Tony Richards - The Astonishing Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in the Twenty-First Century

On the other hand, he had read a good while back that certain scents and pheromones were capable of attracting the attention of the insect world. So maybe the solution lay in that direction? Were there human machinations behind this phenomenon?

They began wending their way through the thick primeval forest. Jomo tried to pick the easiest route, but twigs and narrow branches – some of them thorn-bearing – grasped at them as they progressed. Holmes did not enjoy that, but he took it like an Englishman, carefully unsnagging his garments whenever they became caught up.

“You’ve searched here for a nest?” he asked. And couldn’t help but notice that his own tone had become extremely muted in this shadowy and dismal place.

“A dozen times, and more,” Jomo nodded. “I know exactly what to look for. But I couldn’t even find a single bee.”

Holmes could see precisely what he meant. There were insects in these woods aplenty. Midges and mosquitoes – yes, great swirling clouds of them. Loudly humming blowflies. Ants and earwigs on the ground. But he could catch no sign of anything larger, and could hear no noticeable buzzing. Where did this swarm come from, then, and where exactly did it go?

A thin but very brightly coloured snake began to slither past them. Holmes and his companion both went very still, and the serpent ignored them.

“It’s the same with most things in the natural world,” Jomo opined, once that it was gone. “You leave them alone – they do the same thing back.”

Holmes had always found that the best way of leaving nature alone was to rent a hotel room in a big city, switch on the TV – preferably to a show involving Star Trek – and leave the whole ghastly business of feeding and breeding to resolve itself. But he decided not to mention that. He couldn’t help but long, however, for the security of the Land Rover that they had left behind. This appeared to him to be no sensible kind of place for men to be on foot.

And if they did happen to come across the swarm, what recourse would they have precisely? Jomo’s six-shooter would be no use. Holmes could swat at them with his pith helmet, he supposed. Insects were not cleverer than human beings, but they were a good deal more resilient. They’d been in this world long before mankind had been a spark in evolution’s eye.

Most of his unease, however, proved to be unfounded. No insects, nor anything larger, made the slightest attempt to come at them. No great cat came rushing at them through the shadows with its fangs and claws all bared. No, the worst that he would suffer from this expedition was some very itchy bites. Holmes’ curiosity gradually overrode his other instincts, and he kept on pressing on.

Until they came, at last, to a hollow at what looked to be the centre of the woodlands. The ground until this point had been reasonably flat. But it dipped suddenly, sloping down for almost five yards before it levelled out again. Holmes peered carefully around him once they’d reached the bottom. And it was hard to be entirely certain, what with the mass of surrounding foliage. But …

“What do you suppose might have caused this?” he asked.

“I’d presume natural subsidence,” Jomo replied. “It has been here ever since I first explored this place.”

But no, Holmes thought to himself. Unless he was mistaken, this depression in the earth was fairly circular and even. A geological peculiarity of some kind. But what had that to do with the matter in question?

They searched the spot for practically an hour. Looked in the branches of every tree, into every large hole in their bark, and even into the occasional small opening in the ground. And did not find a sign of any nest, nor see a single bee go wandering by, nor hear the faintest buzzing.

A sense of relief closed over Holmes when Jomo suggested heading back. He was not sure entirely why, but there was something about this particular matter that was setting his nerves on edge rather badly. He had come across unusual and unnatural events plenty of times before. But being out here set his instincts jangling like fine wires in a strong, harsh wind. In fact, he had never felt such powerful misgivings.

And they were partially confirmed when he got back to the truck to find out that a small troop of baboons had taken up residence on its hood. He understood how dangerous these creatures could be when confronted.

He expected his companion to draw his pistol. But the only thing that Jomo did was smile again, then run forward, shouting out and clapping his strong palms together. And the creatures scattered.

A second day of intense searching produced no results whatever. Except that – during the final hours of it, while they were hunting through the very last section of woodland – Holmes and Jomo heard a shot. It came not from the surrounding trees, but from the open savannah beyond them.

Holmes glanced at his companion, and could see the look of explosive anger on the young man’s face.

“Not a hunting party,” Jomo grated, his eyes blazing. “We’re the only lodge around here. It has to be poachers.”

A second shot resounded through the branches, coming from the east.

And then a low and constant buzzing started up.

It appeared to be coming from that central crater. But it moved away from that place quickly, the sound of it thinning out as it sped in the direction of the gunshots. Indeed, it faded from Holmes’ ears after a mere few seconds.

But it was replaced – a short while later – by human voices raised in fear and anguish. There were screams, and there were wails and yelps, and even what sounded like a man’s gibbering pleas for mercy. Holmes and Jomo promptly headed off towards the hubbub.

And actually met the very swarm of bees that they’d been after, coming back the other way. They’d obviously stung the poachers to their fullest satisfaction and were heading home. Holmes and Jomo froze again and let the creatures pass by, and – although they were momentarily surrounded – they did not get in the least bit harmed.

Holmes’ fear, though, was a quite palpable thing. His heart felt just like it was in his mouth, and pumping out the taste of bile. He could not imagine anything more horrid than for this seething cloud of hymenoptera to turn around and then attack him. But he fought to remain calm and used his powers of observation. What else could he do?

African bees were notoriously ferocious. Hybrids of such creatures, over in the New World, had already stirred up panic and claimed many lives. And these ones were enormous, larger than any of the species Holmes had ever seen before. About the size of a small standard box of matches. And they were wholly black, not a hint of yellow on their bodies. They had small waving antennae, wings that made a constant crystalline blur on the forest air, and large eyes that appeared to have – they passed by his face so quickly that he could not be entirely sure – a most curious gleam in them.

Could he make out the faintest hint of greenish-blue within that shimmer? He had never seen a single bee with that colour about it, and there was nothing in the woods around them that might have produced it.

But none of these compact assassins remained still for long enough to be properly studied. And the entire mob of them was gone within a bare handful of seconds.

Holmes let out a breath – he’d kept his mouth firmly shut the whole time he had been surrounded. He gasped for air, then turned to an equally rattled Jomo and said, “We must follow them.”

From the position of the humming noise, the swarm was headed back towards the crater.

Both men went charging after them, careless of the way the wretched undergrowth tore at their clothes. Minor inconveniences were forgotten in their rush to find out where the bees were going.