Revenge of the Beetle Queen Page 17

  “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 backward. 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 onto 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 line at the taxi stand. An elderly couple were passing their suitcases to a cabdriver, who was lifting them into the trunk. Humphrey shoved past the elderly gentleman, knocking him over, and ran around 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 toward 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 forward into the traffic leaving the airport. He looked in the rearview mirror; the trunk was still open. He accelerated over a speed bump, and the trunk slammed shut. Through his rearview 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 Theatre. 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 Theatre 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!”

  Spurred on by Novak’s promise to get them into the Hollywood Theatre, Darkus, Virginia, and Bertolt spent the evening before the Film Awards with Uncle Max and Motty, 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 that 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 pain. 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 Theatre 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 Motty.

  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 Motty. “But she has bodyguards, at least four. Craven, Dankish, Mawling, and Ling Ling.”

  “Leave them to us,” Motty 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 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 thi
nk 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?”

  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 makeup 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.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “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 Theatre—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, and 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 waiflike, floor-length dress made from millions of tiny serrated feathers. It was beautiful.

  “I thought I might wear my favorite 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 penny-size indentations. Gerard carried a full-length mirror forward 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 forward 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 goose bumps rise on her arms as the golden scarabs stirred in their drawer. None of the beetles had pins in them. 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. She gasped as a pair of black wings unfolded from under the giant gold elytra.

  “Gerard, I think we should try the diadem.”

  The butler went to the dressing table, took out a key, and unlocked the deep drawer, lifting out a circlet of heavy gold. At its center was a gold scarab, its exoskeleton marked with hieroglyphics.

  “This diadem belonged to Cleopatra,” Lucretia Cutter said, taking the circlet from Gerard. “I’ve improved it. Cleopatra liked asps. There was a snake here.” She pointed. “I have replaced the asp with the gold scarab that guarded the sarcophagus of Queen Nefertiti.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Novak whispered.

  “Do you know the Egyptians worshipped beetles? They believed the sun god was a dung beetle that rolled the sun across the sky.” She lifted the circlet above her head. “And now the world will worship me.” She settled it on her brow.

  “Worship you?” Novak’s throat was dry.

  Lucretia Cutter turned to face her and Novak could barely breathe.

  Unimaginably tall, dressed in gold, the scarab crown on her brow, her black wings spread wide like an abominable angel, Lucretia Cutter removed her sunglasses, and her black, unblinking eyes stared down. “Yes. Worship me.”

  Novak looked at the floor. Her whole body was trembling with fear. Was Mater planning to proclaim herself a god in front of the world at the Film Awards?

  “Now, put your dress on,” Lucretia Cutter ordered.

  Novak went over to the rail and found Gerard beside her, helping her to step out of her nightie and into the black dress. “Sois courageuse,” he whispered.

  “We’ll paint your eyelids black, and your lips gold,” Lucretia Cutter said as Gerard took out
a second, smaller circlet with a small gold heart scarab at the center. “You’ll be the perfect accessory.”

  Gerard placed the gold crown on her head and Novak looked at the mirror, horrified by what she saw. The black tassels that she’d thought were feathers were the dangling legs, mandibles, and antennae of giant bombardier beetles.

  Lucretia Cutter came to stand beside her.

  Novak thought she was going to cry. The closeness of Mater and the black depths of her compound eyes terrified her.

  “Watch this,” Lucretia Cutter said into the mirror. She moved her head in a strange snakelike side-to-side movement, making a clicking sound at the back of her throat, and Novak felt her dress shiver. The black beetle legs were attached to living insects, and they were stirring. They cycled their legs in a strange dance and the dress came alive, moving as if Novak were underwater or in gravity-less space. The effect was hypnotic.

  “Beautiful,” Lucretia Cutter muttered to herself. She looked down at her daughter. “It’s time to let the world see who you really are, Novak.”

  Humphrey lifted up the dumpster lid with his head. He looked up and down the alleyway; there was no one about. “Coast’s clear,” he growled to his cousin, whose ratlike face appeared at his elbow, looking about furtively.

  They’d ditched the stolen cab a few blocks away, running from the car only minutes before the police caught up with it. There was a row of dumpsters down an alleyway next to a Chinese food restaurant, and they had thrown themselves into one, deciding to stay hidden until the police had gone away.

  Humphrey was amazed and then delighted by the amount of food he found in the dumpster. Rooting around, he uncovered spring rolls, a tray of half-eaten spicy noodles, and half a crispy duck. Chinese food was his favorite. He ate it all hungrily.

  It was Pickering who had pointed out that the black bags of rubbish made a reasonably soft bed. Seeing as they had no money until they found Lucretia Cutter, the pair of them had arranged the bags as comfortably as possible, salvaging anything edible and feasting on leftovers before falling asleep.

  They checked the map. They were only a block away from the Hollywood Theatre.