Arachne worked more quickly, bringing the strands together. Soon, the structure was done. At the feet of the statue lay a braided cylinder of silk strips, five feet in diameter and ten feet long. The surface glistened like abalone shell, but it didn’t seem beautiful to Annabeth. It was just functional: a trap. It would only be beautiful if it worked.
Arachne turned to her with a hungry smile. “Done! Now, my reward! Prove to me that you can deliver on your promises.”
Annabeth studied the trap. She frowned and walked around it, inspecting the weaving from every angle. Then, careful of her bad ankle, she got down on hands and knees and crawled inside. She’d done the measurements in her head. If she’d gotten them wrong, her plan was doomed. But she slipped through the silken tunnel without touching the sides. The webbing was sticky, but not impossibly so. She crawled out the other end and shook her head.
“There’s a flaw,” she said.
“What?!” Arachne cried. “Impossible! I followed your instructions—”
“Inside,” Annabeth said. “Crawl in and see for yourself. It’s right in the middle—a flaw in the weaving.”
Arachne foamed at the mouth. Annabeth was afraid she’d pushed too hard, and the spider would snap her up. She’d be just another set of bones in the cobwebs.
Instead, Arachne stamped her eight legs petulantly. “I do
“Oh, it’s small,” Annabeth said. “You can probably fix it. But I don’t want to show the gods anything but your best work. Look, go inside and check. If you can fix it, then we’ll show it to the Olympians. You’ll be the most famous artist of all time. They’ll probably fire the Nine Muses and hire you to oversee all the arts. The goddess Arachne…yes, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“The goddess…” Arachne’s breathing turned shallow. “Yes, yes. I will fix this flaw.”
She poked her head into the tunnel. “Where is it?”
“Right in the middle,” Annabeth urged. “Go ahead. It might be a bit snug for you.”
“I’m fine!” she snapped, and wriggled in.
As Annabeth had hoped, the spider’s abdomen fit, but only barely. As she pushed her way in, the braided strips of silk expanded to accommodate her. Arachne got all the way up to her spinnerets.
“I see no flaw!” she announced.
“Really?” Annabeth asked. “Well, that’s odd. Come out and I’ll take another look.”
Moment of truth. Arachne wriggled, trying to back up. The woven tunnel contracted around her and held her fast. She tried to wriggle forward, but the trap was already stuck to her abdomen. She couldn’t get through that way either. Annabeth had been afraid the spider’s barbed legs might puncture the silk, but Arachne’s legs were pressed so tightly against her body she could barely move them.
“What—what is this?” she called. “I am stuck!”
“Ah,” Annabeth said. “I forgot to tell you. This piece of art is called Chinese Handcuffs. At least, it’s a larger variation on that idea. I call it Chinese Spidercuffs.”
“Treachery!” Arachne thrashed and rolled and squirmed, but the trap held her tight.
“It was a matter of survival,” Annabeth corrected. “You were going to kill me either way, whether I helped you or not, yes?”
“Well, of course! You’re a child of Athena.” The trap went still. “I mean…no, of course not! I respect my promises.”
“Uh-huh.” Annabeth stepped back as the braided cylinder began to thrash again. “Normally these traps are made from woven bamboo, but spider silk is even better. It will hold you fast, and it’s much too strong to break— even for you.”
“Gahhhh!” Arachne rolled and wriggled, but Annabeth moved out of the way. Even with her broken ankle, she could manage to avoid a giant silk finger trap.
“I will destroy you!” Arachne promised. “I mean…no, I’ll be very nice to you if you let me out.”
“I’d save my energy if I were you.” Annabeth took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time in hours. “I’m going to call my friends.”
“You—you’re going to call them about my artwork?” Arachne asked hopefully.
Annabeth scanned the room. There had to be a way to send an Iris-message to the
Arachne began to roll around again. “You’re calling your friends to kill me!” she shrieked. “I will
“Calm down,” Annabeth said. “We’ll let you live. We just want the statue.”
“The statue?”
“Yes.” Annabeth should’ve left it at that, but her fear was turning to anger and resentment. “The artwork that I’ll display most prominently on Mount Olympus? It won’t be yours. The Athena Parthenos belongs there—right in the central park of the gods.”
“No! No, that’s horrible!”
“Oh, it won’t happen right away,” Annabeth said. “First we’ll take the statue with us to Greece. A prophecy told us it has the power to help defeat the giants. After that…well, we can’t simply restore it to the Parthenon. That would raise too many questions. It’ll be safer in Mount Olympus. It will unite the children of Athena and bring peace to the Romans and Greeks. Thanks for keeping it safe all these centuries. You’ve done Athena a great service.”
