Five minutes later, Niall was marching north along the main avenue, at the head of a squad of twenty slaves.
The day was bright and cloudless, and the north-east wind had the refreshing coolness of early morning. Accustomed to the hot, dry wind of the desert, Niall found it intoxicating; even the slight dampness of his clothes against his skin gave him pleasure. Ahead of them, the avenue stretched in a straight line towards the green hills in the distance. The sight of them brought a curious elation, a sense that freedom lay on the other side.
Most of the buildings on either side of them were in ruins; some were fire blackened shells, with trees and tall purple weeds pushing their way out of doors and windows. Overhead, the thick, dusty cobwebs were less dense than in the city centre. Niall experienced a continuous sense of observation from unseen eyes; it was as if he were being lightly brushed by beams of intense curiosity. He deliberately kept his mind closed, refusing to allow his consciousness to reflect anything but his immediate surroundings.
A mile or so further on, the scenery changed; ruined skyscrapers and tower blocks gave way to smaller buildings, many surrounded by tangled wildernesses of greenery; this had evidently been a residential area of the city. Soon the webs disappeared as the gaps between buildings became too wide to be bridged with spider silk. Here, at last, Niall felt able to relax, and to give free rein to the thoughts and feelings that filled his being with excitement. Again and again he reached inside his shirt and turned the mirror; each time, he experienced the surge of delight and incredulity as he felt his mind concentrate like a compressed spring, then release its energy in a brief surge of power. It was astonishing to feel that his mind had exactly the same power as his hands: not merely to grasp, but to change things.
It was, of course, the same power that the spiders possessed. And once again he was overwhelmed by that staggeringly simple yet fundamental insight: that men have become slaves of the habit of changing the world with their hands. The spiders had the tremendous advantage of never having formed that habit.
Suddenly, it seemed preposterous that men had been on earth for so many millions of years without discovering the true use of the mind. And horribly tragic that some of them — like the slaves — had literally lost their minds, like deep sea fish who have lost their eyes. . .
The thought of the slaves made him look round. They had ceased to march in ranks and were shambling along with bowed shoulders; some stragglers were fifty yards behind. Niall concentrated his will and sent out a beam of command. The result astonished him. The nearest slaves staggered, as if struck by a powerful blast of wind; those farther away jerked frantically to attention. All looked shocked and bewildered. Niall tried again, this time more gently. The slaves immediately closed ranks, threw back their heads and began to march like trained soldiers. Niall himself felt curiously exalted by this response and experienced an answering surge of vitality. For perhaps five minutes — until the attention of the slaves began to waver — he felt as though they were all part of a single organism — perhaps some enormous centipede marching on its multiple army of legs.
Abruptly, the buildings came to an end. From the top of a low rise, they found themselves looking down on open countryside, and on cultivated fields with barley and green vegetables. They passed an orchard where slaves were gathering fruit, tended by an overseer who might have been Odina’s sister. Aware of her expectation, Niall saluted her smartly, and made the slaves do the same. Her amazement warned him that this was a mistake, and he made a mental note to avoid flamboyant gestures.
A mile further on, the road entered an area of dense woodland whose emerald green foliage overhung the road. Niall found it so enchanting that he allowed the slaves to break ranks and slow down to a leisurely stroll. There was a point where a small stream ran beneath the road, rippling over lichen-stained pebbles. The slaves ran down into this and splashed through the shallow water; as they did so, Niall’s own feet and ankles became almost painfully cold.
As they emerged from the woodland Niall saw, at the foot of the hills to the north-west, a series of red towers like twisted church spires. He turned to the nearest slave, a gangling, cross-eyed youth with a hare lip. “What is that?”
“Crashville.”
“Crashville?”
The youth nodded delightedly, and shouted: “Boo-oom!” at the same time waving his arms upwards to simulate an explosion. The other slaves began to chuckle and giggle, repeating “Boo-oom!” in intonations that varied from a low roar to an excited shriek. Crashville must be the slaves’ nickname for the city of the bombardier beetles.
Half an hour later, they were met by a tall, bald-headed man who wore a yellow tunic and green eyeshade; his face was red and harassed.
“Where have you been? You’re late!”
Niall said: “I’m sorry. They won’t walk very fast.”
“Where’s your whip?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have one.”
The man groaned, and cast his eyes up to heaven. “Here, borrow mine.” From a large pocket of his tunic he pulled a coiled leather whip. The slaves eyed it nervously.
“I don’t think I know how to use it,” Niall said.
“I’ll soon show you.” He uncoiled the whip, cracked it, then went behind the slaves and slashed at the ankles of the stragglers. They closed ranks and broke into a trot. The man followed them for a few yards, swearing and cracking the whip, then slowed down to a walk beside Niall.
“See? That’s the only way to do it.”
Niall said humbly: “I see.”
“Why have you only brought nineteen?”
“There were twenty when we set out.” Niall had counted them.
The man shrugged. “I suppose a spider got one of them.”
Niall was appalled. “You mean one has been eaten?”
The man looked at him pityingly. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”
“Er. . . yes.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get eaten yourself. Oh well, I suppose we can make do with nineteen.”
Now they were entering the city of red towers. Each tower was an immense spiral cone and seemed to be made of a waxy, shiny substance; it was as if some giant had seized each while it was still soft and given it a clockwise twist. Through the door in the base of the nearest tower, Niall could see an ascending ramp. There were window-like apertures in the twisted sides, and from the highest of these, just below the apex of the tower, a bombardier beetle goggled down at them. Around the foot of the tower was a moat about two feet wide, and in this, a small beetle, hardly more than a baby, was floating on its back, its silvery green belly exposed to the sunlight.
This colony of the bombardier beetles consisted of several hundred of these towers, spaced at wide intervals on smooth green turf. Between were low, one-storey buildings made of a blue substance like opaque glass, and with small circular windows like portholes; these were evidently the homes of the human servants. Like the towers, the houses were surrounded by neat green lawns, intersected by water channels and by paths of a pink material like marble. Children dressed in yellow tunics broke off their play to stare at them curiously as they passed. Attractive women, many with spinning wheels, sat in the shade of blue glass porches. Most of them wore their hair very long — in some cases, below the waist — or piled in coils on the top of the head.
“Who lives there?” Niall asked. He pointed to a tower at least twice as high as the others.
“Nobody. That’s the town hall.”
They entered the central square, a smooth rectangle of green turf neatly intersected by paths. Niall could now see that the central building consisted of two halves: a blue glass structure surmounted by a red tower. An impressive flight of curved steps ran up to its main entrance.
The slaves, who had evidently been here before, had drawn up in ranks at the foot of the steps. The bombardier beetles who wandered in and out of the building ignored them. As Niall and his companion approached, a man in a shabby yellow tunic emerged from the main entrance and walked down the steps; even at a distance, Niall recognised the spindly legs and beaky nose. He was about to smile and wave when Doggins looked directly into his eyes. To Niall’s surprise, he showed no sign of recognition; instead, he looked away and addressed Niall’s companion.
“You’d better get a move on or we’ll be late starting.”