time at that. Never met a lot o' bureaucrats that did move
much faster than the dead. I expect they're all like that, slow
movin' an' slow thinkin', no matter 'ow many legs they got."
"Here they come," Jon-Tom told him confidently.
But it was not Ananthos and his familiar comrades who
emerged from the opening but instead a tall, very thin-legged
arachnid with a delicate body and eyes raised high on the
front of his skull. His forelegs were tied up in an intricate
network of blue silk ribbons and there were matching purple
ones on the rearmost limbs.
One wire-thin leg pointed at Caz, who stood nearest the
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TOE HOUR OF TBB GATE
portal, while dozens of spiders of varied size and color
suddenly poured from behind him.
"immobilize them and carry them down!"
"Hey, wait a minute." Jon-Tom was unable to get his staff
around before he'd been seized by half a dozen hooking legs.
Others thrust threatening spears and knives at his belly.
"There has been a mistake." Clothahump was already
disappearing around a comer, carried on his back.
"Put me down or I'll cut your smelly heads off!" All fire
and helpless frustration, Talea was being carted closely be-
hind the wizard.
Then Jon-Tom felt himself turned on his back and borne on
dozens of hairy legs, kicking and protesting with equal lack
of effect.
They went down into darkness. How far he couldn't guess,
but it wasn't long before they were dumped into a silk-and-
stone cell under the imperious direction of the emaciated and
beribboned spider in charge.
The silk lining the chamber was old and filthy. There were
no windows to let in light, only a few oil lamps in the
corridor beyond. Jon-Tom gathered himself up and moved to
inspect the cross-hatched webwork that barred their exit.
It was not sticky to the touch, but was quite invulnerable.
He leaned against it and shouted at their retreating captors.
"Stop, you can't put us in here! We're diplomatic visitors.
We're here to see the Grand Webmistress and...!"
"Save your wind, my friend." Caz stood at the outermost
comer of the cell, squinting up the silk ladder-steps. "They've
gone."
"Shit!" Jon-Tom kicked at an irregular, flattened piece of
shiny material. At first he thought it was a piece of broken
pottery. Closer inspection revealed it was a section of chitin.
It clattered off a stone set in the far wall.
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"God damn that sly-voiced Ananthos. He led us all th
way by making us believe he was our friend."
"He never said he was our friend." Bribbens sat against
wall, his head resting on his knees. "Merely that he w.
doing his duty. Get us this far, then it'd be up to us, he said
The frog chuckled throatily. "Certainly hasn't gone out of h
way to make it easy for us, looks like."
Talea was sniffing the air and frowning. "I don't know it
any of you have noticed it yet, but—"
There was a startled scream. Jon-Tom looked left. Flor had
been standing there. Now she'd fallen forward and landed
hard on the floor. Her foot had vanished through an opening
in the wall and the rest of her was slowly following....
160
x
They hadn't noticed the passageway when they'd been
chucked into the cell. There was no telling where it ran to or
what had hold of Hor. Blood oozed from beneath her nails as
she tried to dig her fingers into the floor.
Jon-Tom was first at her side. Without thinking, he leaned
over and heaved a head-sized rock at her foot. There was a
breathy exclamation of surprise and pain from beyond. She
stopped sliding.
Caz and Mudge half dragged, half carried her across the
cell. Whatever had hold of her had missed her leg, but her
boot was neatly punctured just behind the calf.
As he backed away from the opening several legs scram-
bled through. They were attached to a two-foot-wide bulbous
body of light green with blue stripes and spots. Jon-Tom took
note of the fact that it wore only one black silk scarf tied
around the left rear leg at the uppermost joint.
The visitor was followed closely by a second, smaller
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Alan Dean Foster
spider. This one was an electric maroon with a single large
gray rectangle on its abdomen. A third spider squeezed into
their cell, barely clearing the passageway. It was gray-brown
with white circles on cephalothorax and abdomen and had
shockingly red legs. All wore only the single black scarf on
identical limbs.
The three spiders stood confronting the wary knot of
warmlanders.
"what the hell," said the first spider who'd entered, in a
tone so high and flighty it was barely intelligible, "are you?"
"Diplomatic ambassadors," Clothahump informed them,
with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances.
The little arachnid bobbed his head in that maybe yes,
maybe no movement Jon-Tom had come to recognize, "may-
be you're diplomatic ambassadors to you," he said, "but
you're just food to us."
"they look nice and soft," said the big one in a slightly
deeper but still tenebrous voice. His body was a good three
feet across, bulky, and with three foot legs. "diplomats or
blasphemers, ambassador or storage-stealers, what difference
does it make?" He displayed bright red fangs, "dinner is
dinner."
"You think so? Touch one of us again," said Jon-Tom
wamingly, "and I'll shove your fangs down your throat."
The first spider cocked multiple eyes at him. "will you
now, half-limbed?" The latter was an apparent reference to
Jon-Tom's disproportionately fewer number of limbs, "tell
you a thing, if you can do that we'll treat you as something
more than dinner, if you can't"—he pointed with a leg
toward the shivering Flor—"we start with that one for an
appetizer."
"Why her, why not me?"
The spider could not grin, but conveyed that impression
nonetheless, "almost had a taste, she smells full of fluid."
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THE HOUR OF THE GATE
It was too much for the terrified arachniphobe, that casual
talk of being sucked dry like a lemon. She turned and
vomited.
"there, you see?" said the spider knowingly.
Jon-Tom quelled his own rising nausea. He ignored the
gagging sounds behind him to keep his attention on the big
red-legged spider. It had scuttled off to the side, away from its
companions.
"you can have me if you can get me," it taunted.
"Same goes for me," said Jon-Tom grimly. "Leave the
others out of this."
"we'll do that for a start." The spider was sitting back on
his hind legs, waving the four front limbs ritualistically as it
bobbed from side to side. Then it brought them down and
rushed forward.
It had been a while since Jon-Tom had practiced any
karate. Four years, in fact. But he'd become reasonably good.
before he'd quit. What he hadn't learned was how to attack
something with eight limbs. Not that they would matter if the
spider got those red fangs into him. Even if this particular
arachnid's venom wasn't very toxic, the shock alone might be
enough to kill.
The attacker's intent seemed to involve throwing as many
legs as possible at its prey in order to distract him while the
fangs bit home.
It was possible the spider wouldn't expect an attack. If the
eight limbs were confusing to Jon-Tom, then perhaps his
human length and long legs might equally puzzle the spider.
Besides, the best defense is a good offense, he reasoned.
So he ran at his opponent instead of away from it, keeping