‘I hate nature!’ he bellowed at Pickering. ‘It’s scratchy and bitey, and it hurts!’
Pickering nodded vigorously, agreeing with his raging cousin for once. The jungle wasn’t the way he’d imagined it to be. It was a hostile, brutal place. He was hungry, itchy, and terrified of being mauled by a caiman or a jaguar. As each day passed he became more and more certain that if they didn’t get into Lucretia Cutter’s big greenhouse soon, he was going to die in this jungle. ‘We need to find a way into that big dome,’ he said.
‘We could just go and knock on the window till they let us in,’ Humphrey replied. ‘I’m past caring whether she’s angry about the dresses.’
‘We could!’ Pickering was struck dumb by the simplicity of the suggestion.
A rock hit Humphrey on the back of the head. He looked up and roared at the mischievous monkeys, shaking his fist, only to be hit in the face by a coconut, knocking his two front teeth down his throat. He choked, coughing them out on to the jungle floor.
‘MY TEEFFFFF!’ He fell to his knees, shuffling around in the leaves, searching for his front teeth, but they were gone, lost in the leaf mulch.
‘Right! I’ve had enouthhh!’ he lisped tearfully. ‘Geth me ouka here, Pickers, or I thwear I’ll eat you, I’m that hungry.’
‘Come on.’ Pickering covered his head with his arms to protect himself from more monkey projectiles. As they scrambled back to the helipad, he was relieved to find that the monkey missiles that hit him were soft, but as he got to the clearing, he caught a whiff of the orange-brown monkey dollops that were now splattered on his head, arms and shoulders.
‘WHY?’ he shrieked. ‘WHY DO I ALWAYS GET PELTED WITH POO?’
‘At leasssth you have your teeth,’ Humphrey grumbled.
‘I can’t go and knock on the window like this.’ Pickering looked at his shoulders smeared with monkey poop. Lucretia Cutter would never want to kiss him now. He turned to his cousin. ‘And look at you, you’re covered in blood.’
‘I don’t care,’ Humphrey muttered, wiping his chin with the back of his fist.
‘There’s a river on the other side of the greenhouse dome. Let’s take a dip in it before we go knocking on the window.’
‘Fine,’ Humphrey agreed, stomping off in the direction of the water.
It took them the best part of an hour to reach the river, which was swollen from the rain. The surface of the water was tranquil, but before they dipped a toe in the water, Humphrey and Pickering checked for caimans. When they were certain that there was nothing in the water planning to eat them, they stripped down to their pants, which they’d been wearing for well over two weeks, and waded into the muddy waters. He couldn’t see the bottom, but Pickering was relieved to find the river was only waist deep.
‘Look, the river flows into the greenhouse!’ Pickering pointed downstream, to where the glass dome straddled the waterway. He flapped his hands with excitement. ‘It looks like the river runs right through it. Do you think we can get in this way?’ He lurched forward, dragging his spindly legs though the water till he reached the middle of the river, and a strong current pulled his body towards the dome. ‘Humphrey, come look.’ He stumbled forward and grabbed on to a low hanging branch, his feet lifting off the river bed. ‘The river flows down through a tunnel, and there’s a grate, but it only goes down as far as the water. We could duck under it and swim in!’
‘Really?’ Humphrey came up behind Pickering and peered past his cousin into the dark tunnel.
‘Let’s swim in, sneak about until we find the living quarters and steal some fresh clothes.’ He looked at the remnants of the flowery dress that he’d put on that morning of the Film Awards, now hanging forlornly from a tree branch beside his battered straw hat. He’d ripped the skirt from the dress when they’d first marched into the jungle, so now it was more of a sweat-stained tunic. He’d kept the straw hat, because he’d hoped it would keep the mosquitoes at bay, but both his and Humphrey’s face and body were covered in large welts where they’d been bitten. He was desperate to get away from the jungle, but if there was any way for Lucretia to see him in a different set of clothes, he’d choose it.
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Humphrey admitted, smacking his lips, and Pickering could tell that his cousin was thinking about the food they might find if they did get in.
‘Come on.’ Pickering let go of the branch and waded towards the grate. ‘I’ll bet there’s a big tasty roast dinner in there somewhere.’
There was a loud snap behind them, like a big branch breaking. He and Humphrey spun round, scanning the jungle on both sides of the river. ‘What was that?’ Humphrey asked.
‘Do you get the feeling that we’re being watched?’ Pickering whispered.
‘It’s those flipping monkeys,’ Humphrey growled.
‘No.’ Pickering shook his head. ‘I’ve felt it ever since we first set foot in the jungle. It’s like there are human eyes looking at me, following us.’
Humphrey laughed so hard he shoved Pickering, who lost his footing in the river and fell over, coming up spluttering.
‘What did you do that for?’ he shouted.
‘C’mon, Pickers,’ Humphrey cackled, ‘who is going to be following us through the jungle? Who on earth would want to?’
Pickering knew his cousin was right. He shrugged. ‘I just can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched, that’s all.’
‘Come on. My tummy’s rumbling. Let’s go inside.’ Humphrey strode up to the grate and bobbed down, his head plunging under the muddy water and rising on the other side of the barrier. ‘Piece of cake,’ he said.
Pickering swam over to the grate and turned round, sinking into the water backwards. In a blur of movement, he thought he saw the face of a blonde woman up a tree. He bounced back up on the far side of the grate, grabbing the bars, staring at the spot where he thought he’d seen a familiar face, but there was nothing there, just violent green foliage.
‘I think I may be losing my marbles,’ he muttered, shaking his head.
‘That happened years ago, Pickers,’ Humphrey snorted. ‘Remember your funny bicycle with the trailer? And all that rubbish you picked up from the streets, thinking you could actually sell it?’ He gave a great belly laugh and shook his head. ‘Bonkers!’
Pickering scowled. ‘Well, at least I’ve got all my teeth.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Predacious Pool
Pickering waded through into the dark tunnel after his cousin. He focused on the pale fleshy back moving forward in front of him.
‘There’s another one of those grate things here,’ Humphrey said. ‘We’re going to have to go under the water to get past it.’
‘Get on with it, then.’ Pickering snapped.
Humphrey bobbed down, and there was a long pause before he resurfaced on the other side.
‘This grate goes down much deeper,’ he spluttered. ‘I almost didn’t get under.’
‘I hardly think that’s going to be a problem for me.’ Pickering gloated, holding his nose as he ducked under.
There was a gap of about a metre between the river bed and the bottom of the grate. Pickering smiled to himself as he bounced up on the other side, thinking of the panic Humphrey must have felt squeezing under.
‘There better be no more grates,’ Humphrey growled, uncertain about going forward. It was almost pitch black in this section of the tunnel and the water was up to their stomachs now.
‘I’ll go first if there’s another one.’ Pickering replied. ‘Come on, we’re here now. I thought you were hungry?’
‘I am,’ Humphrey agreed.
Pickering became aware of a rumbling sound as they moved through the tunnel. Humphrey held up his hand, but the current dragged Pickering forward. The floor dropped away and Pickering screamed. Humphrey grabbed him by his hair as Pickering threw his hands up, grabbing on to his cousin’s arm. He was hanging over the edge of a waterfall, and the only thing that was stopping him from being swe
pt away was Humphrey’s weight. He clambered along Humphrey’s arm, wrapping his legs around his hefty torso. The pair looked down at the drop into darkness.
‘How far down do you think it goes?’ Pickering wondered. The tunnel walls were metal and the ceiling and sides were smooth.
‘Maybe we should find out.’ Humphrey said.
‘I’m not going down there!’ Pickering exclaimed. ‘I’ll break my neck!’
‘You might not,’ Humphrey reasoned.
‘But I might!’
‘Well, I’m not going back to the jungle,’ Humphrey said. ‘And if this is the way to get a decent meal,’ he pointed down into the darkness, ‘then that’s the way I’m going.’
‘Now who’s crazy?’ Pickering unhooked his legs from Humphrey’s waist and looked around in a panic.
‘I’ll sit on the edge and slide down.’ Humphrey looked at Pickering. ‘You can sit on my lap if you want.’
Pickering straightened his neck in shock. This was the kindest thing Humphrey had ever said to him. ‘Really?’
‘I’ve got enough padding for both of us,’ Humphrey grinned, lowering himself down till he was sitting with his legs hanging over the waterfall, his left hand flat against the wall of the tunnel, to stop from being swept over the edge. He slapped his knee. ‘C’mon then, Pickers.’
Pickering scrambled on to Humphrey’s lap and closed his eyes.
‘Are you ready?’ Humphrey asked.
Pickering nodded.
‘One, two, THREE!’
Pickering felt Humphrey shove him and he screamed as he tumbled – alone – down the waterfall. After a few seconds he realized the waterfall was sloped, like a slide, and then he shot out into a small lagoon in a dimly lit room.
‘Are you dead?’ Humphrey called down after him.
‘You hateful, traitorous, wretched OAF!’ screamed Pickering.
There was no reply, but a minute later Humphrey came thundering down the waterfall like a cannonball, belly-flopping into the pool with a thunderous slap. He surfaced a moment later, spluttering and rubbing his tummy.
‘You could have killed me!’ Pickering shouted at him.
‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’ Humphrey shrugged. ‘And we’re that little bit closer to dinner.’ He looked about. ‘Where are we?’
‘Look. Over there.’ Pickering swam towards the outline of a hexagonal door. ‘Oh, there’s a strong current here.’ He swam harder. ‘It’s dragging me down.’ He doggy-paddled frantically, fighting the current and focusing on getting to the door.
‘Ouch!’ Humphrey squealed. ‘Get off!’
‘I’m nowhere near you!’ Pickering shouted as his hands scooped at the water, pulling him forward.
‘Not you. Ow!’ Humphrey slapped at the surface of the water. ‘There’s something alive in here with us and it’s biting me.’
Pickering thrashed about in the water, kicking his legs faster in panic. He had to get to the door. ‘What is it?’ he cried. ‘A shark? A crocodile?’
‘No,’ Humphrey roared. ‘They’re little and there’s loads of them. Arggghhhhh!’ He half-waded, half-swam towards Pickering.
‘Stay away from me,’ Pickering screamed. ‘I don’t want to get bitten.’ There was a ledge at the foot of the hexagonal door, he was nearly there. He threw his long arms up in front of him, hurling his body forward and grabbing on. The current was weaker here, and he was no longer being dragged backwards. He felt his way up the door.
‘There’s no handle!’ he cried out in despair.
‘NNNNNNaaaarghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!’ Humphrey screamed. ‘HELP ME! GET ME OUT OF HERE!’
Pickering stared in panic at his cousin, who was thrashing about, half drowning in the water. Any second he expected a shark’s head to surge up out of the water and tear Humphrey apart. ‘What is it?’ The terror was rising so fast in his chest that he wanted to vomit.
‘They’re inside my pants!’ Humphrey shoved a hand into his underwear and pulled out a handful of black shapes. ‘They’re biting my peanuts!’
‘What are they?’ Pickering stared at the small black beasties, suddenly less frightened.
‘They’re blasted BEETLES!’ Humphrey flung them across the water and exploded into an incandescent rage. ‘Swimming beetles! Did you know beetles could swim?’
Pickering shook his head as Humphrey ranted.
‘I hate beetles more than any other horrible creature on this planet.’ He repeatedly punched the water. ‘DIE! DIE! DIE! ARGHGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!’
‘Calm down, they’re only beetles,’ Pickering barked. ‘Someone will hear us.’ Now that he knew the biting monsters were insects, and not a massive shark, he felt a lot braver. ‘Ouch!’ Something pinched his elbow. He looked down at the surface of the water and in the dim orange light he could see the surface shimmering with dark brown spoon-sized shapes. He tried to push the water away, but the black shapes dived down, and a second later he felt a thousand tiny bites to his stomach and thighs. He thrashed around, trying to brush the insects away. ‘Aaarghhhh! My nipples!’ he howled as the beetles started biting on top of their bites. ‘WHAT KIND OF BEETLES ARE THESE?’ he cried as he slapped his chest, trying to kill the nasty nippers.
‘Predacious diving beetles,’ said a dopey voice above him.
Pickering looked up. The door was open. Dankish bent down and grabbed Pickering by the arms, lifting him out of the pool and tossing him on to the floor. The beetles retreated back into the water.
Humphrey flailed his way over, unbothered by the current, and Dankish helped him out, laughing as he danced about shaking his bottom and pulling at his pants, trying to get the last insects out.
Dankish took a small square black screen out of his pocket. He touched it, and a white hexagon appeared. ‘Craven? You’ll never guess who I’ve found in one of the beetle pools? It’s those two weird guys from the Emporium . . . Yeah! Them!’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Cloud Forest
Darkus, Virginia and Bertolt rose at dawn and got dressed in their trekking gear. They wore army fatigues, and filled their pockets with Base Camp beetles and a few tiny pots of jelly. Bertolt buttoned up his khaki shirt, tucking it in and straightening his collar. Darkus and Virginia left theirs undone, wearing them like jackets over their black T-shirts. Each of them carried a rucksack containing a small pooter, a bottle of water, their survival kit and their personal stuff: Bertolt had a picture of his mum, Virginia a beanbag teddy bear called Dot that only had one eye, and Darkus had his Beetle Collector’s Handbook.
Darkus knew the Amazon held many dangers, but his main concern was for their beetles. He’d read that beetles were a source of food for birds and other hungry creatures. He didn’t want Baxter to get snatched off his shoulder by the quick hands of a hungry monkey. He was grateful for Dr Ishikawa’s gift. With Baxter in the bamboo cage around his neck, he could be sure the rhinoceros beetle was safe.
Uncle Max had employed a local guide called Angelo to take them into the forest, but he’d refrained from telling him their final destination. Motty’d heard the staff back at the lodge whispering about a witch who lived deep in the forest, and Uncle Max thought it best not to mention where they were going. With the co-ordinates of the Biome plotted on a map safe inside his rucksack, everyone fell into line behind Uncle Max and Angelo, and with Motty bringing up the rear, they set out to find Lucretia Cutter’s lair.
The forest was surprisingly dark. Sunlight struggled to pierce the canopy, never getting as far as the forest floor. The air was thick with moisture from the respiring trees and the group was silent as they walked. The forest above their heads was far from quiet. Birds called and answered, brash chirrups piercing the eerie torch songs of lonely would-be lovers. Hidden toads and frogs croaked in chorus, and monkey hoots and whoops bounced from tree to tree, but despite the cacophony Darkus couldn’t see any of the creatures he could hear.
He found that even though the warm air was saturated with oxygen, the breath he
was drawing into his lungs didn’t seem to quench his body’s thirst for it. His breathing came hard as he marched forward into the most diverse place on earth. After an hour of walking, they stopped for a rest and he stared up into the canopy, wondering why he couldn’t see any of the animals he could hear. After a few minutes of remaining still his focus shifted.
‘Look!’ he cried, spotting a sleeping sloth hanging upside down from a tree branch. ‘A sloth!’
‘Where?’ Virginia swung round to look.
‘Wish I could sleep like that,’ Uncle Max said, chuckling.
And then the rain came. Darkus had never understood the word ‘monsoon’ – how heavy could rain be? But this was nothing like the rain in England. This was a torrential downpour, so heavy he could barely see a metre in front of him. Their guide signalled that it was dangerous to continue, and directed them to a sheltered spot. They waited the storm out, watching as their path become a brown stream and two large otters swam by.
And then, just as suddenly as it had arrived, the rain stopped and the sun came out. The air was immediately heavy with moisture, and it was impossible to know whether the moisture in the air was condensing on your skin and forming droplets of water, or whether the dense warm air, like an unwanted layer of clothing, was drawing sweat from your body. Darkus’s dark hair stuck to his face, and his normally olive cheeks were flushed pink.
They ate as they walked. Uncle Max had obtained sandwiches and fruit from the lodge, and as the day wore on, their exclamations of wonder and pointing dwindled to nothing but grunts as they pulled aside vines, clambered over mossy rocks and tripped over twisting roots.
By mid-afternoon, Uncle Max declared that they’d made good progress and should look for a place to make camp for the night. They stopped to drink water from their bottles, and the guide indicated there was a clearing a bit further along the path.
‘Darkus!’ Bertolt waved him over. ‘Come and look at this.’ He was standing beneath a tree, peering up at the trunk. ‘It looks like a jewel beetle of some kind. It’s beautiful.’
Battle of the Beetles Page 8
