The Spindlers Read online

  “If you fail to reach your brother,” the queen said, “it will not just be his soul that belongs to us.”

  More laughter from the spindlers. And now Liza felt the weight of something else all around her: It was their hunger, their slurping, endless hunger. She could feel it pulling at her like an underwater current from all sides.

  “It will be your soul too,” the queen said, as the spindlers’ laughter swelled.

  After that Liza could do nothing but reach out, put her hand on the rusted door handle, and pull.

  Chapter 18

  THE CHOICE

  The room was a bare, circular chamber, very brightly lit. For a minute Liza stood blinking, unused to such an unyielding brightness.

  The first thing she noticed were the lightbulbs in the ceiling.

  She wondered where the spindlers had gotten them, and where the wires for the electricity ran to, and pictured some poor family Above whose bills were always too high at the end of the month, and the father who would yell at the children about where all that power went—when really, of course, it was the spindlers that were the whole problem.

  The second thing she noticed, after the lights, were the monsters.

  And at that point, Liza stopped breathing.

  On her left was some kind of a dog—except instead of having one head, it had three, and instead of having a normal tail, it had the tail of a scorpion.

  On her right was a thing that Liza did not even have words for: like an octopus, except that it had hundreds of tentacles covered with glittering, razor-sharp spikes, and instead of a large, bulbous body it had a very small, narrow one, tapering to a pointed head and dominated by an overlarge single eye. The eye was turned to Liza and was staring at her.

  Instinctively Liza drew back against the door. Except the door was not there anymore: Under her fingers she felt only rough stone. There was no longer any way out. She had no choice but to go forward.

  The three-headed dog climbed to its feet and began to growl. Saliva dripped from its three sets of fangs and pattered onto the rock floor beneath its massive body.

  The octopus-thing hefted a dozen of its tentacles into the air. Its spikes grated against the stone as it moved, leaving tiny, razor-thin indentations in their wake.

  Liza’s legs began to shake. She felt as though her whole body had turned into a wobble. But she forced herself to take a single step forward, and then another one. Perhaps, she reasoned, if she stayed in the very center of the room—perhaps she could somehow move very fast, and squeeze between them—perhaps they were less dangerous than they looked, and wouldn’t attack....

  But no sooner had she taken her third step than suddenly the dog sprang and the octopus struck out with its spikes. Liza saw teeth and sharp, whipping legs cutting through the air toward her and fell backward, screaming.

  Then, just as suddenly, the three-headed dog was jerked sharply backward and the octopus’s tentacles carved a harmless arc in the air, just a few inches from Liza’s skin.

  Liza stood up cautiously, frowning. Now she saw something she hadn’t noticed earlier. The three-headed dog had a collar around its neck, and the collar was attached to a thick iron chain that connected to a rusted stake driven into the ground. The octopus, too, was constrained: A metal ring was clamped tight around its narrow body, rooting it firmly in place.

  That was why the dog had been jerked backward, and the octopus’s tentacles had not reached her, and why the monsters did not merely rush at her as she stood by the place where the door had been.

  They couldn’t.

  The three-headed dog continued to growl at her, and the octopus continued to wave its glittering, spike-covered tentacles threateningly, and Liza tried to think.

  Thanks to the bright light in the chamber, she could make out the exact dimensions of the two monsters’ restricted spaces. Over time, the octopus had been wearing away the rock, the way that a sculptor chisels into stone.

  The dog’s enclosure was slightly harder to see; but when Liza peered closely, she could make out another broad circle, absolutely clear of loose stones and bits of rock, gravel that had over time been kicked and swept away by the dog’s endless pacing.

  Two circles: and only three inches of space between them. It reminded Liza of the Venn diagrams she had had to study in art class, when she learned that by blending yellow and blue you could make green. Except that these circles were not quite touching.

  Still, there was not enough space for a person to pass through. If she wished to avoid the octopus, she would have to step in reach of the three-headed dog. If she wished to avoid the three-headed dog, she would have to go within reach of the tentacles.

  Of course, Liza thought. Despite her fear, she felt a rush of satisfaction. What had the queen said? I, of course, have always liked tests, hurdles, riddles, puzzles, traps, and snares. Of course it could not have been as simple as waltzing through three rooms. Of course there were bound to be tests and trials and tricks. There always were. Nothing was ever easy.

  Perhaps, Liza thought, she could go over the two monsters …? But she saw quickly that this was impossible. The walls were too slick for her to climb; there were no toe- or footholds to speak of.

  But maybe the monsters were not as bad as they seemed. Maybe they only looked fearsome; maybe they were actually tame, like Mr. Peer’s little mutt, who was always barking and growling at every passing car but was actually the gentlest dog you could imagine. You only had to hold out your hand and he would come and nuzzle you like a long-lost friend.

  The idea filled Liza with renewed hope. Next to her was a pile of stones, roughly the size of softballs but much heavier; she hefted one up and, to test her theory, rolled it toward the three-headed dog.

  “Come on, little puppy,” she crooned, thinking that might help. “Play nice with the ball.”

  The three-headed dog sprang, snarling. As it leapt, its chain rattled terribly and the metal stake rooting the monster in place wobbled and shook, so that for one horrible second Liza thought it would be lifted clear out of the ground, and the three-headed dog would be free. It landed with its heavy paws around the stone, and the left-most head chomped right through the softball-size rock, sending gravel showering from its jaws, as though the stone was as thin as cardboard.

  Liza swallowed. Tiny pebbles—now coated in the dog’s greenish saliva—bounced back toward her feet.

  “Now it’s your turn, Mr. Octopus,” she said. For some reason, speaking out loud made her feel better. It was like peering into a dark closet and announcing loudly to the monsters, I know you’re there, so don’t even think about trying to jump out at me. When you spoke to them directly, they never did. She released another stone in the octopus’s direction, as though bowling.

  Instantly the octopus shot out one of its tentacles, like a baseball player connecting hard with a fastball. The stone shattered on impact and went zinging into a thousand pieces all around the cavern. Liza ducked instinctively, covering her face, and felt a rush of air around her, like a dozen bullets had just zoomed past her.

  There was a yelp and a roar; the rattle of a chain. Then a high, shrill scream. She looked up and saw that the three-headed dog was covered in welts where pieces of the shattered stone had hit it. Furious, the dog had gone for the octopus. It was baring all its enormous teeth, scorpion tail lashing, straining at the chain that kept it only an inch from the octopus’s tentacles.

  The octopus, in turn, was thrusting furiously with its tentacles, trying to strike out at the enraged animal, but it, too, could not reach, and it let out a howl of frustration every time one of its tentacles clanged harmlessly to the ground. Liza could see hatred burning in its single eye.

  And it gave her an idea.

  There were three heavy stones remaining. Liza picked up the first rock—the largest, heaviest one—in her right hand.

  It is very, very difficult to step closer to an enraged dog; it is even harder to step closer to an enraged dog with three enraged head
s; and it is almost impossible to step closer when you must also go closer to a many-tentacled monster that is shrieking and lashing with huge metal spikes. Liza forced her legs forward, feeling as though she was walking a tightrope and in danger of falling off.

  As she neared the three-headed dog, its right head whipped in her direction and began snarling at her and baring its teeth, although thankfully its other heads remained fixed in the octopus’s direction.

  She stopped a few inches short of the faint line that marked the dog’s circular enclosure. She was close enough that she could smell its foul breath. She could feel, too, the tentacles cutting the air behind her, whipping just a few short inches from her, and she could not help but imagine the solid rock, chomped or shattered into bits. It made her think of what the queen had done to the moribat.

  “Focus,” Liza said to herself. She lifted the stone like a bowler at the end of the alley, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white.

  That was what Anna would tell her to do, what Anna had always told her to do when they played games of Pinecone Bowling. That was what she would do; she would pretend she was playing Pinecone Bowling at home, on the lawn, with Patrick and Anna.

  Liza dropped quickly into a crouch and swung the rock forward forcefully, aiming for the metal stake in the ground just behind the dog’s scorpion tail. The rock missed the stake by half an inch and bounced harmlessly, with a hollow thud, off the chamber’s wall. The noise made yet another head swivel in her direction.

  Liza felt her mouth go dry as dust.

  That’s okay, she imagined Anna saying. You can try again.

  Liza lifted the second rock from its pile with a trembling hand. This one was slightly smaller than the last one.

  Once again, she dropped into a kind of bowler’s lunge, shooting the rock forward. It sped straight toward the metal stake and connected with a clang; Liza watched in both terror and exhilaration as the metal stake shuddered and tipped.

  For a second the dog was given an extra inch of space on its chain, and it clawed forward, swiping at Liza and the octopus simultaneously, so Liza had to draw quickly back. Then the stake righted itself and the dog was jerked backward again, leaving claw marks etched in the dark rock and letting off a howl of frustration.

  By this time all three heads were turned toward Liza, and the three-headed dog began to pace back and forth in its small circle, tail lashing furiously behind it. The octopus, too, had become increasingly agitated. All its hundreds of tentacles were raised now, metal spikes gleaming in the harsh light of the chamber. It reminded Liza of a stark black tree, covered all over with metal icicles.

  Liza had only one rock remaining: the smallest and lightest rock, her very last chance.

  She once again inched forward, to the very edge of the line that had been drawn faintly against the rock floor by the three-headed dog’s endless pacing. She took a deep breath. She thought of Patrick.

  She dropped into a crouch and released the rock with as much force as she could …

  … and watched it skitter harmlessly past its mark, missing the metal stake by a good six inches.

  The monster looked at her, and all three of its heads seemed to smile. Liza felt her stomach sink to her toes. She was out of chances—and out of ideas, too.

  Then she remembered—Patrick’s baseball! It was still nestled at the bottom of her pocket where she had placed it after retrieving it from Mirabella, along with Patrick’s socks, her father’s glasses, and a small collection of seeds of hope.

  For the last time, Liza gripped the ball and shuffled forward. I can do this, she told herself. I will do it.

  The three-headed dog drew back all three of its mouths, showing tongues wet with saliva and fangs as sharp as knives.

  Slowly it approached, snarling. She forced herself to stand still, even though every single muscle in her body was twitching and shaking and telling her to run. Closer, closer the monster came, taking its time now. For the moment, she was still standing just out of reach of its long, curved teeth and its powerful jaws; she was still safe.

  But not for long.

  And then, all at once, the monster pounced. At the same moment Liza dropped to her knees and rolled the baseball, hard, from her hands. The ball went straight and fast against its target.

  For one second everything froze. The three-headed dog with its mouths open and roaring, ready to chomp her to bits, seemed to hover in midair almost directly above her.

  Then the ancient stake, which had been keeping the monster rooted in place for longer than time has been an idea, popped out of the ground. And the three-headed dog, free of its leash, continued sailing, sailing, sailing—over Liza, who had flung herself onto her stomach and felt the heat from the dog’s massive scorpion tail pass not an inch from her skin—and directly into the tangled mess of razor-sharp tentacles.

  Everything exploded. The cavern was filled with horrible noise: barks and snarls and screams and clashing metal. Liza’s head rang; her mouth was full of dust; her knees were cut and scraped from her hard fall to the ground. But she climbed to her feet and sprinted toward the door at the far side of the chamber, cutting through the three-headed dog’s now-vacant circle.

  She looked back only once, when she had reached the door and had already taken hold of the handle. She looked back toward the source of the terrible symphony of sound, which had swelled to a crescendo: the sound of thousands and thousands of years of pent-up anger and frustration, suddenly released.

  For a moment she did not understand what she was seeing. There were heads and teeth and claws and thin, waving legs, but she could not tell where one monster began and the other ended. They were so locked in battle, biting and lashing and tearing at each other, that they seemed almost to have merged together.

  They would destroy each other, Liza knew with a sudden certainty. They would bite and tear and cut until there was nothing left of either of them; then the chamber would be empty, and it would be safe for her to return.

  Liza had made it through the first room. She pushed open the door and stepped into the second.

  Chapter 19

  THE HALL OF MIRRORS

  As soon as the door swung closed behind her, the sounds of the monsters’ battle were swallowed completely, and Liza was left in perfect silence. After the stark brightness of the first chamber, the second room seemed enormous, and full of shadows and strange reflections. For a moment she had an overwhelming feeling of vertigo and had to press up against the wall behind her for support. The door was once again gone. It had disappeared just as it had in the first room.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim blue light, she realized why she felt so dizzy and disoriented.

  The second room was full of mirrors.

  The space was not as enormous as Liza had, at first, believed. Instead it was lined on either side with mirrored doors, all of them reflecting the shadows and the strange, flickering light, and then reflecting those reflections, and then reflecting the reflection of those reflections, on and on and on.

  Unlike the first room, this one was old and damp. Stalactites dripped like candle wax from the uneven ceiling, and pools of moisture collected along the uneven ground. All this, too, was reflected.

  Liza took a step forward and saw her own reflection appear in the first set of mirrors. She looked strange to herself: pale and much smaller than she looked in the mirrors at home. She wondered whether being underground had somehow shrunk her. How long had she been Below? It might have been days, or weeks. Liza could no longer tell.

  “How strange,” she said out loud, and of course, the two reflections spoke with her.

  “But at least,” she said to the two Lizas, “it’s much better than the monsters.” In fact, she did not see that this room was anything at all to be frightened of. One of these mirrored doors must, she reasoned, be the door that led to the third and final room; she would walk along the row and try them all.

  She walked confidently toward the first door on her left.
Then, from behind her, a voice spoke out.

  “No, Liza!”

  She spun around, her heart hammering. And there, standing in the third mirror on the right, was Patrick. He was shaking his head frantically and banging on the inside of the glass, as though he could force his way out of the mirror and into her side of the world.

  Liza was so surprised she could hardly speak. “Is—is that really you?” she asked in a bare whisper. It didn’t seem possible that after the long journey, and all the trials and troubles she had endured, she had finally found her brother.

  Patrick nodded. For a moment Liza thought she saw a strange look pass across his face—a look of triumph—but then she was sure it was only a trick of the light.

  “Yes, yes,” he said eagerly. “It’s really me. Come and open the door, so I can get out.”

  Liza started toward him.

  “Don’t listen to him! He’s a liar!” a voice burst out behind her. She whirled around and saw a second Patrick, this one in the fourth mirror to the left. “I’m the real Patrick. Behind his door there is a snake the size of a train; he wants you to open up so you’ll be eaten. It’s one of the queen’s tricks. Don’t fall for it.”

  “You can’t trust him,” the first Patrick said, crossing his arms and jutting out his lower lip in a very Patrick way. “He’s the one who’s lying. Behind his door are a thousand hungry spindlers, waiting to devour you.”

  “They’re both liars,” came a third voice, and Liza, desperately confused, saw yet another Patrick step into yet another mirror. “I’m the real Patrick. Both of them work for the queen. If you open either of their doors, you’ll be dead quicker than a fly in a toilet bowl.”

  “You’re one to talk.” A fourth Patrick appeared, snorting scornfully at the third Patrick. “You’re hiding poisonous stingers behind your door. She’ll be dead as a doornail before she’s finished turning the handle. I’m the real Patrick, Liza.”