‘This is not the time or the place to talk about this,’ Virginia said, putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘The smoke is getting thicker. We need to get out of here.’
Darkus leant in and gently sank his hands into the bathtub. ‘Climb up, little friends,’ he whispered. Virginia walked round to the other side of Bertolt and did the same.
Bertolt carefully clambered out of the tub, still with beetles on his shoulders and head.
‘We need to get to the ladder and over the wall into your Uncle Max’s,’ Virginia said.
‘The flames are all along the wall,’ Bertolt said. ‘The ladder will be on fire.’
‘Grab the washing-up bucket – we’ll put out the flames,’ Virginia said to Darkus.
Darkus didn’t wait – he sprinted into Base Camp, picked up the bucket and ran back. He stepped on to a chair, climbing up on to the melting tarpaulin skin of the forest. ‘We’ll go up and over,’ he said. ‘That way we can see where the fires are and avoid the smoke.’
‘What about Humphrey and Pickering?’ Bertolt said, following Virginia up on to the chair. ‘We can’t let them die.’
‘Uncle Max has called the fire brigade. They’ll be here any minute,’ Darkus replied.
‘But the smoke?’ Bertolt said.
‘Their heads are close to the ground,’ Darkus replied. ‘Smoke rises. They’ll live.’
‘They wouldn’t care if we got roasted,’ Virginia said, unconcerned, offering Bertolt a hand up.
As they clambered across the roof of Furniture Forest, the welcome yowl of approaching fire engines gave them strength. Darkus hurled the bucket of water over the singed ladder, and one by one they made it safely over the wall.
The three children watched from Uncle Max’s kitchen window as the firemen trained their hoses on Furniture Forest. They used sticks with metal hooks to pull apart the burning hot furniture, putting out the many small fires they encountered as they searched for the trapped men. Darkus saw the relief on Bertolt’s face as Humphrey and Pickering were freed from their traps, thoroughly soaked and a bit singed but fully alive and as angry as pestered hornets. Humphrey was charging around shouting at fireman, while Pickering was frantically trying to save items from the charred mountain of burnt junk that had once been their Furniture Forest. A strip of flypaper was stuck to the side of his head, his straggly hair matted around it. A sheet of newspaper had got stuck to it too, and was flapping in the wind. He looked ridiculous, but no one felt like laughing.
Several escaping beetles – stragglers, hurt and confused – made it to the window ledge. Baxter, Marvin and Newton welcomed them in, but there were only a few, and then no more came.
Darkus made the injured beetles a makeshift hospital in a roasting tin with oakwood mulch on the bottom, a pile of fruit and a couple of teacups at one end. The other beetles made their way into dark corners of the room to rest.
The fire was washed out of Furniture Forest, and what was left looked like the burnt and shattered hull of a shipwreck.
The firemen packed away their hoses as an ambulance arrived to take Humphrey and Pickering away. Uncle Max pulled the children away from the window and ordered Virginia and Bertolt down to the car to take them home. Darkus said goodbye and trudged up the stairs to bed with Baxter.
As he climbed into his hammock, Darkus noticed the blue light of early morning creeping through the skylight. He curled the edges of the hammock over, cocooning himself in darkness. Cupping his hands protectively around Baxter, who was unusually still, he hugged him to his chest.
There couldn’t be more than sixty or seventy beetles that had escaped the sewer inferno – tens of thousands had died.
The beetles were gone, and so was Dad.
Lucretia Cutter had won.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Daily News
Humphrey and Pickering lay opposite one another on stretchers in the back of the ambulance.
‘What’s this?’ Humphrey grabbed at the flypaper stuck to the side of Pickering’s head.
‘Arghhhhh!’ screamed Pickering as Humphrey tore the strip away, bringing with it a layer of skin and a clump of hair. ‘What did you do that for?’ He thumped Humphrey, but his cousin didn’t even grunt. He was studying the newspaper article which had been stuck to the side of Pickering’s head.
‘What are you looking at?’ asked Pickering.
‘Lucretia Cutter,’ Humphrey replied.
‘What?! Let me see.’ Pickering tumbled out of his stretcher and shuffled over to his cousin on his knees.
Humphrey showed him the picture of Lucretia Cutter and Novak next to the story about her dressing the three nominated actresses at the Film Awards. ‘The boy who trapped me – the little blond rat – accused us of starting the fire. When I said it wasn’t us, he said her name.’
‘How would that little rat know her name?’ Pickering wondered.
Humphrey shrugged. ‘Don’t know, but if Lucretia Cutter burnt down our house, then she owes us big time.’
‘She owes us anyway,’ Pickering said. ‘We signed a contract.’
Humphrey waggled the newspaper. ‘Well, now we know where she is.’ He smiled. ‘I think we should take a trip to Los Angeles. Pay her a visit. Maybe even go to these film awards.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Pickering clapped his hands with delight. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to America.’
Humphrey nodded and rubbed his tummy. ‘They have giant burgers over there.’
‘Lucretia Cutter might take us to the awards as her guests,’ Pickering said, clutching his hands over his heart and sighing.
The ambulance came to a halt.
‘Quick, get back in your stretcher and pretend to feel ill.’ Humphrey shoved Pickering backwards. ‘We’ve no bed to sleep in tonight, and if we stay in hospital we’ll get a free breakfast in the morning.’
Pickering jumped back on his stretcher and pulled the red blanket over his body. ‘Los Angeles!’ he whispered to himself. ‘To see Lucretia Cutter! How wonderful!’
‘Once we’ve eaten our fill of hospital food,’ Humphrey said, ‘we’ll go to the airport.’
‘Hang on, how will we afford the tickets?’ Pickering sat up. ‘We haven’t got any money.’
‘We’ve got your life savings.’ Humphrey smiled.
‘I’m saving that for a rainy day!’ Pickering exclaimed.
‘It’s raining, Pickers.’ Humphrey sniffed. ‘If ever a day could be called rainy, it’s the one when your house burns down – after it’s already exploded.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bombardier Jet
Novak stepped out of her mother’s car on to the runway. She walked towards the black Bombardier Learjet emblazoned with the gold scarab of Cutter Couture. She concentrated on keeping her hand flat across the top of her shoulder bag, ensuring Hepburn was the right way up inside her secret compartment. She’d worried that keeping Hepburn hidden from Mater, with her heightened senses, would be difficult, but now Bartholomew Cuttle was by her side, Lucretia Cutter barely looked at Novak, and she did her best not to draw attention to herself.
She was concerned that Darkus’s dad might recognize her from the rescue, but if he did, she saw no trace of it in his face. When he looked at her she thought she saw concern or pity in his eyes, but that must have been fake. He had betrayed his dead son – he wouldn’t be concerned for Novak.
Gerard stood at the bottom of the steps which led up to the cabin door of the plane. He offered his hand, and Novak took it as she climbed on to the portable staircase. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and they exchanged a glance.
The cabin of Lucretia Cutter’s private Learjet was upholstered in white leather. Eight reclining chairs faced each other in two sets of four. There were two lone seats at the rear of the plane, facing the backs of the chairs in front; Novak made a beeline for one of the isolated seats and sat down.
Ling Ling was the captain and Craven her co-pilot. Dankish and Mawling sat at the front, with Gerard. In the centr
al quad, facing one another, were Mater and Bartholomew Cuttle.
The flight was eleven hours long. Novak had planned out the whole thing. She was going to sleep and read her way across the Atlantic. She’d brought a book, a slim volume she’d taken from Mater’s library, called The Beetle Collector’s Handbook, which Darkus had mentioned. Mater had every book ever written about beetles, so it hadn’t been hard to find it. Not wanting anyone to see she was learning about beetles, Novak had taken the dust jacket from one of her other books, a story about a girl who wanted to be a ballerina, and wrapped Darkus’s beetle book inside it. When she read, she felt close to him, as if he was looking over her shoulder and approved.
She had the plastic pot of watermelon from Millie in her handbag. At two-hourly intervals she’d go to the toilet and let Hepburn out of the bracelet to stretch her legs and eat.
Novak fastened her seatbelt and, gazing out of the window, wondered if this was the last time she would be in England.
If I was going to grow up like a normal person, she thought, I’d want to have a home here. I love England, especially when it rains.
Novak’s head was heavy. She leant against her headrest and closed her eyes.
She wasn’t aware of time passing, or take-off, but when she awoke the black Bombardier jet was high above the clouds. She became aware that Hepburn was out of her secret compartment and pinching the skin between her thumb and forefinger.
Novak was about to silently chide the beetle when she noticed Hepburn was waggling her forelegs and flicking her antennae in alarm. The beetle was trying to tell her to listen to the conversation in the seats in front.
‘Wait until you see just how far the seeds of our work together has taken me,’ Lucretia Cutter said.
‘I hardly think I can take credit for what you’ve achieved.’
‘On the contrary, Bartholomew, I wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t opened my eyes to the astonishing skills and adaptability of beetles. It was your passion and knowledge that started me on this journey. You’re my inspiration. Finally to be back in a laboratory together . . .’
‘I thought Lenka was working with you?’ Bartholomew Cuttle sounded uncomfortable.
‘Yes, he did, for a while.’ She snorted. ‘He’s no use to me now.’
Novak remembered Henrik Lenka, a stony-faced blond man with cruelty chiselled into his bone structure. It had been nearly two years since he’d wrenched her out of the pupation chamber in the Biome. She’d be happy never to see him again.
‘Do you know, I have a lab assistant that reminds me of you?’ Lucretia Cutter said. ‘He’s not as bright, but he has an amazing way with beetles.’ She sighed. ‘Such a shame you gave it all up. It could’ve been you in my Biome, instead of the Crips boy.’
‘Crips?’ Bartholomew Cuttle sat bolt upright.
‘Not jealous, are we?’ Mater smiled.
‘No.’ He relaxed back into his seat. ‘So, what’s the Biome?’
‘My secret laboratory.’
‘And where is this secret laboratory?’
‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?’ Lucretia Cutter gave a low guttural cackle. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. You’re going to do your life’s greatest work there.’
‘You’re too kind. I fear I may have already done my best work.’
‘Kindness is a waste of time and energy,’ Mater sneered. Novak rolled her head towards the window, her eyes half closed. The window reflected a reverse image of Mater.
‘Come on,’ Bartholomew Cuttle said, ‘you don’t believe that. Look at the effort you’ve gone to to take your daughter to the Film Awards. You must be proud . . .’
This time Mater’s laugh was a shocking staccato sound. ‘Oh, my dear Bartholomew. You don’t get it, do you?’
‘Get what?’
‘The girl is a genetic reproduction of me, nothing more.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘You can call her that. I don’t.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Novak watched Lucretia Cutter lean forwards. She held her breath, Mater was going to tell him her secret.
‘In my Biome, I have built a pupation chamber.’ She looked for a reaction on Bartholomew Cuttle’s face. ‘Once the chamber is sealed, it cannot be opened and the process cannot be stopped. The subject is pulled apart molecule by molecule, turned into soup, retaining memory and notions of previous form. It is at this point that I introduce a new gene to the subject and it begins the transformation into a new form, replicating the change from larva to beetle.’
‘Lucy!’ Novak heard the shock in Darkus’s dad’s voice. ‘You can’t mean . . .’
‘Oh, yes, I do. I’ve experienced the process myself.’ She slowly removed her enormous sunglasses, revealing two glistening black orb eyes. ‘It’s exquisitely painful.’
Bartholomew Cuttle gasped. ‘You could’ve killed yourself!’
‘Aww,’ Lucretia Cutter mocked him with a pout of her gold lips. ‘I didn’t know you cared!’ She sat back, leaning her head against the leather headrest and replaced her glasses. ‘You needn’t worry. I test everything on a guinea pig before I apply it to myself. It’s something I picked up from the cosmetic industry.’ She smiled. ‘The girl is my current guinea pig.’
‘Novak?’
‘There have been others, but unfortunately,’ she paused, ‘they all died.’
Novak couldn’t see Bartholomew Cuttle’s face, but she could see Mater’s smile, and it made her shiver.
‘But, but, the girl . . . she isn’t as changed as you?’
‘No,’ Lucretia Cutter snapped. ‘I’m not sure why. I think it may be her youth. When she goes through the changes of human puberty she will most likely develop more beetle features. Not that it matters. She will pupate again.’
‘Again?’
‘I’m happy with this stage in my metamorphosis, but it’s not enough.’
‘Not enough?’ Bartholomew Cuttle’s voice sounded hollow. ‘You’ve already gone beyond the boundaries of modern science. You’re, you’re no longer human! What do you hope to achieve?’
‘Why spoil the fun by giving the game away?’ Lucretia Cutter laughed.
‘Lucy, surely you’re not thinking of performing a full metamorphosis?’ Bartholomew Cuttle rasped. ‘It will kill you. Even if the transformation worked, there’s not enough oxygen in the atmosphere to support a beetle of your size! And how would you communicate? You’d have no lungs, no voice box.’
‘Do you think I haven’t thought of all of these things?’ Lucretia Cutter sneered. ‘They are minor irritations. We’ll test them on the girl first.’
‘This is what you really need me for, isn’t it? To help you once you’ve changed.’
‘I don’t need you,’ Lucretia Cutter hissed. ‘I have the Crips boy – his affinity with beetles is almost as strong as yours – but you and I, we have a shared vision, an intellectual history. Our ability to understand one another is superior. Once I’ve completed the holometaboly, I’ll need humans around me who can communicate with invertebrates. You and I are tied together by so much history. I know you, above all people, will be able to interpret my will. We’ll be together for ever.’
‘You’re crazy,’ Bartholomew Cuttle whispered.
‘That’s what people say about you right before you’re recognized to be a genius.’
Novak was rigid with fear. She vividly remembered the horror of the pupation chamber, the agonizing pain as she was pulled apart, changed forever. She’d rather die than go through that again. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and mouthed a silent prayer to Darkus for help, knowing she was utterly alone and no help was coming.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Darkest Hour
Darkus didn’t think he could face going to school, but Uncle Max insisted he went. He sat through the morning lessons in a daze. At lunchtime he, Bertolt and Virginia sat on their usual table and took out their packed lunches.
‘Mum was
up when your uncle dropped me home. He told her he’d caught us having a secret sleepover,’ Virginia said, as she bit into her tuna sandwich. ‘She didn’t believe him. I got the full interrogation after he left.’
Bertolt sighed. ‘I don’t know why you can’t wait until you’ve finished speaking before you eat.’
Virginia ignored him and swallowed. ‘I kept to the story. In the end, Mum had to admit that I was in one piece and had no bruises, so I got away with being grounded for one month.’
‘I didn’t get punished,’ Bertolt said quietly. ‘My mum just cried.’
‘Oh! That’s awful.’ Darkus had left his lunch box closed. He wasn’t hungry.
‘Not as awful as what happened to the beetles,’ Bertolt whispered.
‘I’m going to go down there after school.’ Darkus looked at his hands. ‘I need to see.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Virginia said.
‘I have to.’ Darkus swallowed. ‘I want to give them a proper funeral . . .’
‘Yes.’ Bertolt blinked. ‘I’d like to do that too.’
‘Yeah, OK.’ Virginia nodded. ‘They deserve a good send-off.’
‘But you’re grounded.’ Darkus looked at Virginia.
She shrugged. ‘I’m supposed to do gymnastics club after school. No one expects me home till six. This is more important.’
There was silence as they imagined the sight that would greet them when they got down into the sewer.
‘What about Base Camp?’ Bertolt said.
‘I went out on Uncle Max’s fire escape this morning. It’s ruined,’ Darkus said blankly. ‘She’s won.’
‘No, Darkus . . .’ Virginia shook her head.
‘Virginia, she’s won,’ he said again. ‘Base Camp is destroyed, we haven’t found Spencer Crips, Professor Appleyard is in a coma, the beetles are dead, and Dad . . . we don’t even know where he is.’ He dropped his head into his hands. ‘Lucretia Cutter is in America and there’s nothing you or I, or anyone, can do about whatever it is she’s planning. It’s hopeless.’
Beetle Queen Page 11
