"Spinners can make six different kinds of silk, some sticky, some soft as Boots's skin. They make our garments as well."
"Really?" said Gregor. "Do you think they'd let us have more catch cloths? Even if we're prisoners?"
"I doubt it not. It is not the spiders' goal to antagonize us," said Solovet. "Only to hold us until they can determine what to do." She called up to a guard, and in a few minutes two dozen diapers came down on a thread. The spider also sent down three woven baskets filled with clean water.
Solovet began to work her way around the group, cleaning wounds and patching people up. Luxa, Henry, and Mareth paid close attention, as if she were teaching a class. Gregor realized the ability to heal battle wounds was probably important if you lived down here.
Solovet began by cleaning the gash on Mareth's thigh and stitching it up with a needle and thread. Gregor winced on Mareth's behalf, but the guard's face was pale and set. Two bats required stitches on torn wings and, though they made a great effort to remain still while Solovet slid the needle in and out of their skin, the process was clearly agonizing for them.
Once all obvious bleeding had been stopped, Solovet turned to Gregor. "Let us attend to your face now."
Gregor touched his cheek and found that welts had formed where the webs had ripped off. Solovet soaked a catch cloth in water and placed it on his face. Gregor had to grit his teeth to keep from screaming.
"I know it burns," said Solovet. "But you must wash the glue from your skin or it will fester."
"Fester?" said Gregor. That sounded awful.
"If you could stand to splash water upon your face, it would be a more painful but faster process," said Solovet.
Gregor took a deep breath and dunked his whole head into one of the baskets of water. "Aaaa!" he screamed silently, and came up gasping. After five or six dunks, the pain faded.
Solovet nodded approvingly and gave him a small clay pot of ointment to dab on his face. While he gingerly applied the medicine, she cleaned and bound a series of smaller wounds and forced an uncooperative Vikus to let her wrap his wrist.
Finally she turned to Temp and Tick. "Crawlers, need you any assistance from me?"
Boots pointed out a bent antenna on one of the roaches. "Temp boo-boo," she said.
"No, Princess, we heal ourselves," said Temp. Gregor was sorry Temp was injured but, on the plus side, he could now tell the roaches apart.
"Ban-didge!" insisted Boots, and reached out to grab the crooked antenna.
"No, Boots!" said Gregor, blocking her hand. "No bandage on Temp."
"Ban-didge!" Boots gave Gregor a scowl and pushed him away.
"Oh, great," thought Gregor. "Here we go." In general, Boots was a very good-natured two-year-old. But she was still two and, every so often, she would throw a tantrum that left the rest of the family exhausted. Usually it happened when she was tired and hungry.
Gregor dug in the pack. Hadn't Dulcet said something about treats? He pulled out a cookie. "Cookie, Boots?" She reluctantly took the cookie and sat down to gnaw on it. Maybe he had headed off the worst.
"Hates us, the princess, hates us?" asked Tick worriedly.
"Oh, no," said Gregor. "She just gets like this sometimes. My mom calls it the terrible twos. Sometimes she throws a fit for no reason."
Boots scowled at everybody and drummed her feet on the ground.
"Hates us, the princess, hates us?" murmured Temp sadly.
Baby roaches probably didn't have tantrums.
"No, really, she still thinks you're great," promised Gregor. "Just give her some space." He hoped the roaches wouldn't get so hurt by Boots's behavior that they'd want to go home. Not that anyone was going anywhere right now.
Vikus gestured him over to where the others had gathered. He spoke in a whisper. "Gregor, my wife fears the spinners may pass on our whereabouts to the rats. She advises that we escape with all speed."
"I'm good with that!" said Gregor. "But how?" Boots came up behind him and gave his arm a pinch for no reason. "No, Boots!" he said. "No pinching!"
"More cookie!" she said, tugging on him.
"No, not for pinchers. Cookies are not for pinchers," said Gregor firmly. Her lower lip began to tremble. She marched away from him, plunked herself down on the floor, and began to kick at the pack.