They were crossing the hall downstairs when a woman came in through the door. Niall’s heart turned a somersault as he recognised Merlew. Ingeld called to her: “Look who’s arrived.”
Merlew looked at Niall with pleased astonishment. “Well, it’s the young wrestler!” Niall blushed.
Merlew had acquired a suntan. In her short white robe, she looked dazzlingly beautiful. With a sinking of the heart he realised that he found her more alluring than ever. When she gave Veig a warm smile, Niall experienced a pang of jealousy.
Merlew asked: “Where are you going?”
“I’m taking them to the nursery. Why don’t you come?”
“No thanks. I’ve some dressmaking to do. But why not invite them to dinner this evening?”
It was clear that this idea did not appeal to Ingeld. “I’ll have to ask your father first.”
Merlew said smartly: “Nonsense. I’m mistress of this household. I’m inviting them.”
Ingeld flushed. “Very well. You can take the responsibility.”
“I will.” She smiled at them. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Niall observed the expression on Veig’s face as he stared after her. Merlew had made another conquest.
Outside, their charioteer leapt to his feet, but Ingeld surveyed the two-wheeled cart with disfavour. “It looks horribly uncomfortable. I think we’ll take ours.” She waved dismissively at the charioteer. “You can go.” She led them back through the building and out into a paved courtyard. Here two charioteers were sitting in the shade playing the game with carved wooden sticks. When Ingeld snapped her fingers, they leapt to their feet. Niall glimpsed her fleeting smile of pleasure; she evidently enjoyed being able to exhibit her power in front of her relatives.
Nial could see why she preferred her own transport. This two-wheeled cart was large enough for half a dozen, and the seats were comfortably padded. It was made of a light yellow wood, and its wheels were large and elegant. When they were seated, Ingeld said: “To the women’s quarters,” and the charioteers pulled them out through a rear entrance.
Siris turned to Ingeld. “Do you have to work?”
Ingeld raised her eyebrows. “Oh no. In this city, the men do most of the work. They seem to regard women as a superior species. It’s rather pleasant.” She smiled complacently at Niall and Veig. “But I wouldn’t work anyway. I suppose you might say that I’m the queen.”
“You’re married to Kazak?”
“Oh no, not exactly. But I’m in charge of his household.”
Niall said: “I thought Merlew was.”
“We share the work.” Her voice was cool.
As they approached the white tower, Niall saw that the main square was swarming with activity. It seemed full of large green insects. He asked Ingeld: “What are they?”
She wrinkled her nose with disgust. “They’re the beetles. I can’t imagine what they’re doing.” She leaned forward and asked the charioteers: “Do you know what’s going on?”
One of them said: “I should think they’re going to ‘ave another go at blowin’ up the tower.”
“Ah. This should be worth watching. Stop where we’ve got a good view.”
They halted at the edge of the square, next to the building that housed the Spider Lord. The square seemed an almost solid mass of green-backed beetles. They had long powerful forelegs, yellow heads and, at the rear, a short, tail-like appendage. They were very large — the largest probably more than six feet long — and their big bodies crashed against one another as they pushed and jostled. When Niall tuned in to their minds, he immediately experienced a sense of effervescent excitement that made him want to laugh aloud. It was totally unlike the watchful vigilance of the spiders, or the strange collective consciousness of the ants. These creatures seemed to be endowed with an excess of high spirits. If they had been human they would have slapped one another on the back and nudged one another in the ribs. As it was, they deliberately bumped against one another out of sheer exuberance.
Some of the black spiders had emerged from the building, but they stayed in the shadow of the portico. Niall sensed in them an attitude of contemptuous dislike for the beetles, mingled with a caution that seemed to contain an element of fear.
At the foot of the white tower, the men had piled barrels in a double row. Then they dragged away the empty carts and pulled them to the far side of the square, where they took up positions behind them. Only the little man in the yellow tunic was left near the tower. He picked up a small barrel and proceeded to lay a powder trail across the turf, halting at the low wall that divided the grass surrounding the tower from the main square. The beetles suddenly became still as the man struck a light with a tinder box; a moment later, a wisp of white smoke rose from the end of the powder trail and raced across the grass. The little man lay down behind the wall, and covered his ears with his hands. Something about the tension in his arms aroused in Niall an intuition of danger. He grabbed Veig and Siris by the arm.
“Quick!”
They responded to the urgency in his voice and followed him as he scrambled out of the cart. Ingeld hesitated, perhaps feeling that it would be beneath her dignity to hurry, but finally followed them. As her foot touched the ground, there was a crashing roar like a thousand thunderclaps and a blinding burst of light. A moment later, Niall felt himself caught by a tremendous wind that threw him backwards. Fortunately, the cart took most of the blast and was turned over on its side. Niall’s skull exploded into stars as he was spun round and thrown against the wall of the building. Something struck him in the back and knocked the breath out of his lungs. When his vision cleared, he saw that it was Veig, who was now sprawling on the ground. Siris lay a few feet away. Ingeld, caught upright by the blast, and without the shelter of the cart, had been hurled twenty feet into the middle of the avenue. So were the two charioteers. The white tower was blackened but obviously undamaged.
There was chaos in the square, a struggling mass of beetles, many upside down, their legs waving in the air. Some of them had been picked up by the blast and hurled against the wall of the building behind them, where they had landed on top of the spiders.
The air was full of a horrible, pungent stench that made him cough and brought tears to his eyes. It took him a few moments to realise that the source of these choking fumes was not the explosion but the beetles themselves. One of the black spiders, trying to drag itself out from under the body of a struggling beetle, struck out with its fangs, which glanced off the green armour plating. There was the sound of an explosion, and the spider was instantly surrounded by a cloud of poisonous green gas discharged from the beetle’s tail-like appendage. They were close enough for Niall to feel the heat that accompanied the cloud. The spider dragged itself clear, leaving behind the end segment of one of its legs, and hastened to remove itself from the vicinity of the choking fumes.
As order was restored, it became clear that no one had been badly hurt. Ingeld was standing up, her white tunic torn and stained with blood; but when Niall ran to help her, he discovered that the blood came from a nosebleed; her cheek was scratched, and so were her hands and knees; otherwise she seemed undamaged. Veig and Siris looked dazed, but were unhurt. The charioteers had been less fortunate; one had done a somersault over the cart and seemed to have a broken leg; the other was bleeding from a dozen cuts on his head and shoulders. Niall’s intuition of danger had been sound. If they had remained in the cart, they would have been picked up and hurled backwards. Now he understood why the men had dragged their own carts so far across the square.
The little man in the yellow tunic was making his way towards them. Niall saw that it was Bill Doggins and that he was avoiding the jostling of the beetles with a skill that suggested long practice. Ingeld rushed at him screaming “Idiot!” then doubled up with coughing.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“What happened?” Niall asked.
“We used a bit too much gunpowder, that’s what. Mind, it wasn’t my fault. Orders from ‘is ‘ighness ‘imself.” He nodded in the direction of the headquarters of the Death Lord.
Ingeld, who was still choking, gasped: “You’re a dangerous lunatic. I’m going to report you to the king.”
The little man shrugged. “Report me to who you like.”
She glowered at him. “I will.” She turned to Siris. “I’m going back to change.” She walked away with a slight limp.