His voice dissipated.

He heard himself, and realized that he was rambling hysterically. He stopped and breathed deeply, forced himself to calm down.

He looked around him, took in the situation.

He and Derkhan sat in a two-foot-wide alcove embedded into the wall of a windowless little brick chamber. It was about ten feet square-its far side only just visible in the faint light-with a ceiling no more than five feet above him. In each of the room’s four walls was a cylindrical tunnel, about four feet round.

The bottom of the room was completely submerged in filthy water. It was impossible to tell how deep below it the floor was. The liquid looked to be emerging from at least two of the tunnels, and slowly ebbing out of the others.

The walls were slick with organic slime and mould. The air stank richly of rot and shit.

Isaac looked down at himself and his face creased in confusion. He was dressed in an immaculate suit and tie, a dark, well-tailored piece that any Parliamentarian would be proud of. Isaac had never seen it before. Beside him, roughened and dirty, was his carpet bag.

He remembered, suddenly, the explosive pain and blood he had suffered the previous night. He gasped and reached up with trepidation. As his fingers fumbled, he exhaled explosively. His left ear was gone.

He gingerly prodded for ruined tissue, expecting to meet wet, ripped flesh or crusting scabs. Instead, unlike Derkhan, he found a well-healed scar, covered in skin. There was no pain at all. It was as if he had lost his ear years before. He frowned and clicked his fingers experimentally beside his wound. He could still hear, though doubtless his ability to pinpoint sounds would be reduced.

Derkhan shook slightly as she watched him.

“This Weaver saw fit to heal your ear, along with Lemuel’s. Not mine…” Her voice was subdued and miserable. “Although,” she added, “it did stop the bleeding on the wounds from that…damned stingbox.” She watched him for a moment. “So Lemuel wasn’t mad, or lying, or dreaming,” she said quietly. “You’re telling me that a Weaver appeared and rescued us?”

Isaac nodded slowly.

“I don’t know why…I have no idea why…but it’s true.” He thought back. “I heard Rudgutter outside, yelling something at it. It sounded like he wasn’t completely surprised it was there…he was trying to bribe it, I think. Maybe the damn fool’s been trying to do deals with it…Where are the others?”

Isaac looked around. There was nowhere to hide in the alcove, but across the little room was another just like it, completely swathed in darkness. Anything crouching within it would have been invisible in the shadow.

“We all woke up here,” said Derkhan. “All of us except Lemuel had these weird clothes on. Yagharek was…” She shook her head in confusion and touched her bloody wound gently. She winced. “Yagharek was shoehorned into some dollymop’s dress. There were a couple of lamps, lit and waiting for us when we woke. Lemuel and Yagharek told me what happened…Yagharek was talking…he was being very weird, talking about a web…” She shook her head.

“I understand that,” said Isaac heavily. He paused and felt his mind scurry in awe away from the vague memories he had. “You were unconscious when the Weaver hauled us out. You wouldn’t have seen what we saw…where he took us…”

Derkhan frowned. She had tears in her eyes.

“My damn…my damn ear hurts so much, ‘Zaac,” she said. Isaac rubbed her shoulder clumsily, his face creasing, until she continued. “Anyway, you were out, so Lemuel took off, and Yagharek went with him.”

“What?” shouted Isaac, but Derkhan shushed him with her hands.

“You know Lemuel, you know the sort of work he does. It turns out he knows the sewers well. Apparently they can be a useful bolt-hole. He did a little reconnaissance trip into the tunnels, and came back actually knowing where we are.”

“Which is?”

“Murkside. He left and Yagharek demanded to go with him. They swore they’d be back within three hours. They’ve gone to get some food, some clothes for me and Yagharek, and to see the lay of the land. They left about an hour ago.”

“Well godsdamn, let’s go and join them…”

Derkhan shook her head.

“Don’t be an idiot, ‘Zaac,” she said, sounding exhausted. “We can’t afford to get separated. Lemuel knows the sewers…they’re dangerous. He told us to stay put. There’s all manner of things down here…ghuls, trows, gods know what. That’s why I stayed with you while you were out. We have to wait for them here.

“And besides which, you’re probably the most wanted person in New Crobuzon right now. Lemuel’s a successful criminal: he knows how not to be seen. He’s at much less risk than you.”

“But what about Yag?” howled Isaac.

“Lemuel gave him his cloak. With the hood up and that dress torn up and wrapped round his feet, he just looked like a weird old man. Isaac, they’ll be back soon. We have to wait for them. We have to make plans. And you have to listen.” He looked up at her, concerned at her miserable tone.

“Why’s it taken us here, ‘Zaac?” she said. Her face creased in pain. “Why did it hurt us, why did it dress us like this…? Why didn’t it heal me…?” She wiped tears of pain away angrily.

“Derkhan,” Isaac said gently. “I could never know…”

“You should see this,” she said, sniffing quickly. She handed him a crumpled and stinking sheet of newspaper. He took it slowly, his face curling with distaste as he touched the sodden, filthy thing.

“What is it?” he said, unfolding it.

“When we woke up, all disorientated and confused, it came bobbing down one of the little tunnels there, folded into a little boat.” She looked at him askance. “It was coming against the current. We fished it out.”

Isaac opened it out and looked at it. It was the centre pages from The Digest, one of New Crobuzon’s weekly papers. He saw from the date at the top of the page-9th Tathis 1779-that it had come out that same morning.

Isaac scanned his eyes over the little collection of stories. He shook his head in incomprehension.

“What am I missing?” he asked.

“Look at the letters to the editor,” said Derkhan.

He turned the sheet over. There it was, second letter down. It was written in the same formal, stilted fashion as the others, but its content was wildly different.

Isaac’s eyes widened as he read.

Sirs and Madam-

Please accept my compliments on your exquisite tapestry skills. For the furtherment of your craftwork I have taken it upon myself to extricate you from an unfortunate situation. My efforts are urgently required elsewhere and I am unable to accompany you. Doubtless we will meet again before much time has elapsed. In the meantime please note that he of your number whose inadvertent animal husbandry has led to the city’s present unfortunate predicament may find himself the victim of unwanted attentions from his escaped charge.

I urge you to continue your fabric work, of which I find myself a devotee.

Most faithfully yours,

W.

Isaac looked up slowly at Derkhan.

“Gods only knows what the rest of The Digest’s readers will think of that…” he said in a hushed voice. “ ‘Stall, that damn spider’s powerful!”

Derkhan nodded slowly. She sighed.

“I just wish,” she said unhappily, “I understood what it was doing…”

“You never could, Dee,” said Isaac. “Never.”

“You’re a scientist, ‘Zaac,” she said sharply. She sounded desperate. “You have to know something about these damn things. Now please try to tell us what it’s saying…”

Isaac did not argue. He reread the note and rummaged inside his head for whatever scraps of information he could find.

“It just does whatever it has to to…to make the web prettier,” he said unhappily. He caught sight of Derkhan’s ragged wound, and looked away again. “You can’t understand it, it doesn’t think like us at all.” As he spoke, something occurred to Isaac. “Maybe…maybe that’s why Rudgutter’s been dealing with it,” he said. “If it doesn’t think like us, maybe it’s immune to the moths…Maybe it’s like a…a hunting dog…”