“Where have you been?” Uncle Max called down the stairs. “I was beginning to worry.”

Darkus beckoned Virginia and Bertolt into the flat. “Um, nowhere much,” he replied, climbing the stairs to the living room.

“Nowhere, eh?” Uncle Max appeared in the doorway. “That’s often a very interesting place . . .” He stopped, seeing Virginia and Bertolt. “Oh! Hello! I’m Darkus’s uncle, Professor Maximilian Cuttle.” He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Bertolt Roberts.” Bertolt shook Uncle Max’s hand.

“Virginia Wallace.” Virginia waved. “We’ve, um, we’ve come to help Darkus with his homework, because he’s new and a bit behind.”

Darkus shot Virginia a look.

“Well, that is nice.” Uncle Max stepped back, smiling.

“Why did you say that?” Darkus said to Virginia under his breath as they filed past Uncle Max into the living room.

“You want to tell him what we’ve really been doing?”

Darkus shook his head.

Virginia gave him a knowing smile. “Thought not.”

“Come in. Come in. Oh, and I see Baxter’s with you, too. Darkus, you didn’t take the beetle to school, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” Uncle Max clapped his hands together. “Well now, isn’t this lovely, having guests.” He beamed. “Eh, Darkus?”

Darkus smiled awkwardly and nodded.

Virginia dropped to her knees in front of a ship made from balsa wood trapped inside a glass bottle. “You’ve got some cool stuff,” she said to Uncle Max.

“Why, thank you, Virginia, that’s very kind of you.” Uncle Max looked delighted. “Most of these old things I’ve found on my travels.” He waved at the assortment of curiosities scattered around the living room. “It’s a hodgepodge collection, but I like it. It reminds me where I’ve been.”

Bertolt sat down cross-legged on the floor beside a purple hookah pipe. “Look! I’m the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland!” He pretended to suck on the pipe and blow out a smoke ring.

Virginia laughed and Darkus smiled at Uncle Max. But Uncle Max wasn’t looking at him; he was frowning and edging his way toward Bertolt, peering down into his mass of white-blond curls. “Don’t move, lad,” he said. “There appears to be a rather large bug in your hair.”

“Not again!” Bertolt wailed, dropping the pipe. “Why do they like my hair so much?”

“Don’t panic,” Darkus said, leaning forward. “It’s a firefly!”

“A big one,” Virginia added, “with a belly like a burning coal.”

“A firefly?” Bertolt looked up, trying to see. “Oh, I don’t mind them. They’re beautiful!”

“Shall I pick it out?” Uncle Max asked.

But there was no need. The firefly rose up out of Bertolt’s hair, bathing his face in a golden light. Hesitantly, Bertolt held out his hand for the beetle to land. The firefly was long and thin. Its copper wing casings had gold edges and a white vertical stripe down the middle. It had a tiny face and stubby mandibles that looked like a mustache.

“You wouldn’t know he’s a firefly when you look down at him, because the light comes from his belly,” Virginia said loftily. “It’s only when he’s flying that you can see it. It’s called bioluminescence.”

“He’s brilliant, Bertolt,” Darkus said happily. “Now we’ve both got beetles!”

“I’ve got a beetle?” Bertolt’s eyes grew big. “How can you tell?”

“Look at him,” Darkus said. “See how his mouth is held open? He’s trying to smile at you. Baxter looks at me like that sometimes. It’s cute.”

“Hello,” Bertolt whispered to the firefly. “My name’s Bertolt. What’s yours?”

The firefly sat still, staring up at him, smiling.

“Would you mind if I called you Newton?” Bertolt said. “He’s my favorite scientist. He discovered that light was made of colors.”

The firefly skipped up into the air, flashing his belly.

“Does everyone around here have a pet beetle?” Uncle Max asked, huffing.

“I don’t,” Virginia sulked. “I wish I did.”

“Why don’t you get a puppy, or a rabbit?”

“They’re not as cool,” Virginia replied as if Uncle Max had asked a dumb question.

But he was staring at the firefly, and Darkus could see he was concerned. “What’s wrong, Uncle Max?”

“Nothing, I just don’t understand where all these beetles are coming from.” Uncle Max scratched his head. “They’re bigger than normal beetles, and they seem, well . . . it’s as if . . .”

“Yes?” Darkus leaned forward.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I’m probably imagining things.” Uncle Max shook his head. “Getting funny in the brain. Must be my age.” He sighed. “And look, in all the excitement, I’ve forgotten my manners. What a terrible host! What can I get you to drink?” Uncle Max looked from Virginia to Bertolt. “Coffee? Mint tea? Does anyone fancy a licorice stick?”

“A mint tea would be lovely, Professor Cuttle,” Bertolt said politely. “Thank you.”

“Could I have some orange juice?” Virginia asked.

“Orange juice—right, of course. Um, we’re right out of that. Perhaps I should nip down to Mr. Patel’s and get some bits and bobs. What goes well with orange juice?”

“Biscuits,” Virginia replied. “Custard creams, or bourbons.”

Darkus and Bertolt nodded.

“Marvelous. Well, don’t let me stop you from getting on with your homework. I’ll pop out for supplies and deliver the refreshments forthwith.” Uncle Max backed out of the door, beaming at everyone.

“He’s nice,” Virginia said when she was sure he’d gone. “I’ve never seen a grown-up so pleased about a kid bringing friends home.” She laughed.

Darkus felt his cheeks grow hot and changed the subject. “Why the demands for orange juice and biscuits?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t like mint tea or licorice sticks.” Virginia raised an eyebrow. “I prefer orange juice and biscuits. Anyway, I thought we needed to talk in private. So let’s do it quickly before he comes back.” She put her hands on her hips. “First thing I want to know is how Bertolt got himself a beetle.” She stared at him. “Did you catch it?”

“No!” Bertolt looked horrified. “The firefly was in the tunnel after we left Beetle Mountain. It followed us. When you ran into the shop I talked to it a bit, because”—Bertolt looked at the floor—“I didn’t like being on my own in the dark. Talking to the firefly made me feel braver.” He turned to Darkus. “I lost it when you came back. I thought it had flown away, but it must have hidden in my hair.”

“Perhaps Newton chose Bertolt, like Baxter chose me,” Darkus said.

Virginia flared her nostrils, scowling at the idea.

“Darkus,” Bertolt blinked, “how do you talk to Baxter?”

“I don’t know. I just do.”

“Can you teach me to understand Newton like you understand Baxter?”

“I’m not sure.” Darkus looked at his beetle crawling across the coffee table and frowned. “I haven’t really thought about how I do it.”

“What is it that lets you understand what he’s telling you?”

“Can I hold Newton?” Darkus asked.

“Of course.” Bertolt offered Darkus his cupped hand.

Darkus gently lifted Newton, placing the beetle on his palm and lifting him to eye level. “Hello there, Newton, nice to meet you.”

The firefly fluttered up and flashed his belly at Darkus.

“Why, thank you.” Darkus nodded to the beetle, looking closely at his face and thorax. “Bertolt, I think he uses his belly to communicate. Watch what he’s doing with it.” He turned back to the beetle. “Can you flash once for yes and twice for no?” he asked.

The firefly flashed once.

Virginia and Bertolt gasped.

“That’s amazing!” Bertolt squealed, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Baxter talks to me with his body,” Darkus said. “He shakes or nods his horn, flicks his antennae, or waves his legs. If you look really closely and carefully at what the beetles are doing, you’ll understand them.”

Bertolt was impressed. He held out his hand to take Newton back.

“I found a stairway in the Emporium,” Virginia said, keen to talk about something else, “that leads from the shop to the flat upstairs, and Darkus found a key to the Emporium shop door.”

“We heard them talking,” Darkus added. “They think I’m still tied up in Humphrey’s bedroom. They plan to climb in the window, get rid of me, and then sell the beetles to Lucretia Cutter. I wonder what they’ll do when they find that I’m not there?” He smiled.

“They’re so stupid they’ll probably think the beetles ate you!” Virginia laughed. She looked at the wall of book-stuffed shelves between Uncle Max’s flat and the neighbors’. “It’s weird to think that all those beetles are on the other side of that wall. I mean, how did they get there in the first place?” She turned to Darkus, looking thoughtful. “If Lucretia Cutter has got something to do with your dad’s disappearance, and the connection between her and your dad is to do with beetles, don’t you think it’s weird that there’s a mountain of superbeetles living next door to you?”

Darkus frowned. He hadn’t thought about it before, but it did seem an unlikely coincidence. “But I’ve only lived here a couple of weeks,” he pointed out. “The beetles must’ve been living next door for ages; look at the size of the mountain.”

“How long’s your uncle lived here?” Bertolt asked.

“Oh, years; since before I was born.”

“Could the beetles have anything to do with him?” Bertolt asked.

“I don’t know.” Darkus shrugged. “He does behave strangely when he’s around Baxter.”

“We should ask him,” Virginia said.

“How do we do that without telling him we broke in next door?” Darkus asked.

“I don’t know, but you should definitely ask him more about Lucretia Cutter. If your uncle thinks she has something to do with your dad’s kidnapping, that means they must know each other.”

“He dodges my questions about her. I think there’s something important he’s not telling me. Like, in the museum, he told Margaret not to tell me they were going to give Dad’s job to someone else. He thinks if he tells me the truth I won’t be able to handle it.”

“That’s stupid,” Virginia scoffed. “It’s much worse not knowing.”

“Tell me about it.” Darkus sighed.

“Then let’s try again, all of us, together. We’ll do it when your uncle brings in the orange juice.”

As if on cue, they heard Uncle Max’s key in the door downstairs. Five minutes later, he entered, carrying a tray of orange juice, biscuits, and a mint tea for Bertolt. He laid it on the coffee table.

“Thank you, Professor Cuttle,” Virginia said, picking up a glass of juice and flashing him an innocent smile. “Darkus was just telling us about his dad disappearing, and how you and he are going to solve the mystery. It sounds ever so exciting.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say—”

“Bertolt and I would like to help. Wouldn’t we, Bertolt?”

“Oh yes!” Bertolt nodded enthusiastically as he reached for a biscuit.

“That’s very kind of you, but—”

“We heard all about the visit to the museum,” Virginia said, talking over Uncle Max, “and about Darkus finding the reading glasses, and how that lady on the canes turned up, and it turns out Bertolt knows all about her—don’t you, Bertolt?”

“Lucretia Cutter.” Bertolt nodded again. “She’s in all the magazines—they call her the Mad Scientist of Fashion.”

“Do they, now?” Uncle Max looked like there was a bad smell in the room. “Well, I suppose if the cap fits . . .”

“But we were wondering . . . how did you know who she was?” Virginia asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t mean to be rude or nothing, Professor Cuttle, sir, but I wouldn’t think you were the kind of man who’d have an eye on the fashion runways and magazines.”

“Virginia!” Bertolt scolded.

“So, I was wondering,” Virginia continued, “when you saw Lucretia Cutter in the museum, how did you recognize her?”

Uncle Max’s mouth fell open. He closed it.

“Yes.” Darkus leaned in. “How?”

“Do you know her?” Virginia persisted, taking a bite of biscuit as she waited for him to answer.

Uncle Max looked at the three children and, with a great sigh, sat down on the couch. “Well, actually, yes. I did know her, once.”

“Was that before she was famous?” Virginia shot Darkus a triumphant sideways look.

“Yes, yes, it was.” Uncle Max pulled at his earlobe and looked into the distance.

“How did you meet her?” Darkus asked.

“Through Barty,” Uncle Max admitted. “He introduced us at a party.”

“But how does Dad know Lucretia Cutter?” Darkus asked.

“They met at university.”

“Dad went to university with Lucretia Cutter?”

“In a way.” Uncle Max shook his head. “It was a long time ago, Darkus. Your father hasn’t spoken to that woman for over fifteen years.”

“Then why did she turn up at the museum?” Darkus asked. “And why is her name above the room that Dad disappeared from?”

“Darkus, if I knew the answers to those questions . . . I would have told you already.”

“What Darkus’s dad and Lucretia Cutter did at university . . .” Virginia said, “was it to do with beetles?”

Uncle Max blinked as he thought about his answer. “Barty’s specialist field was beetles, but Lucretia Cutter was a different kind of scientist, a geneticist. I think her interest in beetles came from knowing Barty. His passion for beetles was infectious—once he started talking about them, you couldn’t help but become fascinated, too.”

“What about you?” Virginia asked, leaning forward and taking another biscuit. “Did you ever have anything to do with beetles?”

“No.” Uncle Max shook his head.

“You’ve never had any beetles here in the flat, then?” Darkus asked.

“I . . . er, um . . .” Uncle Max looked terribly uncomfortable. “Oh, look! We need more biscuits.” He jumped up and hurried out of the room.

“You’re right, Darkus. There’s something he’s not telling us,” Virginia whispered. “There are loads of biscuits left.”

“He didn’t explain the connection between your dad and Lucretia Cutter very well,” Bertolt said. “It must be more than just meeting at university and chatting about beetles.”

“Yes, we need to find out more.” Virginia nodded.

“And I know exactly how to do it.” Darkus stood up, putting his hand into his trouser pocket and pulling out a white rectangular card. “I’ll ask Novak Cutter.”

“You’re going to go to Towering Heights?” Virginia’s eyebrows shot up.

Darkus nodded. “Saturday morning.”

“Darkus!” Bertolt gasped. “That could be dangerous, and she may not even know anything.”

“Yes”—Virginia cocked her head—“but then again, she might. And I’ll bet she can tell us other stuff that will help the beetles—like why her mum really wants them.” She looked at Darkus. “You can’t trust her, though. She’s the enemy’s daughter. She’ll probably lie to you—she may even hand you over to her mother.”

“I’m not frightened of her,” Darkus said, bristling. “If Lucretia Cutter is behind Dad’s disappearance, then I want to know.”

 

 

Thursday and Friday, after school, Darkus, Bertolt, and Virginia worked on Base Camp. They drew a map of Furniture Forest and taped it to the back of a wardrobe, marking each booby trap they’d built around the perimeter to warn them if hostile forces approached, and hooked up an alarm system made of bottle tops threaded on strings, which jangled when a trap was set off.

The days quickly passed in a flurry of scavenging, building, and planning. Newton had made a permanent home in Bertolt’s hair, and a trail of fireflies—Newton’s friends and family—had followed the beetle out of the Emporium and into Base Camp.

When Saturday morning arrived, Bertolt and Virginia met outside the Emporium.

“You’re wearing a bow tie!”

“Don’t you like it?” Bertolt looked at his chest.

“It’s a bit formal, isn’t it?”

“It goes with my vest.”

Bertolt looked over his glasses disapprovingly at her clothes.

Virginia looked down at her red tracksuit. It was worn and baggy at the knees, a hand-me-down from her sister Serena. She pushed Bertolt toward the Emporium doorway. “Come on, hurry up and open the door before someone sees us.”

They let themselves in with the key, creeping through the shop and out the other side to Furniture Forest. Once in the tunnels, they followed the already familiar path to Base Camp. Its higgledy-piggledy walls glowed and sparkled as thousands of fireflies greeted them by illuminating the dangling chandelier crystals that Bertolt had stitched to the tarpaulin ceiling.

Virginia lifted the oil lamp down from the shelves, placing it on the table and lighting the wick. Bertolt settled down at his workbench—an ironing board propped up on crates—and Virginia sat down on the sofa with Darkus’s book on beetles.

“This book is really interesting,” she said. “But do you think Darkus has read all of it?”

“I don’t know. Why?” Bertolt was working on a new booby trap. The grandfather clock’s pendulum was to be installed in the tunnel beyond the foldaway table and rigged to swing down and clobber anyone following the person who’d triggered it.

“Well, there’s a bit here . . .” Virginia paused.

“What?” Bertolt put down his screwdriver.

“It’s about the average life span of a beetle.” Virginia frowned. “It’s not very long.”

Bertolt looked up at Newton and the cloud of fireflies flickering and fizzing above his head. “I don’t want to know,” he said, picking up his screwdriver again.

Virginia sighed, putting the book down, and went over to the collage of newspaper articles and magazine cuttings they’d taped to the wardrobe above the map. They were all about Lucretia Cutter. She stared at a photo of Novak and her mother on a red carpet. “I wonder how Darkus is doing. He should be at Towering Heights by now.”

“I still think we should have gone with him,” Bertolt said.

“Me too,” Virginia agreed, “but he didn’t want us to.”

 

 

Darkus got off the bus at Regent’s Park and walked alongside the railings. To his left, trees and parkland stretched up toward the entrance of London Zoo. On the opposite side of the road were grand detached white houses, some with names and some with numbers. He walked along until he came to a tall imposing town house with TOWERING HEIGHTS written over the gates, and he suddenly realized that he’d no idea what he was going to say to Novak Cutter.

There was a wall in front of the property, about the same height as Darkus. Beyond it, the house was surrounded by a copper beech hedge at least eight feet tall. There was an intercom on the gatepost to let people in. Through the gate, a white gravel driveway veered to the left of the house. The front yard, to the right, was paved black and white, like a man-size chessboard, and a glossy black door was framed by enormous flowerpots bursting with red lilies.

Darkus paced up and down, talking to himself, trying to think of a good way to ask Novak Cutter if her mum had kidnapped his dad. All sorts of ridiculous sentences came out of his mouth. He cursed himself for not practicing on Virginia and Bertolt.

He crossed over the road and looked through the bars of the gate. He couldn’t even think of something to say into the intercom.

This was not good. He’d have to go back to Base Camp and ask Virginia and Bertolt what to do. He took two steps toward the bus stop and froze. Ahead, and coming straight toward him, were Pickering and Humphrey, dressed in ridiculous yellow and purple suits. Without thinking, Darkus pulled himself up onto the wall and dropped down the other side into the copper beech hedge surrounding Towering Heights. He could hear the cousins arguing.

“You’d better not ruin this for me, Humphrey.”

“Shut it, Pickers, or I’ll change my mind about bringing you.”

“We had a deal. I got your door open, didn’t I?”

Darkus held his breath as the voices approached. His neck was being scratched by the shrubbery, but he didn’t dare move. He heard the buzz of the intercom and the two men saying their names. The black door opened silently, and a butler with dark slicked-back hair and a mournful face came out. He walked stiffly and steadily to the gate.

“We have an appointment to see Lucretia Cutter,” Humphrey shouted.

“Monsieur Gamble and Monsieur Risk, yes, I know,” the butler replied in a French accent. Now that he was closer, Darkus could see that he had dark circles under his gray eyes.

“That’s right.” Humphrey puffed up his chest and Pickering nodded eagerly. The butler opened the gate by keying in a number, and the cousins followed him through the front door, which closed behind them.

Darkus wriggled out of the other side of the copper beech hedge, covered in scratches. He stood facing the house. Coming here alone had been a mistake. He needed to get back to Base Camp.

He ran to the gate, but it was closed. He tugged at the bars in frustration; he’d either have to climb it or go back through the hedge, getting even more scratched. He was halfway up the gate when he heard the door behind him open, and a voice. “You! Boy.” Darkus froze. It was a French accent: The butler had come back. “Come down.” Darkus did as he was told but didn’t turn around. “Her ladyship will see you now.”

Darkus looked over his shoulder. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“But I don’t have an appointment.” He stammered.

“You don’t need one. You’re being invited in.” The butler’s face was a blank; his sad eyes didn’t blink. “Come on, boy. Don’t you know you shouldn’t keep a lady waiting?”

Darkus dragged his feet toward the door of Lucretia Cutter’s house, his heart hammering against his rib cage.