Niall was aroused from these disquieting reflections by the sight of two charioteers who were laboring breathlessly through the deep snow; behind them in the cart sat a big, fleshy man, who was shaking his head with visible impatience. Niall recognized him as an overseer named Broadus, a prominent member of the Council of Free Men. When he saw Niall, the expression of irritation dissolved into an ingratiating smile. He made a bow from a sitting position.

"Good morning, highness. I'm sorry I'm late." "Good morning, Broadus." (Broadus's smile changed into something like a smirk; he loved hearing his name spoken aloud.) "I'm afraid we're all late. Would you tell the Council I'll be with them in a few minutes?"

"Certainly, highness." He shot a wrathful glance at the charioteers as he clambered out into the snow.

As Niall started to mount the stairs, Nephtys came hurrying down to meet him.

She said in a whisper: "The Princess Merlew is waiting to see you."

"Oh no! I've got a Council meeting."

"I've told her that."

"All right. Thank you, Nephtys."

As he approached his chamber, the door opened and Merlew came out; she must have been waiting behind it.

"Good morning, Niall."

"Good morning, princess." He deliberately used the formal title.

She was looking dazzlingly beautiful in a short dress of red spider silk which clung to the curves of her body; her red-gold hair was combed straight down her back.

"You must be cold." She took his hands in both of hers. "Oh yes, you're frozen!

So is your face." She had placed her hands on his cheeks; they felt pleasantly warm. He felt his impatience melting away; he had never been able to maintain an attitude of coolness toward Merlew.

"I've got a Council meeting. . ."

"I know. You can keep them waiting. That's your prerogative."

"Punctuality is the politeness of kings."

She laughed. "That's clever! I must remember that."

He was tempted to tell her that he had found it in an old book, but she interrupted him.

"I've got a present for you."

He grunted noncommittally; he was pulling off his boots, and the thick woolen socks.

"It's a new servant girl. Her name is Savitri. I've trained her myself."

He was buckling his sandal, and was glad his face was averted. "Thank you, but I can't accept her."

"Why not?"

"This house is run by women -- it might cause problems."

"I'm sure it wouldn't. I'll speak to your mother."

"I'd rather you didn't. Why don't you give her to my brother?"

"Because Veig ..." She lowered her voice. "Because Veig already has enough body servants." She laid a delicate emphasis on the word "body." Veig was notorious for his susceptibility to attractive girls.

"So have I."

She sighed. "I wish you weren't so hard to please." She took from his hands the belt with the ceremonial shortsword, and passed it round his waist. For a moment, her pointed breasts pressed against his chest, and her lips came close. In that moment he realized how easy it would be to relent and say yes. All that restrained him was the knowledge that his womenfolk would regard the new girl as a spy, and resent her accordingly. As Merlew finished buckling his belt he said: "I have to go." "There's something else I have to tell you."

"Yes?" He hesitated at the door.

She stepped back and lowered her eyes; it was a reaction that always made him suspicious.

"I've heard a rumor. . . The Council intends to ask you to get married."

"Married!" He was genuinely taken aback.

She said quickly: "It's nothing to do with me. I only heard it secondhand." She reached up and made an adjustment to the front of his tunic.

He looked down at her quizzically. "And what do you think?"

"I quite agree, of course." She colored. "I'm not suggesting you should marry me.

There are plenty of nice girls among the commanders." He made a movement of impatience. "But you do need someone to help you."

He should have known from past experience that she could exert an almost hypnotic power of attraction. Yet it never failed to take him by surprise. He was aware that she had put on this red dress for his benefit, and that she wore a perfume distilled from gorse flowers because she knew it was his favorite. But she exuded a magic that made these things unimportant; it was urging him to take hold of her bare shoulders and kiss her mouth. He looked away from her with an effort.

"I'm afraid we shan't be discussing marriage this morning."

She looked up quickly. "Why not?"

"There's something more important. Have you heard about Skorbo?"

She shook her head.

"He's been murdered."

"Oh no!" Her surprise was genuine; he was able to see into her mind as she spoke, and he could register her sense of shock. That came as a relief. Merlew had detested Skorbo, and it had crossed Niall's mind that she might be behind the murder.

Merlew was also intelligent enough to understand the implications of the killing, and they worried her. She was Kazak's daughter, and she knew how the spiders would react. "Who can have done it?"

"I have no idea."

"Surely not a human? Are you sure it wasn't another spider?"

"No. It was a human all right. But now I have to go."

This time she made no attempt to detain him. Yet it cost him an effort to leave her. As he hurried along the corridor, he shook his head with amusement. He had caught himself feeling a flash of gratitude to Skorbo's assassins for distracting Merlew.

The Council of Free Men met in the main dining hall of the palace. (In fact, Niall's researches had revealed that the "palace" had once been the Royal Insurance Building, and that the council chamber had been its board room.) Now, as he crossed the main hall toward its great double doors, someone waved to him from a curtained recess.

From the shabby green tunic, the color of dying moss, Niall recognized Simeon, the chief physician of the city of the bombardier beetles. Since the days of freedom, Simeon had founded a college of medicine. He was also one of the most active members of the Council. At the moment, it was obvious that he was anxious not to be seen. As Niall approached, he disappeared behind the curtain. Niall followed.

Simeon said quickly: "A word in your ear. The Council has got some plan to marry you off." "I know."

"Who told you?"

"Merlew."

Simeon grunted sarcastically. "She's behind it."

"Who proposed it?"

"Corbin."

"I should have guessed." Corbin was also a member of the stadion, the council of the city of the beetles; he and Merlew had always been friendly.

"I thought I'd better warn you anyway."

"Thanks. Now we'd better go -- we're late."

Simeon said: "Let me go first and give me two minutes. I don't want them to realize we've been speaking."

Niall smiled ironically as he watched him go; it seemed absurd that being a ruler of men involved so much plotting and counterplotting.

There was a knock on the main door; since there were no servants nearby, Niall went and opened it himself. The overseer Dion was standing there; behind him stood half a dozen slaves, carrying the corpse on an improvised stretcher made of planks.

"Where shall we put him, sir?"

"On the table there."

Dion shook his head. "I wouldn't advise putting him too near a fire, sir. He'll start to pong."

"No, of course. Have the table carried out into the courtyard and put him on it."

Dion beckoned for more slaves. Niall hurried into the council chamber.

The members were talking earnestly among themselves, and at first failed to notice his entrance. Then all jumped to their feet, and raised both arms to chest level in a ritual salute.

"Please sit down, gentlemen. I'm sorry I'm late." He drew up his chair at the head of the table. "We have some important business. . ."

Broadus, whose seat was next to Niall, jumped to his feet with a deferential smile.

"Very important business, if I may say so, highness. Perhaps I may. . ."

Niall raised his hand. "One moment please, Councilor Broadus. Gentlemen, I would like you all to look out the window."

All turned and looked outside. The door into the courtyard had opened, and four slaves carried out the table into the snow. There were sharp intakes of breath as the others followed with the corpse, and lifted it onto the tabletop.

Simeon was the first to speak. "Who is that?" He was so surprised that he forgot to address Niall as "sire," a formality he always observed at Council meetings.

"I don't know. I was hoping one of you might be able to tell me. Would you mind stepping outside?"

A door from the chamber led directly into the courtyard. They all followed Niall into the cold air. The face of the dead man was blacker and more swollen than when Niall had last seen it. The Council of Free Men looked at him with distaste, but without revulsion; this was not the first time they had seen the body of a man killed by spider venom.

"Does anyone recognize him?"

Some moved to get a better view; one by one, all shook their heads. "Simeon, could he be from your city?"

"No. I know every man there. This isn't one of them."

As they looked at the corpse, Niall watched them carefully, his mind receptive to impressions. It was obvious to him that none of them knew anything about Skorbo's death.

Simeon was peering closely at the feet. He asked Niall: "Notice anything?"

Niall studied them closely. "They're unusually hairy." The man's legs, and the upper portions of his feet, were covered with dark hairs.

"Not that." Simeon took hold of two of the dead man's toes, and pulled them apart. "Look. He was born with webbed feet, like a duck. The webs were severed later."

Mastering his revulsion, Niall looked more closely, and was able to see the flaps of loose skin between the big toe and its companion. He shook his head. "What does it mean?"

"Just a birth defect -- I've seen it once or twice. But it proves that he wasn't born in this city."

Some of the others looked puzzled. But Niall understood his meaning. The spiders bred human beings for physical perfection; those who had the slightest defect were killed at birth.

Niall turned to Dion. "Cover him over with a sheet. Then have the body removed to the mortuary."

He led them back inside again; they were all looking shaken. Simeon said: "Does anyone know what happened?"

"Yes. He was killed by Skorbo." There were some angry murmurs. Niall said: "But it was understandable. He was responsible for Skorbo's death."

That shocked them, as he had known it would. Someone said incredulously: "A lone man killed a spider?"

"There were three of them. It was an ingenious booby trap. They cut off the fronds of a young palm, then bent it down like a spring. As Skorbo approached, they cut the rope. . ."

There was no need to elaborate; Niall's words, reinforced by mental images, conveyed his meaning direct to their minds.

Niall took the pendant on its gold chain from his pocket and handed it to Broadus.

"Has anyone seen this before?"

As it was passed around the table there was a shaking of heads.

Simeon asked: "It belonged to the dead man?"

Niall nodded. "It is of ancient workmanship. No modem jeweler would have the skill to make this chain."

"Have you any ideas about that symbol on it?"