Free Beowulf by Robert Nye

others were too puzzled to protest. They noticed that the bees in each hive buzzed busily as Wiglaf wriggled past them.Beowulf stooped and murmured soothingly and the noise subsided.
    Onee inside the narrow passageway, Wiglaf moved on tiptoe, deftly. He was a small person, slim and agile, which was partly why Beowulf had chosen him for the job. When he came to the bright treasure-chamber he skipped into it like a shadow. As it happened, the Firedrake was asleep—worn out by its night’s havoc—and did not see him hide himself amid the gold.
    Beowulf was watching the sun. When he judged that enough time had elapsed for Wiglaf to have performed the first part of the plan successfully, he crept into the crack himself. He set his horn to his lips and blew a loud, rude blast.
    “Halloo,” he cried. “Halloo, old fire-belcher! I am Beowulf, come to quench you!”
    The Firedrake’s golden eyes snapped open. It could not believe that anyone would be so foolhardy as to shout at it inside the mountain.
    Beowulf sounded another mocking note on his horn. “Ho, you, old smoky-guts! Where are you hiding?”
    The Firedrake hissed with rage. No one had ever spoken to it like this before. Its tail beganto flog the rock. Its body started to swell in the usual way.
    Peeping from his hiding-place, little Wiglaf waited anxiously for the right moment. He could hear the grumbling fire beginning in the creature’s belly. Smoke was whistling from its nostrils. It was getting bigger every moment. Wiglaf crouched, ready to pounce.
    “Call yourself a dragon?” shouted Beowulf. “You look more like a glowworm!”
    The Firedrake had reached full size. When it heard this final insult, it swallowed hard in its fury.
    Wiglaf seized his chance. He leapt.
    Quick as lightning he thrust the big stake into the Firedrake’s jaws, jamming them open even as the creature gaped wide to let loose the first foul gust of flame. The golden eyes glared at this new surprise. The barbed tail thrashed and twisted to be at him. But Wiglaf dodged, danced, flitted out of range. And as he went he threw the giant glove into the open mouth.
    The Firedrake coughed. A hail of cinders flew out. For a terrible moment Wiglaf thought the glove had come out too—but, no, it was still there, caught on a tooth that looked like a scythe.
    As Wiglaf watched, the glove flapped and bulged.
    Beowulf made a high-pitched buzzing sound.
    The Firedrake took a deep breath …
    …and swallowed a big Queen Bee that emerged from the glove as if in answer to Beowulf’s call!
    “They follow the Queen Bee
anywhere
!” This, whispered to Wiglaf on the way up the mountain, was the essence of Beowulf’s plan. Now, in response to another noise he made, sawing at his lips with his square-tipped fingers, all the twelve hives came alive. The bees poured out, a singing angry stream, orange, brown, black, yellow. They buzzed into the crack in the mountain.
    They whirled past Beowulf. And on into the brightness of the treasure-chamber.
    The Firedrake saw them coming. Its gold eyes bulged with fright. It tried to shut its mouth, but the stake between its jaws prevented this.
    The bees poured down the monster’s throat like a stream of honey, in pursuit of their queen. But when they reached the Firedrake’s stomach their effect was like no honey in the world.
    They began to sting!
    Hundreds of bees, stinging it from the inside!
    The Firedrake roared with pain and fury.
    It tried to spit out bees. But there were too many.
    It tried to spew up fire. But its own insides were burning.
    Little Wiglaf danced with glee.
    But Beowulf had collapsed in the entrance to the treasure-chamber. His armor came undone. It was all too big and heavy for him.
    Some men said, long afterward, that Beowulf was killed by the burning breath of the Firedrake. But, in truth, the monster managed only the merest tiny little cough of smoke before turning over on its side and giving up the ghost. Beowulf’s bees had stung it