Beetle Queen by M.G. Leonard

Author:M.G. Leonard [Leonard, M.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781911077374
Publisher: Chicken House
Published: 2017-04-06T07:00:00+00:00

‘Is that you, Darkus?’ Uncle Max’s voice greeted him as he opened the door of the flat.

‘Who else would it be?’ Darkus replied.

‘Wonderful!’ Uncle Max appeared at the top of the stairs, dusting off his hands. He smiled broadly at his nephew.

Darkus looked at him suspiciously. ‘Why are you looking so cheerful?’

‘Why don’t you come up into the front room?’ Uncle Max said, beckoning to him.

Darkus slid off his rucksack and coat and dropped them on the floor by the door.

‘Oh, Darkus, how many times do I have to tell you to hang your coat on the hook? You’ve got a memory like a fruit bat.’ Uncle Max chuckled and went back into the living room.

Darkus picked up his coat, hanging it on the wall, and followed his uncle upstairs. He pushed the living-room door open. Uncle Max was standing in the middle of the room, his arms spread wide.

‘Ta-da!’ he sang.

Darkus stared.

All the furniture had been moved. The sofa and armchairs were in a line under the window, and the coffee table was pushed up against the fireplace. Above the carriage clock and below the row of African masks hung a corkboard, pinned with soiled and crumpled scraps of paper. Darkus stepped closer. It was all the clues from the back of the wardrobe in Base Camp: Novak’s card, and Virginia’s list of facts about beetles. Behind him, at the far end of the room was a sky-blue paddling pool, its bottom lined with oakwood mulch. On one side of the paddling pool, part buried and piled up in a mound, was a miniature mountain of mugs, and on the other side were chopped-up bits of melon, cucumber and banana. The surviving beetles from the mountain were busily burrowing, munching and generally making themselves at home. Against the left wall of the room, where the sofa had previously lived, was Bertolt’s workbench, and lined up on top of the ironing board were his tools from Base Camp. Draped about the workbench, attached to four hooks screwed into the ceiling, was the square of tarpaulin that Bertolt had stitched all the chandelier crystals to, and nestled at base of each crystal was a sleeping clump of fireflies.

‘So? What do you think?’ Uncle Max asked.

‘What? I – it’s – it’s amazing!’ Darkus whispered, stunned.

Uncle Max nodded as he surveyed the room proudly.

‘Not a bad bit of re-decorating, if I do say so myself! Cleaning the chandelier crystals took an age, and of course it’s not a patch on your Base Camp, but . . .’

Darkus threw himself at his uncle, hurling his arms around him and burying the side of his face in his safari shirt.

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