The Waterless Sea by Kate Constable

You were obedient. Get up, boy. You may go. Or rather –’ The Spider gives his leering grin. ‘You may stay.’

three
The Palace of Cobwebs

    â€˜B UT WHEN WILL you begin searching?’ asked Heben, his courtesy barely restraining his impatience. It was the third day after their arrival at the Palace. He and Calwyn were walking, slowly, because of Calwyn’ s robes, around the walled courtyard attached to their apartments. Far above their heads, a pocket handkerchief of blue sky was visible, but the garden below was all moist greenery and perfumed flowers. Not one direct ray of sunlight penetrated the lush patch of green.
    â€˜We’ ve begun already,’ said Calwyn.
    Heben frowned. ‘Forgive me, but all you’ ve done is walk the public galleries and the halls and gardens. The twins will be hidden somewhere, in a dark corner, in a dungeon –’ Have patience. Halasaa walked behind them, silent and soft-footed as a manservant should be. We have been listening.
    â€˜Listening for chantment,’ said Calwyn.
    Not here. Halasaa touched his ear, then his forehead, between his eyes. Here.
    â€˜And have you heard anything?’
    â€˜Not yet.’ Calwyn reached out a fingertip to the ivory- coloured wall. The walls of the courtyard were so delicate that they were almost translucent. Shadows could be seen moving within. As they approached one particularly transparent section, a skull-shape suddenly jumped at them: eyes, nose, an open mouth, dark hollows pressed against the other side of the wall.
    This was a favourite game of the courtly gentlemen, to startle the ladies through the delicate screens, or to loom up behind the curtains that fluttered in every doorway. Their aim was to force an unseemly shriek, but Calwyn was hardier than the courtly ladies, and she had never yet uttered even a squeak, disappointing the pranksters. Now she merely passed a hand over the dark shape, and walked on.
    The surface was rough to her fingertips. When she looked closely, she saw that it was carved with intricate figures, no bigger than her thumb, who danced in stately procession, their tiny hands interlinked, their skirts swirling. Each one had a different expression: this one proud, this one laughing. But most of them, thought Calwyn, looked rather sad.
    There might have been a hundred little figures on this panel. Anywhere else in Tremaris, such a fine piece of work would be a treasure beyond price. Yet here it was just another panel on a nondescript wall in an ordinary garden, half-hidden with leaves; possibly she was the only person who had ever noticed it. In this courtyard alone there were dozens of panels, just as intricate, and everywhere throughout this vast palace it was the same. Every curving wall, right up to the arched ceilings, was covered in carvings, a miniature reflection of courtly life: tiny people hunting, dancing, feasting, stealing kisses, arranging their hair. . .
    There was not a single plain surface anywhere in the Palace, nor any straight lines. Everywhere there were curves and arches and bends and twists, as if the Palace were a vast organism that had grown up out of the desert, rather than something constructed by builders and masons.
    Heben had winced when the face appeared. When they’ d entered the Palace, he’ d posed as one of Calwyn’ s servants, his headcloth obscuring his face, and now he was confined to their apartments and the adjoining courtyard, lest any of his relatives see him and send word to Rethsec that his disowned son was flaunting himself at court. But even if he had been free to wander, Heben would have been as uncomfortable here as Calwyn. It was no wonder he had sought help. He was a fish out of water in this place – or a wasuntu caged, Calwyn thought wryly. All the confidence he’ d shown out in the desert had melted away.
    Calwyn, too, found the Palace of Cobwebs unnerving. She had been raised in the simple dwellings of