Doomwyte

Skipper retaliated then. Bounding forward, with slitted eyes and bared teeth, he brandished his javelin in her face, bellowing, “Sharraaaap, ye stupid ole mud beetle! I’m the baddest beast that ever was born! Hah, you see, you see? I’ll tell yer wot I see, silly spikes! I see me hangin’ ye over a fire an’ roastin’ yore prickles off, then I see me slittin’ ye open with me javelin, packin’ yore insides with rocks an’ sinkin’ ye in a deep, muddy swamp! That’s wot I see, see! Aye, an’ I’m just the bucko who can do it! Like this, an’ this an’ this! Hahaaaarr!”

As he shouted, Skipper began jabbing with the javelin point all about Blodd Apis, missing her by a mere fraction each time. Foremole covered his eyes, whilst the two young ones held their breath, astounded by Skipper’s barbaric outburst. It was a case of the bully being outbullied. Blodd Apis shrank to the ground, whimpering in terror.

“Aiee, mercy! Spare me, spare me, I was only joking, you see!”

Skipper Rorgus slammed the javelin point down in the ground alongside her. He growled roughly, “Hoho, jokin’, were ye? Well, I ain’t jokin’. Now, you’ve got a den ’erea-bouts. Don’t argue, take us there right away, afore I really lose me temper!”

Turning to his friends, he showed them a wide grin, and a broad wink. “Foremole, you take ’er lead. Come on, you, up on those paws, an’ mind yore manners!”

Blodd Apis led them on a complicated route through the woodlands. As they went, bees travelled with them. A few at first, but building up, until they had a huge mass of the insects buzzing in their wake. Foremole’s tiny eyes widened. “Hurr, may’aps she’m truly ee Queen of bumblybees.”

The old hog’s den was an arresting sight. It was situated in the dense heart of the woodland. Backed by protruding sandstone ledges, two incredibly ancient yew trees spread their girth, like an annex to the ledges. In the forks of both trees, extending up into the branches, were hives piled upon hives. Some old, some deserted, but many newer ones, showing signs of habitation and great activity by the industrious wild bees. The ground surrounding the bower was thick with scent and colour. Pink bush vetch, red clover, late bluebell, sweet violet and golden tormentil. The air resounded with soft, humming drones of bees, gathering pollen as they sipped nectar.

Perrit spread her paws joyously. “What scents, and the floor, it’s like, like a…”

“Coloured carpet?” Dwink suggested.

Blodd Apis took them into her den beneath the ledges—it was dim and cool. Skipper sat on a low ledge, taking the sling halter from Foremole.

Gullub Gurrpaw settled himself down gratefully. “Yurr, ’tis vurry peaceable, ee cudd get to loike this place, marm.”

Blodd Apis had become almost fawning, following her verbal defeat by Skipper. Dwink sat facing her.

“Now, marm, about those questions. I take it that this is the home of the Wild Sweet Gatherers?”

She nodded her grey-spiked head. “Always has been, you see. Wild bees can be very dangerous, but they know their Queen, you goodbeasts are safe whilst ye stay in my company, you see, safe with me.”

Dwink noticed that there were lots of bees buzzing around the ledges. “Well, that’s nice to know. Tell me, have you ever heard about the eye of the serpent, does it mean anything to you?”

The old hedgehog gave no sign of recognition. “No serpents on Queen Blodd Apis’s land, you see. Snakes do not come around here.”

Perrit interrupted, “He’s not really talking about a live snake. The eye of the serpent is a stone, like a pigeon egg, but it is green.”

The aged hog showed her snaggle teeth in an ugly grin. “No, young missie, you see I have never seen such a thing. Why do ye seek it?”

Skipper interrupted, still playing his role as the rough bully, “If’n ye’ve never seen it then wot does it matter to ye what we want with it, eh?”

At the rear of the ledges, Dwink noticed a number of large pottery urns, covered by woven reed mats. “What’s in those big vases, marm?”

Blodd Apis sounded evasive. “Nothing, young sir, nothing, you see.”

Foremole clambered to the back of the ledge. He heaved one of the urns out. “Hurr, nuthin’, you’m say, marm, then let’s take ee lukk at wot nuthin’ looks loike!”

He took off the covering, revealing a quantity of scented amber liquid. Dipping in a sturdy digging paw, the mole licked it. Licking his lips, he smiled. “Et tasters gurtly sweet!”

Their captive hastened to explain, “It’s what a Queen lives on, you see, I need no other food but that. I make it from bee honey, try some. It’s very pleasant, you see.” She pointed to a number of beakers nearby. “Please, I know ye’ll like it, ’tis quite harmless and delicious to drink, you see.”

Skipper set out five of the beakers, but he filled only one from the urn, placing it before Blodd Apis. “There y’are, missus. If’n that stuff’s quite ’armless, then let’s see you drink it!”

Without hesitation, the skinny old hog took a sip from the beaker. She was about to put it down, when the Foremole held a paw under the vessel.