Darkus stuck with Virginia and Bertolt for the rest of the afternoon. At three thirty, when the school bell rang, they went their separate ways, and Darkus returned to Uncle Max’s place alone.

Nelson Road was mostly residential. Tall row houses lined the street, grubby with exhaust fumes. The road was a busy thoroughfare for London buses taking people into town. The shopping area was halfway down and made up of eight shops, four on each side of the road.

The entrance to Uncle Max’s flat was through a cherry-red door to the left of the health food shop. Through it was a flight of stairs, which took you up to the flat’s front door and a hallway out to the backyard, which Uncle Max shared with the shop.

Standing on the doorstep, Darkus pulled at a shoelace hanging around his neck and fingered the two keys Uncle Max had given him ten days earlier, when he’d first arrived. Uncle Max didn’t get back from work till six, and his home wasn’t equipped for kids; he didn’t even have a TV. The front room was crammed with books, mismatched furniture, and strange objects Uncle Max had brought back from his travels. Darkus felt out of place when his uncle wasn’t there, and it was in those moments that he missed his father most.

He dropped the keys back inside his shirt. Instead of going inside, he crossed the road and sat down on the curb opposite, a little way from the bus stop and a trash can.

He looked at the boarded-up shop next door to Mother Earth. Half of a broken EMPORIUM sign hung down wonkily over the wood-covered windows. Darkus guessed the shabby gray door between the two shops was like Uncle Max’s door and led to the derelict-looking flat upstairs. Uncle Max had warned him to stay away from the men who lived there. They were cousins who’d inherited the building, he said, each planning to open a different type of shop downstairs, and because neither would give way, the Emporium had remained closed for five years.

Darkus decided he’d go and sit in the Laundromat opposite Mother Earth and read his Spider-Man comic until Uncle Max got home. Darkus liked the Laundromat. People were always coming and going, and the heat from the dryers made it warm.

As he stood up, a thin man in ill-fitting clothes came charging through the gray door, his eyes bulging out of their sunken sockets. His mouth was stretched wide, emitting a loud shriek and displaying a higgledy-piggledy collection of yellow teeth.

Darkus heard a series of crashes coming from inside the Emporium, and a man the size of an ogre thundered out of the same door, sweating and roaring. Darkus shuffled backward as the two men collided and began to grapple with each other.

“You’re the health hazard!” the thin man screamed.

“Nonsense! It’s your rubbish in the backyard that’s the health hazard.”

“That’s stock for my shop.”

“It’s rotting junk, Pickering.”

“What about your room, Humphrey? It’s infested with bugs, and it stinks! People can probably smell it from out here!” He raised his beaklike nose in the air. “Yes! Yes! I can smell it now! Poo!”

Darkus sniffed, smelling nothing but exhaust fumes and trash-can juice.

Mr. Patel from the newspaper store came to the door of his shop to see what the fuss was about and rolled his eyes when he saw Pickering and Humphrey fighting. An elderly couple paused to watch the two men and then crossed the road to avoid them.

“I found beetles in my hair after being in your room for only five minutes—and the council knows what a slob you are, because I wrote to them and sent them those bugs as proof!” Pickering let out a shriek of laughter.

“YOU’RE THE FILTHY ONE!” Humphrey roared, his chins wobbling. “I’ve never found beetles in my hair.”

“You don’t HAVE hair!” The veins on Pickering’s forehead bulged purple.

“You think you’re so clever,” Humphrey sneered at his cousin. “But the joke’s on you, because I wrote to the council, too, complaining about all that trash you’ve piled up in the yard.” He made a satisfied gurgling sound. “I even sent photographs.”

“Idiot!” Pickering snapped.

“I’m an idiot?” Humphrey’s head bobbed from side to side in outrage.

“Yes! Look what you’ve done!” Pickering threw his hands in the air. “You’ve got us evicted.”

“What I’ve done?” The big man bared his bottom teeth. “It’s your obsessive litter collecting that got us the eviction notice.”

“That’s stock for my antiques shop.” Pickering pointed a wiry arm at the boarded-up shop. “It’s the gargantuan mass of squalor up in your room that’s caused this trouble.”

“Antiques shop? I don’t think so, rat face. This shop will sell PIES.” Humphrey slammed his hand against the window board, making a loud bang.

“It will sell antiques!” Pickering pressed his body against the shop and stretched out his arms as if he were trying to hug it.

“PIES!” Humphrey pulled at his waist.

“ANTIQUES!” Pickering clung on tight.

“Pies, pies, PIES. This shop will sell PIES!”

“Over my dead body, Humphrey!”

“That, my dear Pickering, can be arranged.”

Pickering wriggled out of Humphrey’s grasp and, dodging under his arms, ran into the road. His fat cousin came thundering after him.

Darkus jumped to his feet, stumbling back from the curb as cars and buses screeched to a halt.

“PIES!” Humphrey hollered.

“ANTIIIIIIIIQUES!” Pickering screamed, spinning around and hurling himself at Humphrey. Grabbing his neck, he leapt up onto his back and pummeled his face with his knuckles.

A thickset teenager leaned out of his tricked-out car and shouted for the men to get off the road.

Humphrey trumpeted like an elephant and shook his legs, trying to break free from Pickering’s grip. As he did so, a gigantic black beetle dropped out of his trouser leg and landed on the road, right-side up.

Darkus blinked and leaned forward to get a better look. The beetle looked deadly—like a ninja warrior. A fierce tusk, sharp as a tiger’s claw, stuck out of its head, flanked by two smaller horns on its thorax.

He looked about. No one seemed to have noticed the incredible insect that was now crawling toward him. Mr. Patel was standing in his doorway with his arms crossed, scowling at Humphrey and Pickering. Angry drivers were blasting their car horns, and the customers in the Laundromat had spilled onto the street to watch the wrestling men. But the beetle continued its advance toward him, slow and steady, like a miniature tank.

As it got closer, Darkus realized it was easily the size of a hamster. He wanted to get closer, but it was so alien looking that he was a bit scared to approach it. He didn’t know if it might bite or sting—and that horn looked sharp.

Humphrey roared, and Darkus glanced up to see him grabbing hold of Pickering’s ankles, rotating and spinning like an Olympic hammer thrower, faster and faster, until finally he let go of his cousin’s feet, sending him flying into the windshield of a parked car and setting off the alarm.

Pickering’s eyes were wide with shock as he slid down the hood and dropped onto the tarmac, smacking his head on the ground. Humphrey dusted off his hands and strode back into the Emporium flat, leaving his unconscious cousin in the road. The onlookers flocked to Pickering and began rolling him toward the gutter, out of the way of the traffic.

Darkus looked down. The giant insect was sitting right at his feet, and before he could think about whether it was a good idea or not, he was reaching down to touch the tip of its horn. It was sharp.

“Whoa, you’re cool!” he said, realizing his heart was thumping in his chest.

Mesmerized, Darkus watched the beetle scramble up from the road onto the pavement, its body glistening like wet oil. He found the way it crawled fascinating. He’d never thought about the way he walked—upright on two legs—and he wondered what it would be like to have six legs, and to move around so close to the ground. The beetle walked by lifting three legs at a time—the front and rear legs of one side of its body together with the middle leg of the other.

When the insect reached his shoe, it started climbing, heading for his ankle—as if it was trying to get up his trouser leg, too!

“Hey! Stop!” Darkus fell backward, flicking out his foot and flinging the beetle away.

It landed on the pavement and paused, like it was thinking. Darkus was astonished to see it lifting its hard outer wings and unfolding a second semitransparent, rust-colored pair. It flew straight back to him. The giant beetle landed on his knee, clinging on to his trousers with its claws.

Darkus yelped and shook his leg again, rolling back onto his elbows, but the beetle wouldn’t let go.

Beside the trash can next to him was a cardboard box. Darkus grabbed it and, sitting up, knocked the beetle into the box with the back of his hand. Embarrassed, he looked around to see if anyone had seen him flailing on the pavement, but everyone was crowded around the unconscious man on the other side of the road, discussing what they should do with him.

Peering into the box, Darkus saw the beetle on its back, legs thrashing about frantically as it tried to get back on its feet. He immediately felt bad for hitting it. He reached in and flipped the poor creature the right way up.

“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you,” Darkus said softly. “It’s just you gave me a bit of a fright.”

The beetle scrambled into the corner of the box, pulling at the walls of the temporary prison with its front legs.

“Calm down, little fella. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But the beetle kept tearing at the walls, so Darkus decided to set it free. Crouching down, he held the box on its side on the pavement. The beetle scurried out of the box, but instead of running away, it clambered onto Darkus’s hand and stood still, looking up at him expectantly.

It took a second for Darkus to realize he was okay with the beetle being on him. The gentle scratch of its claws against his skin was almost pleasant. What surprised him was the weight of the insect—he’d assumed it would be light, but it felt solid and reassuring, like a pebble. He carefully lifted his hand. “Hello there.”

Looking up from underneath, he could see the features of the beetle’s face. He couldn’t have said why but it looked somehow . . . friendly. Its bulbous eyes glistened like blackberries, and it was holding its mouth open as if it were trying to smile. Although the beetle appeared to be pitch-black from above, underneath it had red hair sticking out of the gaps between its joints and body. It was almost cute. And then he realized: This was the creature from Uncle Max’s window, the day he’d moved in. The six legs, the horn, the size—it all fit.

“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

As if to answer his question, the beetle began crawling up Darkus’s arm.

“What are you up to?” Darkus asked, intrigued now.

The beetle crawled along to his elbow and up to his shoulder.

“Hey, where are you going?” He laughed. He was beginning to like this insect.

Turning to face forward, the beetle hunkered down on Darkus’s shoulder, exactly where a pirate would have put a parrot.

Darkus stood up carefully. “You’re the freakiest beetle I’ve ever met!” he said.

“Well, well. Look who it is!”

Darkus froze, and his heart sank.

“It’s the sniveling orphan,” Robby called out. “And Big Bird’s not here to protect you this time.”

Darkus turned around. Standing at the bus stop were Daniel Dowie, Robby at his elbow, and three of the other boys who’d been standing by the tree earlier. What had Virginia called them? The clones. They all glared at him, shoulders hunched and hands wedged deep in their pockets. “Clones” was a good name for them—but whatever he called them, they were standing between him and the door to Uncle Max’s flat.

“What do you want?” he asked, sounding more confident than he felt.

“Shut up.” Robby spat on the ground at Darkus’s feet. “You ain’t fit to lick Dowie’s boots, let alone talk to him. In fact—yeah, lick his boots.”

The clones gibbered and grunted with pleasure.

Daniel Dowie put one foot forward and smiled meanly at Darkus.

“If your boots need cleaning”—Darkus looked Daniel Dowie in the eye—“ask Robby to do it. He puts so much effort into kissing your butt, he’s sure to do a good job.”

Daniel Dowie snorted with anger and looked at Robby, who rolled up his sleeves.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the clones chanted.

Darkus’s insides ran cold as he watched Robby strut backward and forward. He knew he was about to take a beating.

Robby moved in on Darkus. “I’m going to knock your teeth right down your throat,” he jeered.

Darkus narrowed his eyes and did his best to look unbothered, but his heart was beating hard and his palms were clammy. Being a solitary kid, he’d been picked on plenty of times. Usually, he managed to walk away, but sometimes he’d have to stand and fight, so he knew how to defend himself. Not that that would help him here; even if he managed to knock Robby down, there were four more of them waiting to pile on.

Without warning, Robby ran at him.

Unprepared, Darkus raised his fists as Robby plowed into him, punching him in the stomach. His legs gave way, the air ripping from his lungs as he sank to the ground. He landed on the cardboard box, flattening it against the pavement. As he gasped for air, all his eyes could focus on was the Baxter’s soup logo printed white on red on the side. Pain ricocheted around his body, and as Robby whooped and closed in to kick him, a fleeting wish that he was stronger shot through his head.

Darkus pulled his knees to his chest, curling up into a ball. He saw the sole of a shoe come speeding toward his ribs and braced himself—but instead of the pain he was expecting, he heard an explosive hiss.

He looked up. The giant black beetle rocketed up into Robby’s face and was flying at him, hissing—almost spitting—like a king cobra.

“What the heck is THAT?” Robby sprang backward as if he’d been Tasered.

“What does it look like?” Darkus scrambled onto his knees, thinking quickly. “It’s my beetle.”

“Bloody hell!” Daniel Dowie’s eyes were locked on the enormous hissing insect. Robby stumbled back to the clones, and all five boys shuffled backward.

The beetle hovered in the air in front of Darkus, its soft wings vibrating so fast they were barely visible. It hissed again, like a piston valve on a steam engine.

“Get away! Stay back!” the boys shouted at the beetle, grabbing on to one another in fear.

“You’re not scared of a beetle, are you?” Darkus barked out a laugh, his arm wrapped around his aching stomach as he dragged himself up onto his feet. He pulled out the keys to the flat from around his neck. If he could just get across the road and open that red door, he’d be safe.

The beetle suddenly darted at the cluster of terrified boys, its horn shooting past their faces.

Darkus’s jaw dropped open.

“It’s trying to get me!” one of the clones shrieked, ducking.

“It’s dive-bombing!” shouted another.

“Cover your eyes!” Darkus shouted. “Or it’ll . . . er . . . pop your eyeballs,” he continued, bluffing. “This type of beetle is called, um, an Eye-Gouger!”

The beetle swooped over the cowering boys’ heads like a miniature fighter plane, hissing in their ears before circling back to Darkus. As Darkus felt the insect land back on his shoulder, he did his best to hide his surprise and delight from the boys groveling before him. He felt powerful with the majestic beetle on his shoulder. It was a new feeling, and he liked it.

“You’re a nut job!” Daniel Dowie shouted, uncovering his eyes and stumbling backward. “Freakin’ beetle boy!”

“Whatever you say.” Darkus smiled, beginning to enjoy himself. “But the Eye-Gouger and me, we’re a team, see. And if you come near me again, we’ll find out where you live, and my friend here will crawl through your letter box in the middle of the night and pop your eyes while you’re sleeping.”

“We ain’t afraid of you, cockroach breath,” Robby called out from behind Daniel Dowie. “Talkin’ to creepy-crawly insects ’cause you got no friends. You even look like a beetle—dirty-beady-bug-eyed loser.”

Darkus looked at his shoulder. The beetle was looking up at him, its mandibles waggling. Darkus nodded as if he understood.

“Yes, Eye-Gouger, Robby has got juicy-looking eyes,” he said loudly. “You’re right!”

The boys turned on their heels and bolted down the road. “BEETLE FREAK!” shouted Robby as he disappeared around the corner.

Darkus snorted—half amused, half relieved—and turned away. The traffic was back to its usual ebb and flow. Pickering had gone, and the people washing their clothes had returned to the warmth of the Laundromat.

“Thanks,” he said to the insect. “You just saved me from getting my head kicked in.” He reached up and hesitatingly stroked its wing cases. They were smooth, like new plastic. As he stroked the beetle and looked into its blackberry eyes, he felt they connected somehow, like kindred spirits.

Darkus shook his head. He was being weird. You couldn’t be kindred spirits with a beetle . . . could you?

He crouched down and placed the beetle on the flattened soup box.

“There you go, little fella, you’re free to go home now.”

The beetle didn’t move.

“What’s the matter?” He gave it a little shove. “Go on.”

The beetle looked up at him.

“Come on, I can’t hang around here waiting for you to find your way home,” Darkus said, standing up. “I’ve got homework to do.”

The beetle flew up and landed back on Darkus’s shoulder.

“What did you do that for?” Darkus frowned. “Do you want to come home with me?”

The beetle opened its mouth like it had before, as if it was trying to smile at him.

Darkus shrugged. “Well, if you’re going to come home with me, you’ll need a name, because I’m not calling you Eye-Gouger.” He looked at the soup box squashed under his feet. “Baxter’s a pretty good name for a beetle. How about we call you Baxter?”

The beetle bowed its horn. Darkus blinked, wondering if he was imagining things. “I’m going to take that to mean yes.”

The beetle opened its mouth, smiling.

Darkus felt a spot of rain hit his head and suddenly became aware that Mr. Patel was standing in the doorway of his shop, watching him have a conversation with an insect. He waved awkwardly, shook his head, and crossed the road.

Maybe he was losing his marbles. After all, talking to a beetle? It’s not like it could understand him.