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She pointed at Jon-Tom.
His hesitation was understandable. After the initial shock of their
appearance, he'd been able to overcome his instinc-
tive reactions to the spiders. He'd done so to a point where he'd grown fond
of Ananthos and his companions, to a point
where he could allow curious spideriings to clamber over his body. Even the
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three antisocial types they'd encountered in the cells below had seemed more
abhorrent for their viciousness than their shape.
But the dark, swollen body before him was representative of a kind he'd been
taught to fear since childhood. It brought to the surface fears that laughed
at logic and reason.
A hand was nudging him from behind. He looked down, saw Clothahump staring
anxiously at him.
"come, come, fellow," said the Webmistress. "i've just eaten." A feathery,
thick laugh, "you look as though you'd be all bone, anyway."
Jon-Tom moved closer. He tried to see the Webmistress in a matronly cast.
Still, he couldn't keep his gaze entirely away from the dark fangs barely
hidden in their sheaths. Just a graze from one would kill him instantly, even
if the widow's venom had been somewhat diluted by her increased size.
A black leg, different from any he'd yet encountered in
Gossameringue, touched his shouMtBr. It traveled down his
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Alan Dean Foster
arm, then his side. He could feel it through his shirt and pants.
Close now, he was able to note the delicate and nearly transparent white silks
that encompassed much of the shining black body. They had been embroidered
with miniature scenes of Gossameringue life. Attire impressive and yet sober
enough for a queen, he thought.
"what is your name, fellow?"
"Jon-Tom. At least, that's what my friends call me."
"i will not trouble you with my entire name," was the reply, "it would take a
long time and you would not remem-
ber it anyhow, you may call me Oil." The head shifted past him. "so may you
all. as you are not citizens of the scuttleteau, you need show no special
deference to me."
Again the clawed, shiny leg moved down his front. He did not flinch, "do you
also support the claims and statements of the small hard-shelled one?" Another
leg gestured at
Clothahump.
"I do."
"well, then." She rested quietly for a moment. Then she glanced up once more
at Jon-Tom. "why should we care what happens to the peoples of the warmlands?"
"You have to," Clothahump began importantly, "because it is evident that if "
"be silent." She waved a leg imperiously at the wizard, "i did not ask you."
Clothahump obediently shut up. Not because he was afraid of me large,
poisonous body but because pragmatism is a virtue all true wizards share.
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"now, you may answer," she said more softly to Jon-Tom.
History, he told himself, trying not to stare at those fangs so near. Try to
see in this massive, deadly form the same grace and courtesy you've observed
in the other arachnids
170
THE HOUR Or TUB GATE
you've met. To answer the question, remember your history.
Because if you don't...
"It's quite easily explained. Are not you and the Plated
Folk ancient enemies?"
"we bear no love for the inhabitants of me greendowns, nor they for us," was
the ready reply.
"Isrft it clear, then? If they are successful in conquering all of the
warmlands, what's to prevent mem from coming for
you next?"
There was dark humor lacing the reply, "if they do there will be such a mass
feasting as gossameringue has never
seen!"
Jon-Tom thought back to something Clothahump had told
him. "Oil, in thousands of years and many, many attempts the Plated Folk have
failed even to get past the Jo-Troom
Gate, which blocks the Pass leading from the Greendowns to me warmlands."
"that is a name and place i have heard of, though no weaver hasever been
there."
"Despite this, Clothahump, who is the greatest of wizards and whose opinion I
believe in all such things, insists this new magic me Plated Folk have
obtained control of may enable them to finally overthrow the peoples of the
warmlands.
After hundreds of previous failures.
"If they can do that after thousands of years of failure, why should they not
do so to you as well? A thousand swords can't fight a single magic."
"we have our own wizards to defend us," Oil replied, but she was clearly
troubled by Jon-Tom's words. She looked past him. "how do i know you are all
the wizard this fellow says you are?"
Clothahump looked distressed. "Oh ye gods of blindness that cloud the vision
of disbelieving mortals, not another demonstration!"
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"it will be painless." She turned and called to the shad-
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ows. "ogalugh!"
A frail longlegs came tottering out from behind a high pile of cushions.
Jon-Tom wondered if he'd been listening back there all along or if he'd just
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