< Humbug Tales: Keeper of the Swarm
A humbug fisherman and his arachnid companion encounter a friend in need.
Like me, my Mama was once Keeper of the fishing spiders, apex predators of the pond surface. She told me, “don’t let nobody tell you what to love, and don’t let nobody tell you what to fear.”
At least I think that’s what she said. I was just a wee humbug, between my first and second instars. I remember being very confused by it at the time. I didn’t know who this “Nobody” was, or why they’d have any opinions about what I was doin’ in the first place.
Me and the other larvae all hatched at the same time, but my sister Caecilia was always a bit old for her age, if that makes sense. I asked her one time, “Who’s Nobody? Where are they?”
Caecilia smiled and pointed to an empty patch of earth nearby. “See there, Wart? That’s ‘nobody.’” I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t see Nobody. Sometimes I thought I could hear them, though–just whispers when I’d go out at night. Maybe that’s why I’m never lonely, even when Gizzo’s not around. Nobody’s always nearby.
Speaking of Gizzo, where had my favorite peacock spider disappeared to? I grunted as I hoisted myself up off my half-submerged sitting stone, my big ol’ buttprint now visible in a day’s worth of moss growth. “Gizzo? Where’re you at, boy?”
My pole sat nearby, the line of spidersilk extending into the water. There was plenty of life in the pond–at a glance, I could clearly see mosquito larvae darting about beneath the surface–but I guess I forgot to bait it. No matter, though. Fishing’s way more relaxing without the hassle of catchin’ stuff.
As I pulled in the line and slipped the coiled spidersilk into my pocket, I cocked my head and listened to the surrounding wetlands: flies buzzing up above, the rhythmic footsteps of marching ants, and, sure enough, familiar chirps leading me inland to Gizzo.
His excitement was obvious from a distance. The spider’s colorful fan flap was on full display, and he waved one pair of legs wildly in the air as if to shout “Look at me!” His chirps seemed to be aimed at the base of a seed pod.
“What’d you find?” I asked, gently pushing him aside. In a crevice beneath the pod, I quickly recognized the point of interest: an aphid I’d seen ‘round a few times before, usually sucking on the leaves of a particular flower. I called him Alfie.
Now, Alfie wasn’t a big fella, but what he lacked in size he more than made up for in smallness. Green and round, he cowered inside the crevice with a puddle of honeydew he’d apparently discharged in fear of his uninvited playmate.
“Get back!” I commanded Gizzo. He shot away from us in two quick jumps but kept the largest and most central of his eight eyes fixed on Alfie’s position.
I got on my knees and beckoned the critter toward me. “Here, Alfie. He ain’t gonna bite ya.” Slowly, the anxious aphid peeked out his antennae, then his front and mid segments.
“Long way from home, ain’tcha?” I petted Alfie’s head. “You’re lucky Gizzo found you before someone else did.” The sweet scent of honeydew floated in the air, a clear marker to nearby predators. Ootheca’s usually a pretty safe place during the day, but hunger tends to blur the line between beasts and monsters, and any passing beetle could make an awful quick meal of a li’l guy like Alfie.
He looked eagerly up at me with his big, dark eyes. “C’mon, let’s find your flower.” I took quick note of the sun’s position, figuring we could still get there by nightfall.
“You comin’ or what?” I called to Gizzo. As soon as he leapt closer, Alfie cozied up to my other side, making sure I stayed between him and the twitchy spider as we walked.
We kept a steady pace, only pausing occasionally for Alfie to release tiny droplets of honeydew. As I expected, Gizzo lost patience right quick and started zipping ahead of us with increasing leaps and bounds. Every so often we’d catch up to find him resting comfortably, then briskly waking to our approach and repeating the process.
Sometime after the seventh or eighth repeat, I realized we hadn’t seen Gizzo for a while. It was starting to get a bit dark, but I wasn’t too concerned until I heard what sounded like humbug voices coming from behind a nearby patch of grass. I paused suddenly, causing Alfie to bump into me with an annoyed squeak.
Quietly, I squeezed myself between blades of grass until I had a view of the commotion on the other side. Gizzo had found himself a new reluctant playmate in the form of a soldier ant. Her humbug master was standing nearby, her antenna alert and sharp wings splayed in a dominant posture. Gizzo danced mischievously from side to side as, through a mask made of shed wasp mandibles, the humbug barked commands at the ant.
“Doggone Wasplings,” I muttered. It was unusual to encounter them this early in the evening, but they seemed to have grown bolder lately on account of recent…developments. Still, the woman was surely not traveling alone.
I peered past the bulky soldier to another humbug carrying a lantern of glowing foxfire fungi. In the light of the lantern, I estimated about three more humbugs, and as many ants, making up the full raiding party. Each of the Wasplings carried a sharp spear, pointed threateningly in the direction of the dancing Gizzo. The first Waspling–seemingly their leader–beckoned the others forward.
As they began to close in on Gizzo, I reached deep into my pockets, pulling out the line of silk. I thought of my cousin Sal, Keeper of the bolas spiders. He’d taught me a trick or two. With my hands, I molded one end of the line into a sticky weighted dough.
Let’s show ‘em what kind of web whisperer Mama raised. I leapt from the safety of the grass and swung the bolas above my head a few times before flinging it square at the leader’s spear. The dough end stuck firmly to the spear and, with a quick yank, the baffled Waspling was left holding air.
Without missing a beat, I disarmed three more Wasplings the same way before they could react to my presence.
The ant, having had enough of Gizzo’s game, grasped one of his legs tightly with her mandibles, and the other ants prepared to do the same. I approached, still swinging the bolas, only to be confronted by about a half-dozen more angry Wasplings with spears now pointed at me.
I never was too good with numbers, I thought as I dropped my silk to the ground and raised my arms in surrender to my captors.
Soon I sat on the rocky ground, tied up with my own line of silk. Alfie seemed to have long-since fled in fear, judging by the vacant puddle of honeydew beside me, and I could see poor Gizzo struggle against the ants now holding each of his eight legs. Meanwhile, The Wasplings murmured amongst themselves.
“Take the spider-beast alive. He’ll make an excellent offering for Dagmar,” said the leader. I buzzed my wings instinctively at the name of their wretched wasp idol, whose parasitic brood plagued the shores of Imago.
“But what do we do with him?” asked one Waspling, motioning to me. “We aren’t here to kidnap humbugs.”
“We could just leave him,” offered another Waspling. “Maybe stick him in a cobweb somewhere. We’ll be done raiding before he gets free.”
The Waspling leader shook her head. “This one seems pretty comfortable with webbing. We may have to take him back with us. It was Dagmar’s will that we capture him. Perhaps She has a plan for him.”
The Wasplings stood and considered these options. In their silence, I heard the faint sound of rustling grass.
I cleared my throat. “Not to be a bother, but I may have a suggestion: You could let me go.” The puzzled Wasplings turned to face me. “The spider, too. Just let us both go. The sooner the better, actually.”
The Wasplings’ laughter temporarily drowned out the rustling sound.
When they settled down, I continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I see y’all have plenty of sharp sticks. That’s a fine tool–the right tool for defending one’s home. But Ootheca isn’t your home, as it is mine.
“Now, I find that when I venture from home, survival becomes less a matter of having the right tools, and more about finding the right friends.” I looked the leader in the eye. “For folks so far from home, you seem pretty intent on making the wrong enemies.”
“So says our ‘friend’ Wart, the Spider Keeper,” mocked the leader. “That’s right, I know who you are. And we all know your secret, too: Your friends are gone. There are no fishing spiders in Ootheca. Mother Dagmar has taken them all.” She took a step toward me and narrowed her eyes. “Nobody’s coming for you.”
But as soon as she spoke, the rustling grew near and loud enough to draw her attention to a figure hidden amidst the grass, lumbering and enormous. Glowing in the green light of the foxfire, a pair of antennae whiffed ravenously at the sweet honeydew-infused air.
“Halt! Who goes there?” called the Waspling leader as she raised her spear.
“Oh, them?” I said, nodding toward the approaching beetle. “That’s Nobody.”
Lifting its head to see the humbugs with their weapons drawn, the beetle charged instinctively. The Wasplings dove aside, landing on the hard earth while their ants scattered.
Released from their grip, Gizzo traversed a sequence of points around the beetle’s perimeter, swiftly arriving beside me and biting me free of my restraints.
“Attaboy,” I said with a quick pat before gathering the silk and reforming the bolas. The beetle now faced a terrified Waspling leader on the ground, ready to charge again. I nodded to Gizzo, who took a mighty leap and landed upon the beetle’s head.
I swung the bolas around as the frustrated beetle stood on its hinders, taking futile swipes at the spider with its other limbs. When the beetle fell back into a lateral pose, Gizzo landed between the predator and its prior target, then turned his gaze to me.
I tossed the end of the bolas at Gizzo, who handily caught it with his fangs. As the other Wasplings and their ants fled madly from the scene, Gizzo circled the confused beetle in a flash. I yanked on my end of the silk, tightening its grip around the beetle’s legs. The beetle attempted one final lunge at the remaining Waspling, but fell helpless on its face.
After a few moments the Waspling’s shock seemed to fade. She stood up cautiously, looked back at me for a long moment, then limped away as quickly as she was able.
I shrugged to no one in particular. “I woulda thought a ‘thank you’ was in order, but what can you do?”
Soon the beetle stood, unsteady on its silk-tangled legs, and hobbled away in the same direction it’d come from, deciding this meal was no longer worth the effort.
Gizzo returned to me, waving his flap and legs excitedly. “What?” I asked before tracing the direction of his legs upward to the tall blade of grass above us. Perched on top, the tiny aphid shivered with apprehension.
“Ah, c’mon down, Alfie!” I coaxed, cupping my hands above my head. Reluctantly, he fell into my outstretched arms. I tried to set him down, resulting in panicked chirps of resistance. “All right,” I sighed. “We’re almost there, anyhow.”
In the dim light of the setting sun, I could see the pink petals of Alfie’s flower up ahead. With Gizzo by my side, I began to carry my funny little friend home.
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We hope you’ve enjoyed getting to know Wart—you’ll see more of him in Keeper of the Swarm!
Author’s note: The final scene was inspired by an observed encounter between a tiny spider and much larger winged ant. Both parties survived, although the ant was still struggling with tangled thread for some time after fleeing.