Of Machines & Magics by Adele Abbot

caretakers to tidy up the damage they had inflicted.
    “Well. Down that way?” Calistrope pointed to where the floor sloped down and out of sight. As he posed the question five or six small wasps came into view—another contingent of caretakers who seemed to outnumber all the other varieties of insect in the community. Like the previous party, they detoured around the group of humans, taking no notice of the strangers in the nest.
    “You see?” Roli pointed out. “The soldiers would bite your head off without a moment’s hesitation. Most of the others won’t care a jot.”
    Calistrope nodded, aware of Roli’s crowing. He merely followed, supporting Ponderos as they went.
    The ramp was a tight spiral with openings leading off into enclosures. As they passed and peered in, they saw storerooms of seeds, fungi and dead rodents which reeked of decay. Others held tall paper cylinders like huge organ pipes, the air smelt sweet and heady with fermentation. Some variety of honey, or wax Calistrope guessed. There were still more rooms which were completely bare—not in use as yet.
    Light filtered through certain areas of wall which had been left especially thin. The illumination was dim for human eyes but sufficient when they had become used to it.
    “Shades,” said Roli, halting. Two insects came round the central pillar which supported the spiraling ramp; brilliant yellow, dense black. “Guards.”
    Calistrope let go of Ponderos and drew out his sword. Before the wasps could react, he had confronted them and hacked viciously at the head of the nearer of the two, he sheared off one bulbous eye and the jaws. Roli followed him in and decapitated the injured wasp while Calistrope closed with the second.
    The wasp snapped at him, taking hold of the glass sword and trying to shake it from his hand. The blade was too smooth, the wasp could not retain its grasp and Calistrope lunged as soon as it slid free. The point went into the wasp’s mouth and came out of the top of its skull; bizarrely, it inflicted no damage and this time, shaking its head, the wasp pulled the sword from Calistrope’s hand.
    Cursing, he kicked out at the weaving carapace and the wasp backed off with Calistrope’s sword securely lodged in its head.
    Roli had gone beyond the wasp while it had been engaged with Calistrope to see if any more followed. The two were alone, he found and turning back, he slashed at the wasp’s rear end, cutting of the deadly sting and its sack of venom. While the wasp turned its head to find its new aggressor, Calistrope leapt close and pulled his sword free. This time, the weapon must have severed some nervous tissue; the insect collapsed in a tangle of legs. The wings buzzed three or four times and stilled.
    “I thought we faced our end, just then,” Calistrope said, sheathing the glass sword.
    “Practice,” said Roli. “We’ve had quite a lot of practice at looking after ourselves.”
    “Yes,” Calistrope nodded. “We have.”
    Ponderos had stumbled to the side of the corridor when the fight began and now Calistrope supported him again. They began the descent and two maintenance workers passed them to pick up the remains of the guards.
    “That’s uncanny. How do they know when to come?”
    “Or where? They started in on repairing our entrance before we had left the room.”
    “Calistrope,” Ponderos paused a few minutes later, as they were passing by one of the empty rooms—a space which opened up towards the nest’s central axis. “How near to the bottom are we?”
    Ponderos shrugged. “Roli, have you any idea?”
    “Near the bottom, I’d say. Perhaps three, four floors, five.”
    “Then this is where we must do it.”
    “Do what?” Calistrope eased his friend’s arm from around his neck and stretched his back.
    “We should set fire to the nest before we leave.”
    Calistrope frowned. “Whatever for?”
    “We have to come back this way. Do we have to hope that the worm will attack them again at