“Shh…quiet! You’re right, but let’s think about this before we rush in like Wyatt Earp at the OK Corral.”
“No rushing, there—it was a standoff, one gunman against another.”
“That’s just what we could be facing—a standoff between a regiment of killer bees and two defenceless young women,” said Thyme.
“With special powers—don’t forget our special powers.”
“They have special powers, too. Have you ever looked at that book they keep locked up in M. le Directeur’s safe?”
“The one we’re not supposed to know is there…the Necronomicon?”
“That one. I think they have something to do with it. I have the feeling these flying terrorists are Nekrobees.”
“If that’s the case, we could be in way over our heads.” Iris flopped onto the floor, her head in her hands.
“When has that ever stopped us? Come on. We’ll think of something. “
The sisters put their heads together, to communicate telepathically. Wanting to make surprise one of their weapons, they decided to follow a single bee, in order to determine what the group was up to. Downsizing to the dimensions of baby dragonflies, they zoomed to the top of the stacks, so they could hover over the entire collection. From there, they watched the bees moving through the stacks. They seemed to be reading the book titles on the spines. “I didn’t think bees could read French,” whispered Iris.
“We’ve already agreed that these aren’t ordinary bees.”
“No, they’re not…but…ah…look there, that lazy one…it’s falling behind the others.”
No matter how well-drilled an army, even of rampaging sentient bees, there’s always at least one who can’t or won’t keep up. Iris and Thyme had found a slacker.
Taking advantage of their diminished size, they flitted and darted behind the lone, lazy bee as it fell farther and farther behind the main group, stopping every few shelves for several seconds before moving on. “What a lazy plodder. It isn’t helping its fellows at all,” said Thyme.
“I think it’s looking for a place to sleep until the pack comes back.”
“You could be right. Look at that.”
The slow, and really, rather-size-challenged nekrobee had slipped between two books, its violet glow dimming to a memory. “What do we do now?” asked Iris.
“I’m not sure. I think we’ve got company. Look behind you.”
“They look angry. Do they look angry to you?”
Five flashing purple bees had appeared behind them. Another group materialised around a corner, while a third cluster zoomed down from the top of a row. As the twins attempted a tactical retreat toward the front of the stacks, still another group appeared, cutting them off. They were surrounded.
“Yes, Iris. They look angry to me.”
“Damnit, we’ve been ambushed….”
“Led into a trap…”
“…by our own carelessness.”
“Now what do we do?”
That question was answered by the bees. Buzzing, they circled the girls, who had retaken normal size in hopes of improving the odds. Not a chance. The bees darted in, stingers first, trying for an arm or a cheek. To avoid them, Iris and Thyme waved books pulled from the shelves. It was hopeless. Any attempt to deviate or escape was countered by a cloud of angry, purple insects. Inexorably, the bees manoeuvred the girls deeper into the darkness. After five minutes, the twins had run out of stacks, books and ideas. All the while, in the far back, an eye, set into an opaque black circle, watched the melee.
“Iris, that wasn’t here the last time I checked.”
“It’s here now, sister, and we’re about to go through it.”
Unblinking, it had followed their frantic attempts to escape. Once they were flat against it, the eye swirled open. Surrounded by irritated buzzing, the girls exploded through the sable pupil into a lightless cavern.
Behind them, the eye clanged shut. Far ahead, violet lights glowed in the darkness. The bees pushed them towards it. “They really like this colour,” mouthed Iris.
“When we get out of here, I’ll never look at a lilac bush in same way again.”
“If we get out.”
They were moving down a tunnel with smooth, slippery sides. Deeper in, it was lit by flashing bees nailed at intervals to the ceiling.
“I wonder how often they change the bulbs,” said Thyme.
“Don’t joke. Those poor things.”
“Those ‘poor things’ may be herding us to our deaths.”
Ten metres ahead, the tunnel widened into a chamber, its walls covered in markings that looked like writing, but indecipherable. A short, man-like creature, dwarfed by four angular stick insects, waited in the centre.
“Iris.” Thyme poked her sister. “Check out the vertically-challenged dude with the basketball-player bodyguard?”
“My, my, he is short. Looks like a jack-o’-lantern plopped on top of a pumpkin.”
“His mother must have had a mega case of carotene poisoning when she was carrying him.”
“I don’t fancy the look of his bodyguard, either. Green stick insect is not this season’s best fashion choice.”
Mr Pumpkin Man strutted up to the twins. “You two have caused me a very great amount of difficulty. That wasn’t nice.”
“What funny noises it makes,” Thyme said. “They sound like they’re being generated by a machine.”
“No talking,” he barked. “When I want to hear your voices, I’ll tell you. Now, be quiet and follow me.”
“Why should we do that?” Thyme demanded.
“Because, if you don’t, I shall have one of my very tall and very hungry friends crunch off your sister’s arm.”
“You and what army?” Iris shifted from human form into a small, stinging creature. “They’ll have to catch me first.” She swooped in and landing a dart, right on the creature’s shiny, orange head.
“Ouch! Get her! Don’t kill her!” Pumpkin Man screamed. “IT wants them alive.”
The tallest of the Praying-Mantis creatures waved a raptorial leg at Iris, its mandible clicking commands. She darted away, but was soon cornered. With all four trying to grab her, she wouldn’t hold out for long.
“Leave my sister alone!” Thyme, shifting as she screamed, swooped at the Mantis Leader’s eye. It roared and thrashed in pain, all four pairs of legs flailing, lopping off feelers and bits of other mantises. Iris tried to escape the melee and flew straight into a wall of nekrobees. Ominous, saw-like buzzing broadcast how angry they were. Once again, they herded the twins, pushing them deeper into the cavern until the girls teetered on the edge of a cliff. Behind them gaped a long drop into nothingness. “Are you ready, sister?” said Iris.
“Ready when you are.” They jumped.
Endless hours, or seconds, passed. It was impossible to tell. All perception of time had vanished. The bottom, when it arrived, did so without warning. They landed—Splot!—in a puddle of sticky, foul-smelling, purple goo.
“I’m really beginning to hate this colour,” said Iris.
“Me, too. What’s that stink?”
Iris leaned closer to the puddle and sniffed. “It’s from the Dragon Arum (Dracunculus vulgaris), I think. Euch! Disgusting! The things I do for you.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Probably. I don’t know. Never touched one before.”
“Then I think we should get out of here as fast as possible. Damn!”
“Now what?”
“I’m stuck. Can you lift your arm?”
Iris jerked her arm upward; rubbery strings wrapped around her forearm pulled it back.
“Damn!”
Taking a deep breath, she bent over suddenly and pulled a knife out of her boot. Bouncing back up, she slashed at the tentacles holding her arm. The puddle creature writhed and hissed, releasing her. As it backed away growling, she moved to cut her sister free.
“That’s better,” said Thyme, rubbing her arm. “That was gross.”