It sloshed along, half submerged, until the sullen glow of the city was left behind. Then it unfolded its long legs and skimmed along the surface of the water for part of an hour. Finally it turned left and walked up on the shore. The complicated eight-footed motion of the spider on land was remarkably and unpleasantly different than its movement in the waves. The King was wondering whether he was about to vomit when the spider suddenly ceased to walk, and its body descended to the ground. The King took several slow breaths and felt his stomach settle somewhat, and looked up to see Wyrth looking at him ironically. “It's the opposite for me,” the dwarf said. “I get queasy on the water.” An intangible tension eased. Lathmar guessed that Morlock had dropped out of the visionary state, and glanced over to see him flexing his fingers. “Wyrth,” the Crooked Man said in his ordinary voice, “open the hatch. We go on foot from here. You two should arm yourselves from the locker—we may need to fight.”
