Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees (13 page)

Oliver frowned. ‘He
might
agree.'

‘Of course he will,' said Darius. ‘Mr Beale loves that kind of thing! Imagine how much science he can teach us. Bees, birds . . . walnuts . . .'

‘But for two weeks?'

‘We'll learn more than if we were just sitting in a classroom. How much do we ever learn that way?'

‘That's true,' said Oliver.

‘You know what they say,' said Paul. ‘You never know until you ask.'

‘Exactly!' said Darius. ‘Will you come with me? You can say what a great idea you think it is. You can say how much you'll learn, how excited you are.'

Oliver grinned, relishing the chance to play another part in one of the little dramas that Darius seemed to be constantly concocting. ‘Just try to keep us away!'

They found the science teacher at lunchtime.

‘Mr Beale,' said Darius, ‘we really loved the week we spent studying bees.'

Mr Beale smiled. ‘Thank you for telling me, gentlemen. Science really comes alive when you can relate it to something that's happening in your own world, doesn't it? It's much more interesting to learn about bees when something's just happened to make it relevant.'

Darius and Oliver nodded vigorously.

‘I'm not sure it really makes it that much more—
Ow!
' said Paul, as Oliver elbowed him in the ribs.

‘I think I speak for the whole class,' said Darius, ‘when I say that it was the most fascinating science subject we've studied this year, especially the part about pollination.' He looked at Oliver and Paul. ‘Would you agree with that?'

Oliver nodded. So did Paul, remembering why he was there – and keeping an eye on Oliver's elbow.

‘That's funny,' said Mr Beale. ‘I didn't get that impression.'

‘Oh, no, Mr Beale,' said Oliver. ‘Everyone was fascin- ated. Everyone. People couldn't stop talking about it. They're still talking about it.'

‘Really?' said the teacher.

‘They'd love to learn more.'

‘Really?'

Oliver nodded.

‘You know what they say,' said Paul. ‘You're always the last to know.'

‘Well, that's just . . .' Mr Beale paused, shaking his head. ‘I had no idea.'

‘There are none so blind as those who will not see,' said Paul. ‘On the other hand, they do say that in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.'

Mr Beale, Darius and Oliver all stared at him.

‘I like to give people a choice,' said Paul.

They stared at him a moment longer.

‘The thing is, Mr Beale,' said Darius, turning back to the teacher, ‘you know you're always saying the place to really learn about science is outside, where you can see it in action?'

Mr Beale nodded.

‘Well, everyone wants to learn so much more about bees – and especially about how they help plants to pollinate – I was thinking, maybe we could do that. Learn more outside, I mean. I was thinking, maybe we could spend time in fields and orchards to really understand how these things work.'

‘Yes,' said Mr Beale, smiling dreamily. ‘Wouldn't that be wonderful?'

‘Everything about how bees pollinate.'

‘If I could just get the class outside . . .'

‘Exactly,' said Darius. ‘It's the perfect time for it. If you could just get us outside . . . Mr Beale? What's wrong?'

Mr Beale's expression had changed. ‘There are no bees, Darius. Didn't you know? There was a report in the paper. All the bees have died.'

‘Exactly! We can do their work! What better way could there be to learn about how bees live than to do what they do?'

‘Do their work? Darius, you're not exactly the size of a bee.'

‘But we can pollinate flowers for them, can't we? By hand. Cucumbers, beans, strawberries, tomatoes, peaches, cherries, aubergines, pumpkins, blueberries. It's too late for apples and too early for plums.' Darius shrugged sheepishly, seeing the way Mr Beale was staring at him. ‘I just . . . happen to know that.'

‘And just imagine how much else you could teach us,' added Oliver, in case Mr Beale wasn't as excited about pollination as Darius was. ‘The birds, the insects, all the other things we'll see. There's so much more we can learn.'

‘You know what they say,' said Paul. ‘The more the merrier.'

‘But where would we find these fields and orchards?' said Mr Beale. ‘We'd have to find a farm somewhere outside the city.'

‘No,' said Darius. ‘They're right here.'

‘Darius has them on the Bell estate,' added Oliver.

‘But could we go there?'

Oliver frowned. ‘Well, it wouldn't be easy, Mr Beale,' he said gravely, ‘but if you asked on behalf of the school, and you said how important it was, I'm sure Darius could get permission.'

‘Could you, Darius?' asked Mr Beale.

‘It would be unusual, Mr Beale, but my father does take a great interest in science, and in particular in scientific education. He often describes himself as a man of scientific sensibilities. He'd do anything for science to be taught better – he's often said so. I'm sure I could get permission.'

‘How sure?' demanded the teacher anxiously.

‘Very sure.'

Mr Beale nodded to himself. ‘That would be . . . I've never done anything quite like this. It would be amazing. To really understand how a bee works, how it sees the world, how it moves around, what it does. To take the class for a day and—'

‘Two weeks,' said Darius quickly.

The teacher looked back at him.

‘Two weeks, Mr Beale. That's how long we'd have to do it for.'

‘Two weeks? That seems rather a long time.'

‘It'll take two weeks to pollinate all those fields, Mr Beale. The point is to do what a bee does – the whole thing, not just a little bit.'

‘Still, two week is a lot.'

‘It's hardly anything!' said Oliver. ‘You just need to organise it, Mr Beale.'

‘Well, I suppose I could think about asking Mrs Lightman—'

‘Ask her today,' said Darius.

‘Today?'

Darius nodded. ‘She's back today, isn't she? You have to organise it today. The flowers are out. The pollination won't wait.'

‘Isn't this all a bit rushed? Maybe we won't concentrate on pollination.'

‘Everyone wants to! Just ask Paul and Oliver. You want to concentrate on pollination, don't you?'

Paul and Oliver nodded.

‘We love pollination,' said Oliver. ‘We find it absolutely fascinating.'

‘I can't think of anything else,' said Paul.

‘And think of all the other things we'd learn,' added Oliver. ‘Think what you could teach us in two weeks if we were outside in fields and orchards.'

‘Exactly,' said Darius. ‘Think about that, Mr Beale.'

Mr Beale did. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘It's how I've always dreamed of teaching science,' he murmured. ‘In Nature – as part of Nature – not in a classroom. Or in the greatest classroom of all, the world, the real world as it is, not four walls and a set of books—' Suddenly he stopped and looked back at Darius. ‘What about the other teachers? They'd have to give up their lessons. Why would they? They wouldn't agree.'

Darius and Oliver stared at one another.

‘You could give up
your
lessons to the other teachers after we come back,' said Paul. ‘That way it would be even.'

Darius stared at Paul in amazement. He was right!

Paul shrugged. ‘You know what they say – out of the mouth of babes—'

‘Whatever,' said Darius. ‘Mr Beale, you could do that, couldn't you?'

‘I could. I could try, anyway!'

Darius watched him. Mr Beale was gazing somewhere across the schoolyard, but whatever he was seeing, it wasn't the children yelling and running and hitting each other in front of his eyes. His head went back, his jaw stiffened, and his expression became more and more determined. It was as if Darius could
see
Mr Beale's mind working, planning what he would do, building up the courage to go and speak with Mrs Lightman.

Darius glanced at Oliver and smiled.

‘Just imagine, Mr Beale,' said Oliver. ‘Two weeks . . . in Nature . . . part of Nature . . .'

‘Not in a classroom . . .' said Darius. ‘How science should be taught . . . in the world as it is, not four walls and a set of books . . .'

‘It would be like all your birthdays had come at once,' said Paul.

‘I do have a free lesson this afternoon,' murmured Mr Beale. ‘I could try to speak with her.'

‘Two weeks . . .' said Oliver. ‘Two weeks on the Bell estate . . .'

Mr Beale looked back at them. ‘Gentlemen, I'll do it!'

‘Today?' said Darius.

‘Today!' said Mr Beale, and marched confidently away.

They watched him go. Darius turned to Oliver. ‘You should be an actor, Oliver. You're very convincing.'

When school ended, Mr Beale was waiting for Darius in the corridor. He took him into one of the classrooms.

‘Mrs Lightman said no.'

Darius stared at him.

‘Two weeks learning science in Nature – it's a totally new idea. It's different to anything she's ever heard of before.'

‘Isn't that a good thing?'

‘Not if you're Mrs Lightman. She said I could take the class out for a day if I could show why it would be such an important teaching event. A day would be all right. She could understand that.'

‘But a day's not enough!'

‘It's better than nothing.'

Hardly, thought Darius. A day might be enough to pollinate the cucumber field – that wouldn't keep the Fishers from leaving.

‘My father's extremely keen to see this done properly,' said Darius. ‘He's a man of such scientific sensibilities that he wouldn't be happy with anything less. I don't think he'd give permission to use the estate for just a day. Two weeks, Mr Beale. That's what he wants to see.'

‘In that case, there's nothing I can do, Darius. Mrs Lightman has spoken.'

‘Can't you go back and talk to her again?'

Mr Beale shook his head emphatically. ‘Once Mrs Lightman has spoken, Darius, she's spoken. She doesn't expect to speak again.'

Darius frowned.

‘Darius, I know you children all see Mrs Lightman as a thoughtful, caring, compassionate principal.'

Darius stared at him. Which Mrs Lightman was he talking about?

‘But if you're one of her teachers, Darius . . . I shouldn't be telling you this, but between you and me, I don't think Mrs Lightman is entirely happy at Viglen. I think she'd prefer to be somewhere else.'

‘Like the Haversham School?'

‘Yes, somewhere like that. And people who aren't very happy sometimes take out their frustration on others.'

‘On people who work for them, for example?' said Darius, who wished Mr Beale would hurry up and tell him something he
didn't
know.

‘Exactly.' Mr Beale sighed. ‘If you're one of Mrs Lightman's teachers, and you haven't got something she really wants to hear – I mean really, really,
really
wants to hear – you're better off not talking to her at all. And not doing it twice, that's for sure.' Mr Beale paused. ‘I'm sorry, Darius. I can see you're disappointed. I could still talk to your father about using the estate for a day.'

‘It won't be any use,' murmured Darius.

‘Really?'

Darius shook his head.

Mr Beale watched him for a moment. ‘Well, I'm sorry, Darius. I'm as disappointed as you are.'

You couldn't be, thought Darius, as he picked up his bag and left the classroom.

Darius walked slowly out to the schoolyard. He saw Paul and Oliver waiting for him. He caught Oliver's eye and shook his head.

Nearby, he saw Stephen Pintel.

Stephen Pintel, who thought winning the Mayor's Prize in fancy dress would be the height of achievement. Stephen Pintel, who thought Darius owed him and every other child in the class a costume and was expecting him to turn up with thirty-two sets of clothes the following day for their next after-school session in the gymnasium. Stephen Pintel, who . . .

Darius never finished the thought. Another one got in the way. He remembered what Mr Beale had said to him about the principal, and suddenly Darius realised that, unlike the science teacher, he did have something that Mrs Lightman really, really,
really
wanted.

Or at least it was possible that he did.

Darius opened the bag, looked around to check that none of the other kids on their way into school were watching, and pulled out a crimson cloak made of velvet. The other side of the cloak had a blue satin lining, but there were moth holes here and there and the lining had unstitched itself in places. And yet it was clear that it was – or had once been – a striking piece of clothing, unlike anything that had been seen on the city's streets, in all likelihood, for a hundred years.

‘What else have you got in there?' asked Oliver.

Darius pulled out a pair of blue trousers with a line of gold braid – or the remains of a line of braid – down the outside of each leg. Finally, he pulled out a chequered waistcoat made of green and yellow squares with a gold chain running from a button into one of the pockets.

He grinned. ‘What do you think?'

Oliver nodded.

‘You know what they say,' said Paul. ‘The devil's in the detail.'

‘Trust me,' said Darius. ‘Mrs Lightman will go mad for this.'

That afternoon, in the gym, with all the children watching, she walked directly over to Darius, who stood there with his bag at his feet.

‘One bag!' she said. ‘Do you think you're going to clothe all the students in this class with one bag? I warned you, Darius, the consequences will be extreme.'

‘Would you like to see what I've brought, Mrs Lightman?'

The principal snorted. ‘Is it worth my trouble? The same rubbish as last week, I expect. I've made it clear to you, Darius, what's required. I don't know how I could make it clearer. You had your chance, and now I'm afraid you're just going to have to accept the punish—' She stopped. The words seemed to choke in her throat as Darius brought the cloak out of the bag. She clutched at it, and then turned it over in her hands, noting the moth holes and disrupted stitching. Nothing that a clever bit of sewing couldn't fix. She held it up, forwards, backwards, handling it reverently as if it were some kind of sacred object – or the Mayor's Prize – that she held within her grasp.

‘What else have you brought?' she asked, still gazing at the cloak, her voice suddenly soft, almost gentle, as if for a second she had forgotten that she was Mrs Lightman, the evil headmistress, and was just a normal person who was capable of showing some appreciation.

Darius showed her the trousers, then the waistcoat. These were the clothes that had been in the chest in the green drawing room for as long as he could remember. They were the only ancient clothes he knew of in Bell House – enough for one costume. Darius still had no idea if there were any more. Mrs Lightman held them. In her mind she could see all the students wearing such clothes, parading triumphantly in front of the mayor and putting the other schools to shame.

Suddenly she turned back to Darius, remembering who she was. ‘Is that it?'

‘For now,' said Darius.

‘What do you mean, for now? How many children are there in this class, Darius? Can you tell me? Well, can you, or do I need to teach you how to count?'

‘Thirty-two, Mrs Lightman.'

‘Exactly. Thirty-two. That's the deal, Darius. Don't bring me a costume for one child! Bring me costumes for all of them!'

Darius didn't reply.

‘Did you hear me?'

Darius looked around the gym. Every eye was on him. Stephen Pintel, Evelina Williams and their friends watched him suspiciously, wondering if he had brought these clothes only to taunt them before dashing their hopes.

He looked back at the principal. ‘Mrs Lightman, we need to talk.'

‘What is it?'

They were in Mrs Lightman's office. She had sat down behind her desk, and Darius was standing in front of it, as if he had been called in to receive a punishment rather than to offer her the chance to have the things she most wanted above anything else in the world. It wasn't a very friendly way, thought Darius, for her to start a negotiation.

But he wasn't going to let that bother him.

‘You want me to bring thirty-two costumes, don't you?' said Darius.

‘I should have thought that was obvious by now,' snapped the principal. ‘I've always been told you're a clever boy, but if you still need to ask, Darius, you must be an imbecile.'

‘I'm not an imbecile, Mrs Lightman.'

‘Good.'

‘Only an imbecile would do that without asking for something in return.'

‘You impudent boy! The school's honour, Darius Bell! That's what you get in return. The prestige of having won the Mayor's Prize. The knowledge that you played a part in it. That's the deal. I don't know how many times I need to tell you. That's what you get in return, and be grateful for it!'

Darius didn't reply.

‘What?' demanded the principal.

‘Two weeks,' said Darius.

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Two weeks for my class to learn about pollination on the Bell estate. That's what I want.'

‘What?' Mrs Lightman's face creased in a combination of confusion and disgust. ‘That's what that idiot Mr Beale asked for. Science teachers! Honestly! Why can't they just stand in front of a class and read out of a book like any normal teacher? That's all I ever did when I was teaching. No, he has to come to me with—' She stopped. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you want that so much? Was it your idea or his?'

‘It doesn't matter,' said Darius.

‘
I'll
be the one who says what matters!' retorted Mrs Lightman, rising from her chair as if lifted by the very volume of her voice and then sinking back into it.

‘My class for two weeks on the Bell estate to learn about pollination,' said Darius. ‘In return, I'll give you thirty-two costumes from Bell House.'

‘That's blackmail, Darius Bell.'

‘That's what I'm asking for.'

‘Never!' she roared, rising out of her chair and thumping the desk. ‘I will not be blackmailed by a pupil. You will do what I say. Disobedience is not an option. You'll bring the costumes, do you understand me? You'll bring the costumes and that's an end of it. If I hear one more word about this two weeks nonsense you'll be out of this school, expelled, and I'll personally make sure that no other school will ever let you near them. Do you hear me, Darius Bell? Do you understand what I'm . . .'

Darius gazed steadily at Mrs Lightman. The sight of his principal, red in the face, trembling with rage, her mouth opening and closing and spraying flecks of angry spit as the words streamed out of it, made him want to turn and run. And yet he held on, forcing himself to be perfectly still, as she ranted.

‘. . . You'll bring me those costumes and you'll bring them
tomorrow
!'

There was silence.

‘What is it?' demanded Mrs Lightman eventually. ‘Say something! Are you an idiot? Did you hear what I said? Did you?'

Darius nodded. He just wanted to turn around and get out of that office, to say anything that would get him out of there. But this was his only chance to save Mr Fisher, and Marguerite, and Mrs Fisher, and even Maurice, although he wouldn't care too much if Maurice had to go somewhere else. But Mr and Mrs Fisher and Marguerite, anyway. There was no other way. And if he didn't try, if he didn't stand up to Mrs Lightman, who would?

Or as Paul would probably have said at this point – if not now, when? But Paul would have said it, thought Darius, as he was running out the door.

He
wasn't going to run out.

‘I can't do that, Mrs Lightman,' he said quietly. He wasn't sure the words were even going to come out until he heard them himself.

Mrs Lightman's mouth opened, but nothing hap- pened, as if she was so shocked that whatever she wanted to say froze halfway up her throat.

‘I can't say yes to that,' said Darius. ‘I just can't. But Mrs Lightman, here's what I can do. If you let my class come to the Bell estate for the next two weeks to help pollinate Mr Fisher's crops, I can get you thirty-two costumes for the mayor's competition. What I brought you today was just a sample.'

‘And you can get the rest even if I don't let your class come.'

‘No, I can't, Mrs Lightman. I just can't.'

‘So that's what this is about, is it? I can tell what you're up to, Darius Bell. It's not about learning at all! It's about pollinating your crops. Isn't it? Because your family is too poor and too pathetic to be able to live without them. Because your father wants to sit and write short stories all the time instead of doing any real work. Isn't that right, Darius?' She sneered. ‘See, I know the truth about you. I know the truth about you and your family.'

Darius resisted the temptation to tell the truth about her – that she wasn't good enough to get a job in a rich school and had to come to a poor one instead, that she took out all her anger and bitterness on everyone she saw, and that everyone knew it, even the little children in the first grade.

‘I taught your brother Cyrus and he was no better than you! You're good for nothing, all of you, one Bell after the next. You're a greedy, selfish, conniving little devil.'

Darius stood silently as Mrs Lightman continued to berate him. He remembered what his father had said: dignity was a stronger weapon that anger. He waited for the principal to finish, holding his head up high.

‘You want your class to pollinate your crops because otherwise you'll starve. Do you think I would allow a class of my pupils to be used for such a thing? What kind of a teacher do you think I am? Do you think I would even consider it? You insult me! How dare you? You snivelling, impudent child!'

Finally, she was silent.

‘Actually,' said Darius, ‘my family will be all right. It may not be easy, but we won't starve.'

‘What a shame!' snapped Mrs Lightman.

‘I'm doing this to stop another family having to leave and go somewhere else.'

‘What family?' demanded Mrs Lightman.

‘The Fishers. Marguerite and Maurice are students here as well.'

Mrs Lightman shrugged. ‘Who cares? Two children less – I'm not going to lose any sleep.'

It didn't surprise Darius to hear it. He hadn't come here to beg on Marguerite's behalf. That was the last thing Marguerite would have wanted, and besides, it wouldn't have worked anyway. What he had come for was to offer Mrs Lightman the one thing she
would
lose sleep over. It was time to remind her of that.

‘The Fishers for the Mayor's Prize, Mrs Lightman. Give me my class to pollinate for the next two weeks and you'll have thirty-two costumes.' Darius shrugged. ‘
That's
the deal, Mrs Lightman.'

‘I don't make deals with pupils.'

Darius stared at her. He didn't need to remind her who was the one who had first mentioned that word.

Mrs Lightman was silent.

‘It doesn't have to go beyond this room,' said Darius. ‘I won't tell if you won't. As far as everyone else is concerned, it's two weeks of science teaching. It just happens to be about pollination.'

Mrs Lightman gazed at Darius. He waited, watching her.

‘The next two weeks?' she said.

Darius nodded.

‘Your class?'

Darius nodded again.

Mrs Lightman sat forward. She pointed her finger at him. ‘You'd
better
be able to get me thirty-two costumes.'