The Doctor had no idea how Mags talked her way out of being identified as a Tark, or if the topic had come up at all. After they were taken to "the cells," he and Kogrik were shown into a small room equipped with chairs and a pot of tea. She went out with the police officers and did not return for over an hour.
When she came back, she entered with a Tark investigator, a dark haired, mature male Tark who wore the familiar Tark attire that allowed for his inner hands to be free. But there was something seasoned and tough in his bearing. He kept his hair pulled back and showed none of the typical Tark bravado.
"I am Investigative Lead Kitdik," he said. "We have confirmed that the ambassador was darted from across the street, and you are not under suspicion in the matter of his death."
"The compressed air blow gun was on the groun' over by the group against the wall," Mags added. "Nobody saw who fired it."
The IL nodded. "And the Tarks in custody swear that you two were in the arena, fighting for your lives."
Before the Doctor could think of a protest or an evasion, the Investigative Lead went on. "However, I lightly pass over that, for I do not wish to intrude upon your business, provided you tell me what you are after, and why you crossed the Ivorites."
"Who?" the Doctor asked.
"Tuskers," Mags said shortly.
"A young friend of mine has been carried off to a distant planet," the Doctor said. "It was done in my own ship, while I was incapacitated. I've consulted Detective Hardbottle for help. We have reason to believe that, where ever my friend was taken, it is a place familiar to the tus--- to the Ivorites."
The IL let out a grunt. He expected that there was more, but he did not push the matter. Instead, he said, "I have no jurisdiction over deep space. But you should know that the Ivorites are dangerous when crossed, and they are none too pleased with you."
"We'll have to take our chances," the Doctor said. "I must trace my companion."
"Here in Guardian City, the Ivorite enclave is protected by Diplomatic Immunity," the IL told them. "We suspect them of many crimes."
The Doctor arched an eyebrow. "So you are not free to investigate them as you would others."
Kitdik nodded. "But a free agent, seeking to find a lost companion." His gaze was unwavering from the Doctor's face. "He could tell us many things. Once there is any evidence of a great enough crime, the Diplomatic Immunity will be waived."
This could be a distraction from the work of finding Sarah Jane. On the other hand, the Doctor thought, anything that kept them out of the cells was worth taking on. "What sort of evidence are you looking for?"
But the Tark IL shook his head. "Since you found it necessary to gain the ambassador's ear, I can tell you that he had a companion of his own, a Salafian, who can point you to the next likely ambassador. You should speak with this person."
The Doctor was astonished, and Kogrik said, "Tusker have no friends but Tuskers. No Salafians. Bad information."
The IL shook his head. "No, it's good information. The Salafian's name is Behni, but the people who exchange money with him call him Rainbow. I will see you out, now."
* * * *
In the dimly lit passageway where Sarah Jane had struggled with Dhunlup, two Tuskers crouched over the limp, torn pack that Dhunlup had flung away from his intended victim.
"Still has smell on it," one said. His companion was holding up an artificial light. "But cold."
"They're probably down here somewhere, feasting on it. You know Dhunlup. He could take the carcass of a doe and eat it all himself."
"No, he should have been back by now. At least to taunt us with the bones." The first Tusker, on his knees, groped inside the pack, found the compressed food bars, and inspected one. He tore it open and crammed it into his mouth.
"Don't take it all yourself. I found it too, and I've got the light!" His partner pushed at him in annoyance.
"Well go on then!" And he slid the pack to his partner. For a moment they tore apart the food bars and ate them. They burst the water packets.
"What now?" the Tusker with the light asked.
The first one drew his short knife and cast about on the stone floor. "Hold that light higher. Look, there's dust here. Rock has fallen. I think they struggled against this wall. I smell Dhunlup here." He crawled over to the flat stone shield that Sarah had found. He poked his head behind it and sneezed. Then he backed out. "There was a cave in. Hold the light nearer."
His partner complied, and the Tusker on his knees, who was apparently a skilled tracker, peered at the closed fissure.
"Just a crawl space. Perhaps they were inside when it came down on them."
But the one with the light was incredulous. "All of them? What about the other four who came down? They couldn't all have fit in there!"
"Am I supposed to know everything?" The tracker glared up at the one with the lamp. "All this for a bit of fresh meat! The rules say we shouldn't pass down this far. See what happens when they did."
"Well what's down here then?" And the Tusker with the light stepped back and lifted the light. "More rabbits like that little female? I wouldn't mind a bit of meat."
"Or something else?" the tracker asked. "Some monster that avenged the rabbit's blood. You can't trust aliens. They don't fall into our snares with good manners. Something's always coming to avenge them. Something you can't eat, can't see, maybe can't smell---"
"Rubbish! As though some great ghost out here protects stupid, witless, soft little rabbits that were made for our tables. If that rabbit is still alive, I'll slit her down the middle and talk to her while I pull out her entrails. She'll learn not to run from our spears." He scanned the walls and cast about for scent, but then he added, as though reciting from memory, "If it can be eaten, it was meant to be eaten! If it can't be eaten, then it can be looted. And if it can't be looted, then it can be enslaved. Everything for the tuskers and their bellies! Because appetite is the only sign of being alive!"
"Oh don't quote scripture at me!" The tracker stood. "I want meat as much as the next Tusker. If it were a just and perfect universe, then Tusker tables would always be full, and ration packs would never have been invented! But I don't mean to die for a rabbit. If you're that hungry, we'll kill a slave. One of the young ones. They're not so bad if you cook them slow."
"It's not just the meat. She was rational. She was civilized. Look at that pack. If she gets away, she'll report this place to somebody. And then you know what happens to us. I don't fancy being sliced alive for bungling a government secret. If the Federation gets wind of this, we're all in exile. All our people. And we'll be the ones hung up and sliced for it!"
The Tusker who was skilled at tracking looked around. "Then we'll have to go further down and kill whatever we find. But it's forbidden territory. We could be up for slicing no matter how it goes."
They would have continued down the passage, but the Tusker with the light drew up and cast about. "Do you smell that sweetness?"
He was struck a swift, deadly blow from the darkness just as the words got out of his mouth. His companion was next struck, never seeing the attack that came. The swift, hard tongue that hit each of them in turn shattered their skulls and knocked their bodies against the walls of the passage.
After a moment, squeezing herself through the tunnel, the great, spider-like guardian of the cavern used her extended fore legs to sweep the bodies and fragments into a single pile against the wall. She pulled herself forward in the confined space and dropped her head over the remains. She quickly sealed them away in a mound of her waxy secretions.
* * * *
Out on the street, which was now showing the glimmerings of dawn in the clear sky above, Mags said, "I gotta get me some smokes." She peered up at her Ogron assistant. He was looking around, sniffing and savoring the air as Ogrons do. "Breakfast ready for everybody but us," he said.
Mags ignored this comment. "Somebody knew that we was plannin' on interrogatin' the ambassador," she said. "So they took an almighty big risk and killed him. And that tells us something. And fortunately, I had the presence a' mind to nip Fat Boy's keys right outta 'his pocket before he breathed 'is last." She reached into a side pocket and withdrew a small ring with two silver keys. "Time to search 'is goods. Kogrik, get yourself some grub and meet us back at the office. You got money?" He nodded. "Gimme half, will you. We got rolled by them goons."
Kogrik reached into his tunic and brought out an impressive wad of notes. He handed it without complaint to Mags. She divided it in half and returned his share to him. Using the long, easy lope of the Ogrons, he went off in one direction, towards the gleaming superstructures of the city.
Thirty minutes later, after having found cigarettes and a food vendor, a commercial hover car took the Doctor and Mags to the blacked out, covered up windows that marked the Tusker enclave. The skimming car quickly guided them to a street where the haphazard window coverings were replaced by dark curtains and shades over the glazing.
"You don't expect guards around the residence?" the Doctor asked.
She shook her head. "Not with all of 'em still in lockup."
The early morning street was empty and silent. Mags paid the fare, and they let the car go. It shot off silently into the rising dawn, and they made their way over the walk and into a building that was not quite as high as the government buildings on the main street, but designed in the same architecture, though the windows were shaded on every floor. Using one of the filched keys, Mags got them inside. She apparently knew her way quite well, and the Doctor wondered how much information had been traded off privately with IL Kitdik, but he did not ask. Mags would tell him as much as she could afford to say, and he must accept the rest.
They took a short ride up an elevator, then passed from it to an entry way that was barred by a single door. Mags used the second key to open it.
They entered a large room. Like Mags' luxurious suite, it was of open design except for a few doors in the far wall. Heavy curtains against the windows kept it dim. The Doctor could make out a four poster bed in one corner, hung with heavy, perfumed bed curtains. In the opposite corner was a massive kitchen, complete with what looked like an overhead mechanism that could come down to a marble slab and cut enormous sides of meat. The oven, built into the wall, could have accommodated the skimmer car that had brought them. What he at first took for a large shelf of books or magnetic tapes was actually a wine rack. An enormous spice rack sat alongside it.
In the near corner a huge sunken tub squatted, a fountain in its center bubbling. Towels and clogs were strewn on the few steps that led up to it.
"They like their physical comforts," the Doctor said.
"More like addicted to 'em," Mags said. "Take a gander at that kitchen. There's rumors the piggies kill their enemies out in space. And et 'em. Looks like they could easily do the same thing right 'ere."
"That's probably just a rumor."
"Keep tellin' yourself that." She entered deeper into the cavern like room. "Needless to say, there ain't a book about the place. Let's check his closets. I suppose that's a place to start."
They crossed to the doors in the single wall. He pulled one open, revealing an array of lounging robes, a few ceremonial garments for state occasions, and some leather belts and kilts hung up.
As though by agreement, they began to rummage the pockets of everything. After a moment, Mags knelt down and started looking through an assortment of boots on the floor.
A rattle at the door, and a silent light that flashed once over the doorway, warned them. They quickly ducked into the closet. The Doctor brought the door to but did not quite close it. She was shorter than he, and so they both could comfortably peer through the crack.
* * * *
As soon as the cave had been light with mid morning, the giant spider had retreated to the furthest end of the cave and then seemed to shrink. Sarah Jane realized that she was crawling into a passage back there, perhaps her larder, or perhaps a place where she stored her eggs, or perhaps a tunnel. The idea that this monster might bring forth children was horrifying, but Sarah Jane was now well versed in the ways of survival. She could live only each day as it came and must leave new horrors to develop as they would.
As soon as she was certain that the creature had entirely gone, and mindful of what the old woman had said in her dream, Sarah Jane came up from her hiding place and ran for the passage on her side of the cavern that led to the lake.
Now she was not as hesitant as she had been on her first venture. She drank first, timing herself: ten seconds of drinking, and then fifteen seconds of rest, and then ten seconds of drinking, and fifteen seconds of rest, and so on. When she had drunk enough, she stripped off her torn garments and waded into the clear water to her waist. With her vision improved, she saw the torches high above in the upper passage, but there were no voices or footsteps and no sounds of chains. She stayed close to the shore on her end of the lake, where the faint light of day from the cavern afforded her a view of a quick means of retreat. She wanted to be able to dart to safety should anything intrude upon her here.
But she felt secure enough to sit in the water so that it came up to her chin, and then she lay back and went under. The bottom of the pool was sandy with hard, gravelly sand, and she used this to scrub herself. She came up and went under several times, scrubbing herself with the abrasive sand.
At last, she felt clean and refreshed. She wrung out her hair, and then she took up the worn clothing and washed everything quite vigorously with the sand and gravel, but the clear water was not ideal for removing the old blood and other stains. Sarah Jane rinsed everything, but she was not happy after the refreshing bath to don her wet clothing, for it did not seem clean. But neither did she feel secure enough to do without it. Clothing itself was a type of refuge and protection. And she needed it.
Dripping water from her soggy garments, she made her way back to the cavern. She stopped in the dim passage to relieve herself, as far against the wall as she could, out of the breeze way. She couldn't completely hide her scent, but she would do her best. But her back ached very badly when she eliminated, and though she could not see well enough in this dim corner to look, she felt certain that there was blood in her waste. For a moment as she stood up she felt worried and afraid. Dhunlup had truly injured her. In the mornings the pain was at its worst, but moving around usually lessened it, and drinking plenty of water, now that it was available to her, seemed to have eased the ache as well.
She returned to the lake to wash her hands. Then she scooped up another quick drink and decided to be optimistic. She was not doing too badly, considering the odds against her.
The cavern was still quiet, and she returned to her niche. The sun was high overhead when she re-entered. Athena, for so Sarah Jane called the spider, was still gone, and Sarah Jane sat on an exposed rock close to the lip of the trench, letting the sun dry her. She was feeling much better. Simply being alive was a remarkable accomplishment in this horrible world.
Oh bosh, she thought to herself. I'm probably lying in a hospital bed at UNIT, with some ghastly fever, and I'll wake up and find all this a dream. Some hypnotic suggestion implanted by some leftover bit of alien consciousness.
But this was no more than idle thinking. She turned her mind to the old woman. Who are you? she asked. Can you protect me from the Insider? If you can, thank you. This is the best I've felt since coming here.
She glanced down at herself and smiled faintly at the irony: only rags for clothing, no other adornment, in a world where her journalism and understanding made no difference whatsoever, where her youth and vitality were fit only to make her a slave--or food--and where her beauty, for she knew she had been beautiful on earth, was not seen. She had nothing at all, except the water she had found, and the food that her captor might give her, and the strange friendship of this person who came to her in visions. If that person was real. Doubt nudged her, for it was just possible that the horrible spider-like creature was creating these dreams. Then again, she thought, it might all be a dream.
At last the shadows on the far wall grew larger, and the glimmering of the walls decreased. A breeze touched Sarah Jane's face as Athena re-entered the cave. Less alarmed but still prompt, Sarah Jane swung her feet to the other side of the rock and dropped into the trench in a crouch. She peeped up over the edge to see what her captor might be doing.
Athena lowered herself close to the ground and put her vast head down. Sarah Jane could make out the fierce, razor sharp mandibles in front, and the knotty, clustered ganglia that were probably dim eyes. There were other, frond-like appendages between the scimitar shaped mandibles, and these moved and dripped liquid. Sarah Jane wrinkled her nose without thinking and watched as Athena poured out wax from her glands, shaped it into a globe, and then deposited her syrup inside. This was Sarah Jane's rations. Athena formed a second globe and filled it, and then Sarah Jane ducked down and crawled back into the niche as Athena raised herself.
The ground trembled slightly, and Sarah Jane could not repress a faint trembling in her own limbs. The air swirled as Athena moved carefully. And then the first globe was rolled to the lip of the trench and fell into the niche. After a long moment, the second one dropped in after it.
The air was again disturbed as Athena lifted herself and moved away.
Sarah Jane knew that the syrup would sustain her. But she had to wait until the fragrance from the globes filled the niche. Knowing where the syrup came from was a barrier to eating it. But she was wise now. The fragrance would work on her senses and stimulate her appetite. Until it did, she decided to experiment with some of the syrup. She approached the globes and touched the first one.
Carefully, she pushed her hand into the waxy cap. The syrup inside was warm from Athena's mouth. This faintly disgusted Sarah Jane, but the hope that it would actually make a good salve against the mites made her repress her disgust. She tentatively patted it around her eyes.
The result was instant relief. She quickly made a mask of it. Satisfied and happy, she sat down and leaned against the rock wall of the niche. She dozed, and when she awoke, she was hungry, and the fragrance was enticing enough to enable her to eat.
Once again, Athena attempted to probe into the trench with her long, antenna-like tongue. The tongue, as Sarah Jane realized, was nothing like a human or animal tongue. It served as a weapon, as a transmitter of scent messages, and as a receiver of scent and sound signals. It had hard cartilage in its dorsal side, which gave it such deadly power when Athena shot it out to kill. And on its ventral side it was padded with sensory membrane. The syrupy liquid that Athena jetted down it came from the glands in her mouth, but she did not salivate as a mammal did. The tongue was dry. It was Athena's primary means of exploring and knowing her world, far more reliable than any sight she might have. Ironically, Sarah Jane doubted that Athena possessed a sense of taste at all. Both smelling and hearing seemed to be performed by her tongue.
But when the tongue came into the trench, Sarah Jane's retreated as far away as she could and huddled away from it, her back to it, her head down in her arms. Athena touched her with it only once, a knowing tap on the bare skin at the back of her neck rather than on her garment. Sarah Jane shuddered and choked-off a sound of horror. The appendage withdrew and for a long moment did nothing, and then it was retracted from the niche.
Gasping, Sarah Jane stayed where she was. Part of her, even in her horror, knew that the spider-like creature had not yet viciously attacked her as it had done to the others. But she also knew that she was of a different species and a different gender from Athena's other victims. It was very possible that the creature wanted to inspect her before it took any action. And Athena might just divine from a closer inspection that Sarah Jane was suitable as food or that she was a potential danger to any of Athena's offspring.
* * * *
The front door to the ambassador's suite opened, and after a hesitant moment, a blue face, topped by a thin layer of slicked back, black hair, poked its way around the door and peered at the room's interior. It paused and sniffed, hesitant. After a long moment, the newcomer entered. Mags did not utter a sound or make a move, but the Doctor felt some surprise. The Salafian was wearing an outfit that was as close to a zoot suit as he had ever seen. The overall color of the attire was mauve, but the wide tie was multi-striped, and the shirting was pink. The intruder carried a broad brimmed hat in its hand.
"Rainbow," he whispered. Mags nudged him to warn him.
The Salafian, in spite of having bold and outspoken tastes in clothing, was obviously nervous. He peered at the bed for a long moment, then nervously sneaked across the room to get a better look at it and make sure it was empty. Mags was tensing up, wanting to spring now that he was well away from the door, but the Doctor dropped a hand to her shoulder to quiet her.
Assured that he was alone, the Salafian crossed the room again and approached the great sunken tub area. He knelt down and gently lifted one of the tiles from the marble flooring around the tub. He reached into a hiding place. The Doctor tapped Mags, and she glided from the closet and went to the front door. She closed it just loudly enough so that the little Salafian heard it and jumped up. The Doctor stood between him and Mags, fists on his hips, his eyes level.
"Well, Rainbow Behni," the time lord said. "We meet at last. With your hand in the till, I believe."
The poor creature was a thin, narrow, bony excuse for a Salafian. None of the race was especially beefy, but Rainbow looked almost emaciated. He had a large, bony nose and sunken but shining eyes.
"Oh sure," he said softly. "Sure. I mean, you got me, right. We could split it any way you want. But there ain't none. See for yourself." And he pointed to a small metal box that he had extracted from the disguised hole in the floor.
"You pick it up," the Doctor said.
"Sure," he said softly. "Sure. It ain't no trick. You can search me. I got nothing on me. I don't even carry a pick. I ain't a fightin' man. All the folks know that. Not Rainbow. He ain't a fighter, is he?"
He stooped and picked up the metal box in his long blue fingers. His hands were trembling. He opened it and showed it to the Doctor. It was empty.
"Sure, you don't fight," Mags said from the door. "You just swoop in after summun's dead and swipe their stash."
"No, oh no," he said, his voice grieved. Rainbow had a habit of glancing off to his right side as he spoke, and his lips seemed prone to drying out quickly, and so he licked them often, with nervous, quick little licks of his tongue. "Look, I'm on the level. This Tusker owed me some big ones. Three baskets. I got customers. Customers with knives and such. And they got habits. You know how it goes. He already owed me."
"How much did he owe you?" the Doctor asked.
"Three. Like I said: three baskets. I don't know what to do. I got customers with knives."
"Tell 'em 'e's dead," Mags said. She straightened up. "Say, you was there last night. I saw you in the lineup outside the arena."
"Oh ho!" the Doctor exclaimed. "So that's how you knew you could get in here safely. You darted the ambassador and then dropped the blow gun in the crowd."
The voice did not get any louder, but Rainbow Behni became even more agitated. "Oh no. You got me all wrong. Why would I kill a Tusker who owed me? And he was my supplier. Now that he's dead, what have I got? Nothing. I didn't kill him. Honest."
The Doctor was inclined to think that Rainbow Behni would have to work up his courage just to kill a spider. But he backed up Mags' mask of cynicism.
"Then what will you do?" the Doctor asked.
"I'm hard up," he admitted, seeking some pity from them. "Hard up. I play by the rules, don't I? Never stick it to a client, always pay in advance, and where does it get me? Stuck with three baskets out and people with knives waiting for their hitch."
"You must have a plan. An alternate source." The Doctor made his voice hard.
"For mauracine? You know them Tuskers. They got the market. Here, any way. And you gotta have a contact that won't kill you soon as look at you. At least the ambassador would sell it to you safe. You just couldn't cross him." He caught himself as he remembered that he had seen them the night before in the arena. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that---"
"So it's mauracine, is it?" the Doctor asked. "Quite a volatile, and expensive little drug. And quite addictive."
Rainbow Behni arched his thick, stubby black eyebrows over the sunken, sparkling eyes. "You mean you didn't know?"
The Doctor made his voice stern. "Don't ask after our business, and it will go well with you!"
The little Salafian quickly placated the tall and austere time lord. "Sure, sure. I didn't mean anything. You just ask Rainbow. I'm good for news. Anybody'll testify to it."
"We must make contact with whoever was supplying the ambassador. How can we contact him?"
Mags stepped up from the front door, interested in this bit of news. Rainbow Behni did not hold back. "The supplier? He's a Tusker. A big man. Dangerous. He treated the ambassador like a dog. Now you won't repeat I said that, will you?"
"As far as we're concerned, we haven't seen you," the Doctor said.
"That's as fair as I can expect, and you're a gentleman. I knew that as soon as you come out of that closet with the girl here. A real gentleman. But as I was sayin'." He swept his blue hand across his forehead. "This supplier's name isn't said to outsiders like us. I just know he comes in from space and brings a supply. They all lick his boots, because there's barely enough powder. That's why my clients pay in advance. Sort of like bids. But even when the ambassador didn't get enough powder to go around, he never gave the money back. It's all right for him. I'm the one who takes the heat, aren't I?"
"When is the supplier coming next?" the Doctor asked.
"Tonight, in fact. With his nibs darted, there has to be a new contact set up. Somebody wants to fill his shoes for this sales region." Behni wiped his forehead with his blue fingers again.
" We've got to be there," the Doctor said. "Can you get us in?"
"Only if I hope to die by gutting!" he exclaimed in a faint voice. "Outsiders don't see him. It's pig faces only tonight when he lands. A special meeting to honor him. They'll all play servant on him, all covered up in hoods so nobody don't know nobody. But they still know. Just the same. But no outsiders. They'll stick you and pick you if you show up. You'd be safer to wait and see how things fall."
The Doctor gentled his voice. "But you do know where the meeting will be?"
"Sure. Tonight would be at their temple. Other times it's downstairs from the arena. There's other places. As long as its private, and they can defend it, and they can have a lot of food and drinking." He nodded, his eyes wary. "The temple most likely, but it's suicide, I tell you."
"Thank you for your concern." The Doctor threw a nod to the door. "You'd better get on your way."
Eel-like, Rainbow Behni slipped past them.
Mags was already thinking of the next move. "Silver's used in mauracine makin'. The refining process. It draws out the excess chloride that'd kill the frailer species that use it."
"Like Tarks, and Salafians," the Doctor said.
"Tarks ain't got no use for mauracine!" she snapped. "Them who says they use it are lyin'!"
He made his voice mild. "All right, Mags."
She looked down. "Sorry. Dunno what come over me." She pointed to the closet. "A shame to let them togs go to waste, not with all that genuine Tusker smell all over them. Their eyesight ain't that great for definition, but their noses are keen enough. Let's get what we can carry."
"Are we going to crash the party?" the Doctor asked.
"Let's see what we can loot." She glanced up at him. "We get one chance with them Tuskers, Major. If they sniff us out, we die. And then they use them big carving knives of theirs to slice us up past knowin'."
"Not to eat us, Mags."
"We'll be past carin' if it gets that far. But I s'pose you still want to crash that party."
"Certainly," he said.
"Then let's get busy."
*****
Sharp, burning pain in her eyes awoke Sarah in the pre-dawn on her fourth morning in the cavern. It was sudden, abrupt, tearing pain, and she let out a sound of anguish as she was torn from sleep. She rolled away in an instinctive effort to get away from the burning, and then as her senses returned, she crawled towards the remains of that day's rations.
There was syrup left inside one of the globes, and she applied it over her eyes, but even as she moved, she felt the tearing and burning go down her hands and up her arms. Her flesh was completely infected with the tiny mites, from head to foot. She could not move without them tearing at her. She remembered how the Doctor, fighting the Insider, had conserved his strength, become dormant, and then exploded into activity to overpower the Insider when the time was right. And the Doctor had taken this strategy from the Insider itself, who had first used it on the Doctor. And now, the mites had used the strategy on her, assuming a facade of dormancy and then exploding into a massive attack.
The salve cooled her eyes only for a moment, and there was an antagonistic response down her face as the skin tightened further. The mites were resisting it, releasing chemicals to counter the effects of the salve. A shimmering light spread over her. He was returned, ready to pounce as soon as she began to die.
"Jeanne, Jeanne," she gasped, but she had not received any more dreams of her guardian since the night of the spectacles.
Chills suddenly wracked her, and she was nauseated. The niche was too dark for that time of early morning. Even the shimmering of the Insider was hardly perceptible: a wavering of motion rather than clear light. She wondered if she were already blind, and she groped her way into the trench and lifted herself. Water might help.
A breeze stirred across her, and she shrank back, unable to see Athena in the darkness. But the great spider had moved, awakened by something.
Sarah Jane waited, hoping that some of her vision would return to her as the light strengthened. She shivered again and felt her arms. Her skin was hot, irritated, and damp, oozing from the millions of bites of the mites.
She sank back, sick. She couldn't escape the pain.
And then the breeze changed. Athena, alerted by something, perhaps Sarah Jane's changing scent, stirred and lifted herself. The cavern trembled, and Sarah Jane realized that the arachnid was now directly approaching the niche, coming much closer than she had ever come before. She knew that Sarah Jane could not escape, and she knew that Sarah Jane's strength was diminished. Dreadful realization struck. Here in this cavern, the Insider, the mites, and Athena all had to compete against each other for food. Athena had simply been waiting for this, calming Sarah with strange and pleasant dreams, fattening her on sweet syrup, all to allow the mites to strip away Sarah's strength at the right moment and then claim the human for herself.
