building with fluted columns that had long ago turned black, but the surrounding lawns were smooth and well kept. Although the square was totally deserted, they paused to survey it, wondering if they were being observed from the buildings around or from the City Hall itself.
Doggins said: “I don’t like this. Surely they can’t be stupid enough to let us march straight out of their city without any attempt to stop us?”
The same thought had occurred to Niall. The spiders were badly demoralised. Yet the Spider Lord must know that if he allowed them to escape now, he would have lost a major opportunity — perhaps the only opportunity — to destroy them. Surrounded by buildings, Niall and his companions would be vulnerable to a sudden rush. And at close quarters, the spiders were almost irresistible. Once they had paralysed their victim, even for a moment, by sheer will-power, they could despatch him instantly with their poisoned fangs.
Niall was staring thoughtfully at the City Hall. “Do you know anything about spider balloons?”
“Of course. Our people manufacture them.”
Niall pointed. “That place is a silk factory. Perhaps they also store balloons there.”
Doggins frowned, shaking his head. “That’s no good. We’d also need porifids.”
“Porifids?”
“Short for Porifera Mephitis, the things that make them fly. Also known as the skunk-sponge. It’s a kind of sponge that produces a lighter-than-air gas.”
“But if there are balloons, there may be porifids too.”
Doggins glanced at the sun to calculate the time. “All right. I suppose it’s worth a try.”
They approached the City Hall cautiously, their weapons raised; but there seemed no sign of life. In the beds outside, banks of coloured flowers filled the air with a spring-like fragrance. Birds sang in the surrounding trees, which rustled in the cool breeze. Niall was interested to observe how danger sharpened his appreciation of these things.
The carved oak doors were locked, but yielded immediately to the thin beam of the Reaper. Inside was a large hallway with marble columns and two wide flights of stairs sweeping in a curve to the upper storey. It was not unlike Kazak’s palace, but larger.
Facing them was another pair of imposing wooden doors, which also proved to be locked. Doggins sliced out the lock with his Reaper and kicked open the door. He gave a chortle of delight, and flung his arm round Niall’s neck.
“You’re a brilliant little lad! How did you know?”
The hall that faced them had evidently been used once for public ceremonies; the walls were covered with banners bearing municipal emblems; now it was a workshop and storeroom, full of ladders, wooden planks, handcarts and building materials. And in the far corner were piles of neatly-folded silk which Niall recognised as spider balloons.
Niall shrugged modestly. “It was just a guess.”
Doggins turned to the others. “You lads spread out all over the building and stand guard at the windows. We can’t risk a surprise attack. Wedge the front doors closed. If you see any sign of movement, let me know immediately.” He turned back to Niall. “Let’s see if we can find a skunk sponge.”
“Where are they usually kept?”
“In some kind of a tank.”
In an alcove behind the balloons, they found a locked door; when this was kicked open, they were met by a stench of rotting vegetation that made them both recoil. Holding his nose, Doggins peeped into the room. He nodded with satisfaction.
“That’s what we need.”
There was a large glass tank, its sides almost as high as a man, containing slimy green water. Propped beside it were a number of nets with long handles. Niall peered into the scummy liquid but could see very little. Doggins climbed a flight of wooden steps beside the tank, took one of the nets and fished about in the water.
“There we are.” He held out the net. Lying in the bottom, among slimy weed, was a green pulsating object shaped like a doughnut. The hole in its centre was closed, but when Doggins prodded with his finger it opened for a moment, then closed on his finger. Inside this mouth Niall caught a glimpse of a pointed green tongue. Doggins pulled his finger away with a faint plop. The air was immediately filled with the disgusting smell of decay.
“But how does it make the balloons fly?”
“I’ll show you.”
Doggins crossed to a cylindrical metal container that stood on a table in a corner. When he removed the lid, a stench of rotting meat mingled with the vegetation smell. Doggins picked up a rusty saucepan from the table and dipped it into the cylinder. When it emerged, it was half-full of big grubs, some of them as much as two inches long and thick as a finger. Still holding his nose and retching with disgust, Doggins tilted the saucepan over the creature shaped like a doughnut. The mouth promptly opened, and closed again hungrily on the wriggling grubs. Once more the air filled with the smell of decay.
Doggins put the saucepan down. “Ugh! Let’s get out of here.” As they left the room, he carefully closed the door behind him. Niall observed that other porifids were now swimming at the edge of the tank, obviously hoping for grubs.
Back in the hall, they lifted down one of the folded balloons and laid it out on a clear floor-space. Unfolded, it was thirty feet across. This was the first time Niall had seen a spider balloon at close quarters, and he examined it with curiosity. He had often wondered how the spider was supported; now he could see there was a kind of flat, silken bag underneath the balloon. This had room for a large body and could easily hold two or three human beings.
The balloon itself was not spherical, but flattened like two dinner plates held face to face, and the finely woven silk was slightly sticky to the touch.
Spread out on the floor, the balloon formed a huge blue-white disc on the edge of which there was a six-inch loop of rope held in place by a powerful clip. When this was released and pulled, the side of the balloon opened like a gutted fish. Niall, who was barely familiar with the principal of the slide fastener, found this remarkable. Inside the balloon, at its central point, there was a reinforced cup about a foot in diameter, covered with two broad straps.
Doggins pointed. “That’s where the porifid goes.”
“But how do you make it produce the gas?”
“You don’t have to. They hate the darkness, so as soon as they’re sealed in, they begin to produce gas.”