Of Machines & Magics (9 page)

Roli looked up at the worm which had already lost interest in them. Impervious to attack by the wasps, it had again torn open the nest wall, its head and half its body inside the nest. The worm would be laying waste to hatcheries and nurseries while the less fierce insects would be impotent, unable to prevent its attacks.

“Why don’t the wasps leave and build a new nest somewhere else?” Roli spoke over his shoulder as he helped Ponderos to a more dignified position.

“Very few insects can think, Roli; they simply don’t link cause and effect which is what thinking is for. The ants manage it but only by a sort of collective consciousness.”

“Well, however they arrange things, they’re well-occupied now,” he took his sword and made two deep cuts into the nest wall. He took hold of the flap and tugged at it, bending it out towards him. The wall was as thick as his finger but surprisingly soft and spongy. Roli climbed up to the opening and into the nest, he disappeared for a minute before returning and standing at his new window. “There’s a ramp out there, coming up from below—
leading down
, is what I mean. Anyone coming?”

“Very well,” agreed Calistrope with resignation. “Cut this flap a little lower so that Ponderos can get through.”

Chapter 8

Calistrope helped Ponderos to cross and eased him down the sloping floor inside. They were in a small cell with an opening which, as Roli had said, led to a ramp. Wasps of many shapes and sizes moved up and down the incline on errands which could only be guessed at. Three pale looking wasps were just entering as Calistrope looked around the tiny space, the usual black and yellow bands with which he was familiar were faded, almost grey and cream in color.

“Caretakers,” said Roli. “Smaller than the guard insects, see.”

Apart from avoiding them, the so-called caretakers ignored the humans. They went straight to the hole which had been cut in the wall and began repairs: cutting loose the flap and then cementing it back into place. It took no more than three minutes but while they worked and the humans—still disregarded—watched them, there was a sudden increase in activity outside the room. Dozens and then scores of insects were all at once trooping upwards, the procession included the unmistakable forms of sentinel wasps.

“Soldiers,” said Calistrope, pointing. “You said they wouldn’t be inside.”

“The worm,” said Roli. “It must be doing more damage up there. Perhaps it’s getting too close to the Queen.”

“Getting too close to us is what I’m worrying about,” Calistrope looked wildly around the bare cell for some way of concealing them. “Come on, start tearing up the floor over here. Next to the wall.”

Puzzled, Roli came across. “Whatever for?”

“The repairers will try to stop us, they’ll hide us from outside.”

The ruse seemed to work. Certainly the three maintenance wasps clustered around the companions, attempting to interfere with their depredations and hiding them from view. None of the guards came into the enclosure.

The rush slowed to a few wasps going about their everyday business and they ventured out, leaving the caretakers to tidy up the damage they had inflicted.

“Well. Down that way?” Calistrope pointed to where the floor sloped down and out of sight. As he posed the question five or six small wasps came into view—another contingent of caretakers who seemed to outnumber all the other varieties of insect in the community. Like the previous party, they detoured around the group of humans, taking no notice of the strangers in the nest.

“You see?” Roli pointed out. “The soldiers would bite your head off without a moment’s hesitation. Most of the others won’t care a jot.”

Calistrope nodded, aware of Roli’s crowing. He merely followed, supporting Ponderos as they went.

The ramp was a tight spiral with openings leading off into enclosures. As they passed and peered in, they saw storerooms of seeds, fungi and dead rodents which reeked of decay. Others held tall paper cylinders like huge organ pipes, the air smelt sweet and heady with fermentation. Some variety of honey, or wax Calistrope guessed. There were still more rooms which were completely bare—not in use as yet.

Light filtered through certain areas of wall which had been left especially thin. The illumination was dim for human eyes but sufficient when they had become used to it.

“Shades,” said Roli, halting. Two insects came round the central pillar which supported the spiraling ramp; brilliant yellow, dense black. “Guards.”

Calistrope let go of Ponderos and drew out his sword. Before the wasps could react, he had confronted them and hacked viciously at the head of the nearer of the two, he sheared off one bulbous eye and the jaws. Roli followed him in and decapitated the injured wasp while Calistrope closed with the second.

The wasp snapped at him, taking hold of the glass sword and trying to shake it from his hand. The blade was too smooth, the wasp could not retain its grasp and Calistrope lunged as soon as it slid free. The point went into the wasp’s mouth and came out of the top of its skull; bizarrely, it inflicted no damage and this time, shaking its head, the wasp pulled the sword from Calistrope’s hand.

Cursing, he kicked out at the weaving carapace and the wasp backed off with Calistrope’s sword securely lodged in its head.

Roli had gone beyond the wasp while it had been engaged with Calistrope to see if any more followed. The two were alone, he found and turning back, he slashed at the wasp’s rear end, cutting of the deadly sting and its sack of venom. While the wasp turned its head to find its new aggressor, Calistrope leapt close and pulled his sword free. This time, the weapon must have severed some nervous tissue; the insect collapsed in a tangle of legs. The wings buzzed three or four times and stilled.

“I thought we faced our end, just then,” Calistrope said, sheathing the glass sword.

“Practice,” said Roli. “We’ve had quite a lot of practice at looking after ourselves.”

“Yes,” Calistrope nodded. “We have.”

Ponderos had stumbled to the side of the corridor when the fight began and now Calistrope supported him again. They began the descent and two maintenance workers passed them to pick up the remains of the guards.

“That’s uncanny. How do they know when to come?”

“Or where? They started in on repairing our entrance before we had left the room.”

“Calistrope,” Ponderos paused a few minutes later, as they were passing by one of the empty rooms—a space which opened up towards the nest’s central axis. “How near to the bottom are we?”

Ponderos shrugged. “Roli, have you any idea?”

“Near the bottom, I’d say. Perhaps three, four floors, five.”

“Then this is where we must do it.”

“Do what?” Calistrope eased his friend’s arm from around his neck and stretched his back.

“We should set fire to the nest before we leave.”

Calistrope frowned. “Whatever for?”

“We have to come back this way. Do we have to hope that the worm will attack them again at just the right time?”

“Come back this way?” Calistrope had not given the matter of return any thought at all. “Well, yes, I suppose we do.” The concept of
return
seemed almost unreal.

“If we set fire now, then we don’t have the problem—and don’t forget those villagers, too. With the nest gone, they will be able to trade with the coast again, their lives will change for the better.”

“I can’t see them doing anything like that again. They’re too bound up with their imagined riotous living.”

“Don’t be so hard on them. When they realize it’s possible, they will change.”

“Very well then. Let me have that flame of yours.”

Ponderos felt—very carefully—in several pockets before he found what Calistrope wanted. Moving his arms carefully and grunting at his hurts, he pulled out a small cylinder. Calistrope took his knife and crouched, he began to cut and tear long strips from the floor. A little while later, he gave up and sat back on his haunches. “No. It’s no use Ponderos. It’s too damp. Won’t burn.”

“Then we’ll have to go back, higher. I expect condensation and other liquids run down the spiral and soak into the lower parts of the nest. It will be drier further up,” Ponderos lurched to his feet. “Give me the flame.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Calistrope, “you aren’t fit enough. Stay here with Roli and I’ll go.”

Calistrope left the others and began to climb back up the ramp. Somehow, he guessed, worker wasps had been alerted to the damage he had inflicted on the nest; he had climbed past two floors when a line of four of the insects filed past him and continued downwards. Calistrope turned and followed them. They stopped outside the enclosure where Roli and Ponderos were hiding; inside, the insects crowded the humans to one side and began to chew with their mandibles at the broken floor, as they worked each little bit into a sort of paste, they patted it down and smoothed it.

As before, the workers would hide his friends from insects with more serious intent.

Calistrope looked at the others. “There,” he said and grinned. “Protection”. He left them to it and ascended, running up the ramp. He passed the place where the workers had appeared and carried on until he was out of breath before stopping to test the floor and walls. Finally, Calistrope was satisfied that the material was really dry and would burn fiercely.

He was still on the ramp and worked quickly to tear enough papery scraps up to start a fire. He uncapped Ponderos’ little cylinder, inside a small blue flame flickered, as it had done for the countless years that Calistrope could remember. He piled the scraps in the angle between floor and wall and set fire to them.

A worker came by, two, three, several, alerted by the smell of smoke perhaps. Calistrope had to keep pushing them away to allow the flames to get hold and even when they were roaring up the wall, fed by a growing updraft of air, the insects attempted to extinguish it by smothering the flames with their own bodies. Had there been more of them, the wasps would have succeeded but a great number must have been trying vainly to repair the damage to the egg stores made by the worm.

Satisfied the fire would not be put out, Calistrope tramped back down to his friends and supporting Ponderos between them, they made haste down the last four floors or so to reach the bottom of the nest where the main exit and entrance was.

They came to a final turn of the ramp and Roli, slightly in front, stopped and backed up, dragging Ponderos’ bulk with him. “Soldiers,” he said. “Guarding the opening.”

“How many?” asked Calistrope.

Roli let go of Ponderos and sidled round the curve again. “Five,” he said a moment later.

“That’s too many. Especially with Ponderos unable to fight.”

“Oh come on…” started Ponderos.

“No my friend, you’re in no condition…”

“Will you listen? I was going to point out we have to cut our way out of this thing anyway, the main entrance, as I remember, is over the river… unless you’ve got any ideas about wings? And we’d best choose a store place on the outside or we’ll still be over water.”

“Wings? Hmm,” Calistrope shut his mouth and nodded. They backed up a dozen paces or so and found a store stacked with oval plates of some shiny material. They pushed some of the stacks over and went to the wall. They set to work, the soggy, waterlogged paper was quite difficult to cut but at length, they had an opening large enough to see the river bank through and perhaps, the height of a man below them.

“You know what this stuff is?” asked Roli, examining one of the pale yellow plates. “It’s wax. Make a nice fire with this.”

“Fine. The only fault with that idea is that it’s just a little late.”

Roli went first, jumping to the river bank and steadying Ponderos as Calistrope lowered him to the ground.

Down at the side of the river, Roli drew a great breath of fresh air. “Let’s go before we draw any more unwelcome attention.”

They hurried off until two minutes later, Calistrope stopped them. “We’re going the wrong way.”

“Don’t be… how can we be?” Roli frowned.

“Look up. No worm—if it’s still there—but no tunnel entrance either, no hole in the nest. We’ve cut our way out on the other side of the river. It’s this way.”

They about turned, walked under the nest again and out the other side. A few minutes after emerging from the nest’s shadow, they could see part way around the curving wall—there was the worm fighting off the aerial attacks of sentinel wasps; further on still and they could see where Calistrope’s fire had taken hold and was burning out of control. A huge plume of greasy black smoke rose in billows into the dark sky.

“Ponderos, you mentioned wings back there,” Calistrope’s voice was ruminative.

“I did?”

“Suppose we could catch some wasps and train them to carry us…”

Both Roli and Ponderos stopped and looked at their friend with consternation.

“Perhaps not wasps,” Calistrope continued. “Perhaps something less dangerous but big enough to carry us while they…” he noticed their expressions. “… You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“I need to rest awhile, Calistrope,” Ponderos was firm. “I still hurt all over. Now you’re making my brain hurt as well.”

“Me, too,” added Roli. “I’m tired.”

Calistrope sighed. “I suppose there’s no reason why we shouldn’t stop for a while,” he looked around. “Not a lot of choice though,” they stood aside as a swarm of small hoppers skittered along the hard beaten trail, the swarm was followed by a pair of beetles intent on picking up and munching the slower individuals. “The bank is very narrow here.”

The river ran hard up against the valley wall at this point and the game trail they followed had become narrow and constricted. They rested awhile, fending off the attentions of a number of hungry creatures before Ponderos decided the aches and pains of walking were easier to take than constant hostilities.

They continued on slowly until they came to a place where the river became wide and shallow enough to cross without getting wet above the knees. On the southern and kindlier side of the water they began to look for a suitable place to make camp. They threaded their way through an area of large boulders and rounded a final spur of rock.

“What’s that?” asked Ponderos. A tall spire was visible in the distance.

“How should I know what it is?” Calistrope grumbled. “Why don’t you look at your map for a while and tell
me
what everything is?”

“Because you prefer to tell us.”

“Well. That’s a good enough reason, I suppose,” Calistrope searched his pockets for his copy of the map, checked his cuffs. “Do you have my map Roli?”

“Try your little bag.”

Calistrope rooted around in his bag. “I wouldn’t have put it in here, too many other… aha, here it is,” he opened the map and traced their route. “The Exhibition?”

The Exhibition was deceptively far off. The spire they had seen swelled to grander proportions, grew in height as they approached. It took on shape and form, it became a statue. A woman in flowing robes and a crown. She held her arm up above her head; she carried a cone shaped torch with a flame molded from some translucent material.

They came to halt a hundred paces away, their heads tipped back until their necks creaked.

Calistrope cocked his head to one side. “She’s not upright.”

“Ah, you recognize her?” Ponderos chuckled. “But I think you’re right, she leans a little to the left.”