Revenge of the Beetle Queen Page 15

  Viggo led them down a corridor into a central room with a wood-burning stove and a kitchenette, explaining that he was a forest technician. “We don’t normally get visits in the winter months,” he said.

  “We are hoping to speak with Dr. Yuki Ishikawa,” Uncle Max said.

  Viggo raised his eyebrows. “You may have a long wait. Can I make you a cup of coffee?”

  “T-t-t-t-tea. Tea? Do you have tea?” Calista Bloom’s whole body was shuddering. “I need a cup of tea. I think I’ve got hypothermia. Is my skin blue?”

  Viggo looked at her shoes. “Would you like a pair of slippers?”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble.” Calista Bloom fluttered her eyelashes at the forest technician and made a whimpering noise.

  Bertolt stepped in front of his mother. “The slippers would be great, thank you, and a pair of tracksuit bottoms if you have any to spare, and perhaps a blanket?” He led his mother to the wood-burning stove and sat her down, lifting off her high heels and rubbing her feet between his hands until Viggo came back with an armful of clothes.

  Uncle Max put the kettle on, opening and closing cupboards until he found cups.

  Virginia looked at Darkus. “Do you think Yuki’s gonna show up?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But I’m more worried about Baxter. Look”—Darkus lifted his hand to show Virginia the rhinoceros beetle—“it’s like he’s sleeping, except he’s not.” He rubbed his finger under the beetle’s head, a gesture that would normally rouse the insect. “Is Marvin okay?”

  Virginia lifted down her hood and tipped her head so the braid that Marvin clung to hung away from her face. She ran her thumb and forefinger down the plait, holding her free hand below it. Marvin dropped onto her palm. He seemed a bit stunned, but he was more alert than Baxter.

  “Bertolt.” Darkus called him over. “Is Newton okay? Baxter’s really sleepy, and Marvin’s a bit slow.”

  “Newton?” Bertolt whispered up to his spring of white curls. “Wake up.”

  There was a jerky hum as the firefly lifted up, dropping midair and clumsily lifting again. Bertolt held out his hands to catch the beetle.

  Darkus looked down at the immobile rhinoceros beetle he loved so dearly. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with him.”

  “They are cold,” a strange voice whispered from the darkness of the corridor.

  Darkus looked up. He could make out the silhouette of a man.

  “Cold?” he repeated.

  “Yes. Think. Where are your invertebrates from? Not lands of snow and ice.”

  The man was wearing a thick coat and wasn’t much taller than Darkus.

  “Your beetles are from lands of great heat, where moisture is carried in the air.”

  Darkus looked down at Baxter. “He’s cold?”

  “And thirsty.”

  “What should I do?”

  The man gestured and Darkus moved into the corridor, Virginia and Bertolt following behind, unsure of the stranger. The man unbuttoned the toggles on his coat and unzipped a second insulating jacket. Hanging around his neck on a fine chain was a filigree latticework cage the size of a pencil case. On the floor of the cage was the stem of a leafy plant, and built into the base was a thimble of water. Inside the cage was the prettiest praying mantis Darkus had ever seen.

  “This is Idolomantis diabolica, the giant devil’s flower mantis. I call him Akio. He is from Ethiopia and does not like the cold, so I must make him warm here, inside my coat, beside my heart.”

  Darkus looked into the man’s eyes. They were dark and calm. The skin of his face was leathered by the weather and his eyebrows were gray. Lines of kindness appeared around his eyes as he smiled. “Do you have a cage for your Chalcosoma?”

  Darkus shook his head. “Baxter likes to be free.”

  “Better to be in a cage of warmth and comfort than free and frozen. Don’t you agree?”

  Darkus nodded.

  “I’m sure we can find something for your friend.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little basket made of woven rushes. He lifted the lid and Darkus saw that it was a glasses case. The man pulled a safety pin from his other pocket. Taking the lid, he instructed Darkus to open his coat, deftly pinning the rush basket to the lining of the coat, at the height of his heart. He pointed at Baxter. “Put your friend in the basket, and keep your coat closed when you are outside.”

  “You’re Dr. Yuki Ishikawa, aren’t you?” Darkus said, putting Baxter in his new bed and doing up his coat.

  The man brought his hands together and bowed his head. “And you are the progeny of the eminent Dr. Cuttle and most wondrous Dr. Martín-Piera?”

  Darkus bowed, trying to mimic Dr. Yuki Ishikawa. “My name is Darkus.”

  Virginia and Bertolt shuffled forward.

  “Have you come to help us?” Bertolt asked.

  “Do you have cold beetles, too?” Dr. Yuki Ishikawa’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Yes, but,” Virginia said, “we need your help to stop Lucretia Cutter as well.”

  “Stop Lucretia Cutter?” Dr. Yuki Ishikawa cocked his head. “What does that mean?”

  “Lucy Johnstone is Lucretia Cutter. She’s kidnapped people—a boy called Spencer, and my dad—and she’s breeding transgenic beetles,” Darkus said.

  “She’s going to do something bad—on TV, in front of the world, at the Film Awards,” Bertolt added.

  “Children, I am a scientist.” Dr. Yuki Ishikawa’s brow furrowed. “My research is important.” He shook his head. “I cannot take time away from my work for kidnappings and television. The climate is changing, and fast.” He bowed his head and took a step backward. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Darkus Cuttle. I have a deep fondness and respect for your mother. Take care of your beetles.”

  “Wait!” Darkus cried. “My dad’s trying to stop Lucretia Cutter from doing something terrible. He can’t fight her alone. You have to help him.”

  “Your father is with Lucy Johnstone?” Dr. Yuki Ishikawa’s eyebrows rose.

  Darkus nodded.

  He shook his head. “I do not fight, I have no talent for it.” He patted his stomach and chuckled. “My stature alone should tell you that. No, my interest is in observing nature in its tiniest forms. If I find a man-made imbalance, I seek a natural counterbalance.”

  “But you must help.” Darkus felt bereft. “Uncle Max says Lucretia Cutter is afraid of you.”

  “Ha! This is compliment I have not earned.” He smiled.

  “But you’re all we have.” Darkus’s heart sank. “Professor Appleyard is in a coma, bitten by one of her beetles, and Dad’s gone.” His voice trembled. “People I care about are getting hurt. You can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

  “What would you have me do, Master Cuttle?”

  “I don’t know,” Darkus admitted. “It’s just … she’s not human.”

  “We are all flesh and bone.”

  “No!” Darkus shook his head. “Lucretia Cutter is part beetle.”

  Dr. Yuki Ishikawa’s head jerked back. “Part beetle?”

  “She has compound eyes.” Virginia nodded vigorously.

  “And spiked chitinous legs, with claws for feet,” Bertolt added.

  Dr. Yuki Ishikawa’s eyes grew wide. “You have seen these things?”

  The three children nodded.

  “To transform oneself into an insect …” His eyebrows rose. “A metamorphosis from the human form …” He shook his head. “That would take the most complex science.”

  “We’re not lying,” Darkus insisted.

  Dr. Yuki Ishikawa smiled. “To invent a lie of this size would be foolish. A lie must at least be plausible. How many people believe you when you tell them what you have seen?”

  “None,” Darkus admitted.

  “Which is precisely why I believe it to be true … but still, I cannot help you.” He placed his hand on Darkus’s shoulder. “The greatest weapon you have is knowledge. Think, Darkus. You know what she is. Every creat
ure has a predator. That is how balance is maintained.”

  “We’re staying at the Narsarsuaq Air Base tonight.” Uncle Max’s voice came from behind him. Darkus turned to see him standing a respectful distance away. “In the air base. If you change your mind, we fly to Los Angeles tomorrow morning,” he added.

  “I’m sorry.” Dr. Yuki Ishikawa looked at the three children. “I am not the warrior you are looking for.” He pointed at Darkus’s heart. “Your beetles do not like the climate in Greenland, keep them warm.”

  He bowed and was gone.

  LA was a contradiction—it was covered in fake snow and dripping with glitter, but the weather was warm and the sky blue and cloudless. Jaw-dropping Christmas installations and sparkling decorations covered restaurant forecourts and the roofs of houses. A medley of Christmas songs played loudly from shops and cafés, wafting in through the open car windows as Uncle Max drove them from the airport. Bertolt’s mum happily hummed each song, switching from one to the next as they traveled. “Don’t you just love Christmas carols? Bertolt and I go to the carol service every Christmas Eve.” She sighed. “It’s magical.”

  They were driving inland, to the Hollywood Theatre to see where the Film Awards would take place. Motty was sitting up front with Uncle Max, and Calista Bloom was squeezed in the back between Darkus and Bertolt. Bertolt and Virginia hung their heads out of the car window, like dogs, as they drove along the palm-tree-lined avenue beside the sea.

  “We’re not in gray old rainy England any more!” Virginia hooted, her eyes shining and her smile wide. “LA is brilliant. It’s like you’re looking through a yellow filter.”

  Darkus smiled weakly, but he couldn’t share Virginia’s excitement. He’d been worrying about the Film Awards ever since Dr. Yuki Ishikawa had refused to help them. He’d been so sure that the scientist would have all the answers, be their secret weapon. Now, Darkus realized, it was going to be up to them and the beetles.

  Mrs. Wallace’s words—You’re only children—kept coming back to him, and his father’s: You and your friends think this is some sort of childish detective game. Darkus was uncomfortably aware that he still didn’t know where his dad was or how to help him. He didn’t know what Lucretia Cutter was planning to do, and his strong words about making her pay for burning the beetles felt hollow and meaningless.

  Scaffolding was going up outside the Hollywood Theatre; a giant gold facade was being erected to receive the celebrity guests on the red carpet. An army of men in black suits with walkie-talkies and earpieces stood and sauntered around the perimeter of the site, while gaggles of tourists took pictures.

  “How are we going to get in there without an invitation?” Darkus wondered out loud.

  “We’re going to need Novak’s help,” Bertolt replied.

  “And an absurd amount of luck.” Virginia nodded.

  “I could dazzle them with my talent!” Calista Bloom said, pushing her blond curls up on top of her head and pouting.

  “Um, I don’t think that will work,” Bertolt muttered.

  “Perhaps I’ll get spotted by a Hollywood agent, and he’ll invite me to go to the awards as his guest!” Calista gasped, imagining the moment and making a series of faces as she played out the scenario in her head.

  “I thought we were here to find Darkus’s dad and help him fight Lucretia Cutter,” Motty said bluntly.

  “Oh yes, of course,” Calista replied. “What I meant was, if an agent happened to notice me … I mean, of course we’d do the rescuing and fighting bit first … but maybe afterward, if there was time, I could do a couple of castings …” Her voice petered out as she saw the look of disapproval on Motty’s face.

  “I’ve seen it on television so many times,” Bertolt said, looking out of the window at the theatre. “It seems smaller in real life.”

  They stared at the Hollywood Theatre, realizing the challenge they’d set themselves. They noted down the details of the building and then Motty declared it was time to go. They’d had a long day.

  Motty’s house was across town, in Lincoln Heights, an old suburb of Los Angeles north of a large park. Mozart Street was characterized by a smattering of Victorian mansions dotted among sprawling single-story houses. “That’s it.” Motty pointed at a sky-blue clapboarded house with steps up to the front door. The paint was peeling in places, and a tile or two was loose on the roof, but it looked welcoming.

  Uncle Max pulled up and parked, and they piled out of the car, stiff and weary from their traveling. Darkus helped his uncle unload the bags and took charge of the beetles’ suitcase.

  “Do you live here?” Bertolt asked as Motty took a set of keys from her pocket and opened the front door.

  “No,” Motty replied. “I live in Cairo. I bought this place when I worked for the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles. I usually rent it out, but I haven’t been back in a while. My neighbor, Valentina, keeps an eye on it for me when it’s empty.” She strolled into the open-plan living space and flung open the curtains, stirring the dormant dust.

  Bertolt coughed. “How long is a while?”

  “Three years.”

  “Well, isn’t this lovely?” Uncle Max said, putting the bags down.

  “It’s brilliant,” Virginia agreed, looking around at the bare house.

  “It’s dirty,” Calista Bloom said, rolling up her sleeves and marching over to the kitchen sink to find a cloth.

  Motty rolled her eyes and pushed her circular spectacles up her nose. “The children and the beetles can have the big bedroom. Max, you’re on the sofa, and Calista can bunk up with me.”

  “Bunk up?” Calista turned around.

  “You can share my bed.”

  “Oh, I see,” Calista said, looking unhappy. “Thank you.”

  “Wonderful.” Uncle Max clapped his hands together. “Now, shall we get some coffee on the go? I’m fit to fall out of my boots, I’m that tired.”

  Darkus sat down cross-legged in the middle of the floor and opened the suitcase, systematically checking that all the beetles were okay after their long journey. Virginia and Bertolt sat down beside him as Bertolt’s mum wiped surfaces around the room, tutting at the dust she found there.

  “Are they all okay?” Bertolt asked, leaning over the suitcase.

  Darkus nodded. “All present and correct.”

  “What’s up?” Virginia cocked her head. “You’ve barely said a word since we left Greenland.”

  “I’m worried about Dad,” Darkus admitted. “What if we’ve come all this way, and we can’t get into the theatre—or …” He paused. “What if he’s angry to see us?”

  “Darkus.” Virginia dipped her head so she could look into his eyes. “Your dad can’t fight Lucretia Cutter’s beetles. No human can. We need to match like against like. Beetles versus beetles.” She pointed at the suitcase. “You are the only person, other than Lucretia Cutter, with an army of beetles. He will need your help.”

  “And Novak will help us to get into the theatre. I know it.” Bertolt nodded. “We just need to find her.”

  “But the ceremony is in two days, and we don’t even know where Lucretia Cutter’s house is,” Darkus said. “How are we going to find Novak?”

  “I know where Lucretia Cutter lives,” Bertolt’s mum said brightly.

  “You do?” Bertolt frowned, and they all looked up at her with surprised expressions.

  “Of course. Lucretia Cutter owns 227 Hillcrest. She bought it seven years ago from Dom Shanks, who had to sell it because of his divorce from Faith Peeters. It was in Sizzle magazine.”

  “Mum, you’re amazing.” Bertolt smiled at his mother, who flushed with pleasure and returned to her dusting, happily humming “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” as she cleaned.

  “That’s it! I’ve just had an idea.” Virginia slapped her hands down on the floor in front of her. She looked at Darkus and Bertolt, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I know how we’re going to get to Novak, but we’ll need disguises.”

  �
�Oh! Oh! Me! Me!” Bertolt’s mum jumped up and down. “Sorry, I really wasn’t listening in—well, maybe I was a bit, but I can help with that.” She twirled around on the spot. “I’m great with costumes. Theatres are full of them.”

  “Disguises,” Virginia corrected her.

  “Yes, of course, disguises.” Calista Bloom giggled.

  Now’s our chance. QUICK!” Darkus hissed as a delivery van pulled up to the gates and a young man leaned out of the window, pressing the intercom.

  The three of them were hiding in a thicket of trees across the road from 227 Hillcrest, and had been waiting, dressed up in their disguises, for over an hour. Darkus was wearing a cap, Bertolt’s oversize glasses, and a camo jacket with the collar popped up, to hide as much of his face as possible, as he was the most likely to be recognized. Virginia had chosen to dress as a boy, wearing a large short-sleeved skater T-shirt over a long-sleeved one, a beanie hat, and jeans. Bertolt’s mum had slicked his hair back at the sides and dressed him in surfing shorts and a Hawaiian shirt that was way too big.

  Darting out of the trees, Darkus, Virginia, and Bertolt ran to the back of the delivery van and slipped through the closing gate. They walked cautiously up a long curving driveway that circled around the palatial house, taking in the overgroomed garden of stunted box hedges in swirling patterns surrounding ostentatious fountains.

  “Check out the swimming pool.” Virginia whistled, pointing at the turquoise infinity pool on the far side of the house.

  “I’m scared,” Bertolt muttered.

  “Nothing wrong with being scared,” Virginia said, tucking a loose braid back into the beanie hat. “Makes you run faster.”

  The man delivering groceries had disappeared around the back of the house, and there seemed to be no one about. “What are we going to do now?” Bertolt whispered.

  “I say we go right up to the front door and ring the bell,” Darkus said.

  “Good idea.” Virginia nodded.

  “What if she has attack dogs,” Bertolt said, nervously pulling at the Hawaiian shirt, “or attack beetles?”

  “Then the sooner we get to the front door, the better,” Darkus replied, drawing Bertolt’s glasses down to the end of his nose and pulling his cap down over his eyes. “It’s time to bring a bit of festive spirit to Cutter Mansion.” He grinned, jamming his hands in the pockets of his jeans and hunching his shoulders up by his ears.