"What are you doing here?"

Memnon Viverra stood in the garderobe in the west tower of his father's castle. The genet's whisker's trembled restlessly. The light in the room was bright and even, and showed the painted vines on the plastered walls in sharp detail.

An otter, a genet, and a lynx in heavy black robes stood blocking the doorway. He recognized them as King Brannagh, his father, and Virgil, Duke of The Goldenlea, though they were smaller than normal, as if regressed in age or importance. The king and his father were turned away from him, almost as if they did not want to see something, but Duke Virgil looked at him apprehensively. None of them said a word.

"Your Majesty, Father, my liege, why the cold shoulder?" Memnon asked, as if he felt he could address them in such tones. Not one of the three said a word, except Duke Virgil. He pulled back the hood of his robe and pointed in Memnon's direction, looking above him. "Look," he said in a hushed voice.

Memnon moved toward him and turned around. A great black spider had woven a web, of knotted spider silk, long black hairs, twine, and dead vines that seemed to grow out of the painted vines on the walls. It came down to a point almost like a long, tortured stalactite where Memnon had been standing only a moment before.

Trapped at the end of it was a butterfly with wings of coarse, unbleached linen. It seemed dead at first, but Memnon took a nearby broom and nudged it, afraid to touch the evil-looking web directly. The butterfly flapped violently, shaking the web and causing the great black spider to move toward it.

Memnon swatted the spider as hard as he could with the broom, killing it. Duke Virgil cried out in agony.

Memnon then freed the butterfly with a flick of the end of the broomstick. But the large linen butterfly flew at him, batting its wings against him so aggressively that the astonished genet stumbled backward, trying to swat it away. And with it came the strands of that toxic web, wrapping around his arms and legs and making it harder and harder to move.

Memnon awoke with a start, entangled in his bed sheets, as if wrestling with them for some minutes. Batting its wings against him was a large black beetle that had flown in through the open window on this warm spring morning.

"Go on, get out of here!" he said to the beetle, swatting at it. The beetle rose from the bed with a buzz, flying in a lazy, disoriented circle before finding its way to the open window and putting on a burst of speed as it flew to freedom.