“But what could we learn from a head?”
“A head contains a brain. And a brain contains information.”
“Not when it’s dead it doesn’t.”
“You could be wrong. This man is a magician. He knows many secrets that we do not know. The only thing he does not know is how much we know. That is why he wanted to get rid of the heads.”
Simeon looked at him curiously. “You seem to know a great deal.”
He was interrupted by Nephtys, who appeared in the open doorway. “My lord, the Lord Dravig. . .”
“Yes, I know.” Niall stood up. “Tell him I’m coming now.” He bowed in acknowledgment as Simeon withdrew. Jarita said: “Your cloak, my lord.”
As he stood there, allowing her to fasten the soft gray cloak about his neck, he noticed that her hands lingered slightly longer than necessary — and that Nephtys was also aware of it. And since he could see into the minds of both women, he knew that Nephtys had been meant to notice. It disturbed him to realize that he was an object of a subtle rivalry between these two women, and that by allowing Jarita to dress him, he had intensified the rivalry. So, while Jarita was still smoothing the cloak, he followed Simeon out of the room.
Dravig was standing close to the fire, obviously enjoying its heat; as Niall appeared on the stairs he made the ritual gesture of obeisance. There was no greeting exchanged between them — because they were telepathic, spiders found such human formalities incomprehensible. But since Niall was obliged to speak first he asked: “What brings you here so early?”
“The Death Lord requests your presence in his headquarters.” (The image transmitted was, in fact, of a web.)
“Of course.” He hoped that Dravig had not noticed his uncontrollable reaction of dismay. Although he was, in theory, the lord of the Spider Lord, unpleasant impressions of previous encounters lingered in his memory. As he crossed to the alcove in which he had left his outdoor cloak and fur boots, he asked casually: “Do you know what it’s about?”
“He wishes you to be present at the trial of Skorbo’s fellow criminals.”
This time Niall made no attempt to conceal his consternation. “As a witness against them?”
“That is unnecessary. They have already confessed.”
“Then why does he want me there?”
“To witness that he always keeps his word.”
“When does the trial take place?”
“It will begin as soon as you appear.”
“Oh dear, I’m sorry.” But even as he pulled on his boots, he knew that Dravig found his apology incomprehensible.
Spider language had no equivalent of “waiting.” It would have been as inapplicable to a spider as to a tree.
The sunlight made the air pleasantly warm, although the north wind still had an edge of coldness; the snow was already beginning to thaw. The square was full of people, for today was a holiday — a concept introduced from the city of the bombardier beetles, where men worked for six days and rested on the seventh. As soon as Niall was recognized, people cleared a way for him, then fell on their knees in the snow, bowing their heads. The fact that Niall was followed by Dravig, who walked a few steps behind him — as was required by protocol — obviously increased their respect. Once again Niall found himself wishing that he could stroll among his own people without being recognized.
As soon as he entered the headquarters of the Spider Lord, Niall became aware of a brooding tension. It was, in fact, an altogether curious sensation, as if walking into a kind of cold jelly. This feeling was undoubtedly shared by every spider in the building: a recognition that something of great seriousness was about to take place. In the days when human beings had been lords of the Earth, the same atmosphere had probably pervaded murder trials and public executions.
Niall found himself stifled by a sense of oppression. In the dark hallway, he turned to Dravig. “What would happen if I begged the Death Lord to spare their lives?”
Dravig answered without hesitation: “That would be inadvisable.”
“You mean he would refuse?”
“No. He would agree. But for the prisoners themselves it would be a shameful humiliation.”
Niall was astonished. “Why?”
“Because they would owe their lives to the intercession of one they regard as an enemy. They would prefer to die.”
Dravig now preceded him up the stairs. And, as he followed, Niall tried to understand this latest baffling paradox of the arachnoid mentality: that a spider should prefer death to the generosity of an “enemy.” Then, as he again became aware of the suffocating tension in the air, he suddenly understood. Unlike human beings, spiders were in constant telepathic contact. There would be no way in which a spider could forget or ignore the contempt of his fellows. And that contempt would cause him to see himself as an entirely contemptible creature, unworthy of life. . .
The building was in almost complete darkness; every window was covered by a thick layer of dust-laden cobwebs which had accumulated over the centuries. Some long-dead Spider Lord had probably chosen this building as his headquarters because the great main staircase was built of black marble, and the walls were covered with a substance like black volcanic glass. Spiders had an instinctive preference for darkness — no doubt because it was necessary for the concealment of their webs.
On the fourth floor, Dravig halted in front of a wide door covered with black leather and decorated with brass studs. The two wolf spiders who stood on guard on either side were so still that they might have been statues. The same was true of the dark-haired girl who stood to attention in front of the door; she was dressed in a black uniform, although her white arms had been left bare; Niall recognized her as Sidonia, the captain of the Spider Lord’s household guard. She looked at him without recognition — the slightest wavering of her gaze would have been regarded as a severe breach of discipline — then turned her back on them and threw open the door.
In the spacious hall beyond, there was enough light to reveal that the walls and ceiling were entirely covered with dusty cobwebs. At the far end of the room, the cobwebs stretched from floor to ceiling, and were so thick that they resembled layers of netting or a tangle of creepers. From the midst of this jungle, Niall had a sensation of being surveyed by invisible eyes. As he came to a halt, the voice of the Spider Lord sounded inside his chest.
“Welcome, chosen of the goddess.”
Niall replied: “I am honored to be in your presence, O lord of the Earth.”
As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, Niall became aware of other spiders standing by the walls; they were so still, and blended so well into the background, that they were virtually invisible. And then, quite suddenly, it was unnecessary for him to try to penetrate the darkness; every spider in the room became clearly visible. For a moment he thought that a beam of sunlight had penetrated the dusty windows. Then, with a shock, he understood what had happened. The Spider Lord had integrated him into the web of awareness within the room. He had been granted the supreme honor of becoming a part of the general consciousness that united all spiders.
It was, in a sense, the most remarkable experience of his life. Like all human beings, Niall had spent his whole life seeing things from his individual standpoint, like a man sitting alone in a small room; even when closest to others he felt aware of his solitariness. He had taken it for granted that this was what it meant to be alive. Now, suddenly, he was no longer alone; he was a part of a network of other beings, as aware of their existence as he was of his own. The bewildering thing was that his sense of identity had vanished; he had become the spiders who surrounded him, while his own identity had somehow become divided among them. Yet when he looked inside himself, wondering at this loss of individuality, he realized with surprise that his identity was still there, as it always had been. It was his sense of being himself, of being Niall, that had disappeared. And now he understood that this had always been an illusion, that he had never been Niall. Niall was merely a set of misconceptions.
All this, he realized, was an act of supreme courtesy on the part of the Spider Lord, an attempt to make amends for centuries of mistrust between spiders and human beings. And since spiders have a natural aversion to human beings, just as most human beings have a natural aversion to spiders, this gesture of integration into spider consciousness was also an act of extraordinary generosity. The generosity was all the more astounding since Niall could now understand why spiders found humans so distasteful; with their cramped little egos, their obsessive self-preoccupation, they must all seem to be suffering from a kind of insanity. Now he could also see why spiders had felt no guilt about treating human beings as slaves; with their blindness and narrowness, men were only one degree less stupid than sheep.