“No magic’s needed,” said the thaumaturge, “Because the beams of ashen moon do seize The airy edifice and, tethered, merge It with the near horizon, simply stalk It through the night. Then climb, when close enough, A silvered ray to reach the castle walk.” With faith renewed, the questers, slip and scuff And stagger through the dark to argent thread Connecting skying keep to ground. Again, Two swollen spiders climbing overhead Arrive at heavy, rusted gate and then They see the glowing keys are hanging there On brazen hook.