Virginia was still crouched in the same spot when Emma joined her, and at first the older sister failed to see what was so interesting about this particular location. It was the largest of the pools, certainly, and the deepest as well. Although the others had irregular, amorphous outlines, Virginia's pool appeared to be an almost precise circle three meters in diameter, as though something small but very heavy had fallen from above, creating a shallow crater upon impact. There was no shore on the far side, which butted up against a nearly vertical fall of rock, but the near side was bordered by fine sand of a sort not in evidence anywhere else within sight, at least not in such quantity. It might have been a miniature of a wading beach.
But the most striking sight was the object at the center of the pool. “What is that?” asked Rackham, following in her wake.
“I'm sure I don't know.” It might have been a lump of earth except that its shape seemed too regular. There was a central cap, its highest point, extending a hand's width above the water, surrounded by a spiraling series of tubes that wound around the core, extending its circumference until it displaced fully a third of the pool. The entire visible surface had a dull, red tint so unvarying that it seemed impossible for it to be natural. “It looks like an oversized sea shell.”
Virginia gestured impatiently. “Come here, please, Emma. I think it's almost done.”
At last Emma crouched beside her sister and saw what it was that so fascinated her. A narrow finger of that same odd hue ran along the floor of the pool, emerging from the water where it lapped against the sand, then extending across it in a straight line toward a stand of ferns. A jagged rock had fallen from somewhere above, severing what Emma could now see was a hollow tube. “What is it? Some kind of pipe?”
Virginia shook her head. “No, I think it's a tunnel. Look there.”
Emma hadn't noticed the secondary line, two of them actually, originating on opposite sides of the obstruction, now very close to meeting. Something glittered and Emma blinked, then focused and saw a jewel spill out of one end. No, not a jewel but an insect of some kind, a beetle perhaps, which sparkled red and purple and green as it moved. One end of the insect's body dropped to the sand, which stirred as though touched by the faintest of breezes.
“What in the world is it doing?”
“Just watch!”
It only took a few seconds. The insect straightened up and then pressed its opposite end—Emma couldn't see a distinct head—against the opening of the tube. Slowly, but visibly, a red hued paste emerged, clung where it was applied, and almost immediately hardened. The diminutive engineer then disappeared inside the open end, presumably to make some modification inside. A second, nearly identical creature had emerged from the other termination point and was performing identical duty there. A few more applications and the tunnel would be restored, bypassing the fallen rock. The newcomer varied from the first only in that one of its hind legs was missing, although it seemed to get along on five just as well as on six.
“That one appears to be injured,” she said quietly.
Virginia nodded vigorously and pointed. “Look there, at the edge of the stone. Do you see? There's a leg, or part of one, caught beneath it.”
Emma leaned forward, squinting, and confirmed her sister's observation. “Indeed, it must have been caught when the stone fell and perhaps gnawed its own leg off to get free.”
“What a horrid thought, Miss Wilson!” Rackham seemed positively repelled by the idea. “But I suppose God spares these lesser creatures the pain and anguish that are our lot.”
“Whatever could they be, Mr. Rackham? I've never seen their like before and I've read all the natural histories.”
Rackham leaned forward, peering myopically. “Some sort of beetle, I'd say. Or a water insect related to the pond striders.”
Emma clucked her tongue impatiently. “I wouldn't imagine that a water-related creature would take such great pains to keep its feet dry, so to speak, Mr. Rackham. This seems more akin to the termite or the common ant, although its appearance is certainly uncommon enough.”
Rackham sniffed to convey a sense of his bruised dignity. “I wouldn't pretend to understand God's purposes in these matters, Miss Wilson. I'm sure that whatever this creature is, it fits into His plan as perfectly as does the moth or the caterpillar. The role of the naturalist is to observe and appreciate, not to presume to explain Creation, Mr. Darwin notwithstanding.”
Virginia turned away to conceal her distaste for Rackham, rising slowly to her feet and stepping away from the water. “It leads back in this direction.” She tentatively pushed a branch out of her way, but the undergrowth was much thicker here, virtually impenetrable. “We have to find a way around this lot.”
“Whatever for?” asked Rackham, who had grown somewhat agitated. “I think we should go back. We wouldn't want to try that ascent in the darkness.”
“Calm yourself, Mr. Rackham. We've barely digested our mid-day meal. We surely have time to indulge ourselves and I for one would like to rest a bit before any further exertions.”
“I suppose a brief respite would do us all some good,” Rackham admitted, but he was sulking.
With the same instinct that had led her down to this place, Virginia had found a circuitous but relatively accessible route around the obstruction to another clear space deeper in the chasm. At first it appeared that she had gone too far and outstripped the beetles’ construction project, but then she spotted the thin red line running along an eroded notch before it disappeared into another bush.
Emma was close behind with Rackham reluctantly bringing up the rear. Tiny flying insects buzzed around them now and Emma waved them away, consoling herself with the knowledge that Rackham was similarly encumbered. Even so, she almost called on her sister to stop when Virginia began pressing herself around this latest obstruction, smearing her dress with fresh daubs of dirt as she brushed against the cliff face. But before she could do so, Virginia was gone again, passing through into a natural chamber so murky that when Emma followed she could barely make out her surroundings until her eyes began to adjust.
When she could finally see, she gasped.
The two sisters stood side by side, Rackham a step behind them. Directly in front of them, and nearly as tall as they, stood a dull red pyramid. The sides were cut up into tiers with ramps connecting one to the other like a giant model of a ziggurat, and at numerous points there were dark recesses, presumably access to the interior. The jewel-like beetles swarmed over its surface, engaged in enigmatic tasks, many carrying leaves and twigs and flower petals, dragging them inside the pyramid. It was too dark to see much of the base of the structure, but there was at least one connecting tunnel on this side, probably the one they'd been following, and one or more additional tubes beyond, stretching back into the farthest recesses of the chamber, which appeared to have no other exit.
“This is most extraordinary,” said Emma. “I do believe we've happened upon an entirely new species.”
“I don't think that's possible,” said Rackham dryly. “I'm sure that our English naturalists have them catalogued and dissected somewhere. One can't just meander about discovering new insects, you know.”
“Are you trying to say that there is a limit to God's creation, Mr. Rackham?”
“Certainly not, but we know the size of the Ark and common sense tells us that there must have been a finite number of animals which could have been accommodated.”
He seemed prepared to lecture on this point indefinitely, so Emma took advantage of his momentary pause to change the subject. “What's going on over there?” She pointed past Virginia to where a particularly heavy congregation of the beetles had gathered. They edged around the corner of the pyramid, stepping deeper into the shadows.
The beetles had to deal with another obstruction. Climbing vines had pulled down part of a dead tree, one branch of which had come to rest on the edge of one of the tiers. It would have been a simple matter for a human to shift the weight of the
branch, which was only as big around as a human thumb, but for the beetles, it was a major obstruction apparently beyond their capacity.
A small contingent labored for quite some time without making any progress. The three interlopers watched for several minutes as the beetles jostled about, apparently undiscouraged by their failure.
“Can they possibly move it? Let's help them,” said Virginia, but Emma grabbed her arm.
“Wait! Let's see what they decide to do next.”
Rackham made an annoyed sound. “Really, Miss Wilson. They're only insects. They're not capable of deciding anything; they act entirely on instinct.”
She ignored him. So did the beetles.
It was obvious that the work team lacked sufficient mass, a failing they somehow managed to communicate to the rest of the colony. Most of the tiers were relatively empty of traffic, but suddenly they were overflowing with tiny glittering bodies. Beetles emerged from the openings in the pyramid in a fluid rush, hundreds at least, more likely thousands, all streaming toward a single goal. The movement was so sudden and massive that all three of the humans backed away, although there was nothing to indicate that they'd even been noticed.
The swarm reached the broken branch and congealed around the original work team. There was a sudden light scratching sound and the obstruction began to move and was soon pushed over the side. It fell to the ground and bounced away.
As quickly as the horde had appeared, it dispersed, leaving behind only a small crew who methodically began to secrete a sticky substance with which they began patching the small scrape marks visible on the pyramid's exterior.
Emma and Virginia clapped their hands together in applause, but Rackham had grown jealous of the beetles for gaining the attention he would prefer directed toward himself. And then he made a terribly unwise decision. He snapped off a piece of a dead branch and began poking it into one of the openings in the pyramid. The sisters both called for him to desist, but he had grown increasingly miffed at their indifference to his presence.
At first it seemed that he would provoke no response, but then one of the beetles emerged, others following, some of them mounting the stick and rushing along it toward Rackham's hand. Their speed and purposefulness caught him by surprise and he backed away, but he still held the stick and the first of the beetles had nearly reached his fingers. With an inarticulate cry of disgust, he threw the stick down at his feet and, before the sisters realized what he intended, had raised his foot and brought it down squarely on top of his diminutive enemies. There was a faint popping sound and when Rackham stepped back, they could see the ruined body of at least one beetle lying in his boot print.
Something changed around them. There had been an almost inaudible susurration, so low that they hadn't been aware of it until it ceased. Emma glanced toward the pyramid and saw that all movement had stopped as well. There were scores of beetles in sight, but they were uniformly motionless. She had a sudden presentiment of danger but before she could put voice to it, the movement resumed.
Beetles streamed from the pyramid, heading toward the threesome.
Emma and Virginia pushed their way through the leafy barrier, heedless of the damage they were doing to their clothing. Virginia stumbled and fell to a knee and Emma hastened to help her up. She turned to see Rackham follow in their wake, but it was a strangely altered Rackham. Scores of beetles clung to his clothing and his face was twisted in an expression of horror and loathing. He opened his mouth in what started as a scream but which turned into a horrible choking sound as several of the beetles raced up his chest and swarmed over his face. Rackham's look of surprise was almost comical as he staggered forward a few steps, then fell full length.
The sisters were transfixed, too startled and fearful to intercede for the first few seconds. Emma finally rallied, ordered her sister to remain where she was, and cautiously advanced. Rackham lay prone, moving his limbs slightly though to no great purpose, and moaning ever so softly. She had no clear plan to drive the beetles away from his body, but that proved unnecessary. They were already leaving, streaming back toward the pyramid.
“Are you all right, Mr. Rackham?”
There was no answer for several seconds and she was about to address him a second time when he slowly raised his head, then pressed his palms down and lifted his upper body. His expression was still anxious, but he was no longer ruled by panic. “What happened? Are they gone?”
“I think so. Have they done you any injury?”
Rackham rose to his knees, coughed, cleared his throat, then examined himself critically. “Only to my dignity. Mrs. Nelson will never be able to clean this suit adequately, I'm afraid, but I seem to be uninjured.” He glanced around nervously. “Are they entirely gone?”
“I think so, but we should probably leave now. Are you up to it?”
Rackham waited until he was standing before answering. “I think so, yes. They took me by surprise, you know. Silly of me to become so rattled by one of the least of God's creatures.”
Emma bit her lip. “Least or not, I really think we should absent ourselves before they return. Are you certain that you're all right?”
“Quite, my dear. A tempest in a teapot.”
* * * *
The return trip was uneventful, but Emma had never felt so tired and dispirited in her life, and the sisters confined themselves thenceforward to more conventional adventures and shorter excursions. Virginia mentioned the beetles from time to time, but Emma had no wish to be reminded of them, agreed that they had been quite beautiful, and quickly changed the subject.
Rackham seemed fully recovered, and resumed his regular campaign of visitations. His resistance to any outside excursion strengthened and he began to complain that direct sunlight disagreed with him, but Emma saw nothing extraordinary in this. In the past, he had tried similar ploys to discourage them from venturing away from the house. He had always enjoyed a delicate complexion, he explained, and Emma did notice that he seemed very pale, so much so that she inquired after his health. “Quite good, my dear. The spirit of our Lord lends me some of its vitality.”
Midsummer passed and Virginia was sent off to spend two months with their mother's sister, who had had a difficult pregnancy and needed help with the infant. Emma had been so far unable to make any friends among the local youth—in part because her father frowned upon most such associations—and her parents were so much taken up in their own affairs that she was left to her own devices almost every day. She began to feel so lonely that even Mr. Rackham's visits became welcome distractions from her growing malaise.
And eventually she felt a quite surprising unhappiness when they began to decrease in frequency and eventually stopped entirely.
Emma felt no attraction to the man, and counted him not even as a friend, but she had been flattered by his infatuation and felt a sense of distinct loss when it was withdrawn. On those occasions when she could find an adequate excuse to visit the village, she made painfully casual inquiries about his welfare, but elicited no intelligence other than that he spent a good deal of time by himself in his cottage and that Mrs. Nelson, who cleaned and cooked for him, said that he had become more studious and reclusive than ever.
She asked about this one day when she encountered Mrs. Nelson in the market.
“Yes, lass, he's a very changed man of late, he is. Keeps to himself, though, and doesn't find fault with my work. I have nothing to complain of.” Emma could tell that Mrs. Nelson wished to speak further but required prompting.
“I imagine he's preparing for his curacy. That must take up a good deal of his time.”
The older woman nodded. “He tells me all the time that he feels the presence of God within his breast. He's righteous enough, I suppose, though a bit Popish in his practices.”
“Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Nelson? He seems quite a proper churchman to me.”
It required a bit more enticement, but Mrs. Nelson was clearly primed to tell someone of the strange goings-on at Rose
Cottage, where Rackham was ensconced. She had noticed a slow evolution of his behavior during the past several weeks, the individual increments of which had not been alarming but which were, when taken as a whole, somewhat troubling.
“I can understand him locking himself in his study for hours at a time, studying on his books, what with the responsibilities he'll assume within the year. But I'm not so convinced that what happens in the root cellar is entirely respectable.” Emma was forced to prompt her again at this point, and their conversational tug-of-war continued until she had the outline of Rackham's strange behavioral transformation.
Mrs. Nelson had arrived one day to find the door to the root cellar reinforced and padlocked. As it happened, her duties did not require that she have access to that portion of the property, which was used only to store wine and a few odds and ends, but she thought this new security unusual enough that she remarked upon it to Rackham, who assured her that it was simply a safety precaution. “Those old steps were rotted through and might collapse at any moment.” Although she had accepted his explanation, subsequent events contradicted it. “Sometimes while I was cleaning up, Mr. Rackham would come out of his room and go into the cellar. He told me that he was repairing the steps, and that he was barring the door from below so that I wouldn't fall to my death in a moment of forgetfulness.” She leaned closer and gave Emma a conspiratorial look. “But I never heard no hammering or any other sound, for that matter. And he always wore the same thing, a raggedy old robe like those monks up at Christwarden Abbey wear. I think he was down there kneeling in the dirt, saying prayers, and if that ain't Popish, then I don't know what is.”
Emma admitted that it sounded odd. “But I'm sure Mr. Rackham is entirely orthodox, Mrs. Nelson.”
Analog SFF, January-February 2008 Page 20
