Revenge of the Beetle Queen

by M. G. Leonard

  The day that Dad had got out of the hospital, and Bertolt had met him for the first time, he’d bowed. Bertolt’s own father wasn’t around, and Darkus suspected that sometimes his shy friend wished for a dad like his.

  “Well, you can definitely call me that. I’m proud to be Darkus’s dad.” He looked at Darkus, his expression suddenly serious. “After all, he saved my life.”

  “Excuse me,” Virginia protested, cocking her head. “I think you’ll find we helped.”

  Bartholomew Cuttle laughed. “Of course, Virginia, and I suspect you’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “Nope.” Virginia shook her head, her black braids flying out, brightly colored beads clattering together. She’d taken to braiding her hair since meeting Marvin, the frog-legged leaf beetle. He found the plaits easier to cling to.

  There was silence as they ate, and Darkus became aware that Virginia and Bertolt were waiting for him to speak.

  It was time. They’d planned what he was going to say, even rehearsed it, but now he found that he couldn’t make the words come out. He filled his mouth with peas and mashed potato, not daring to look up in case he saw Virginia’s face telling him to get on with it.

  Virginia lifted her empty plate and licked the last of the gravy, causing Bertolt to tut loudly.

  There was a slam and a clatter from downstairs.

  “It’s the prof!” Virginia said, looking at Darkus with meaning.

  Two minutes later the kitchen door swung open and Uncle Max blundered into the room, all smiles and friendly greetings.

  “There’s dinner on the stove, Max, if you’re hungry,” Barty said to his brother.

  “Great!” Uncle Max went over to the cooktop and clapped his hands together. “Pop-Pop pie!” he exclaimed happily, taking out a plate from the cupboard overhead and emptying each of the pans onto it. “I haven’t had this in eons.”

  Virginia’s face fell as she realized there’d be no seconds.

  Uncle Max removed his safari hat and pulled up a chair. “So?” He looked at Darkus as he picked up his fork. “Did you tell him?” He turned to his brother. “Amazing, isn’t it? I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes.”

  Barty frowned. “Believe what?”

  Uncle Max made a choking noise, and Darkus suddenly found everyone staring at him.

  “Darkus?” His father looked confused. “What’s amazing?”

  This was it, the moment he’d been waiting for. So why was he nervous?

  He stood up, his chair scraping on the floor. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  Barty looked at Uncle Max, who nodded enthusiastically. “You’re going to love this,” he said, picking up his safari hat and popping it back on his head as he filled his mouth with Pop-Pop pie.

  “Well then, you’d better show me what it is. I’m intrigued.”

  Virginia and Bertolt jumped up, speaking to each other with looks as they followed Darkus out of the kitchen.

  “We need to go outside”—Darkus looked over his shoulder at his dad—“and climb down a ladder. Are you strong enough to do that?”

  “I think I can manage a ladder.” Barty nodded.

  “It’s a big ladder.”

  “I’m fine, Darkus, really.”

  Darkus led them out of Uncle Max’s flat and down into the street. It was a little past six o’clock. The December night had descended and the streetlights were on. The Laundromat was open and the lights shone in Mr. Patel’s newsstand, but the other shops on the parade—Mother Earth, the health food shop, and the tattoo parlor—were dark.

  Darkus thought about the morning they’d beaten Lucretia Cutter, and the sound of the gunshot that had ripped through his shoulder as he hurled himself into his father, knocking him to the ground and saving his life. It was the only thing Dad remembered about the rescue. Uncle Max had decided that until he was well again, it would be best if the children kept the mountain of beetles in the sewer, and their role in his rescue, a secret.

  It had turned out to be a hard secret to keep. Dad repeatedly asked how they’d got him out of Towering Heights, and Uncle Max would tap his nose, wink at Darkus, and reply: “All in good time, Barty. Darkus and I don’t want to embarrass you with how easy it all was.”

  The worst thing was having to hide Baxter. The rhinoceros beetle had gone underground, back to Beetle Mountain. Darkus hated being separated from his friend. He missed having the large black beetle on his shoulder. He kept talking to his collarbone, expecting Baxter to be hunkered down there, listening, and then stopping midsentence when he remembered he was alone. He longed for the moment when he could introduce his father to Baxter, and tell him the amazing story of how he, Bertolt, and Virginia had saved Beetle Mountain and rescued him from Lucretia Cutter.

  And now that moment had arrived.

  Barty came to stand behind Darkus, facing the ruins of the Emporium. The shop door had been screwed back on, a piece of graffitied corrugated iron bolted over it. Strips of tape barked CAUTION and POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS. A yellow triangle filled with an exclamation mark warned BUILDING UNSAFE.

  Darkus stepped up to the door, pulling at a leather shoelace tied around his neck and taking out a key.

  “What are you doing?” Barty’s eyes flicked anxiously to Uncle Max.

  “It’s all right,” Darkus said, opening the door. “We don’t normally go in this way, but it’s perfectly safe.”

  Uncle Max nodded cheerfully at his brother.

  Darkus took his dad’s hand and led him into the Emporium. “Come on, you’ll see.”

  Led by Darkus, they picked their way through the mess of rubble and brick dust, over and between fallen floorboards and lintels, and through the arch into the kitchenette at the back of the shop, where the ceiling was still intact. The room was covered with shattered glass and plaster dust. An old floral apron hung off the back of a cupboard door.

  Darkus pulled his dad toward the small bathroom beyond. In the middle of the floor was an open manhole. Virginia disappeared down the hole, followed by Bertolt.

  “I’ll go next, shall I?” Uncle Max looked at Darkus, who nodded. “Righty-ho. See you down there.” He clambered down, his safari hat the last thing to disappear.

  “There’s a ladder of metal rungs in the bricks,” Darkus explained.

  “And this thing you want to show me”—his dad looked at him, puzzled—“it’s down there?”

  Darkus nodded. “Go on. I’ll follow you.” He smiled as his dad climbed onto the ladder. “Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

  Darkus scrambled to the edge of the manhole, the back of his neck tingling with excitement. His feet knew where to find the rungs. Descending into the dark, damp climate of the sewer, he heard Uncle Max.

  “Barty, I’m going to cover your eyes.”

  “I can barely see a thing as it is,” Darkus’s dad grumbled.

  “Nearly there now.”

  Darkus dropped to the ground, darting along the white path around his father and Uncle Max, and stepping onto the Human Zone—a white rectangle, the size of a Ping-Pong table, painted on the floor. In it were three seats from old cars and a coffee table. The white path and rectangle were for the children, and the beetles understood that they had to stay off this part of the floor to avoid getting accidentally crushed.

  On the coffee table, a flickering oil lamp filled the chamber with moving shadows, and beside it waited Virginia and Bertolt. Darkus felt a thrill of excitement racing up his arms, his heart beating faster.

  Uncle Max led Dad to the larger of the car seats. “Right, put your hands out. That’s it. Feel that? It’s the back of a chair. Now sit yourself down. Whoops, to the left, yes! Marvelous.” He looked at Darkus, his hands still over Barty’s eyes.

  Darkus took up his position between Virginia and Bertolt, their backs to Beetle Mountain. He nodded, and Uncle Max took his hands away from Barty’s face.

  Barty blinked and looked around the dar
k cavern. “I don’t understand …”

  “I’ve got something to show you,” Darkus said, his blood pounding in his ears. “You wanted to know how I got you out of Towering Heights? This is how.” He lifted his chin and sucked air through his back teeth, making a high screeching sound. Out of the darkness came the rattling sound of beating wings, and a giant black rhinoceros beetle, almost invisible in the shadowy chamber, landed on Darkus’s shoulder. It reared up, waggling its front legs at Darkus’s dad.

  “This is my friend Baxter,” Darkus said. “He helped me rescue you.”

  His father leaned forward. “It’s a Chalcosoma caucasus,” he whispered, his eyes wide.

  “And this is Marvin,” Virginia said as a cherry-red metallic bobble wrapped around the end of one of her plaits unfurled, revealing itself to be a frog-legged leaf beetle. The beetle hung upside down for a moment, then dropped onto Virginia’s shoulder.

  “And this,” Bertolt said as his white puffball of hair lit up, “is Newton.” A firefly the size of a golf ball rose up above Bertolt’s head, his abdomen aglow.

  “And these,” Darkus threw his arms wide, making a series of rhythmic clicking sounds, “are all the beetles that saved you.”

  The silent mound behind him exploded with light as the bioluminescent spots on the thorax of hundreds of fire beetles flashed into view. Up in the cavernous roof of the chamber, the fireflies switched on their belly lanterns, light rippling across the ceiling like the northern lights.

  Virginia stamped her foot, clapping her hands against her sides in a rhythmic beat that got steadily louder as a high-pitched noise, like the string section of an orchestra, answered her. One eerie note split into two, then three harmonizing sounds. Like a miniature conductor, Marvin rose up on his chunky back legs and pointed at an invisible percussion section tapping out a melody on upturned teacups. A gaggle of dung beetles pushed a series of preprepared sewage balls off the back of the mountain into a giant puddle, making a plopping sound in time with the beat. A faintly recognizable tune rose out of the insect orchestra, and Virginia’s shoulders bopped up and down in time to the strange music.

  “Is that … ?” Bartholomew Cuttle looked at his brother in wonder. “Are they playing Marvin Gaye’s ‘Grapevine’?”

  Uncle Max grinned and nodded, clapping and bobbing his head to the beetle music as a shower of black-and-white tumbling flower beetles back-flipped down the mountain and a chain of red-and-black giraffe-necked weevils did the conga around the base.

  The fireflies swarmed together, forming a giant spinning disco ball. Pairs of Hercules and rhinoceros beetles leapt off the branches of the butterfly tree that sprouted from the center of Beetle Mountain, linking horns and helicoptering in circles as a loveliness of ladybugs soared up, grabbing onto the dangling legs of the rhinoceros and Hercules beetles, forming red ribbons that undulated as the beetles spun.

  Bartholomew Cuttle’s mouth fell open as he watched a troupe of jewel beetles strut out of their teacups, flicking and flaunting their pretty green elytra. Catching hold of a ladybug ribbon, they swung up, somersaulting from one hovering pair of hanging forelegs to another, their iridescent wings reflecting the light of the fireflies.

  As the music crescendoed, Darkus gave the signal, and a flood of flying beetles swarmed out of the mountain, grabbing onto his clothing with their clawed legs and slowly lifting him off the floor until he was hovering a foot above his dad’s head. “These beetles carried you out of Towering Heights, Dad!” he called out. “Just like this! They saved you.”

  Baxter zoomed toward Bartholomew Cuttle, dancing around in the air in front of his face, waggling his front legs in time to the music.

  “NO!” Bartholomew Cuttle was suddenly on his feet, waving his arms. “STOP! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!” He knocked the rhinoceros beetle to the ground.

  “Baxter!” Darkus cried out.

  The beetles holding him aloft became confused, and the insect music descended into an alarming cacophony as the startled fireflies scattered and the dizzy spinning beetles retreated into their mountain of teacups. Darkus found himself dumped on the floor. He scrambled over to his beetle friend, scooping him up in his hands and cradling him to his chest.

  “Are you okay, Baxter?” he whispered.

  The rhinoceros beetle nodded his horn.

  “What did you do that for?” Darkus shouted angrily at his dad. “You could have hurt him!”

  Bartholomew Cuttle turned on his brother, his eyes manically wide. “What have you done?”

  “Not me, Barty,” Uncle Max said, putting his hand gently on his brother’s shoulder. “This is not my work. It’s yours. These beetles are the result of your experiments, your research.”

  “NO!”

  “If you meddle with the fabric of a creature, do you think you get a say in how it evolves?” Uncle Max patted his brother. “As it happens, I think you’ve done a good job.”

  “No.” Bartholomew Cuttle staggered back, shaking his head. “I never achieved results like these. Look at them! They can dance! They’re cognizant!” He shook his head and pointed at Beetle Mountain, his eyes growing wide. “This is … this is dangerous. We have to get rid of it.”

  “Dad! No!” Darkus shouted. “These beetles saved you! They saved me!” He hugged Baxter to his chest. “They’re my friends!”

  Virginia and Bertolt scurried over to Darkus, helping him to his feet.

  “You don’t understand,” Darkus pleaded. “These beetles are amazing. They’re special. Spend some time with them, and you’ll see.”

  “No, son, you don’t understand,” Bartholomew Cuttle said. “Nothing good can come of this.”

  “I thought you loved beetles!” Darkus cried.

  Dr. Bartholomew Cuttle fixed his eyes on his son, his shoulders straight and his forehead lifted. “These are not beetles, Darkus. These are Lucretia Cutter’s creatures.”

  It was me that saved him, and now he expects me to pretend none of it ever happened!” Darkus kicked the sofa, immediately regretting it as his toes burnt hot with pain. He grabbed his foot, collapsing down onto the olive-green cushions, careful not to knock Baxter off his shoulder. “He’s treating me like a kid,” he added, staring gloomily up at the tarpaulin ceiling of their den, Base Camp.

  “He’s trying to protect you, Darkus,” Bertolt said calmly from his workbench. He was screwing bulldog clips to a metal pole to make a pinching stick while they waited for Virginia to arrive. Newton bobbed happily above his pom-pom of white hair, bioluminescent abdomen flickering. “And you are a kid.”

  “I don’t need protecting.” Darkus sat up. “I didn’t go and get myself kidnapped, did I?”

  “No, but you did get shot,” Bertolt reminded him, looking over his large glasses at Darkus’s bandaged shoulder.

  “It’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine now—look.” Darkus slapped his bandage, then gasped as a bolt of pain eclipsed his throbbing toes.

  “Right. Yes, you’re fine. I can see that.” Bertolt sighed. “You shouldn’t be angry with him. He’s just trying to be a good dad.”

  “I know, I know.” Darkus rubbed his palms against his temples. His head ached and his stomach was twisted with worry.

  Dad had been behaving oddly ever since they’d shown him the beetles, and Lucretia Cutter was still somewhere out there. At night, in his dreams, Darkus’s dad heard the scratch of her clawed feet coming after him, chasing him into a dark nightmare of two-way mirrors and angry stag beetles.

  “Nothing is the way I thought it was going to be,” he said, lifting Baxter off his shoulder and scratching at the bandage that held the dressing over his bullet wound. It was wrapped around his torso several times, gathering uncomfortably under his armpit. He put the rhinoceros beetle on his knee and gently rubbed the insect’s chin. “You should see the way Dad stares at Baxter. It’s like he wants to do experiments on him.”

  “He wouldn’t.” Bertolt put his screwdriver down.

  “No, I don’t think so.”
Darkus shook his head. “But after we got back from the sewer yesterday, he set up a microscope in Uncle Max’s bedroom. From the look of him, he didn’t sleep last night. And this morning”—Darkus paused—“he shaved off his beard! In my whole life, I’ve never seen him without a beard. He looks like … well, not my dad. He’s so thin now, and without his beard, it’s like he’s a stranger.”

  “He’s been through a lot,” Bertolt said. “You both have.”

  “Yeah.” Darkus sighed. “But he won’t talk to me about it.”

  “What about your uncle Max?”

  “He’s acting like everything is brilliant, which is how I know it definitely isn’t. He’s worried, too. Last night, when they thought I was sleeping, I heard them arguing.” He shook his head. “This morning, I tried to talk to Dad, but he kept changing the subject, asking me about school and—get this—girls!”

  “Girls!” Bertolt laughed.

  “He asked me if I thought Virginia was pretty!” Darkus couldn’t hide his outrage. “I mean, c’mon!”

  “Of course she’s pretty.”

  Darkus felt his face going purple. “That’s not what I meant. Something serious is going on, Bertolt—something to do with Lucretia Cutter—and Dad won’t let me help. We don’t know what she’s going to do next.”

  “Maybe she won’t do anything,” Bertolt said hopefully. “After all, she’s a fashion designer.”

  “She’s more than a fashion designer. You know that.” Darkus clenched his teeth. “If she isn’t up to anything, why did she kidnap Dad in the first place?”

  “Calm down, Darkus. We got your dad back, didn’t we? And the beetles are safe. No one knows they’re hiding in the sewer. It’s all going to be okay.”

  “You don’t understand. I thought everything would go back to being normal when Dad came home, but it’s not. I thought he’d love the beetles, but he hates them.”

  Bertolt blinked at him. “It’ll be okay. You’ve got a good dad.”

  “He’s different.” Darkus struggled with his words. “He changed when we showed him Beetle Mountain. He has this look in his eyes all the time, like there’s something he’s thinking about.” Darkus bowed his head. “It’s like when Mum died. If I walk into a room, he doesn’t notice I’m there. Even if I’m standing right in front of him.” His voice wobbled. “I thought I’d got him back, but I haven’t.” He punched a sofa cushion. “And he’s made me promise not to go anywhere near Lucretia Cutter, or have anything to do with her. Do you know, he lies when people ask where he was all those weeks when he was missing? He says he was doing research. And he’s lying to me too. He knows what Lucretia Cutter’s doing, and he won’t tell me.”