The City of Dreaming Books

  The Twofold Spider

  The best way to visualise a Spinxxxx7 is to think of it as a twofold spider: a spider with only one body but sixteen legs and sixteen long antennae instead of eyes. A creature that can walk not only on the ground but also on the ceiling and walls - at one and the same time.

  Regenschein knew from personal observation that Spinxxxxes are deaf and blind and have no sense of smell. Like many subterranean creatures they rely exclusively on their sense of touch. Above and below mean nothing to a Spinxxxx, nor do ahead and behind. All they know is an endless ‘round about’ which they ceaselessly explore with the aim of finding food - and food to them is anything that moves. They systematically run their antennae over tunnel walls and eat whatever they catch, whether bookworm, beetle, snake, bat, rat or Bookhunter. The Spinxxxx is immune to the poisons secreted by many life forms in the catacombs. It is also invulnerable. Its small cutaneous scales are composed of granite, and even the sharpest weapons bounce off them. Regenschein surmised that concealed beneath them are muscles of root wood, bones of bronze, intestines of carbon fibre and a diamond heart that pumps resin instead of blood - that the Spinxxxx is, in fact, a genuine creature of the earth’s interior, a hybrid mixture of animal, vegetable and mineral. Its feeding equipment, too, is unsurpassed: a mouth filled with stone teeth for chewing, bronze claws for tearing prey apart and a long trunk for sucking it dry. Regenschein considered the Spinxxxxes to be useful creatures because they keep the catacombs free from vermin, but he advised his readers to give them a wide berth.

  I had neglected the latter point, unfortunately. But the situation wasn’t completely hopeless, dear readers! The first good thing was that the monster hadn’t noticed me yet. If Regenschein’s observations were correct and the Spinxxxx really was blind, deaf and devoid of a sense of smell, it couldn’t possibly have registered my presence because it hadn’t touched me so far, either with its antennae or with its legs. It might have lowered its legs by chance, just as I was walking past, and taken me prisoner without knowing it.

  The second good thing: the Spinxxxx’s attention was distracted. Having detected a phosphorescent jellyfish on the roof of the tunnel, it was busy sucking the creature dry. It had inserted its elephantine trunk in the luckless jellyfish, whose luminosity steadily diminished as the Spinxxxx drained its vital fluids with a repulsive slurping sound.

  The third good thing: the gaps between the monster’s legs were wide enough to enable me to slip through, given a little care on my part. The wriggling antennae represented the greatest danger, but they were busy palpating the jellyfish. I also had to watch out for the almost invisible cobwebs suspended between the Spinxxxx’s legs, which were used to capture aerial prey such as moths and bats, and rendered it an almost perfect hunting machine.

  I gathered my cloak round me, drew a deep breath and tucked in my head and stomach to make myself thin and short enough to squeeze through one of the gaps sideways on. The Spinxxxx above me seemed to notice none of this. The greedy slurping sounds were now overlaid by a contented purr that suggested the meal was claiming its full attention.

  Off I went, inching sideways with bated breath. I could make out every last granite scale on the Spinxxxx’s legs by the pulsating pale pink light of the dying jellyfish. No Lindworm had ever been so close to one of these beasts before. Another few inches and I would be clear of it. Just . . . one . . . more . . . step . . . and . . . I was free! But only for a moment, alas, because the Spinxxxx now changed its stance. Withdrawing its trunk from the jellyfish, it thrust it into the quivering mass at another spot. In so doing it moved a dozen of its sixteen legs, which stabbed and slashed the air above my head before hemming me in once more. It also lowered several antennae, which hit the ground with a smack like sodden ropes. Although it had failed to touch me even now, my prison was more cramped than before.

  My heart was pounding, but I strove to remain calm. The gap between two of the legs was wide enough to admit me, but the finely woven spider’s web suspended between them came down so low that I would have to crawl beneath it. I tried to banish the thought that the Spinxxxx might have noticed me after all and was only playing a cruel game with me.

  Warily, I sank to my knees. Some tiny moths and tunnel flies were caught in the web, already sucked dry. These, coupled with the greedy slurping sounds overhead, confirmed Regenschein’s assertion that Spinxxxxes spurned no live food of any kind, however minute.

  I crawled between the creature’s legs, wrapping my cloak around me as tightly as possible and moving as slowly and deliberately as my nerves would permit. Two antennae came snaking across the floor of the tunnel in front of me. Jellyfish fluid was dripping on the back of my neck, but I resisted the temptation to make any precipitate movements. I glanced up once more to satisfy myself that the Spinxxxx was still preoccupied with its prey. Yes, it was sucking away at the jellyfish and purring contentedly. I peered into the darkness of the tunnel ahead, my escape route. And then I saw it.

  The white, one-eyed bat!

  As if it had pursued me through my nightmares, all the way from that horrific room at the Golden Quill, Bookholm’s hotel from hell, it came fluttering out of the black void of the tunnel, its powerful, purposeful wing-beats carrying it straight towards me and the Spinxxxx.

  It wasn’t the dead creature from my room, of course, but I’m convinced it was at least a close relation, a brother or sister whom it had commanded from the hereafter to land me in an even worse predicament. Why? Because the stupid creature clearly intended to fly between the Spinxxxx’s legs. It had failed to see the gossamer mesh suspended between them.

  Get to my feet and run for it - that was all I could do now. But the bat was too quick for me. One more wing-beat and it whooshed into the invisible trap, became hopelessly entangled in the sticky threads, squeaked and struggled - and alerted the Spinxxxx before I’d even half risen from the tunnel floor.

  The monster stamped its feet and its antennae thrashed the air like severed cables. I received a blow to the chest, staggered backwards, tripped over an insectile leg and fell to the ground. The Spinxxxx removed its trunk from the jellyfish, exuding long threads of glowing mucus, and brought its grey body down on top of me. Its numerous antennae roamed all over my body and face and palpated the struggling bat at the same time.

  This was bound to be a great day in the Spinxxxx’s culinary life - one it would doubtless remember fondly. First an hors d’oeuvre of plump jellyfish; next a delicious entrée of furry white bat; and finally, for the main course, this hitherto unknown delicacy with the leathery hide and appetising body odour. I could hear the gastric juices seething in its intestines. Its mandibles clattered together excitedly.

  The Spinxxxx’s massive body swayed to and fro on eight of its legs while the other eight performed a kind of dance on the roof of the tunnel. It seemed to be debating which of its prey to devour next. The big one or the little one? The little one or the big one? Unable to decide, it continued to clatter its mandibles until a book was thrust between them.

  A book?

  Had sheer terror caused me to hallucinate? Where had this book come from? Craning my neck, I saw a figure in full armour looming over me. A Bookhunter! His suit of mail, which was made up of many different metal components, left no part of his body unprotected. His head and face were obscured by a helmet and an iron mask. He had thrust the book in his gauntleted hand between the Spinxxxx’s mandibles. Yes, a book.

  ‘Eat that!’ he said in a deep voice.

  Instinctively, the Spinxxxx’s jaws began to close. I just had time to see this before the mail-clad figure hurled itself on top of me and everything went black. I heard a crackling, crunching sound - the Spinxxxx was chewing up the book - followed by a deafening explosion. The Bookhunter’s armour jingled and vibrated, and a blast of scorching air surged over me. Then silence fell. Nothing more happened until the Bookhunter rose with a grunt, enabling me to see again. I sat up. My ears were ringing.

  The Spinxxxx
’s body had distributed itself all over the tunnel. Its legs were sticking into the walls like javelins and its stone scales lay strewn across the floor. Resinous fluid was dripping from the roof.

  ‘I’d never have believed it,’ the Bookhunter said as he helped me to my feet. ‘An Analphabetic Terrortome came in handy for once. They’re the confounded things that compel us to go around in all this cumbersome armour.’

  ‘Many thanks,’ I said. ‘You saved my life.’

  ‘I got rid of a Hazardous Book, that’s all,’ said the Bookhunter, wiping some Spinxxxx slime from his armour. He walked a few steps down the passage and extracted something from a mound of splintered granite and coal. It was a sparkling diamond the size of his fist.

  ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ he muttered, ‘Spinxxxxes really do have diamond hearts.’ He turned to face me again. ‘May I introduce myself? My name is Colophonius Regenschein. Will you permit me, after that close shave, to invite you to a modest snack in my humble abode?’

  The Giant Skull

  Was this the end of my misfortunes, the light at the end of the tunnel? My life had been saved by Colophonius Regenschein himself, dear readers, and he was now conducting me to his subterranean abode to entertain me there. In the circumstances, could anything better have happened to me? If there was one person who could help me to get out of this place alive, it was the greatest Bookhunter of all.

  But first came a silent trek through the underworld. Colophonius Regenschein was clearly a person of few words. He simply strode on ahead and the most he ever said was ‘This way!’ or ‘Mind the gap!’ or ‘Duck your head!’

  We soon came to an area of the catacombs in which there were no more jellyfish lamps, just walls of grey rock lit only by Regenschein’s jellyfish torch. This was all I saw for a long time: the taciturn Bookhunter marching ahead down narrow granite passages and climbing natural stone stairways like some weird flunkey in a bad horror story. The more cramped our surroundings became the more claustrophobic I felt, because they were an all too forcible reminder of the miles-deep layers of rock overhead.

  On one occasion our route was barred by a creature with black fur and a scarlet face. It bared its impressive fangs and emitted a no less impressive screech, looking like a hideously deformed ape, but Regenschein made short work of it without even laying aside his torch. He drew his silver axe and dispatched the beast within seconds. When I squeezed past the spot where the fight had taken place I saw some green fluid trickling down the walls.

  ‘Don’t touch that blood,’ Regenschein warned me. ‘It’s poisonous.’

  At last the underground chambers grew bigger. We traversed lofty caverns filled with the sound of dripping water and the echoes of our footsteps. At times the luminous Lavaworms adhering to the walls enabled my taciturn guide to extinguish his torch. Nothing here was reminiscent of the catacombs’ literary associations. For whatever reason, these bookless caves had remained untouched for thousands of years.

  We eventually came to a dark cavern full of close-knit stalagmites. Regenschein strode silently on through this forest of stone columns, then came to a sudden halt. He raised his torch and peered up into the darkness as if he had heard something. I listened with bated breath. Did some danger threaten us from above? Before I could say anything, Regenschein produced a big iron key from his armour and inserted it in a stalagmite that jutted high into the blackness overhead. I heard a click followed by a loud metallic rattle, and a monstrous white skull descended out of the gloom. Suspended on stout chains and big enough to have contained Pfistomel Smyke’s house, it was the skull of a giant - presumably a Cyclops, since it had only one eye socket.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked in amazement.

  ‘It’s my home when I’m in the catacombs,’ Regenschein replied. ‘I found it, so it’s mine. It’s full of valuable acquisitions, that’s why I hoist it up there when I’m away. Wait here, I’ll light some candles.’

  He climbed in through the eye socket. I remembered that his book had made no mention of where he slept during his long expeditions into the catacombs, but that didn’t surprise me: any Bookhunter would be bound to keep the location of his subterranean pied-à-terre a secret. A few moments later the interior of the skull was illuminated by a warm, flickering glow.

  ‘Come in!’ called Regenschein.

  Hesitantly, I too climbed through the unusual entrance to his abode.

  He was just putting his jellyfish torch in a clay vessel filled with nutrient fluid, so that it could recharge itself. The skull’s interior was furnished like a living room. There was a crude wooden table, a chair, a heap of furs to sleep on, two shelves of glass jars and some books. Hanging on the walls was a heterogeneous assortment of weapons and pieces of armour, and among them some objects I couldn’t identify in the dim light, any more than I could identify the contents of the glass jars. Colophonius Regenschein’s living quarters were rather more primitive than I’d imagined, I must confess, but at least there were a few books - extremely valuable ones, I felt sure. The diamond that had once been the Spinxxxx’s heart lay sparkling on the table.

  ‘Are there giants down here?’ I enquired.

  ‘No reason why not,’ he replied, sitting down on the chair. ‘I’ve yet to meet one in the flesh, but there are huge caves and huge worms and huge Spinxxxxes in this place, so why not huge giants?’

  I would have dearly liked to sit down too, but there was only one chair.

  ‘Now I can tell you,’ the Bookhunter grunted. ‘My name isn’t Colophonius Regenschein at all.’

  ‘What?’ I asked, taken aback.

  ‘I thought you’d be more likely to come with me if I introduced myself as Regenschein. Everyone admires Colophonius Regenschein and no one admires me. My real name is Hunk Hoggno.’

  Hunk Hoggno? I didn’t care for the name at all. Had I fallen into another Bookhunter’s trap? My heart beat wildly, but I tried to disguise my trepidation.

  He lit another candle on the table and I could now make out almost every detail of the room’s contents. The books on the shelves were adorned with gold and silver clasps. They were immensely valuable, even an amateur like me could see that. They included a copy of Regenschein’s book.

  The objects hanging on the walls between the weapons were shrunken heads, and reposing in a basket were some well-scraped skulls and bones. I caught sight of various saws and surgical scalpels. Some of the glass containers on the shelf were filled with liquid blood and pickled organs, others with live worms and maggots. I saw hearts and brains preserved in coloured fluids. Severed hands, too. I recalled my encounter with the Bookhunter in the black market. ‘Lindworm relics are much in demand here,’ he’d told me. I shivered. I had ended up in the cave of a professional killer, possibly a maniac.

  ‘Hunk Hoggno is a pseudonym,’ said my host. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Er, Opt . . . Optimus Yarnspinner,’ I said with an effort. My tongue was cleaving to the roof of my mouth, it had gone so dry.

  ‘Is that a pseudonym too?’

  ‘No, it’s my real name.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like a pseudonym.’

  I refrained from contradicting the Bookhunter a second time. An awkward silence fell.

  ‘Would you care for a little conversation?’ asked Hoggno, so abruptly that I gave a violent start.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A little conversation,’ he repeated. ‘I mean, could we talk for a bit? It’s a year since I exchanged a word with anyone.’ His voice had sunk to a whisper. He seemed to be genuinely out of practice where oral communication was concerned.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘by all means.’ I was prepared to do anything that might break the ice.

  ‘Good. Er . . . What’s your favourite weapon?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Your favourite weapon. Er, look, I’m a bit rusty where talking’s concerned. Would you prefer to ask the questions?’

  ‘No, no,’ I said hastily, ‘you’re doing fine. My favourite wea
pon is, er . . . the axe.’ That was a lie, of course. If the truth be told, I don’t care for weapons of any kind.

  ‘Aha,’ said Hoggno. ‘Is it possible that you’re only saying what I want to hear?’

  I thought it better not to reply. I had to weigh my every word like gold dust.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Hoggno said. ‘That was rude of me. I’m sure you only meant to be nice. It’s a year since . . . but I mentioned that already.’

  Another awkward pause.

  ‘Er . . .’ said Hoggno.

  I leant forward.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Now I’ve gone and forgotten what I meant to ask next.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like me to tell you something about myself,’ I said. ‘Background, profession and so on.’ I was anxious to steer the conversation in another direction by mentioning that I was a writer. That ought to put him in a friendly frame of mind, I thought - after all, he makes his living out of people like me.

  ‘All right. What’s your profession?’ Hoggno asked.

  ‘I’m a writer!’ I said triumphantly. ‘From Lindworm Castle! My authorial godfather was Dancelot Wordwright.’

  The Bookhunter gave a grunt. ‘I’m not interested in living authors, their books don’t make any money. Not for me, anyway. The only good author is a dead author.’

  ‘I haven’t published anything yet,’ I said apologetically.

  ‘Then you’re worth even less. What are you doing down here, unpublished writer?’

  ‘I was brought here against my will.’

  ‘That’s the silliest excuse I’ve heard since I chopped off Goldenbeard the Hairsplitter’s legs. He said his compass was broken when I caught him on my territory. At least he wasn’t lying. His compass really was broken.’