The thought of being separated from his mother made Niall decide to try to implant a suggestion in Odina’s mind. The boat was close to the opposite shore; time was running short. He stared at her profile, and concentrated on the suggestion that she should take them all back to Kazak’s palace. It was hard to assess her reaction. As the prow of the boat gently nudged the bank, he asked: “Where are we going now?”
“I’m taking you back to the new supervisor.” Her voice was clear and decisive. He could sense that she was pleased with herself for thinking of this convenient solution. It made him feel guilty, but when he looked at his mother’s sad face — she was still thinking of her children — the guilt was outweighed by satisfaction at winning her this temporary reprieve.
It was mid-afternoon when they arrived back in the main square. Niall felt sorry for the charioteers; Odina had ordered them to return via a lengthy detour along the river bank, and they were exhausted. She seemed completely indifferent to their misery, and often shouted at them to go faster. It occurred to Niall that this was not a matter of cruelty or callousness; her imagination simply failed to grasp them as fellow creatures. This was what disturbed him about her; she seemed pleasant, kindly and well meaning, yet she was totally devoid of imagination.
A group of slaves was pulling a cartload of earth across the square, while others pushed behind. At the foot of the tower, more slaves were filling in the crater. Among these were a number of men whose size and muscular development proclaimed them servants rather than members of the slave class. Niall asked:
“Why are those men working with the slaves?”
“They are being punished. Servants who are disobedient or lazy can be sentenced to become slaves.” She added with satisfaction: “It is one of the best ways of maintaining discipline. Most servants would die rather than become slaves.”
Veig asked: “Does that mean they might be eaten?”
“Of course. They lose all their privileges.”
“What kind of disobedience?”
She shrugged. “Failing to show proper respect to a commander. Even staying in bed too long in the mornings.”
Now Niall understood why Massig had been so nervous this morning.
Two black-clad commanders were standing on guard at the main entrance of Kazak’s headquarters. Behind them, through the open door, Niall caught a glimpse of a death spider. His heart contracted with sudden apprehension as their charioteers turned into the side street and took the rear entrance that led into the courtyard. Two wolf spiders were lounging in the sun, and two more commanders stood on either side of the entrance to the building. Odina climbed out of the cart, made an obeisance to the spiders, and saluted the commanders.
“I am delivering the savages back to Supervisor Kazak.”
The woman stared contemptuously at Niall and Veig.
“I will inform the supervisor. Leave them here.”
Odina saluted, climbed back into the cart, and barked an order at the charioteers. She left without a backward glance.
The commander kept them waiting for ten minutes, ignoring them as though they were invisible. Staring at her, Niall found himself tuning in naturally to her emotional vibrations. What he saw made him flush with anger. She regarded “savages” as a contemptible form of animal life, and was convinced they had an unpleasant smell. But most of her contempt was reserved for Siris, whom she saw as repulsively skinny and unfeminine. For a moment, Niall actually saw his mother through her eyes; it was a disturbing experience, as if Siris had been physically transformed into a kind of ape. From somewhere inside the building, a door slammed and a woman’s voice shouted an order. Their guard turned and vanished into the building. She was away for about ten minutes. The other guard gazed stolidly in front of her; her way of overcoming her disgust towards savages was to try to pretend they were not there.
The door opened; the guard snapped: “Follow me.”
Even before he entered, Niall sensed the hostility that awaited him inside. What he had not expected was to find the hall full of black death spiders, so many that there was scarcely room to move between them. Niall had to fight a powerful urge to turn and run. The nearest spiders were watching him as if ready to pounce and sink their fangs into his bare flesh. For a brief moment of panic, he felt the end had come, and tensed himself to fight. But the impenetrable black eyes merely watched as he followed the guard. He could sense in them a mixture of fear and loathing, as if he were some noxious poison insect. With a detached part of his mind, he also noted that this battery of hostile will-power produced an actual sensation of physical cold, like an icy wind. When he followed the guard up the stairs, it was confined to his back. As they turned the corner, it vanished. It was impossible to doubt that the gaze of the spiders carried some negative charge.
They passed the corridor leading to Kazak’s chamber and continued up the stairs; after the fourth floor, these became narrower, and Niall realised they were being taken to the top of the building. At the end of every corridor, wolf spiders stood on guard, although this part of the building seemed deserted. It was in a poor state of repair; the walls were disfigured by black and green mould, and slabs of plaster had fallen off, exposing the lath underneath.
They turned into a badly-lit corridor whose wooden floor creaked and yielded ominously under their feet. The guard opened a door and beckoned to Siris.
“You will remain in there until you are needed.”
The room inside seemed to be bare, except for a bed and a wooden chair. Siris said “Thank you.” Her lips were very pale. The guard slammed the door behind her and pushed a bolt into place.
Two doors farther along, she beckoned to Veig, and pointed. The door was bolted behind him.
Niall was taken to the far end of the corridor. The door was already open. She gestured for him to enter. He asked:
“Are we prisoners?”
“You will speak only when you are spoken to.” She stood back as he went in as if to avoid contamination from the slightest contact. The door slammed and the bolt slid into place. He heard her footsteps retreating over the creaking boards.
This room was so badly lit that it took him a few moments to see that it was entirely bare except for a few cushions scattered on the floor. There was a smell of dust and decay. The only light came from a high window which was opaque with grime.
He bent down and picked up a cushion. It was damp and smelt of mould. Quite suddenly, he felt an overwhelming desire to fling himself on the floor and burst into tears. Ever since he had discovered the bloated body of his father, Niall had carried a burden of misery; now it seemed to rise up inside him like a storm, sweeping away all attempts at resistance. Yet some final remnant of pride held him back from his surrender. He sat down in a corner on the damp cushion, pressing his forehead against his knees. At that moment he felt more alone than he had ever been in his life.
Only one explanation seemed to fit the facts: that they had somehow discovered that he was responsible for the death of the spider in the desert. In that case, there could be only one outcome: public execution for all three of them. . . The thought of bringing so much misery on his mother and Veig made him feel like groaning aloud.
But how could they have discovered his secret? He could imagine only one possibility: that he had been betrayed by the expanding metal spear. He had wiped it carefully afterwards, to remove all traces of the spider’s blood. But it might still be detectable by senses keener than his own. He cursed his own stupidity for bringing the spear with him instead of leaving it behind in the burrow.
A curious feeling of being observed made him look up and stare intently towards the door. It was made of wooden planks and looked solid enough to withstand a battering ram. When he examined it more closely, there was no sign of any crack or chink through which he might be watched. He decided that his nerves were playing him tricks and sat down again. But whenever he closed his eyes, resting his forehead on his knees, the uncomfortable sense of being observed persisted. If he leaned his head back against the wall and looked straight at the door, it seemed to vanish.
Time seemed to hang in suspension. His mind slipped into a dull passivity; occasionally, his eyelids drooped and he was jerked into wakefulness as his head slid sideways. He felt that time had come to a halt. After what seemed a very long time — perhaps two hours — a faint sound made him alert. It was the squeak of a door. He listened intently, but heard nothing more. Finally, after another long silence, he heard the creak of a floorboard. He crossed to the door and placed his ear against it. There was no further sound.