Once again the balloon was struck by a force like a hurricane. This time it was the heat blast rising from the ground like the updraught of some immense bonfire. Niall was flung to his knees, and for a moment the heat was so intense that he was afraid the fabric would begin to burn. The undercarriage swung wildly from side to side as the balloon was hurled upwards. When he stood up and looked over the side, the ground was again receding fast.
Doggins shouted: “I’ll steer, you release the gas.” He handed Niall the cord of the release valve. For the next five minutes, Doggins performed a miracle of control, sometimes apparently steering the balloon directly into the wind. Niall held the cord but made no attempt to use it; it was simpler to control the porifid by will power. The creature seemed to be remarkably sensitive to mental commands, releasing and reabsorbing gas with a precision that made it possible to achieve total control of the vertical component of their descent. At one point, when the wind almost carried them into one of the twisted spires, Niall caused the balloon to rise so that it missed the top by a few inches.
By now, people were running below them, trying to keep up with the balloon. In the forefront of the crowd, Niall recognised Doggins’ wife Selima. The balloon caught momentarily in the branches of a tall tree, brushed the wall of a house and finally touched down beside an ornamental pool. Hands reached out to grasp theirs and to help them out of the collapsing undercarriage. Selima threw her arms round Doggins’ neck and kissed him repeatedly. Niall found himself surrounded by people who were asking questions, while a young girl placed a coloured paper chain round his neck. A small boy was clinging to his hand and asking if he could have a ride in the balloon. Further confusion ensued as the balloon started to rise again; but when Doggins pulled the slide fastener that released the pressure, there were cries of disgust and one child was violently sick. Niall held his breath until he had moved upwind from the stench.
He had been scanning the faces, hoping to see Odina, but there was no sign of her. For a moment, the sight of a blonde head made his heart pound; then he realised it was Doggins’ wife Lucretia. He pushed his way towards her.
“Where is Odina?”
“Odina?” For a moment she did not seem to understand him. “Oh, she’s with the beetles.”
“Is there something the matter?” Her face looked drawn and tired.
She gave him a strange sidelong glance. “What do you think?” She pushed her way towards her husband, brushed Selima impatiently aside, and whispered something in his ear. Doggins’ smile suddenly vanished and was replaced by a look of anxiety. With some difficulty, Niall reached his side.
“What is it?”
“Trouble.”
“Spiders?”
Doggins gave a twisted smile. “Far worse than that. I’ve been summoned before the council.”
“But why?”
Doggins shrugged. “Causing trouble, I suppose.”
“Shall I come with you?”
Lucretia interposed sharply: “The Master sent for you alone.”
Doggins grimaced. “Not allowed. You go back with Lucretia. I’ll see you later.” He turned and strode off in the direction of the town hall. Selima looked as if she was about to run after him, but a glance from Lucretia checked her.
Niall turned to Lucretia and was met by a hard stare. He asked: “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” She raised her eyebrows with mild sarcasm. “Oh, nothing’s wrong. You’ve just started a war, that’s all.”
Selima touched his arm gently. “Come back with us now. You must be tired.”
Lucretia gave a snort of irritation, and walked off.
Niall said: “I don’t understand. He’s saved your lives.”
She gave him a sad smile. “That is for the Master to decide.”
Her submission irritated him.
“But don’t you feel proud of him? He’s saved your city from the spiders.”
“Perhaps that is true. But yesterday we had no quarrel with the spiders.”
Neither of them spoke as they crossed the green lawns and turned down the smooth marble road that led to the town hall. Then the sight of a collapsed balloon by the side of the road reminded him of the others.
“How many more balloons have landed?”
“Two. But we saw another one pass overhead.”
Now they had reached the town hall square. But its wide lawn was no longer crowded with beetles. As they were crossing it, a woman rushed up to Niall and seized his arm.
“Can you tell me what has happened to my son Yorg?”
“He escaped in a balloon. If he is not among those who landed, then he has been carried beyond the city. He should be quite safe.”
Another woman approached him. “And my son Marcus?”
Niall lowered his eyes from her face. “I am sorry. He is dead.”
The woman collapsed on the ground and began to moan and wail, beating her forehead on the hard turf. Niall felt convulsed by misery and guilt. The other woman asked:
“How was he killed?”
“He was. . . he was killed by a spider.” He was about to say “eaten”, but stopped himself in time.
A small crowd had gathered round them. Selima said: “He cannot answer more questions now. We have to go back.”
But at that moment a beetle came down the steps of the town hall and hurried across to them. It reached out with its long front leg and touched Niall on the shoulder, then made a series of gestures with its feelers. Selima said:
“He is saying that you must go with him. They want to speak to you.”
Niall stared at the blank face with its goggle eyes. It was not unlike the face of a spider, yet conveyed no feeling of menace. In spite of their enormous size, and the obvious strength in their armoured legs, the beetles somehow communicated an atmosphere of gentleness and good nature. Without hesitation, Niall followed it back into the town hall.
It took several moments for his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. Then he saw that the entrance hall was full of beetles and that they were communicating in their peculiar, sibilant voices, which sounded not unlike the chirping of a cicada. A moment later, to his joy, he saw Odina sitting on a bench in a corner. He rushed across to her and seized her hands.
“Are you all right?”
She raised her eyes to his face; to his astonishment, she seemed not to recognise him.
“Don’t you know me?”
“Yes.” Her lips scarcely moved.
“Then what is it?” The emptiness of her gaze chilled him.
The beetle touched him on the shoulder. Odina looked as if she was about to speak, then shook her head. Niall turned away and followed his escort feeling saddened and shaken. He cast a glance back towards her but she was no longer visible among the beetles.
He was led down a curved, sloping ramp that led into a basement; the light here was even dimmer than in the upper part of the building. The walls were of rough, unsmoothed stone, and as he followed his guide down a long, sloping corridor, he felt as though he was entering some kind of underworld. The floor under his feet was also rough, and he had to walk carefully to avoid stumbling. Yet he could understand intuitively why this lower part of the building had been left in an apparently unfinished state. For beetles the earth is a place of refuge and safety. So it would be natural to construct a council chamber — a place demanding deep thought and calm deliberation — under the ground.
The tunnel turned a right angle, and the slope became even steeper; now the walls were of hard-packed earth, supported by unplaned wooden beams. Like Kazak’s underground city, this corridor was lighted by oil lamps set in alcoves. They came to a place where the walls opened out and where the corridor appeard to come to an end; in fact, the earth wall that faced them was a massive door made of some fibrous material like peat. As they waited, it swung slowly open. Niall expected to find himself confronted by some insect guardian of the threshold, and was surprised and amused to see that it was Doggins who was struggling to pull open the heavy door, which was more than a foot thick. Doggins gave him a brief nod of recognition; Niall thought he looked grim and rather harassed. When they were inside, Niall’s beetle escort closed the door with a single powerful thrust of its front legs.
They were in a large, dimly-lighted room whose floor was a shallow oval bowl. The walls were of earth, supported by pillars and undressed stone; the light came from flickering oil lamps set close to the ceiling. The oval space contained a number of protuberances, like small hillocks, and on each of these sat a bombardier beetle. As his eyes became accustomed to the poor light, Niall could see that each of these hillocks had a steeply sloping upper surface, so the beetles were able to rest on them in an upright position, each folded leg resting in a grove; it was the beetle equivalent of an armchair, designed so its occupant could peer over the raised back.