Beetle Queen Page 17

  Humphrey Gamble ignored people’s stares as he stomped through Los Angeles airport looking for signs to the baggage collection area. He was dressed in an assortment of ill-fitting clothes that he and Pickering had found in a recycling bin beside the airport car park. All of the items he was wearing were too small. A brightly-coloured paisley tie was threaded through the belt loops of his trousers, not to hold them up but to hold them together, as the fly wouldn’t fasten. The green flares only extended as far as his shins, and his garish pink-and-yellow striped shirt strangled him despite the top two buttons being undone. He wore a supersized puce tank top to hide the fact the shirt didn’t cover his belly.

  Spotting the circular conveyor belts, he headed towards the one underneath the flight number of the plane that had brought him from London to America. He was looking for a large navy-blue suitcase, and dismayed to see that many of the suitcases on the conveyor belt were blue. His was a battered blackened case, pulled from the charred wreckage behind the Emporium. He stared at the square hole covered with hanging strips of plastic, hypnotized as case after case dropped on to the belt.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ a woman said to her husband. ‘That case made a noise!’

  Humphrey saw that it was his case the woman was pointing at. He shoved people aside to get to the belt. Grabbing at the handle, he heaved the suitcase on to the floor.

  ‘Ouch!’ the case squawked. ‘Careful!’

  ‘There!’ The woman grabbed her husband’s arm. ‘It did it again.’

  ‘Will you shut up!’ Humphrey hissed at the case. ‘People can hear you.’ He hurriedly dragged the case across the floor, away from the staring crowd.

  ‘Try not to bump me around so much!’ Pickering’s voice hissed back. ‘It hurts.’

  Humphrey ignored the case as he dragged it towards the sign that said NOTHING TO DECLARE. He kept his eyes fixed on the exit sign as he stomped through the white corridor, charging forwards.

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’ An American customs official in a smart uniform stepped in front of him with his hand up. ‘We’d like to check your bag and ask you a few questions about your visit to the United States.’

  ‘Um, of course, yes. I’m here for a holiday.’ Humphrey looked around. Two more officers were standing either side of a doorway to a room off the corridor. ‘And my bag is full of clothes.’

  ‘This way, please.’ The officer guided him towards the room.

  ‘Oh right.’ Beads of sweat rolled down Humphrey’s forehead, getting in his eyes. He blinked, trying to smile charmingly. ‘Is there a problem, officers?’

  ‘No problem at all, sir, just routine procedure,’ the officer assured him.

  Humphrey stepped away from the suitcase.

  ‘Please, sir, bring your bag.’

  Humphrey nodded and dragged it behind him into the room, which was furnished with a single table and chair.

  ‘Would you mind putting your case up on to the table, and opening it for us,’ the officer directed.

  Humphrey looked at the other two officers, one male and one female. They weren’t very big. He heaved the case up, slamming it on to the table whilst coughing loudly to cover any noise Pickering might make.

  ‘Would you mind unzipping your case, and then stepping over to face the wall?’

  Humphrey noticed that all three of the officers had guns in holsters on their belts. He bent down and slowly unzipped the lid, stepped away from the table and faced the wall.

  One of the officers put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Spread your legs.’

  There was a terrific ripping sound as Humphrey did as he was told and his trousers split. He looked over his shoulder just as the female officer flipped the lid of the suitcase open.

  ‘Hello, officers!’ shrieked Pickering, leaping up with a can of pepper spray in each fist and firing it in their faces.

  The customs officials howled, stumbling backwards. The officer guarding Humphrey spun around, reaching for his gun. Humphrey hammered his fist down on the officer’s head, knocking him unconscious.

  ‘RUN! RUN! RUN!’ screamed Pickering, as he fell face-first off the table on to the floor.

  Humphrey grabbed his cousin under the arms and heaved him over his shoulder, bolting for the door. He charged through the customs hallway and out into the airport, with Pickering aiming his canisters of pepper spray at anyone who looked at them. ‘They’re coming,’ he shrieked to Humphrey, as a commotion arose behind them.

  The rip in Humphrey’s trousers had freed him up to run, and he pounded through the arrivals lounge, bursting out into the queue at the taxi rank. An elderly couple were passing their suitcases to a cab driver, who was lifting them into the boot. Humphrey shoved past the elderly gentleman, knocking him over, and ran round to the driver’s door. It was open. The keys were in the ignition and the engine running. He threw Pickering into the passenger seat. Pickering yelped as his head hit the glove compartment.

  Humphrey jumped into the driver’s seat and wrenched the door shut.

  The taxi driver ran towards him, shouting at Humphrey to get out of his car.

  Humphrey’s fist shot out of the open window and punched the taxi driver’s lights out. He put the car in gear, slammed his foot on the accelerator and shot forwards into the traffic leaving the airport. He looked in the rear-view mirror; the boot was still open. He accelerated over a speed bump, and the boot slammed shut. Through his rear-view mirror he could see police and airport officials all swarming around the old couple and the unconscious taxi driver.

  Pickering righted himself, looked out of the window and waved. ‘Bye-eeeeeeee!’

  ‘We’re going to have to ditch this car and get new clothes as soon as possible,’ Humphrey said. ‘We need to get somewhere where there’s lots of people, so we can hide.’

  ‘Wheeeeeeee!’ Pickering clapped his hands. ‘We did it! We’re in America!’

  ‘Shut up and get the map out.’ Humphrey could hear the distant wail of sirens. ‘I haven’t come this far just to end up back in prison.’

  They had brought a map of Los Angeles with them. Marked with a large red X was the venue for the Film Awards, the Hollywood Theater. The awards were tomorrow, so they needed to find somewhere to stay for the night, and then in the morning they’d go and wait for Lucretia Cutter.

  ‘We need to get as close to the Hollywood Theater as possible before we give up the car.’

  ‘Then you’d better step on it, Humpty!’ Pickering cackled. ‘Because they’re coming to get us!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Einstein’s Workshop

  Spurred on by Novak’s promise to get them into the Hollywood Theater, Darkus, Virginia and Bertolt spent the evening before the Film Awards with Uncle Max and Motticilla, rummaging through Motty’s garage in search of anything that might help them fight Lucretia Cutter. The floor was covered with boxes and bags stuffed with assorted things which had been cleared out of the house when Motty had first rented it.

  What’s this?’ Bertolt pulled a clear plastic cylinder from one of the boxes. It had two tubes sticking out of it.

  ‘That’s a pooter,’ Uncle Max replied. He looked at Darkus. ‘Your dad’s got a trunk full of those in varying sizes.’

  ‘What’s it for?’

  ‘Collecting bugs.’ Uncle Max pointed to one of the tubes. ‘You suck on this tube, and it creates a vacuum here.’ He moved his finger to the cylinder. ‘Then you point the other tube at the bug you want to pick up, and it draws the bug up the tube and captures it in the cylinder. This bit of mesh here stops you from swallowing the bug.’ He smiled. ‘You unscrew the top to take your specimens out.’

  ‘Cool’ Bertolt blinked rapidly as he stared at the pooter.

  ‘Why have you got one?’ Darkus asked Motty.

  ‘I got it from a man called Smithers, an entomologist who came to a conference at the museum.’ Motty said, as she pulled things out of a big box. ‘I admitted to him that I wasn’t a fan of spiders.’

  ‘You�
��re scared of spiders?’ Virginia said, incredulous.

  Motty nodded. ‘He gave it to me so I could collect them and take them outside, but it’s an awful faff. It’s easier to use a glass and a bit of cardboard.’

  ‘Can I have it?’ Bertolt asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I’ll never use it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Bertolt hugged the pooter to his chest.

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’ Darkus asked.

  ‘Take it apart,’ he replied.

  ‘We need to weapon up,’ Virginia said, picking up a lamp stand and brandishing it like an axe. ‘We can’t go in there unarmed against Lucretia Cutter.’

  ‘But they’ll never let us in if we’re carrying a bunch of weapons,’ Darkus pointed out.

  ‘So, tomorrow, the plan is that we go to the Hollywood Theater and wait for Hepburn, who’ll have a message telling us how to get inside – but once we are in there, what do you want us to do?’ Uncle Max gestured to himself and Motticilla.

  Darkus thought for a moment. ‘Our best weapons are the Base Camp beetles. We’ll use them to target Lucretia Cutter and any beetles she has brought with her.’ He looked from Uncle Max to Motticilla. ‘But she has bodyguards, at least four. Craven, Dankish, Mawling and Ling Ling.’

  ‘Leave them to us,’ Motticilla said. ‘We’ll take care of the humans.’

  ‘We’ll need to smuggle the beetles into the theatre somehow,’ Darkus said.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Bertolt replied. ‘We need something that won’t draw attention to us, and what do we all have that we carry around with us wherever we go?’

  ‘Bubble gum?’ Virginia suggested, putting the lamp stand down.

  ‘Backpacks,’ Bertolt said, pointing at his.

  ‘You want us to put the beetles into our backpacks?’ Darkus asked

  ‘No, I’m going to turn our backpacks into machines.’ He smiled.

  ‘What kind of machines?’ Virginia asked, suddenly interested.

  ‘Bug-catching machines,’ Bertolt said, holding up his pooter. ‘I want to make giant pooters.’

  ‘Uh-oh.’ Virginia poked Darkus. ‘Einstein’s got that look in his eye.’

  ‘I’m going to need three empty plastic water-fountain bottles, three battery-powered air pumps and three whirly sound hoses,’ he said, looking at Uncle Max.

  ‘Whirly sound hoses?’ Virginia raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes.’ Bertolt nodded emphatically. ‘Or a vacuum hose, or extraction piping. Anything like that will do. And gaffer tape. Lots and lots of gaffer tape.’

  ‘Right,’ Uncle Max said, twirling the car keys around his finger. ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’

  ‘I’ll come.’ Virginia followed him out of the garage. ‘I love American shops.’

  ‘And get three utility belts,’ Bertolt shouted after them.

  ‘Roger that.’ Virginia saluted.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ Bertolt said, looking at Darkus.

  ‘Hem!’ Motty’s head pulled back, exhibiting her three chins and a disapproving look. ‘She’s upstairs trying on her new dress.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Apparently it sparkles like stardust.’

  ‘Oh!’ Bertolt flushed.

  ‘I’m going to get to work on dinner,’ Motty said, going through the door that led back into the house. ‘Help yourself to anything useful in here, and shout if you need me.’

  ‘Mum only really came with us to go to the Film Awards, didn’t she?’ Bertolt said, his mouth twisting.

  Darkus sat down beside him. ‘If she hadn’t come, then you and Virginia would still be in London and I’d be on my own.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Bertolt nodded.

  ‘At least we know why your mum is here.’ Darkus rested his chin on his knees. ‘I haven’t got a clue what Dad’s up to. I think he wants to stop Lucretia Cutter, but what if I’m wrong?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You heard what Novak said. What if Dad is actually working for her? What if he’s on her side?’

  ‘Darkus, your dad would never be on the side of someone who set fire to hundreds of thousands of innocent beetles. You told me yourself he doesn’t believe in killing any creature, no matter how small.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Darkus said.

  ‘I think you have to trust him.’ Bertolt blinked.

  ‘I wish I could talk to him before tomorrow,’ Darkus sighed.

  Bertolt patted his back. ‘All we can do is fight for what we believe in.’

  Darkus nodded and smiled at his friend. ‘C’mon, then, how are we going to make a giant pooter?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Cleopatra’s Daughter

  There was a knock. It was Gerard.

  ‘Wake up, mademoiselle.’

  Novak’s eyes flickered open.

  ‘It is morning.’ He came and stood beside her bed. ‘It’s time to get dressed. I have brought your breakfast.’

  ‘Dressed?’

  ‘Yes. You cannot have forgotten, today is the Film Awards ceremony.’ Gerard opened the curtains, letting the Los Angeles sun flood into the room. ‘It is early, but there is a lot to be done. You have a facial after breakfast, then your feet will be unbound – the podiatrist is already here. The hairdresser and make-up artist come at eleven. Your foundation will be applied before a light lunch, the rest will come after, but first your mother wants you to come and try your dress on.’

  ‘Mmm-huh.’

  ‘Are you listening?’

  ‘I’m awake,’ Novak groaned. ‘Give me five minutes.’

  Gerard bowed and slipped silently out of the room.

  Novak blinked, waiting to be sure he wasn’t coming back. Reaching up into the vase of flowers by her bedside, she lifted Hepburn out of the deep bell of a white calla lily.

  ‘This is it, Hepburn.’ Her heart was dancing as she sat up in bed. They’d spent most of the night learning Morse code and going over the plan. Knowing Darkus was alive had made Novak brave. She’d had an idea of how to get Darkus and his friends into the Hollywood Theater – and this time, when she saw him, she’d ask him to take her with him, back to England and away from Mater.

  ‘Today’s the big day.’ She hugged Hepburn to her chest.

  Gerard knocked insistently.

  ‘Coming!’ Novak yelled, putting Hepburn back on the lily and jamming her feet into her slippers. She skipped after Gerard as he led her into the section of the house that was usually out of bounds. He punched a code into a lock and carried on down the hall, putting a white-gloved finger up in the air as he stopped and rapped the knuckle of his index finger against a door.

  ‘Yes,’ Lucretia Cutter’s voice called out.

  Gerard opened the door and ushered Novak in.

  ‘I’ve brought Mademoiselle Novak for her dress fitting.’

  Novak stepped through the doorway. Even if she’d been teleported into this room, she would have known it was Mater’s bedroom. It was dark and the furnishings were black, edged with gold. The floor was black marble, a thick black bearskin rug was laid out at the end of the bed. An ornate black-and-gold Japanese screen stood on the far side of the room.

  Mater’s voice came from behind the screen. ‘Her dress is on the rail.’

  The wardrobe rail was empty except for one black dress hanging from a gold hanger, a waif-like floor-length dress made from millions of tiny serrated feathers. It was beautiful.

  ‘I thought I might wear my favourite pink dress to the awards,’ Novak said bravely. ‘I brought it with me specially.’

  Lucretia Cutter’s head lurched up above the screen. She was wearing her glasses even in this dark room.

  ‘No,’ the gold lips snarled, ‘you will wear the dress I have made for you. A hundred children in India hand-stitched each of those settings and they’re expecting to see their handiwork on the red carpet. You wouldn’t want to deprive them of that moment, would you?’

  ‘No. It’s just . . .’

  ‘All three nominated
actresses will be wearing the dresses I have made for them.’

  ‘Yes, Mater.’

  ‘Do you want to see what I’m wearing?’ Mater’s voice was dripping with amusement.

  ‘Um, yes,’ Novak mumbled. ‘That would be nice.’

  Lucretia Cutter stalked out from behind the screen.

  Novak frowned. Mater’s dress was odd-looking. It was a high-necked, floor-length evening gown, with a cinched-in waist and exaggerated hips, seemingly made of bubble wrap, except that where the bubbles should bulge out with air, they curved inwards, making boiled sweet-sized indentations. Gerard carried a full-length mirror forwards so she could see herself.

  ‘Yes.’ Lucretia Cutter nodded at the mirror. ‘It’s perfect.’

  ‘Oh! It’s lovely,’ Novak said, confused. ‘It really is.’

  ‘This is an undergarment, you silly child,’ Lucretia Cutter snapped.

  Novak looked back. There were no other dresses on the rail but hers.

  The door opened. Mawling rolled in a tall cabinet on wheels.

  ‘Put it there.’ Mater pointed at the floor in front of her. ‘And then get out of here.’

  Mawling did as instructed, and left. Gerard stepped forwards and opened the door of the cabinet. It had a series of entomological specimen drawers in it. Gerard pulled out the first one. It was full of globular golden scarabs.

  Lucretia Cutter made an unsettling clicking noise at the back of her throat.

  Novak felt goosebumps rise on her arms as the golden scarabs stirred in their drawer. None of the beetles had pins in. As they rose up, each beetle, called by the alien noise, opened its elytra and took to the air, flying to one of the indentations in Lucretia Cutter’s undergarment. Gerard pulled out drawer after drawer, and hundreds of living golden scarabs flew to Lucretia Cutter, filling the dress from floor to neck with the staggeringly rich gold of their wing cases. Within seconds, Mater stood in front of her in a beautiful gold gown, looking shinier than a Film Award statue.

  Lucretia Cutter turned slowly, so that Novak could see her back. High up, where her shoulder blades should have been, were two gold wing cases. Novak watched them with horror as they cracked open and lifted, gasping as from under the giant gold elytra unfolded a pair of black wings.