up with a white envelope bearing the words 'For Jonathan Wells' written in a feverish hand. The flap of the envelope had been stuck down with several layers of sticky tape so that it could not be opened by mistake. He tore it open carefully. A crumpled page from an exercise book fell-out. He read the only sentence written on it:
‘ ABOVE ALL, NEVER GO DOWN INTO THE CELLAR!'
The ant's antennae were trembling. She was like a car that had been left out in the snow too long and would not start. The male had several tries. He rubbed her and bathed her in warm saliva.
Life flowed back. At last the motor started again. A season had gone by. Everything was beginning anew as if it had never slept the deathlike sleep.
He rubbed her again to generate some calories. She was all right now. He carried on with his efforts and the blind worker pointed her antennae in his direction. She wanted to know who he was.
She touched the first segment of his head and read his age: a hundred and seventy-three days. On the second, she discovered his caste: a reproductive male. On the third, his species and city: a russet ant from the mother city of Bel-o-Kan. On the fourth, she discovered the clutch number by which he was known: the 327th male laid since the start of autumn.
She ceased her olfactory decoding at this point. The other segments were not emitters. The fifth acted as a receiver for trail molecules. The sixth was used for simple dialogues. The seventh made more complex sexual dialogues possible. The eighth was intended for dialogues with Mother. The last three, finally, could be used as small clubs.
There, she had examined the eleven segments of the second half of the antenna but it had nothing to tell her. She moved off and went in turn to warm herself on the roof of the city.
He did likewise. He had finished his task as thermal messenger and it was time to get down to repairs.
When he reached the top, the 327th male assessed the damage. The city had been built in the shape of a cone to offer less resistance to the elements but the winter had been destructive. The wind, snow and hail had torn away the first layer of twigs. Some of the entrances were blocked with bird droppings. He must start work at once. 327th bore down on a big yellow stain and attacked the hard foul matter with his mandibles. Through it he could see the outline of an insect digging towards him from the inside.
The spyhole had got darker. Someone was looking at him through the door. 'Who's there?'
'Mr Gougne. I've come about the binding.'
The door opened a crack and Gougne looked down on a fair-haired ten-year-old boy, then noticed even further down a tiny dog which poked its nose between the boy's legs and started to growl.
'Dad's out.'
'Are you sure? Professor Wells was supposed to come and see me and . . .'
'Professor Wells is my great-uncle. He's dead, though.'
Nicolas tried to shut the door but the man stuck his foot inside the door-frame and insisted.
'I'm very sorry to hear about the Professor's death but are you sure he didn't leave a big file full of papers? I'm a book-binder. He paid me in advance to bind his working notes in a leather cover. I think he was hoping to make them into an encyclopedia. He was supposed to call me but I haven't heard from him for a long time.'
'He's dead, I tell you.'
The man stuck his foot further into the flat, pressing his knee against the door as if he were going to push the little boy out of the way. The tiny dog started to yap furiously. He stood still.
'You must understand I'd be very unhappy not to stick to the deal, even posthumously. Please check. There really has to be a big red file somewhere.'
'Did you say it was an encyclopedia?'
'Yes, he used to call it the Encyclopedia of Relative and Absolute Knowledge when he was talking about it, but I'd be surprised if that's written on the cover.'
'We'd already have found it if he'd left it at our house.'
'I'm sorry to insist, but. . .'
The toy
‘ ABOVE ALL, NEVER GO DOWN INTO THE CELLAR!'
The ant's antennae were trembling. She was like a car that had been left out in the snow too long and would not start. The male had several tries. He rubbed her and bathed her in warm saliva.
Life flowed back. At last the motor started again. A season had gone by. Everything was beginning anew as if it had never slept the deathlike sleep.
He rubbed her again to generate some calories. She was all right now. He carried on with his efforts and the blind worker pointed her antennae in his direction. She wanted to know who he was.
She touched the first segment of his head and read his age: a hundred and seventy-three days. On the second, she discovered his caste: a reproductive male. On the third, his species and city: a russet ant from the mother city of Bel-o-Kan. On the fourth, she discovered the clutch number by which he was known: the 327th male laid since the start of autumn.
She ceased her olfactory decoding at this point. The other segments were not emitters. The fifth acted as a receiver for trail molecules. The sixth was used for simple dialogues. The seventh made more complex sexual dialogues possible. The eighth was intended for dialogues with Mother. The last three, finally, could be used as small clubs.
There, she had examined the eleven segments of the second half of the antenna but it had nothing to tell her. She moved off and went in turn to warm herself on the roof of the city.
He did likewise. He had finished his task as thermal messenger and it was time to get down to repairs.
When he reached the top, the 327th male assessed the damage. The city had been built in the shape of a cone to offer less resistance to the elements but the winter had been destructive. The wind, snow and hail had torn away the first layer of twigs. Some of the entrances were blocked with bird droppings. He must start work at once. 327th bore down on a big yellow stain and attacked the hard foul matter with his mandibles. Through it he could see the outline of an insect digging towards him from the inside.
The spyhole had got darker. Someone was looking at him through the door. 'Who's there?'
'Mr Gougne. I've come about the binding.'
The door opened a crack and Gougne looked down on a fair-haired ten-year-old boy, then noticed even further down a tiny dog which poked its nose between the boy's legs and started to growl.
'Dad's out.'
'Are you sure? Professor Wells was supposed to come and see me and . . .'
'Professor Wells is my great-uncle. He's dead, though.'
Nicolas tried to shut the door but the man stuck his foot inside the door-frame and insisted.
'I'm very sorry to hear about the Professor's death but are you sure he didn't leave a big file full of papers? I'm a book-binder. He paid me in advance to bind his working notes in a leather cover. I think he was hoping to make them into an encyclopedia. He was supposed to call me but I haven't heard from him for a long time.'
'He's dead, I tell you.'
The man stuck his foot further into the flat, pressing his knee against the door as if he were going to push the little boy out of the way. The tiny dog started to yap furiously. He stood still.
'You must understand I'd be very unhappy not to stick to the deal, even posthumously. Please check. There really has to be a big red file somewhere.'
'Did you say it was an encyclopedia?'
'Yes, he used to call it the Encyclopedia of Relative and Absolute Knowledge when he was talking about it, but I'd be surprised if that's written on the cover.'
'We'd already have found it if he'd left it at our house.'
'I'm sorry to insist, but. . .'
The toy
Similar Books
The Mark of the Dragonfly
Jaleigh Johnson
Poker Face (The Masks Series Book 4)
Melissa Pearl
The Hundredth Man
Jack Kerley
What the Heart Knows
Shyla Colt
The Devil's Interval
Linda Peterson
A Christmas Wedding Wager
Michelle Styles
The Secret City
Carol Emshwiller
Chasing Superwoman
Susan DiMickele