The Weaver loomed in the corner of the room. It stepped forward slightly, and behind it, Isaac saw a militiaman. The officer seemed paralysed. He sat with his back against the wall, shaking quietly, his smooth faceplate skewwhiff and falling from his head. His rifle lay across his lap. Isaac’s eyes widened when he saw it.

It was glass. A perfect and useless model of a flintlock rifle rendered in glass.

. . . THIS WOULD BE HOMESTEAD FOR THE FLEETING WINGED ONE . . . crooned the Weaver. It sounded subdued again, as if its energy had ebbed from it during the journey through the planes of the web . . . SEE MY LOOKING-GLASS MAN MY PLAYMATE MY FRIENDLING . . . it whispered . . . HE AND ME SHALL WHILE TIME AWAY THIS IS THE RESTING PLACE OF THE VAMPIR MOTH THIS IS WHERE IT FOLDS ITS WINGS AND HIDES TO EAT AGAIN I WILL PLAY TIC-TAC-TOE AND BOXES WITH MY GLASS-GUNNER . . .

It stepped back into the corner of the room and set itself down suddenly with a jerk of its legs. One of its knife-hands flashed like elyctricity, moving with extraordinary speed, scoring a three-by-three grid onto the boards before the comatose officer’s lap.

The Weaver etched a cross into a corner square, then sat back and waited, whispering to itself.

Isaac, Derkhan and Yagharek shuffled into the centre of the room.

“I thought it was going to get us away,” mumbled Isaac. “It’s followed the fucking moth . . . It’s here, somewhere . . .”

“We have to take it,” whispered Derkhan, her face set. “We’ve almost got them all. Let’s finish it.”

“With what?” hissed Isaac. “We’ve got our fucking helmets and that’s it. We’ve not got any weapons to face the likes of that thing . . . we don’t even know where we damn-well are . . .”

“We have to get the Weaver to help us,” said Derkhan.

But their attempts were quite fruitless. The gigantic spider ignored them utterly, wittering quietly to itself and waiting intently, as if waiting for the frozen militia officer to complete his move in tic-tac-toe. Isaac and the others entreated with the Weaver, begged it to help them, but they seemed suddenly invisible to it. They turned away in frustration.

“We have to go out there,” said Derkhan suddenly. Isaac met her eyes. Slowly, he nodded. He strode across to the window and peered out.

“I can’t tell where we are,” he said eventually. “It’s just streets.” He moved his head exaggeratedly from side to side, seeking some landmark. He re-entered the room eventually, shaking his head. “You’re right, Dee,” he said. “Maybe we’ll . . . find something . . . maybe we can get out of here.”

Yagharek moved without sound, stalking from the little room into a dimly lit corridor. He looked up and down its length, carefully.