‘Just a minute,’ he thought. ‘Bees the size of dogs? I must think this over before I get into a panic. What happened before I passed out? The milk tasted odd - Ghoolion probably spiked it with something. If I bit on a bee sting, you can bet he put it there. This can only be one of those trips in another body he so generously arranges for me - a metamorphotic meal.’
Echo looked down at himself. Bristly black hairs were sprouting from his chest, and his legs - six of them! - were insectile legs of glossy black chitin. And what were those things waving around in front of his eyes, antennae? Yes, they really were.
‘I’m a bee,’ he thought, ‘a Demonic Bee, and these creatures aren’t so big at all. It’s simply that I’ve shrunk. This is just a trip,’ he went on, trying to reassure himself. ‘It’ll soon be over. Relax! Enjoy it! After all, you enjoyed being a Leathermouse.’
So this was what a beehive looked like from the inside. The air, which smelt pleasantly of honey, was nice and warm. Oddly enough, Echo felt at home. Except that it wasn’t really so odd. After all, he was a bee.
‘Just relax,’ he told himself. ‘Be a bee. See what happens.’
His head was suddenly transfixed by a thought which - he couldn’t put it any other way - came from outside himself. A Demonic-Bee thought, it took the following form:
‘Gnorkx is great!’
The community of Demonic Bees suddenly stirred. They all took one simultaneous step to the right, then one to the left and ended by turning on the spot. Echo performed the same movements precisely and he knew why he was doing so. These dance steps were a statement in the Demonic Bee language. What was more, he knew what it meant:
‘Gnorkx is great!’
He even knew who Gnorkx was - it was common knowledge among Demonic Bees. Gnorkx was the venerable, supernatural being who had created them all. Gnorkx dwelt on the sun and was believed to be immortal. When a Demonic Bee died it went to Gnorkx and lived with him on the sun for evermore.
‘Good heavens,’ thought Echo, ‘not only am I a Demonic Bee; I even think and feel like one, and it doesn’t feel strange at all. It feels - well, normal. I wouldn’t mind gathering some pollen, and I’m also experiencing an irresistible urge to worship Gnorkx.’
He took one step to the right, one to the left, then turned on the spot. The other bees followed suit.
‘Gnorkx is great!’
they danced again.
This bred a reassuring sensation that they’d worshipped Gnorkx enough for the time being. Absolute silence fell. A Demonic Bee somewhat bigger than the rest ascended a low mound in the middle of the chamber.
‘This must be our leader,’ thought Echo. At all events, he felt bound to obey the insect implicitly. Indeed, he would have been prepared to carry out every one of its orders to the letter.
The big bee broke into a solo dance. It turned in a circle and fluttered its wings, waggled its antennae and shook its head. This meant:
‘Gnorkx is great! Gnorkx is immortal! Because we serve him, we too are immortal. We shall be so even when we die, and will dwell on the sun with Gnorkx the Great for evermore!’
To Echo, this seemed absolutely logical. The leader’s words were carved in stone and incontrovertible. It would never have occurred to him to doubt them. He felt an overwhelming desire to endorse them.
‘Gnorkx is great!’
danced the throng of bees and he joined in.
The bee-in-chief crossed its antennae, fluttered its wings twice and nodded its head. This meant:
‘Today is a very special day!’
‘This is terrific,’ thought Echo. ‘I’m not only getting to know the life of the Demonic Bees at first hand, I’ve hit on a very special day as well. Perhaps they’re holding a celebration, or something of the kind.’
‘Gnorkx is great,’
the leader danced.
‘His name is sacred, so all who deny Gnorkx must be exterminated.’
‘Hear, hear,’ thought Echo. ‘All who deny Gnorkx must be exterminated, that goes without saying.’
‘We are merciless and pitiless,’
danced the leader.
‘We ruthlessly annihilate all who dare to oppose Gnorkx the Great.’
‘Yes, sir!’ thought Echo. When Gnorkx’s interests were at stake, mercy and pity were out. Someone had said it at last. This bee had taken the words out of his mouth.
‘And that’,
the leader danced,
‘is why we must die this very day!’
‘Eh?’ thought Echo.
‘The everlasting war against the Elfinwasps requires us to make the ultimate sacrifice, and we shall give up our earthly life willingly for the privilege of dwelling on the sun with Gnorkx the Great for evermore.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ thought Echo, ‘I’ve got no quarrel with the Elfinwasps.’ Besides, he was averse to dying. Surviving for as long as possible was much more to his taste. And what was the point of a war that lasted indefinitely? Anyway, what was all this nonsense about the sun? Nobody could live on the sun, they’d get burnt to a crisp. His Crat’s common sense reasserted itself.
‘The Elfinwasps fly away from the sun, not towards it. That means they deny Gnorkx’s existence!’
‘They probably fly away from the sun because it dazzles them,’ thought Echo. ‘Sensible creatures!’
‘We possess a powerful weapon: our stings. But we can use them only once because we die thereafter. Stinging entails dying!’
‘Stinging entails dying!’
danced the bees. That seemed logical, so Echo joined in.
‘But Gnorkx is great, and that is why he summons us to him when we die, to dwell on the sun with him for evermore. Stinging entails dying, but dying entails eternal life!’
‘Stinging entails dying, but dying entails eternal life!’
danced the bees.
‘Nonsense,’ thought Echo. ‘Dying entails dying.’ He was the only bee to have stayed put.
All at once, absolute silence fell. Not a single Demonic Bee dared to move - apart from Echo, who realised that his situation had become awkward. Nervously, he took a step sideways and waggled his antennae. Not that he knew it, this was the beginning of an inadvertent remark in the Demonic Bee idiom:
‘Gnorkx is …’
Still no one moved. He took a step backwards. This meant:
‘not …’
He turned on the spot to see what the other bees were doing. This meant:
‘great.’
All the bees waggled their antennae in extreme agitation. Their leader drew himself up to his full height. Echo had just danced an outrageous statement. No inhabitant of the Demonic Beehive would have dared to make such an assertion, namely:
‘Gnorkx is not great.’
The next dance routine the leader performed was quite complicated. He fluttered his wings, turned on the spot four times, rubbed his antennae together and shook his head repeatedly. This meant:
‘I fear we have a heretic in our midst. Those who are anti-Gnorkx are pro-Elfinwasp. As Gnorkx’s champions in the everlasting war, what do we do with those who deny him and side with the Elfinwasps?’
‘We sacrifice them to Gnorkx!’
the colony replied.
Echo didn’t join in. ‘It’s high time I made myself scarce,’ he thought. ‘Let’s see what I can do with these things on my back.’
He fluttered his wings, rose into the air and went zooming off. The serried ranks of the Demonic Bee army didn’t dare move until ordered to do so by their leader.
‘I’m managing pretty well already,’ thought Echo. ‘Maybe my experiences as a Leathermouse are paying off.’ And he flew down a narrow tunnel leading off the big chamber in the centre of the hive.
The leader went into another dance routine meaning
‘Kill him as painfully as possible!’
. Even before he could add another
‘Gnorkx is great!’
the entire colony rose into the air and set off in pursuit.
‘Buzzing along like this isn’t as nice as flying like a Leathermouse,’ Echo couldn’t help thinking, despite his panic. ‘There’s something mechanical about it.’
Just wide enough for two bees to pass one another, the narrow tunnel he was flying along soon ended in a fork. He wondered which way to go, but how did you get your bearings in a Demonic Beehive? He opted for the passage that was more brightly illuminated. Of course,
that
was how Demonic Bees got their bearings: they made for the sun. For Gnorkx.
The chorus of humming behind him grew louder, which meant that his pursuers were gaining on him. He tried to put on speed but found he couldn’t fly any faster. He was a bee, not a Leathermouse. Bees flew at a walking pace. The next turning took him along an even brighter tunnel. He could already see sunlight streaming in at the far end - he would soon be out of the hive.
Something would occur to him once he was outside, he thought. There were bound to be places he could hide. Then he would lie low until this confounded trip was over. If only he didn’t feel so tired! His pursuers’ angry buzzing was growing ever louder.
Echo flew out into the open. Dazzled by the sunlight, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the immensity of the world outside. He was flying over a verdant Zamonian meadow with flowers shedding their pollen all around him. There was life and colour on every side. Rabbits were lolloping across the grass, butterflies sipping nectar, midges darting through the air. Echo looked back. Demonic Bees were pouring out of the hive in droves. He looked ahead again - and saw a gigantic bird swooping down on him.
No, the bird wasn’t gigantic, it only seemed so to a tiny insect his size. It was a relatively small bird: a Cyclopean Tuwituwu, in fact. To be more precise, it was Theodore T. Theodore, Echo recognised him by the pale dot over his single eye. The Tuwituwu opened its beak and headed straight for him. It was out hunting.
Echo could neither advance nor retreat. His mind was in a whirl. Was this a form of retribution? Was he to be eaten by Theodore because he’d eaten him? No, that made no sense. How could the Tuwituwu be here if he’d eaten him?
‘Echo?’ someone called. ‘Echo?’ It was the Alchemaster’s voice.
With his own name ringing in his ears, Echo disappeared into Theodore’s open beak. Everything went light and dark, light and dark by turns. Then he bade farewell to his existence as a Demonic Bee.
The Banquet
E
cho opened his eyes to find himself looking into the Alchemaster’s face. Crouching down beside his basket, Ghoolion was just replacing a big hypodermic syringe in his cloak.
‘Now you know what collective insanity feels like,’ he said. ‘That’s another experience granted to very few.’
Echo rubbed his eyes and yawned.
‘I brought you back from your trip before time because I was worried about you,’ Ghoolion went on. ‘You were groaning and moaning and kicking like a mad thing.’
‘I was a bee,’ Echo said reproachfully. ‘A Demonic Bee.’
‘Yes,’ said Ghoolion, ‘it was essential, I’m afraid. That’s why I put an undeactivated bee in the honey and diluted your milk with Blue Tea. It must have been a fantastic metamorphosis.’
‘It certainly was,’ Echo said grumpily. ‘But why was it essential?’
‘For the same reason I turned you into a Leathermouse,’ the Alchemaster replied, as if both transmutations were a matter of course.
‘There was a reason?’ Echo asked, struggling into a sitting position. ‘What was it?’
‘Well, I still don’t have any Leathermouse or Demonic Bee fat in my collection, and I can’t get hold of any in the time available. It’s quite impossible.’
‘Why? You’ve got a whole loft full of Leathermice and dozens of Demonic Bees in your honey.’
‘In order to extract a creature’s essential fat, I have to render it down within a minute of its death. Cadavers become useless shortly afterwards. Whenever I come across the corpse of a Leathermouse, it’s generally been dead for hours, sometimes days. The most I can do is make it into black pudding. And you know why I don’t lay hands on the live vampires in my loft.’
Echo climbed out of his basket,
‘As for Demonic Bees, catching them alive is a difficult and extremely hazardous business,’ Ghoolion went on. ‘Only the beekeepers of Honey Valley have mastered the technique. Unfortunately, dead bees preserved in honey are quite useless for alchemical purposes.’
‘But what’s that to do with my transformations?’ Echo asked.
Ghoolion smiled. ‘If I can’t obtain the unadulterated fat of those life forms,’ he said, ‘I can at least preserve their fundamental characteristics: the dogged tenacity of the Leathermouse, the insane fanaticism of the Demonic Bee. That’s where you come in. You’ve experienced them both. They’re both in here!’ He tapped Echo’s little head with a long fingernail. ‘I need only extract them.’
‘You’re really fond of doing deals with animals, especially if they cost you nothing,’ Echo grumbled. He proceeded with his morning wash. It was nice to be a Crat again. To hell with Gnorkx!