Revenge of the Beetle Queen

by M. G. Leonard

  “What if she’s not interested in the Film Awards at all?” Bertolt said, jumping and tipping his cake and ice cream into his lap. “Oh! Whoops!”

  “Steady on there, Bertolt.” Uncle Max leaned over and scooped the cake and ice cream back into the bowl.

  “But that doesn’t make sense,” Virginia said. “Why would she be there if she doesn’t care about the awards?”

  “Because,” Darkus said, feeling his body grow cold, “she wants to stand onstage at an event that’s being broadcast live around the world. She wants all the cameras on her, because that’s when she’s going to do it.”

  “Flipping fleabags!” Virginia’s mouth dropped open. “That’s it!”

  “Yes!” Bertolt nodded as he wiped a napkin over his leg. “The twenty-second of December—that’s when it’s going to happen.”

  “But we don’t know what it is!” Darkus threw his hands up in frustration, and Virginia caught his arm in midair.

  “But we’ve got a spy.” Her eyes were wide. “We’ve got Novak. She tried to save the beetles with her letter, didn’t she? She’s on our side. She’ll help us.”

  “That poor girl.” Uncle Max shook his head.

  “She’s going to be at the awards, Darkus,” Virginia said. “And with her help, we might be able to stop Lucretia Cutter somehow.”

  “We need to reach her.” Darkus nodded. “And we need to tell her I’m alive.”

  “Well then, what we need is a cover story that will enable us to go to America without arousing suspicion.” Uncle Max sat down and scratched his chin. “How about a Christmas trip to Disneyland?”

  Virginia clapped. “I’ve always wanted to go to Disneyland!”

  “But we won’t really be going to the theme park?” Darkus said.

  “No, we’ll tell everyone that we’re going to Disneyland, when really we’ll go to LA, to the Film Awards, to try and find Novak.”

  “Isn’t that lying?” Bertolt asked.

  “A little bit,” Uncle Max admitted.

  “Would I be back in time for Christmas Day?” Bertolt wrung his hands. “I can’t leave Mum on her own for Christmas Day.”

  “We’ll be back before Christmas Eve,” Uncle Max assured him.

  “We’re going to need an army,” Darkus whispered.

  “The beetles are gone,” Virginia said mournfully.

  “Not all of them.” Darkus looked at the paddling pool. “But three children, a bunch of beetles, and an archaeologist aren’t going to be enough to stop Lucretia Cutter.”

  “Four children,” Bertolt said, “if you count Novak.”

  “I’ve got it!” Uncle Max sat up, his hands on his knees. “What if we enlisted the help of a scientist and entomologist every bit as clever as Lucretia Cutter? We’d have to take a detour through Greenland, but it might just give us the advantage we need.”

  “It’d certainly help.” Virginia nodded.

  “But who?” Bertolt asked.

  Darkus looked at his uncle and smiled. “Dr. Yuki Ishikawa.”

  Darkus and Virginia carefully slid the suitcase full of beetles into the trunk of Uncle Max’s car just as a motorbike roared up the road, slowing to stop beside them. The motorcyclist lifted off her helmet to reveal the blond bob and well-known face of Emma Lamb, the TV reporter. She winked at Darkus. “Any kidnappings happen around here recently?”

  “What are you doing here?” Virginia asked, gazing admiringly at the motorbike. She reached out and stroked the shiny red fuel tank. “Nice bike.”

  “Ah, Emma! Good to see you,” Uncle Max said, carrying two duffel bags to the car, followed by Bertolt, wheeling a mini suitcase.

  “Thought I’d check in before you check out,” Emma Lamb replied. “Poking your nose into Lucretia Cutter’s affairs is a dangerous thing to do.”

  “Are you helping us?” Bertolt asked.

  “I have my own score to settle with that woman.” Emma Lamb nodded. “Did you hear? I lost my job.”

  “They fired you?” Virginia was outraged.

  Emma Lamb leaned toward her. “And all my memory cards—the ones with the camera footage of Lucretia Cutter’s weird black eyes—they’ve all been wiped.”

  “Wiped?” Bertolt gasped.

  “That’s awful!” Darkus said.

  “Yeah, well, Lucretia Cutter made a mistake when she decided to mess with me,” Emma Lamb said, grimacing, “because I fight back.”

  “Have you found something?” Uncle Max asked.

  “Not sure,” Emma Lamb replied. “From what I can tell, Lucretia Cutter is a one-woman mafia. She has a chain of businesses under the umbrella of Cutter Couture. Some of them are legit, some of them are grim, and some of them are invisible. I’ve heard rumors about factories farming insects.”

  “Insects that could destroy a forest in Colorado?” Darkus asked.

  “Perhaps.” She shrugged. “I’m interested in the acres and acres of Amazon rain forest that Lucretia Cutter has bought. It’s impossible to get any information about what’s happening there. There are no satellite images of it. Nothing. It’s invisible.” She raised a finger. “And where there is an absence of information, there’s a story.”

  “The Amazon rain forest is a perfect habitat for beetle breeding,” Darkus said. “The best and biggest species can be found there.”

  “You could hide anything in there.” Bertolt nodded.

  “Well, that’s where I’m headed.” She lifted her helmet. “I came by to tell you”—she looked at Uncle Max—“you know, in case I disappear.”

  “You’re going to the Amazon?” Virginia’s eyes grew wide.

  “Hidden in that jungle is a juicy story with my name written all over it.” She pulled her helmet on. “I’m going to bring down that power-hungry witch and scoop up the Pulitzer Prize at the same time.”

  “Be careful,” Uncle Max warned.

  “Look who’s talking!” Emma Lamb laughed. “Unless I’m wrong, you’re planning to grab the tiger by the tail.” She put on her gloves. “Good luck!” She flipped down the helmet visor, turned the key in the ignition, and backed the bike into the road, waiting for a break in the traffic.

  “Hey, wait!” Darkus shouted. He leapt forward, grabbing at the air, but Emma Lamb didn’t hear him over the roar of the engine. The bike jumped forward and she was gone.

  “What is it?” Virginia asked, coming to his side.

  Darkus held out his fist, lifting one finger for a second, showing Virginia a flash of a yellow ladybug. “It was on her back. Quick, grab the pill pot from my pocket.”

  Virginia pulled a plastic pot from Darkus’s coat pocket, and he forced the struggling beetle inside.

  “I’ll put it in the jar with the others,” Virginia said.

  “We need to get a move on or we’ll be late for the plane.” Uncle Max ushered the children into the car.

  “I still can’t believe you got my mum to say yes to this,” Virginia said gleefully as they drove out of the city.

  “I can’t see why any parent would say no to their child getting an all-expenses-paid trip to Disneyland the weekend before Christmas, can you?” Uncle Max laughed.

  “I feel bad about lying.” Bertolt shook his head. “I’ve never lied to my mum like this before.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” Virginia scoffed. “There’s never been anything like this before. This is an adventure times a thousand.” She bounced up and down on the backseat, causing Bertolt to bob unhappily beside her. “They’ll make a movie about us one day.”

  “As long as we’re not the collateral damage,” Bertolt muttered.

  Darkus looked at his worried friend. “If you don’t want to come, we’d understand.”

  “I do want to come,” Bertolt replied. “I just don’t like lying to my mum.”

  “We can’t tell our parents the truth.” Virginia threw her hands up in the air. “I mean, c’mon, how do you even convince a grown-up that this is real? Have you tried to talk to anyone about your intellig
ent beetle?”

  “Ahem.” Uncle Max pointedly cleared his throat. “I’m a grown-up!” He paused. “Although I do see your point.”

  “And we don’t want Lucretia Cutter to know we’re coming,” Darkus added. “She has spies everywhere.”

  Bertolt sighed unhappily and looked out of the window. “I know.”

  The airfield was not much to look at: an expanse of scrubland with patches of old tarmac that rose like islands out of the grasses and weeds. A dirt track led to two dilapidated buildings that looked more like cowsheds than aircraft hangers.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Darkus asked.

  “Absolutely. This old airfield hasn’t been used for over twenty years, which means it’s unlikely it’s being watched.”

  As they parked, a woman strode out to meet them. She was tiny, with gray hair scraped into a tight bun. Her face was like a bulldog’s, her features bunched together in the middle while her cheeks and chin rolled into folds. Gold-rimmed circular glasses perched on her tiny upturned nose, framing two bright hazel eyes that darted about constantly, taking in every detail.

  “Motty, so marvelous to see you.” Uncle Max took her tiny hand in both of his. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “I must be getting soft in my old age,” the woman said, smiling, “but I needed to get back to my place in LA anyway, and you’re a hard man to resist, Maximilian.”

  “Ha!” Uncle Max laughed. “Meet the children: Bertolt Roberts, Virginia Wallace, and this is my nephew, Darkus.”

  “Good afternoon, young man.” She held out her hand. “I’m Motticilla Braithwaite.” She shook Darkus’s hand hard enough to make him lose his balance. “Call me Motty,” she said, letting go and grabbing Bertolt’s hand. “Everyone else does.”

  Uncle Max lifted the suitcases and bags out of the car, and they followed Motty into one of the dilapidated buildings.

  “It’s nothing but a giant shed!” Virginia said as they trooped through the door.

  “What more do you need?” Motty replied.

  “It’s a bit old,” Virginia said, wrinkling her nose.

  “I’m a bit old, young lady,” Motty said, peering over her glasses, “but I could pick your pocket before you could remember my full name.”

  Virginia stopped walking, surprised by Motty’s retort, and Darkus couldn’t help grinning.

  “We really are grateful to you for helping us like this,” Uncle Max said.

  “If everything you’ve told me about Lucretia Cutter is true,” Motty said, “I’m happy to be flying you to America.”

  “You’re the pilot?” Virginia gawped at her.

  “Well, I’m not going to let anyone else fly my plane, am I?” Motty’s eyes twinkled with mischief. She looked at Darkus. “It took several phone calls from your uncle to get me to take him on as copilot.”

  Darkus looked at Uncle Max. “You can fly?”

  “I’m a bit out of practice,” he admitted, “but I have a license, and I haven’t died in a plane crash yet.”

  Motty snorted. “Flying short trips across the desert is a bit different from flying to the West Coast of America.”

  “Well, this will give me a chance to learn what all the knobs and buttons do,” Uncle Max replied.

  Motty looked at the children. “Don’t worry. He’s not actually going to be flying. A single pilot can fly a plane—we only need a second pilot in case anything happens to me.”

  “We’ll take great care of you,” Bertolt replied earnestly.

  “We refuel in Narsarsuaq,” Uncle Max said.

  “In Greenland,” Darkus added, “where we’re going to find Dr. Yuki Ishikawa.”

  “I’m hoping he’ll be at the Arboretum Groenlandicum,” Uncle Max said. “Last anyone heard, he was there studying the whirligig beetle.”

  “He’ll help us.” Darkus felt a thrill of excitement. “I know he will, and I’ll bet if anyone knows how to stop Lucretia Cutter, it’ll be him.”

  “So”—Motty cleared her throat—“we have three children, one adult copilot … and we’ll be picking up one more passenger in Narsarsuaq?”

  “Don’t forget the beetles,” Darkus said, pointing at the suitcase he was dragging behind him.

  “Beetles?” Motty frowned.

  Darkus carefully laid the suitcase flat on the ground, flipped up the catches, and lifted the lid. Inside was a honeycomb construction of plastic cups, wedged and wadded with moss and newspaper. Poking their heads and antennae out from nooks and crannies were beetles of varying sizes. “There are one hundred and eighty-seven of them.”

  “Eighty-eight,” Virginia said, holding up the plastic pill pot containing the yellow ladybug. She knelt down beside Darkus, lifting a jam jar with a perforated lid from a pocket on the front of the case. It contained nine yellow ladybugs; all but three were dead. The three surviving yellow beetles had eleven spots on their elytra.

  Darkus unscrewed the lid, holding it in place until Virginia had her fingers over the edges of the pill pot lid. In one fluid movement he lifted it as Virginia tossed the yellow ladybug into the jar, and then he slammed the lid back on, screwing it tight.

  Motty looked at Uncle Max. “Is this the ‘controversial cargo’ you mentioned?”

  Uncle Max nodded. “We can’t let anyone discover the particular talents of these beetles, or they’ll be confiscated and killed. We need to get them in and out of America without anyone knowing.”

  “Right, then we’d better not get caught.” Motty smiled. “If we’re asked, you are the family and friends of the eccentric British millionaire Maximilian Cuttle”—Uncle Max bowed—“and he’s taking you on his private plane to Disneyland. Got it?”

  “Got it!” they cried.

  “Right, let’s get flying.” Motty strode off in the direction of a giant pair of double doors.

  There was a loud bang behind them, and everyone jumped and spun around.

  “Oh no!” Bertolt looked like he was about to faint.

  Two women stood in the doorway to the hangar.

  “MUM! What are you doing here?” Virginia yelped.

  “I might ask you the same question, Virginia,” Mrs. Wallace replied, her hands on her hips, her lips clamped together in an angry pout.

  “Ah, Mrs. Wallace …” Uncle Max began apologetically.

  “Don’t you be trying to smooth-talk me with your lies.” Mrs. Wallace held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear them. I came here to get my daughter and take her home.”

  “Mum, no!” Virginia shouted.

  “Bertie”—Calista Bloom’s eyes were like a hurt puppy’s—“you lied to me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Bertolt had gone purple.

  “Don’t be too hard on Bertolt. If he hadn’t told Iris Crips what was going on, we’d never have known,” Mrs. Wallace reminded Calista Bloom.

  Darkus looked at Bertolt. “You told Mrs. Crips?”

  Bertolt’s head dropped and he nodded. “She’s so lonely. I’ve been visiting her,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to tell her, but I was so worried about lying. I thought she could explain to Mum if, you know, if anything happened to me.”

  “Mrs. Crips is a mother who knows what it is to lose a child,” Barbara Wallace said to Uncle Max. “Of course she told us. What were you thinking?”

  Uncle Max’s face flushed. “You are quite right, of course. I got carried away with the situation. I’m sorry. Utterly unforgivable of me. Sorry. Terribly sorry.”

  “You’re as bad as the children,” Barbara Wallace chastised him. “You’re meant to be the responsible one, the grown-up.”

  “Bertie, my little chickpea.” His mother held out her arms, and Bertolt scurried into her embrace. She looked over his head at Darkus. “Has this boy been leading you astray?”

  “No, Mum.” Bertolt shook his head, and Darkus was surprised to see him step back, out of his mother’s arms. “I’m sorry for lying. I really am. But I have to do this. You must let me go. There are dark things happen
ing, things that will affect all of us.” He blinked. “Mrs. Crips’s son is missing, our friend Novak is in danger, and Darkus’s dad has gone—to stop Lucretia Cutter from doing something terrible at the Film Awards, we think.”

  “The Film Awards?” Bertolt’s mother looked startled. “Oh, I love the Film Awards!” She smiled brightly and clasped her hands together. “Everyone looks so handsome—oh, and the dresses are so twinkly …”

  “Mum.” Bertolt took his mother’s hand to get her attention. “I want to go, Mum. I have to.”

  Virginia nodded, stepping toward her mother. “I’m sorry I lied, Mum.” The words tumbled out. “I only did it because I didn’t think you’d let me go, and this is the most important thing I’ve ever done in my life. They need me. I have to go. Please!”

  Mrs. Wallace looked at Darkus. “You told me his father was in the hospital.”

  “I lied,” Virginia admitted.

  “There’s been a lot of lying.” Barbara Wallace sucked her teeth as she stared at Darkus. “Your father told me that my daughter should stay away from you.”

  “He was protecting her,” Darkus replied, holding Mrs. Wallace’s gaze. “He knew we’d try and fight Lucretia Cutter. He thought by keeping us apart, he’d stop us.”

  “Sounds like he was right.” Barbara Wallace shook her head. “You should not be fighting anybody. You should be doing your schoolwork. You are only children.”

  “We’re not only children,” Darkus replied. “We’re children with one hundred and eighty-eight special beetles, and an uncle who understands that any young person can fight as hard as an adult.”

  Mrs. Wallace scowled at Uncle Max, who rocked back on his heels, silently apologizing.

  “Virginia, you believe this is something you must do?” Barbara Wallace asked her daughter.

  With clenched fists and a determined pout, Virginia nodded an emphatic yes.

  Barbara Wallace let out a sigh and shook her head. “If I could come with you, then maybe … but it’s Christmas, and someone’s got to look after Keisha and Darnell.”

  “I could go,” Bertolt’s mum blurted out.

  “What?” Bertolt squeaked.

  “I could go to Hollywood.” Calista Bloom looked surprised at her own words. She giggled. “I mean, I’m hopeless at fighting, and I’m frightened of creepy-crawlies, but I could make sure the children eat properly, and tuck them in at night with a nice mug of cocoa.”