Nothing changed. But what did he expect to change? Billos then set to work pushing buttons in every conceivable order, growing more and more frustrated as the minutes dragged on.

How many combinations could there possibly be? He tried words like go and start and wake, but the buggy sat dumb.

An hour stretched past, maybe two. The contraption refused to respond to his touch. Yet it had opened! There was magic inside. The weapon could be activated; he just had to learn how.

But nothing he tried seemed to work. Feeling miserably defeated, Billos tried the locked knob on the main door again, then slowly sank to his seat in the corner and stared at the silent contraption.

After what felt like a very long time, he stood and approached the weapon again, pushed a few more buttons to no avail, and decided to try something new. Moving with more deliberation now, he pushed and prodded and pulled various parts of the contraption. The seats. The ropes that ran along the sides of the seats into mesh gloves. The helmets.

Nothing happened.

He climbed into one of the seats and stuck his head into the helmet. The stench of burning rubber trees, which he’d now grown accustomed to, filled his nostrils, strong again. The helmet did nothing but darken his world.

Claustrophobia began to set in. He yanked the helmet off and sat in silence. It was useless. Nothing he tried worked. Resigned to the impossibility of his predicament, Billos leaned back and closed his eyes.

Darsal would be worried. Johnis would be furious. Silvie would be plotting his death. He’d betrayed them all, but most of all he’d betrayed Darsal.

Unless he returned with the weapon. Wasn’t that justification enough to ignore Johnis’s warning never to touch the books with blood?

Billos opened his eyes and stared up at the pale light. What if this really was a spider and it was playing dead, waiting for him to starve to death before it consumed him like most spiders do?

He spun out of the chair, chided himself for the absurd thought, and went back to work on the buggy. But no matter what he did, no matter what he prodded or poked or pulled, nothing happened. He was still trapped in the white room with an unresponsive weapon that provided no escape.

And now he was growing thirsty. Soon the disease would set in and crack his skin. Give him a sword and a slew of Scabs to face and he could fight to the bitter end. But in this prison he was powerless.

Billos tried to push back the panic that crowded his mind. This was it? He’d been warned, and now he was going to face the consequences.