Phelim said cautiously: “That’s your decision. I’m only the assistant.”
Niall understood his doubts. If the “antidote” killed the patient, it would be hard to know what to tell the relatives.
Simeon turned to Niall. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s probably safe. The Steegmaster said it contained only small traces of spider venom.”
A girl’s voice said: “Please try it on my brother.”
It was the dark-haired girl in the yellow dress; she had come up behind them as they were speaking. She was now the last of the visitors left in the room.
“What is your name?”
“Quinella. I am from Dira.”
“Ah yes. Where is your brother?”
“Here.” She led them across the room. “You know him. His name is Eirek.”
“Eirek! Of course!” Eirek had been one of the crowd of children with whom Niall had played in Kazak’s underground city. But now, as he looked down at the thin, pale face, he was scarcely able to recognize him.
Niall’s eyes met Simeon’s. He asked the girl: “Do you understand the risk? This serum is untried. It could do him harm.”
Simeon added: “It could even kill him.”
She said: “But I feel he will die if he remains like this.”
Niall understood her fear. Many of the children of Dira had died on their march across the desert; even now, Eirek’s ribs showed clearly through his skin.
Simeon shrugged. “Very well.” He turned to Phelim. “Hand me a new syringe.” He dipped the needle into the brown bottle, and drew up some of the pale yellow fluid into it. Then he carefully selected a spot on the underside of Eirek’s forearm, slapping the flesh to make the vein stand out. Then he drove home the point and pressed the plunger. After only a moment he withdrew the needle.
“I don’t want to risk using too much.”
The girl smiled palely. “Thank you.” Her eyes had not left her brother’s face.
Simeon said gently: “It could take hours, or even longer. Why don’t you go home? We’ll look after him.”
She shook her head. “Please let me stay.”
He sighed. “All right. You’d better find yourself a chair.”
Phelim muttered: “Here’s more of them.”
There was a sound of voices in the corridor. The matron appeared in the doorway. “Can I let some more in?” Simeon nodded, and half a dozen subdued-looking men and women shuffled into the room. A moment later, as Simeon was taking Eirek’s pulse, they were all startled by a loud shriek; it came from a middle-aged woman with dyed golden hair.
“My husband! My dear husband!” She flung herself down on one of the bodies and began to kiss the face. The trestle table on which it was lying almost collapsed. Simeon said sternly: “Madam, unless you control yourself, you must leave immediately.”
She appeared not to hear him. “Is he alive?”
“Yes. But please lower your voice.”
The woman began patting the man’s cheeks with both hands — the pats were so hard they amounted to slaps. “Noldi! Wake up! It’s me.”
Simeon glanced at the matron, who took the woman firmly by the arm. She immediately burst into loud cries and shook herself free.
Niall had seen the problem before: in the spider city, there were many middle-aged women who had become domineering and prone to uncontrolled outbursts of emotion. In the days of slavery, men and women had been kept segregated. The men, under the direct domination of the spiders, were little more than workhorses. Women, on the other hand, had little direct contact with the spiders; they were under the supervision of female commanders, and were generally well treated. Compared with men, they saw themselves as a kind of aristocracy. Older ones — like this woman — were usually promoted to matrons in charge of women’s hostels, and became accustomed to authority. But without a husband and children, they often became self-centered, and prone to violent outbursts of emotion, like the one they were now witnessing.
Eventually the woman was persuaded to sit down, and a nurse was dispatched to fetch her a cup of herb tea. Meanwhile, the other visitors had finished their survey of the paralyzed victims. Most of them were obviously disappointed. Only one sad-looking woman continued to stand by the body of a child, tears running down her cheeks. Niall asked: “Do you know her?”
“She is my daughter. But I think she is dead.”
The girl was a slight, thin child, about twelve years old; fragments of cobweb were sticking to her blonde hair.
“No. She is still alive.”
He confirmed this by probing her mind. To his surprise, the child seemed to be fully conscious. For a moment he suspected her of shamming, then realized that, although aware of all the sounds from the surrounding room, she was unable to move a muscle.
The girl in the yellow dress gave a sudden cry. “He’s waking up!”
In fact, Eirek’s eyelids were fluttering in a manner that suggested a nervous twitch rather than someone waking from sleep. A moment later they closed again. Then the rib cage expanded in a deep breath, and he shook his head violently, as if someone had slapped his face. A moment later his eyes opened and he stared around with a startled expression.
The girl said: “Eirek. Do you know me?”
He smiled faintly and nodded. “Quinny.”
Simeon said: “That’s remarkable. It took less than five minutes. No, please. . .” These last words were addressed to Quinella, who had seized his hand and was pressing it to her lips. Simeon pointed to Niall. “He’s the one you should thank — he brought the antidote.”
There was a loud cry from the middle-aged woman, who had joined the group round the table. Now she flung herself at Simeon’s feet. “Please give it to my husband! I beg you in the name of the great goddess. . .”
Simeon blushed with embarrassment as the woman tried to embrace his legs. “Please get up, madam. I’ll do my best for everyone.”
“Promise me first. Promise me you’ll give him some.”
Simeon took a deep breath; for a moment Niall thought he was going to lose his temper. Then he said: “Very well, madam. But please get up and promise to behave yourself.”
“I swear!” A calculating expression came into her eyes. “But you’ll give it to him now, won’t you?”
“Very well.”
The woman’s husband was a handsome, powerfully built man, obviously at least ten years her junior. Because the spiders had always paid so much attention to the physical well-being of their human subjects — breeding them like prize cattle — this city was full of magnificently handsome men with the physique of Greek gods and women with superb figures. For Niall, it was a perpetually disillusioning experience to glimpse their minds and realize that they were utterly without the power of reflection.
Simeon drove the needle into the man’s forearm, withdrawing it almost immediately. The woman asked: “Are you sure that’s enough?”
Simeon said gruffly: “This is all we have, and it has to serve for a dozen people.”
Niall’s eyes encountered those of the mother of the twelve-year-old girl; he could see that she was too shy or too timid to speak. He placed his hand on Simeon’s arm. “Give some to the little girl. It shouldn’t take much.” The mother gave him a warm smile of gratitude.
Simeon slapped the child’s thin forearm to bring up the vein, then drove in the needle. As he did so, Niall once again probed her mind, and again was puzzled to realize that she was as wide awake as he was. The likeliest explanation, he concluded, was that because she was so small, the spider had injected a carefully graduated dose of venom, precisely enough to paralyze the nervous system without killing her. This was confirmed when, a few seconds later, the girl’s eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes. She smiled at her mother, then immediately turned to look at Niall, although he had been standing beyond her line of vision.
Niall reached out and took her hand. “What is your name?”
“Wenda.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“All the time.”
Simeon was obviously baffled by her reply. “What does she mean?”
Niall asked her: “Ever since the spider jumped on you?” She nodded.
Simeon said: “Great goddess!”
Niall was puzzled by her composure. “Wasn’t it horrible?”
She shook her head. “No, it was a kind of. . . sleepy feeling.”
Niall began to understand. His grandfather had once described how he had been seized by a death spider, and how, instead of feeling terrified, he had experienced a curious dreamy sensation, as if he was in no danger. Now it seemed plain that, as they pounced, the spiders somehow anesthetized the mind against fear. On reflection, this seemed logical. A victim in the grip of terror would die sooner than a victim who experienced an illusory sense of security.