‘Women!’ he said under his breath, evidently being one of the new breed. ‘Hold on! There was a bit left over.’ Diving into a chest of reels, he pulled one out and wound some of the thread off, testing it with skeletal fingers. Nish thought he looked rather like a spider, the way his fingers worked. ‘Did you wash the cloth first?’ the weaver challenged.
‘No!’ said Irisis. ‘I thought you’d already done that.’
‘Not a bloody washerwoman!’ He glared at her. ‘There’s your answer then. This is raw silk. It’s still got the prints of the spider on it.’
‘How do I get it off?’
‘How would I know? I’ve never used spider-silk before. Nor will again, after the trouble it was to weave.’ Scowling, he banged the loom with his fist. ‘Warm water and mild soap. No lye! Definitely not hot water, or it’ll only fit a mouse afterwards.’
‘Thank you,’ said Irisis.
‘Bah!’ he turned back to the loom, tossing a head like a fluffy skull.
‘Charming fellow,’ said Nish.
‘He’s all right. He does a good job, exactly the way he’s asked. Just doesn’t like women. And with some reason, I understand.’
Nish did not ask why and she did not elaborate. She left the garments at the laundry with many instructions. Nish returned to his workshop, where he replaced the arms of the goggles with a split strap that would buckle over the back of Ullii’s head. The padding he covered with scraps of spider-silk cloth, washed carefully beforehand.
He spent hours in Ullii’s room that afternoon and evening, watching her walking about with the earmuffs and mask on. She tried the goggles several times, but each time took them off after some minutes. Evidently she preferred to see nothing rather than put up with the least discomfort.
Nish kept quiet. He wanted her to get used to him being there. The door was open now, lighting the room, though guards at either end of the corridor kept the curious away.
He liked watching her. Ullii was small but sweetly formed, her compact curves a contrast to Irisis’s elongated form. Her skin, which had never seen the sun, was as soft as a baby’s. As she walked back and forth, unselfconsciously naked, a germ of desire formed.
And why not, he thought. She is a grown woman. Perhaps it would help to cement her trust in me. Irisis need never know. His mind wandered on that delicious track until he realised that Ullii was pacing frantically, radiating anxiety.
Had she sensed the direction of his thoughts? Nish hastily adjusted his trousers and saw a tall figure at the door. He went across. ‘She’s better, though she still has trouble with the goggles.’
Irisis gave him a frosty, up-and-down glare as if she knew what he had been daydreaming about. ‘Her clothes are dry!’ she said curtly.
Nish held out his hand but Irisis brushed past and stalked straight up to Ullii. The seeker backed away until she hit the wall, holding her hands up as if to ward off some horror.
‘It’s crawling!’ she said in a cracked voice.
Irisis looked irritated. Her frustration must soon burst out. That would ruin all the trust built up so far.
‘Stop!’ he hissed. ‘Let me do it.’
Irisis raised her fist. Nish thought she was going to thump him. Well, let her, if that was what it took. It might lower another barrier between him and Ullii. He steeled himself against the blow.
A wild, bubbling hiss came from Ullii’s throat and she went into a crouch, her fingers hooked into claws, glaring through her mask at Irisis.
Irisis took a step backwards, then shrugged and tossed the garments to Nish. ‘I wish I inspired that kind of loyalty.’ She went to the door.
He wondered how to convince Ullii that the clothes were different now. Unbuttoning his shirt, Nish dropped it on the floor. Her face turned his way.
Irisis gave a disgusted snort. ‘I don’t believe this!’
‘Just keep quiet!’ The clothes were too small for Nish, of course. Taking up the spider-silk shirt, he smoothed it across his chest and rubbed it up and down, then pulled it over his head, burying his face in it. It felt sensual, like nothing he had ever worn before.
Tucking the garment under his arm, he did the same with the pants, socks and gloves, then held the shirt out to her. She took it by one finger and thumb, holding it away as if it was crawling with spiders. Slowly she brought it up to her face and sniffed. She sniffed it up and down, across and back, gave a little grunt and touched her face with it, gingerly. It seemed to be all right for she pulled open the neck hole, eased her head through and drew it on. At the level of her breasts she stopped, giving a little shudder of remembrance. She pulled it down and stood frozen, one foot in the air. Nish held his breath. Irisis, by the door, was doing the same.
Ullii gave a little, sensual chuckle that was, to Nish, like his lover blowing in his ear. In a single movement she stepped into the trousers, pulled them up to the waist and leapt high in the air, crying out for joy. She ran around the room skipping and dancing.
Coming up behind Nish, she threw her arms around him and put her hands over his nose. He sniffed her hands, evidently what was expected, for she resumed her dance. She was perfectly dexterous and graceful. Despite the mask, Ullii knew where everything in the room was. She did not once look like tipping over the water bucket or crashing into the walls.
Nish went to the door. ‘Very good,’ said Irisis. ‘This afternoon we begin.’
TWENTY-TWO
Before long, Tiaan found herself at a dead end. She turned back and not far from the entrance to the ninth level crossed a passage that she must have stumbled by yesterday without noticing. Right or left? Going left, she soon encountered another cross-passage. Tiaan stopped, frowning. It would be easy to get lost in here. Returning to the entrance, she looked up the shaft. Hammering echoed down. They must be preparing to come after her.
She hurried back to the first cross-passage, noting the number of steps and wishing she had paper to make a map on. As a prentice artisan she’d often been required to memorise an entire blueprint and recreate it perfectly a week or even a year later. Could she still do it? As she paced, Tiaan began to create a map of the mine in her head. It would not be accurate, since she could only estimate directions, but better than none. Eventually, if she did not starve to death, or her pursuers didn’t find her first, she hoped to locate the long passage Joeyn had mentioned, that led to the other mine.
She moved back and forth, building the map in her mind, a labyrinth of thread-like passages with herself just a speck at the centre. At one point Tiaan realised that she was humming a tune. She felt back in control.
A full day went by, judging by her stomach, before she had mapped the entire level. Maintaining the relationships between wandering adits, shafts and pillars was hard work. Her skills were rusty. She enjoyed testing herself though; the harder the work, the better.
The lower sections were partly flooded. She wished she’d brought along Joeyn’s grappling pole to probe the lifeless water. Without it, all she could do was wade in and hope it did not come up over her shoulders, for her gear was too heavy to swim with.
Most times the water only reached her thighs but it was damnably cold and not doing her boots any good. By the end of the day Tiaan was exhausted and the wet cloth had chafed the insides of her thighs.
She found a place to sleep for the night, took off her clothes and inspected the damage. She was red raw. Imagining what Matron would say to blemishes in such a strategic spot, she burst out laughing. It sounded strange, and more so after the pitch-shifted echoes came back. On edge; maniacal. That was not far off it, either.
Tiaan had been thinking about the glowing crystal all day. It was different from every hedron she’d come across. It had never been shaped, it just was, as it had crystallised half a billion years ago. She wanted it desperately, and that worried her. Could the bond have been established after only using it once? It took all her willpower to leave it in her pack.