by Adele Abbot
Calistrope turned to Ponderos, skepticism written large in his expression. “Is he right Ponderos? Would we be safe in there?”
Ponderos shrugged. “I couldn’t say. How do you know all this Roli?”
Calistrope’s doubt nettled the boy. “Everybody knows that. It’s common knowledge, you just pick it up.”
“It’s not common knowledge with me, young man. I never heard anything like that,” Calistrope’s tone was sharp.
“When was the last time you busted open a wasps’ nest, eh?”
“Well, I don’t remember…”
“When was the last time you talked to ordinary people? Ephemerals, eh?” Roli spoke the word with distaste. “How would you know anything about the real world, eh?”
“All right,” Ponderos put his hands up, palm out. “That’s enough. Squabbling isn’t going to get us anywhere,” he frowned at Roli, raised his eyebrows at Calistrope and continued before either could respond. “We all have our particular fields of knowledge.”
Roli sulking, sat down in the tunnel mouth and let his legs dangle over the drop. Below to right and left, sentry wasps walked stiff-legged along the narrow ledges; above and below, they scrambled over the nest. There were dozens, scores of them, more flew in watchful patterns in the sky above the nest.
“So?” asked Roli. “What are we going to do?”
“We have climbing rope,” Calistrope replied. “We’ll make it fast up here,” he looked for a suitable anchor, “here, through this crack and around this pillar. And we’ll climb down the face.”
Roli spat and watched the bolus fall between the nest wall and the rock face. He said nothing.
Ponderos asked numbly, “Can we evade the guards?”
“The guards are certainly going to come for us if we start cutting into the nest itself. I suppose we could go back through the tunnel, see if we can find another way.
“Well we can’t sit here and wait for the air to freeze,” Roli was still angry but a moment later the anger had vanished. “Listen, it’s too late now whatever we do.”
They all could hear it. The rasp of chitinous scales on rock coming from behind them.
Swiftly Ponderos unwound the rope from around his waist. “This is very smooth,” he said, coiling the silken glass fiber on the floor. “No time for knots, we’ll have to slide down and risk hand burns,” he secured the end and threw the rest out of the tunnel exit. “Wait…” he said as Roli took hold of the rope. “Just a moment…”
Ponderos looked out; left, right, up, down. “Timing is important. We slide down to the first ledge, where the nest is almost touching the rock and we wait there until the worm pokes its head out. That’s going to attract the wasps’ attention, they may leave us alone.”
Ponderos looked out once more, looked back into the darkness of the tunnel where a waft of acidic wind blew into their faces. “Go,” he said.
Roli took hold of the rope, leaned out over the edge and walked himself down the face. He could not maintain a grip however and his hands started to slip, another downward step and his foot failed to grip and he slid the rest of the way.
“Calistrope, your turn,” Calistrope followed his assistant. Hand over hand for two or three ells and then sliding the rest of the way.
Then came Ponderos. He made better progress than the other two but he had more than halfway to go when the worm pushed its head out into the open air.
Calistrope shouted, making frantic but unseen gestures to his friend. “Look out! The worm is here.”
The ugly head bent down to seize Ponderos and missed him by a finger’s breadth. Again it tried, thrusting out and downward and again it missed but caught hold of the rope. It parted as though it had been cut with a pair of shears. Ponderos came off the face with his legs working in seeming slow motion. In the same instant that Ponderos fell, Calistrope took a turn of the rope around a shard of rock. “Hold on,” he shouted as Ponderos hit the edge of the rock shelf and windmilled out into the void.
But he did hold on. Calistrope’s belay held and Ponderos swung back against the cliff and stunned, let go. His landing was softened by the timely arrival of a sentinel wasp crawling along a lower ledge; the insect’s body bent and flattened as Ponderos hit it. Some instinct made his hands grasp as they felt substance under them, his finger’s hooked onto the wasp’s legs and again, instinct seemed to make the dying insect hold onto the rock.
Ponderos was saved, bruised and battered but alive. He was bemused but conscious enough to loop the end of the rope under his arms so that Calistrope and Roli could haul him back to them.
Ponderos pushed himself up to hands and knees with little yelps of pain. “Think I’ve cracked a rib,” he muttered. “Maybe two or three. I’ll not be doing any climbing up or down for a while,” he got to his feet. “Still, Fortune favors our kind; I would be dead otherwise.”
Roli looked up at the worm which had already lost interest in them. Impervious to attack by the wasps, it had again torn open the nest wall, its head and half its body inside the nest. The worm would be laying waste to hatcheries and nurseries while the less fierce insects would be impotent, unable to prevent its attacks.
“Why don’t the wasps leave and build a new nest somewhere else?” Roli spoke over his shoulder as he helped Ponderos to a more dignified position.
“Very few insects can think, Roli; they simply don’t link cause and effect which is what thinking is for. The ants manage it but only by a sort of collective consciousness.”
“Well, however they arrange things, they’re well-occupied now,” he took his sword and made two deep cuts into the nest wall. He took hold of the flap and tugged at it, bending it out towards him. The wall was as thick as his finger but surprisingly soft and spongy. Roli climbed up to the opening and into the nest, he disappeared for a minute before returning and standing at his new window. “There’s a ramp out there, coming up from below—leading down, is what I mean. Anyone coming?”
“Very well,” agreed Calistrope with resignation. “Cut this flap a little lower so that Ponderos can get through.”
Chapter 8
Calistrope helped Ponderos to cross and eased him down the sloping floor inside. They were in a small cell with an opening which, as Roli had said, led to a ramp. Wasps of many shapes and sizes moved up and down the incline on errands which could only be guessed at. Three pale looking wasps were just entering as Calistrope looked around the tiny space, the usual black and yellow bands with which he was familiar were faded, almost grey and cream in color.
“Caretakers,” said Roli. “Smaller than the guard insects, see.”
Apart from avoiding them, the so-called caretakers ignored the humans. They went straight to the hole which had been cut in the wall and began repairs: cutting loose the flap and then cementing it back into place. It took no more than three minutes but while they worked and the humans—still disregarded—watched them, there was a sudden increase in activity outside the room. Dozens and then scores of insects were all at once trooping upwards, the procession included the unmistakable forms of sentinel wasps.
“Soldiers,” said Calistrope, pointing. “You said they wouldn’t be inside.”
“The worm,” said Roli. “It must be doing more damage up there. Perhaps it’s getting too close to the Queen.”
“Getting too close to us is what I’m worrying about,” Calistrope looked wildly around the bare cell for some way of concealing them. “Come on, start tearing up the floor over here. Next to the wall.”
Puzzled, Roli came across. “Whatever for?”
“The repairers will try to stop us, they’ll hide us from outside.”
The ruse seemed to work. Certainly the three maintenance wasps clustered around the companions, attempting to interfere with their depredations and hiding them from view. None of the guards came into the enclosure.
The rush slowed to a few wasps going about their everyday business and they ventured out, leaving the caretakers to tidy up the damage t
hey had inflicted.
“Well. Down that way?” Calistrope pointed to where the floor sloped down and out of sight. As he posed the question five or six small wasps came into view—another contingent of caretakers who seemed to outnumber all the other varieties of insect in the community. Like the previous party, they detoured around the group of humans, taking no notice of the strangers in the nest.
“You see?” Roli pointed out. “The soldiers would bite your head off without a moment’s hesitation. Most of the others won’t care a jot.”
Calistrope nodded, aware of Roli’s crowing. He merely followed, supporting Ponderos as they went.
The ramp was a tight spiral with openings leading off into enclosures. As they passed and peered in, they saw storerooms of seeds, fungi and dead rodents which reeked of decay. Others held tall paper cylinders like huge organ pipes, the air smelt sweet and heady with fermentation. Some variety of honey, or wax Calistrope guessed. There were still more rooms which were completely bare—not in use as yet.
Light filtered through certain areas of wall which had been left especially thin. The illumination was dim for human eyes but sufficient when they had become used to it.
“Shades,” said Roli, halting. Two insects came round the central pillar which supported the spiraling ramp; brilliant yellow, dense black. “Guards.”
Calistrope let go of Ponderos and drew out his sword. Before the wasps could react, he had confronted them and hacked viciously at the head of the nearer of the two, he sheared off one bulbous eye and the jaws. Roli followed him in and decapitated the injured wasp while Calistrope closed with the second.
The wasp snapped at him, taking hold of the glass sword and trying to shake it from his hand. The blade was too smooth, the wasp could not retain its grasp and Calistrope lunged as soon as it slid free. The point went into the wasp’s mouth and came out of the top of its skull; bizarrely, it inflicted no damage and this time, shaking its head, the wasp pulled the sword from Calistrope’s hand.
Cursing, he kicked out at the weaving carapace and the wasp backed off with Calistrope’s sword securely lodged in its head.
Roli had gone beyond the wasp while it had been engaged with Calistrope to see if any more followed. The two were alone, he found and turning back, he slashed at the wasp’s rear end, cutting of the deadly sting and its sack of venom. While the wasp turned its head to find its new aggressor, Calistrope leapt close and pulled his sword free. This time, the weapon must have severed some nervous tissue; the insect collapsed in a tangle of legs. The wings buzzed three or four times and stilled.
“I thought we faced our end, just then,” Calistrope said, sheathing the glass sword.
“Practice,” said Roli. “We’ve had quite a lot of practice at looking after ourselves.”
“Yes,” Calistrope nodded. “We have.”
Ponderos had stumbled to the side of the corridor when the fight began and now Calistrope supported him again. They began the descent and two maintenance workers passed them to pick up the remains of the guards.
“That’s uncanny. How do they know when to come?”
“Or where? They started in on repairing our entrance before we had left the room.”
“Calistrope,” Ponderos paused a few minutes later, as they were passing by one of the empty rooms—a space which opened up towards the nest’s central axis. “How near to the bottom are we?”
Ponderos shrugged. “Roli, have you any idea?”
“Near the bottom, I’d say. Perhaps three, four floors, five.”
“Then this is where we must do it.”
“Do what?” Calistrope eased his friend’s arm from around his neck and stretched his back.
“We should set fire to the nest before we leave.”
Calistrope frowned. “Whatever for?”
“We have to come back this way. Do we have to hope that the worm will attack them again at just the right time?”
“Come back this way?” Calistrope had not given the matter of return any thought at all. “Well, yes, I suppose we do.” The concept of return seemed almost unreal.
“If we set fire now, then we don’t have the problem—and don’t forget those villagers, too. With the nest gone, they will be able to trade with the coast again, their lives will change for the better.”
“I can’t see them doing anything like that again. They’re too bound up with their imagined riotous living.”
“Don’t be so hard on them. When they realize it’s possible, they will change.”
“Very well then. Let me have that flame of yours.”
Ponderos felt—very carefully—in several pockets before he found what Calistrope wanted. Moving his arms carefully and grunting at his hurts, he pulled out a small cylinder. Calistrope took his knife and crouched, he began to cut and tear long strips from the floor. A little while later, he gave up and sat back on his haunches. “No. It’s no use Ponderos. It’s too damp. Won’t burn.”
“Then we’ll have to go back, higher. I expect condensation and other liquids run down the spiral and soak into the lower parts of the nest. It will be drier further up,” Ponderos lurched to his feet. “Give me the flame.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Calistrope, “you aren’t fit enough. Stay here with Roli and I’ll go.”
Calistrope left the others and began to climb back up the ramp. Somehow, he guessed, worker wasps had been alerted to the damage he had inflicted on the nest; he had climbed past two floors when a line of four of the insects filed past him and continued downwards. Calistrope turned and followed them. They stopped outside the enclosure where Roli and Ponderos were hiding; inside, the insects crowded the humans to one side and began to chew with their mandibles at the broken floor, as they worked each little bit into a sort of paste, they patted it down and smoothed it.
As before, the workers would hide his friends from insects with more serious intent.
Calistrope looked at the others. “There,” he said and grinned. “Protection”. He left them to it and ascended, running up the ramp. He passed the place where the workers had appeared and carried on until he was out of breath before stopping to test the floor and walls. Finally, Calistrope was satisfied that the material was really dry and would burn fiercely.
He was still on the ramp and worked quickly to tear enough papery scraps up to start a fire. He uncapped Ponderos’ little cylinder, inside a small blue flame flickered, as it had done for the countless years that Calistrope could remember. He piled the scraps in the angle between floor and wall and set fire to them.
A worker came by, two, three, several, alerted by the smell of smoke perhaps. Calistrope had to keep pushing them away to allow the flames to get hold and even when they were roaring up the wall, fed by a growing updraft of air, the insects attempted to extinguish it by smothering the flames with their own bodies. Had there been more of them, the wasps would have succeeded but a great number must have been trying vainly to repair the damage to the egg stores made by the worm.
Satisfied the fire would not be put out, Calistrope tramped back down to his friends and supporting Ponderos between them, they made haste down the last four floors or so to reach the bottom of the nest where the main exit and entrance was.
They came to a final turn of the ramp and Roli, slightly in front, stopped and backed up, dragging Ponderos’ bulk with him. “Soldiers,” he said. “Guarding the opening.”
“How many?” asked Calistrope.
Roli let go of Ponderos and sidled round the curve again. “Five,” he said a moment later.
“That’s too many. Especially with Ponderos unable to fight.”
“Oh come on…” started Ponderos.
“No my friend, you’re in no condition…”
“Will you listen? I was going to point out we have to cut our way out of this thing anyway, the main entrance, as I remember, is over the river… unless you’ve got any ideas about wings? And we’d best choose a store place on the outside or we’ll still be over water
.”
“Wings? Hmm,” Calistrope shut his mouth and nodded. They backed up a dozen paces or so and found a store stacked with oval plates of some shiny material. They pushed some of the stacks over and went to the wall. They set to work, the soggy, waterlogged paper was quite difficult to cut but at length, they had an opening large enough to see the river bank through and perhaps, the height of a man below them.
“You know what this stuff is?” asked Roli, examining one of the pale yellow plates. “It’s wax. Make a nice fire with this.”
“Fine. The only fault with that idea is that it’s just a little late.”
Roli went first, jumping to the river bank and steadying Ponderos as Calistrope lowered him to the ground.
Down at the side of the river, Roli drew a great breath of fresh air. “Let’s go before we draw any more unwelcome attention.”
They hurried off until two minutes later, Calistrope stopped them. “We’re going the wrong way.”
“Don’t be… how can we be?” Roli frowned.
“Look up. No worm—if it’s still there—but no tunnel entrance either, no hole in the nest. We’ve cut our way out on the other side of the river. It’s this way.”
They about turned, walked under the nest again and out the other side. A few minutes after emerging from the nest’s shadow, they could see part way around the curving wall—there was the worm fighting off the aerial attacks of sentinel wasps; further on still and they could see where Calistrope’s fire had taken hold and was burning out of control. A huge plume of greasy black smoke rose in billows into the dark sky.
“Ponderos, you mentioned wings back there,” Calistrope’s voice was ruminative.
“I did?”
“Suppose we could catch some wasps and train them to carry us…”
Both Roli and Ponderos stopped and looked at their friend with consternation.
“Perhaps not wasps,” Calistrope continued. “Perhaps something less dangerous but big enough to carry us while they…” he noticed their expressions. “… You don’t think it’s a good idea?”
