The Bees: A Novel (8 page)

“Congregation, Copulation, Coronation!”
they chanted again and again, and the sisters cheered them on. Flora stood too, but Sir Linden pushed her back down.

“Oh, no—you will not leave this hall until they bring word of my triumph with a discerning princess. Believe me, hairy girl, it shall take place.” He looked at her. “Until then, you will stay here, by my explicit instruction.”

Furious at herself for choosing to help the Willow above following Lily 500, Flora forced herself to nod.

“Excellent.” Sir Linden banged his armor plates together like his brothers and marched out with the phalanx, plume held high.

F
LORA LONGED FOR
Sir Linden’s success, for it would free her from servitude in the Drones’ Hall, but by the afternoon every single one of the males was back, cursing and swearing that the rains had returned. Flora silently cursed as well, for confinement with the high hormonal smell of the drones made both her head and belly ache.

Sanitation workers had more freedom than drone maids—and Sister Cowslip would be only too glad to evict her when she knew the truth of her base kin. Flora waited until Sir Linden lay sated and snoring, and then went to confess her trespass.

Sister Cowslip did not react, even when Flora repeated herself, but stood motionless at her reception station near the doors. Flora sniffed her. She was a bee of late spring, and her time had come.

Flora let her natural kin-scent rise up from her body, then pulled in her antennae like the humblest of her kin. Making sure Sister Cowslip’s wing-latches were secure, she lifted her in her mouth and slipped out into the corridor.

Swirls of warm, fresh air came in from the landing board, and by the chains of sisters passing aromatic bales of pollen back into the hive, Flora knew the rain had stopped. She edged forward in the slow lane, her heart thrumming with excitement as she heard the sound of forager engines taking off and landing, so close outside. She felt her wings long and strong down her back, and the elastic tension of their membranes. Lily 500 had said there was hunger, and that Flora was strong and able. If the hive was hungry and she found food, how could that be wrong?

“Sanitation to exit.”

At the gruff call of the Thistle guards, Flora and a few others of her kin stepped out onto the board.

Sister after sister hummed her engines and fired herself into the dazzling blue sky. Flora unlatched her wings, adrenaline pumping through her body. She started her engine.

“Stop at once!” voices shouted, and several Thistle guards ran out onto the board. “All flight is canceled by order of the Sage, effective immediately!”

Foragers waiting to leave shouted their disappointment, but more guards ran out and pushed all the bees back from the edge. Others began laying homecoming flares, and another pulled Sister Cowslip from Flora’s grasp and threw her over the edge.

“We should not do that!” Flora’s engine thrummed inside her chest, the filigree of blood vessels in her wings were tight with power, and her feet were light on the wood. To be so long in darkness and servitude, and then at the very lip of freedom to be turned away—

“They come—stand back!” The guards pushed all the bees back as returning foragers approached in the flight corridor to the hive. Some of them swerved wildly and Flora held her antennae aloft, but there was no trace of wasp attack, only the soil and the plants and the incoming sisters.

The first bee crashed onto the board at her feet. She was a forager from the kin of Poppy, but her scent was overlaid with something alien and ugly, and a gray film covered her whole body. She crawled toward Flora.

“Help me, Sister. I beg you.”

Some instinct made Flora jump back from the forager’s desperate lunge, and all the bees stared in bewildered horror as the Poppy stopped and was violently sick. Other bees came crashing down onto the board around her, their eyes wild and their bodies speckled with the gray film.

Thirteen

H
ER BODY TENSE FROM THWARTED FLIGHT
, F
LORA WENT
back into the hive. Pausing in the crowded corridor to relatch her wings, she heard weak, raised voices of the Poppy and other sisters coming from an antechamber near the morgue. Before she could hear what they said, the Thistle guards hurried everyone back inside, pushing them toward the Dance Hall.

Jittery bursts of buzzing came from the large assembly of bees. The pulses in the comb had called them there but it was not time for Devotion, nor, despite the definite trace of fear drifting in from the landing board, was there any smell of wasp. There was, however, an unpleasant odor somewhere close, and Flora instinctively drew away. The whole crowd rippled and flexed as one, and when the movement stopped, certain bees stood isolated in pools of space. Each was a forager, standing with her head down and her sides heaving for breath, and each showed the same gray film on her body as had the Poppy who crashed to the landing board.

A Sage priestess rustled her long, elegant wings for attention. Her antennae scanned the large hall.

“Sisters in One Mother, we give thanks for the sacrifices and valor of our noble foragers,
Amen.
”

“Amen,”
murmured the bees, currents of alarm passing between them.

“Behold our sister foragers, whose work is honor and whose precision, zeal, and stamina give life, health, and wealth to our hive. But whose mistakes and hubris bring disease, disgrace, and death. Many sisters have fallen sick and died today, and now we are certain of the cause.” Sister Sage pointed and two Thistle guards brought forward an old forager. Those bees nearest gasped in shock.

“Madam Lily 500,” intoned Sister Sage. “What do you wish to say to your sisters and to Holy Mother, whose life you have brought into danger with your error?”

Lily 500 raised her head. Her voice was hoarse but calm.

“I do not make errors. The field was clean when I was there.”

“No. It was poisoned.
And in your error
you sent countless sisters to their deaths. See the wounded now, the venomous mist burning holes in their bodies? And we have found tainted pollen in the stores, no doubt also gathered in error after your directions. Your prestige has made you careless—”

“I danced the truth!” Lily 500 raised her voice. “If the pollen was tainted I would not gather it. If the field was poisoned I would die rather than return—I swear on every royal egg—”

“And now blasphemy!” called out Sister Sage. “Blasphemy, pride, and error.”

“—and I swear on my love for the Queen that when I went to the flowers the mist was not there, nor have I ever gathered unclean pollen!”

Sister Sage spoke quietly. “Brave sisters who suffer, come forward.”

Those isolated bees whose bodies were covered in the tiny gray specks and bore the strange scent walked or were guided forward to the center to join Lily 500. Some of them still scraped away at their bodies, trying to remove the gray film. Lily 500 stared at them, then bowed her head.

“Forgive me, my sisters. I should rather have died than brought this home.”

No one spoke. Then a squad of identical bees parted the crowd, their fur slicked dark and their kin-scent veiled under a thick masking odor. They stood by Sister Sage.

“Madam Forager, Lily 500, you have endangered our hive by your error. For the protection of Her Majesty the Queen, source of life and Immortal Mother, we must cleanse our hive of sickness.” Sister Sage looked around the silent hall. “If any sister ails, let her prove her love for Holy Mother and come forward.”

No one moved. In the silence Flora ran her consciousness around her body. On the landing board she had forgotten everything in her excitement at flight—but now she could feel the strange sensation in her belly again. It had more pressure, and as she focused on it, strange prickles of excitement ran through her. It was no longer pain, nor did she feel sick in any way. She decided not to speak of it.

Sister Sage looked at Lily 500.

“We will remember the wealth you brought. Praise end your days.”

Before the old forager could respond, the police dragged her away. At this humiliation of one of their greatest, all the sisters stared in shock.

Sister Sage’s face shone bright, and tremors flew up her antennae as if she were at Devotion. “The Kindness is only for the diligent. Those whose carelessness endangers the hive may not receive it. We fearlessly protect Holy Mother, for we know
From Death comes Life Eternal.”

“From Death comes Life Eternal,”
responded all the bees. Then in one shared impulse, every affected forager unlatched her wings and stepped forward. Together they faced the police.

“Death flies close on every mission,” said one, her body speckled with the gray film. “We need no escort now.” The foragers bowed to their sisters.
“Accept, Obey, and Serve.”

“Praise end your days,”
said all the bees. The foragers walked out, the police guard behind them. The bees waited in silence, the comb underfoot completely still. They heard the weak engines of their sisters start up on the landing board and the power surge as they leaped into the air. Every bee in the Dance Hall strained to hear their engines fading as the sick foragers flew far from the hive, never to return.

“Back to work,” Sister Sage announced. “Prepare for health inspection.”

T
HE ATRIUM EMPTIED
at great speed. Sisters rushed to get away from the police, and Flora attached herself to a large detail of sanitation workers. They were going to the morgue, where the day’s dead bodies must be removed, and their supervising sister was another Bindweed.

“Because of poisoned pollen you will drop the bodies far beyond the orchard,” she told them, “and you will not return.”

The workers looked at each other in alarm, but Sister Bindweed smiled.

“It is to the honor of your kin! You are so numerous that we can easily spare a few to ensure good hygiene. It is your privilege:
Accept, Obey, and Serve!
”

As the sanitation workers mumbled their incoherent response, Flora heard a cry of pain. She smelled Lily 500 close by, mixed with the harsh scent of the police.

“Let me die with honor,” came the forager’s hoarse old voice. “Let me go with my sisters. . . . I promise I will not return—” She cried out as if she had received a blow. The sound came from the waste depot near the morgue.

“I beg you,” came Lily 500’s agonized voice again, “at least kill me before you throw me to the Myriad—oh my sisters have forsaken me! Where are they?”

Flora left her sisters going into the morgue and ran to find Lily.

T
HE OLD FORAGER’S
LEGS
dragged on the wax tiles behind her and her wings were broken at both latches. Carrying her by the thorax, one on each side, the police turned down the approach to the landing board. Even outside in the bright air their powerful scent hurt Flora’s antennae as she ran toward them.

“Please,” she said, “may I attend my sister?”

“Lily 500 is sentenced to death. Do you seek to share her end?”

“No, Officer, only to pray with her. I heard her call.”

Flora dropped to her knees. The officers’ feet had huge black hooks and smelled of different kin, hideously mixed.

“The forager is unclean.”

“Yes, Officer, but I carry every kind of waste and do not fear disease.
Accept, Obey, and Serve
.”

The police were silent, though their antennae radiated together. They stood back.

“Quickly,” said one. “She is sentenced to die in exile.”

Flora went to Lily’s side. Every joint of the old forager’s body was broken.

“To stop me returning,” whispered Lily. “As if I wished to live, after my mistake.” She gazed at her. “I know you . . .”

“I saw you dance. You were so strong and beautiful and I wanted to follow, but . . .” Flora could not finish. Twelve black hooked feet walked closer.

“Please, officers, we must pray—” Lily 500 pressed her antennae tight against Flora’s. “Open!” she whispered. “Do not waste it—”

A huge rushing sensation poured down Flora’s antennae and a torrent of sound and scent and image filled her brain. She did not feel the kicks that separated them.

When Flora could see again, Lily was gone and only one police bee stood on the board with her, looking up into the blinding blue. High beyond the orchard, a tiny black speck separated into two. One fell toward the earth, and the other turned and headed back to the hive.

Flora got to her feet, flashes of flowers and petals and fragrance filling her senses. The sky was wide open. But before she could unlatch her wings, the second police bee had landed beside her.

“Number and kin.” Her voice was ugly and abrasive and Flora could see Lily’s blood still wet on her jaws. If she flew now they would knock her out of the air. She bowed her antennae subserviently.

“Flora 717. Sanitation.”

“Then get there.”

Flora ran back into the hive, Lily’s voice and chemical memories still flashing in her mind long after she had rejoined her kin.

Fourteen

F
LORA JOINED THE FIRST SANITATION DETAIL SHE
found—scrubbing out the Dance Hall. They worked in somber silence, for nowhere in the hive was the comb more sensitive to the chemical signals of the colony, and it transmitted flashes of fear and pain as the health inspection continued in the hive. Outside in the lobby more floras carried newly dead bodies of ailing house bees to the morgue, all with the sickly smell of tainted pollen on their mouths and their heads hanging limp after the Kindness.

Flora turned away and focused on minute particles of dust trodden into the worn wax tiles where the foragers danced. She hoped Lily 500 had died in the air, not fallen into the grass still conscious, helplessly waiting for the Myriad. The bell rang for shift change and she went up with the other floras to the midlevel canteen—but for once the smell of food did not move her. All she wanted was dark seclusion.

In a workers’ dormitory she found the segregated kin area and threw herself down in a corner bunk. Her soul hurt from the violent loss of so many sisters.

From Death comes Life Eternal,
she repeated in her mind, but the words gave no comfort. She curled her body tight in grief—and felt the pressure in her belly push back, stronger. As Flora shifted to ease the sensation, a wave of energy rolled through her.

The image of a purple foxglove shone in her mind, its ultraviolet runway glowing in welcome. She felt the cool, soft press of its petal tunnel, then a shiver of delight as its pollen brushed against her fur. A bead of nectar pulsed sweetness, and she stretched out her tongue—

Flora jolted awake. It was completely dark, the air had cooled, and every berth held a sleeping sister. She breathed in their heat-exhausted bodies and their kin-scents—many floras around her—and then the Dandelions, the Bindweeds, the Plantains nearer the front and the better ventilation. From the stale pollen on their breath she guessed that the latest fresh loads had been destroyed in case of contamination, along with the brave sisters who had brought them.

The pressure in her belly was worse, and the more Flora tried to settle herself, the more insistent it became, until she was forced to get up. Swaying her abdomen relieved the painful pressure—but also made her scent rise more strongly, disturbing her sleeping neighbors. Flora could not help but think of Lily 500’s error in the field, and how closely they had touched. Perhaps she had caught something—perhaps she was at this moment transmitting it to every sister around her.

As she tiptoed out of the dormitory her belly pulsed as if forcing her forward, and the pain eased a little. Walking in the dark corridors of the hive, without the day’s tumult of scent and sound, she smelled its sweet bouquet rising through the comb on all sides so that every sister’s kin-scent blended in its beauty. For the first time, Flora smelled its separate elements. The essence of a million flowers combined with the purity of the new wax cribs, the rich aroma of pollen wrapped around a piquant note of propolis, and beneath it all, the hive’s deep gold core of honey.

A spasm of pain went through her and Flora dropped to her knees. Her belly was her only consciousness, pushing tauter and harder so that every nerve blazed in agony—and she felt she must burst and die.

The terrible sensation faded. Flora lay in shock as the ripples passed through her body. She was still alive, her face pressed to the comb floor of a corridor on the midlevel. It was still night, and it was quiet and dark. She felt the tip of her abdomen throbbing and something warm pressing against it.

A single pulse came through the comb under her body, and its fine, thin energy was new to her. It grew stronger as she felt it, running through her body until her mind connected to it, and she knew it joined her to whatever pressed against her body. A beautiful fragrance came from it.

Flora pulled herself around and gasped in shock. The thing that touched her was small, warm, and glowing. It was slightly pointed at one end, and as she stared its fragrance rose more strongly, activated by her attention. Flora looked up and down the empty corridor, then back at the egg.

Her egg.

“No.” Flora did not know if she spoke aloud or not. It was impossible:
Only the Queen may breed.
That was the first law of life, so holy it needed no place in prayer for it was a rule literally incarnate in every sister’s body.

Flora raised her antennae, searching for the fertility police. They were all-powerful; they would know and be here any moment, and when they came she would not ask for mercy for her unspeakable act. It did not matter that she had not meant it, that the egg had come without warning. She stared at it.

The egg was glowing brighter and its fragrance was the sweetest thing she had ever smelled, sweeter even than Devotion. But that very thought was evil.

Flora looked around, waiting for deliverance. They must come, and if they did not she must call them.
Only the Queen may breed. Only the Queen—

Repeating the words, Flora lay down and curled herself around her egg. Its fragrance filled her senses like her first Devotion, and she looked in desperation for anyone to come and save her from her crime, but the hive slept on. Then a thought occurred to her. The Nursery was close by, and Sister Teasel would know what to do. Very gently, Flora picked up her egg.

She could not help it—her arms cradled it softly, her antennae bent to feather it with loving touches, and her heart swelled with love.

The child they tore apart—twisting in agony on Sister Inspector’s hook—

Her antennae seared and she clutched her egg closer, drawing her own scent around it like a shield. The egg responded, tender and fragile and pressing strong against her. Flora’s cheeks began to tingle with the sweetness of Flow, but she swallowed it down.

Sin was sin—and she must go to the Nursery before her courage failed. Holding her beloved egg for the last precious moments, Flora forced herself to walk through the doors of Category One.

Sister Teasel sat snoring at her station. Flora went closer, until she stood in front of her. She held up her glowing egg. Sister Teasel did not wake. One antenna sagged sideways; the other trembled as if she dreamed. All around them the long rows of Category One cribs were quiet, faintly glowing from the last feed of the evening. The nurses’ rest area was still.

“Sister Teasel.” Flora spoke loud enough for the old bee to hear. Sister Teasel did not stir. Flora looked around. At the far end of the ward was the start of Category One, and beyond that, the veil of scent that hid the Laying Room from view. That was where the newest eggs would be found in the morning. Flora’s egg shimmered in her arms. Soft and quick, she walked down the rows of cribs toward the laying area. She was almost there when a sound stopped her.

“Who’s there?” Sister Teasel’s voice was thick with sleep. “Lady Speedwell?”

Flora did not move, the egg bright in her arms. Sister Teasel tidied her antennae and brushed herself off.

“Forgive me for not greeting you,” she said. “It has been such a trying day for all of us.” She leaned forward to whisper. “I hope it is not blasphemy to ask, but did you come to say Her Majesty has laid in her privy chamber again? Oh, and to think that you found me sleeping—what is our hive coming to?” She laughed nervously. “It is the scant rations you know, one needs energy to stay awake.” She peered at Flora. “You will not mention I slept, will you?”

Flora forced her knees together and curtsied. Sister Teasel sat down in relief.

“Good girl. You know where to put it.”

Flora went to the most secluded part of Category One, where the pure new cribs held the latest eggs. She placed her own deep inside one and watched it roll with its own inner life to secure itself to the wax by its pointed end. Flora leaned over, inhaling its precious scent as deeply as she could. She stroked it one last time.

If she were Lady Speedwell she would return to the Queen’s Chambers through the Laying Room, and Sister Teasel would think it odd if she did not. Praying nothing had changed, Flora slipped through the veil of scent. The Laying Room was empty and prepared for Her Majesty’s next Progress. Through one door was the rich beauty of the Queen’s Chambers—and certain discovery, for the ladies-in-waiting would raise the alarm at her trespass. But when she had attended the Royal Progress and been sent to and fro for water, she had used the little door that opened near Patisserie. Very carefully, she tried the handle. It was unlocked.

The scent of the hive began to change as dawn rose, but the comb was quiet and no one stirred as Flora returned to her dormitory. Her bunk was completely cooled of body warmth as she lay down and curled her abdomen in for sleep. The tip still throbbed, yet she felt oddly calm. All she wanted was to draw the last of that beautiful scent into her mind and feel that warm, tender shimmer of life against her body again. She had committed a crime, yet she felt no guilt, only love for her egg.

Flora listened to her sisters’ sleep and the birdsong starting in the orchard, and waited for retribution.