The following is an extract from an article by Adele Richards, a frequent traveller of the Spaghetti Sea.
One string of spiderweb can be stronger than steel. And yet it blows away in the wind. Did you think about where it blows away to?
An average spider can have fifty babies a year. Multiply that over decades (and do not forget to add the webs of the new arachnids too), and consider how much spiderweb that is. And yet you never see a millimetre of it again.
This is because when broken, the spiders snatch the web away, and take it down into the bowels of the Earth.
You may have heard how difficult the Spaghetti Sea is to traverse. But the spiders know their way, and take every drop of web into the tunnels. I have seen them. They have run over my hiking boots three kilometres down. One day, I decided to follow them.
There were points when the tunnels were no bigger than laundry chutes, and the air stank of sulphur. But I found where they took the broken webs. Every inch.
The room is an almost perfect sphere. The floor is five foot deep, and bounces like a trampoline. Centuries of webs form this creation, carried by trillions of arachnids. Long ropes of tightly bound web hang from the ceiling.
On the ground are sculpted flowers, trees. Webbed ducks float upon a spun lake. Silk dogs chase spun cats. A world underneath the world, mimicking the world above.
I did not stay long. Partly because of the scuttling of thousands of tiny black legs. But what struck me the most is that the room is not finished. They have started to build our cities. How they keep them up to date I do not know.
I think, if you waited long enough in the Spider room of the Spaghetti Sea, you might watch them build you.