We are having a guest for dinner tonight. His name is Sebastian Crabmouth. He is a medical doctor and the Professor has known him for many years. Mr Angelcakes would like me to kill him over dinner. The three of us sit round the dinner table. Tonight we are eating roast duck with plums and buttered potatoes. For pudding there is a birthday cake the Professor bought in a London cake shop. It is red with vanilla sponge and a cream filling. Sebastian Crabmouth is a little man with dark hair and spectacles, and a round squashy face. I look at my knife and fork and I think about murder. I know Mr Angelcakes will want to be amused.
“Happy birthday, Boo Boo. The Professor tells me you are eight today,” says Mr Crabmouth.
“Do you collect butterflies too?” I ask.
“No, I am the Professor’s physician and I also run a practice in London.”
How long, I wonder, do I have to wait before I can kill him?
The Professor turns to Mr Crabmouth. “Sebastian, I was thinking of inviting the explorer Oberon Lionheart over for dinner one evening. I hear he has some specimens of the emperor moth and I would love to arrange an exhibition.”
I throw my fork at Mr Crabmouth’s head. It sinks between his eyes, buried deep in his skull. He dies instantly.
The Professor stares at me with interest. “Boo Boo dear. That was a bad thing you just did.”
“But you won’t tell me off, will you, because you want to marry me?”
The birthday cake tastes delicious.
Mr Angelcakes is very pleased with me. But I feel I need more practice. More human targets. But no one comes to visit and so I have no one I can kill.
Boo
Hoo
Dream of the Angel-Eater
It is the witching hour when the Angel-Eater comes to me. Floats above my bed. Speaks to me directly.
She is a great black star.
“Our souls are under glass squashed together. You must get someone to break us out!” she says, hovering over me.
“Where are you?” I stand on my bed.
“On your wedding night he will reveal me. It is his pattern. You have to wait.”
POP
She vanishes into the wallpaper.
I dream of edible clocks. Each one tastes like insect-meat.
London
The Butterfly Exhibition
I am nine years old and I have had to wait a whole year but target practice has finally come. Tonight the Professor is taking me to an exhibition in London at the British Museum. The famous explorer, Oberon Lionheart, will be there with his moths. Mr Angelcakes has given me two butterfly blades made from silver. They slot neatly down my high leather-laced boots. The Professor looks at me quizzically. “Are you going to kill anyone tonight, dearest?”
“Very likely,” I say.
“Can I ask you to refrain from murdering Mr Lionheart, at least until I get to quiz him on his emperors?”
A huge banner hangs outside the steps to the British Museum with the emperor moth, in all its dazzling blues and purples. It is very beautiful, but not as rare as the Professor’s. Mr Angelcakes tells me to kill as many people as possible. So I will try my best.
I am let loose to roam free in the exhibition, and I would say there’s about fifty people here and a large amount of champagne. I take a glass and try it, the bubbles fizz up my nose. There are also strawberries and cream, big bowls of them. I dip my fingers in the cream. It’s like a bowl full of angel tears, delicious.
I see a huge man with a mane of red gold hair and great bushy beard. He must be the famous explorer, Lionheart. I go up and say hello.
“My name is Boo Boo. I am Professor Hummingbird’s adopted daughter.”
“Well, well,” he growls. “It’s an honour to meet you little miss,” and he shakes my hand with his great paw. “And what do you think of my emperors?” He points a finger behind him to where a row of them sit encased in a display cabinet, each one a deep midnight purple blue. Like the eyes of mermaids.
“They are very beautiful, Mr Lionheart. Have you seen the Professor’s angel-eater?”
Mr Lionheart is startled. “I had no idea he possessed one.”
“Oh yes, he hangs it usually in his bedroom, or the study, if guests are coming to visit. Maybe you will come and see us?”
“I would love to Miss Boo Boo,” and he smiles a great predatory smile. I like him very much. I have decided not to kill him.
I amble lazily up the stairs with a handful of strawberries which I am popping into my mouth, as if I was a god eating severed heads. I can see the Professor now talking with Mr Lionheart.
I wait.
I am approached by a gentleman with a fuzzy red moustache and a cigar in one hand.
“Hello, my dear. My name is Rufus Hazard.”
“Hello,” I reply. “Are you a collector of butterflies?”
“Egad, no! I’m an adventurer, my little one. A thrill seeker, treasure hunter. Most recently I had my leg chewed by an amorous witch.”