The Bees. Laline Paull

low of kin and sweeper of filth, now sat with the Queen and her ladies in Her Majesty’s own private sitting room, eating jewelled lily-cakes and drinking fresh nectar, while she told her story of the wasp and the heat ball. Without warning the Queen scanned her, then to Flora’s shame the smell of the wasp rose from her body again. The ladies started in fright and protested they had washed her.

      ‘Hush, daughters.’ The Queen smiled. ‘I only wished to make sure that even in its last traces, the scent of the Vespa had not changed. Her ancient envy still beats strong; that is why they want to steal from us, as if our honey or our children will give them our power. In the Time before Time they chose blood above nectar, and we became foes.’

      Lady Burnet clasped her hands. ‘Immortal Mother protects Her children.’

      ‘Hallowed be Thy Womb,’ all the ladies responded, Flora too, as the words rose unbidden from her tongue.

      ‘Leave me, daughters.’

      Then the Queen lay down on her couch of petals, folded herself in a haze of scented sleep and vanished from their view.

      * * *

      The ladies showed Flora her bed, and it was soft and sweetly scented, almost as fragrant as the cribs in Category One.

      ‘Because the Nursery is just beyond that door,’ said Lady Violet from her neighbouring couch. ‘Perhaps you shall see it tomorrow when we attend Holy Mother at Her Laying Progress. With all the eggs and glowing cribs – it is a sacred marvel beyond words.’ She coughed. ‘Do not be offended if we cannot take you.’

      ‘I will not.’

      ‘Your humble attitude is honour to your kin.’ Then Lady Violet wrapped herself in a thin scented veil of sleep and spoke no more. Flora lay in the darkness, breathing in the divine nurturing perfume that held them like a tender embrace. She drew it deep into her body until she felt her abdomen soften and glow.

      * * *

      The next morning the sun bell rang and the Queen’s fragrance rose strong and sweet as the ladies opened the doors to the Nursery. They called Flora to come with them and they entered the great chamber of Category One behind a dense veil of seclusion. They were now in the most sacred area of the hive, the Laying Rooms, row upon row of immaculate cribs empty and waiting for the Queen.

      The Queen’s scent rose high as she went into her birth trance. Her face shone brighter, her scent pulsed, then with a fast graceful rhythm she began swinging her magnificent long abdomen from side to side, each time sliding the tip deep within a crib. At the back of the Progress, carrying the water and cooling cloths, Flora saw the faint point of light remaining in the wax, where a tiny new egg adhered to the bottom. Each one glowed with soft gold light then faded down as the Queen moved on, her birth dance so hypnotically beautiful that Flora wanted to swing her own body in joy, but seeing that none of the other ladies danced but followed most demurely, she held her urge in check and did as they did.

      Six times she returned to the Queen’s chambers for fresh water and pollen cakes before all the cribs were filled. The Laying Room was soft and bright with new life, the Queen stood proud and exhausted, and her ladies wept in delight.

      Back in the Queen’s chambers, Lady Burnet directed Flora to clean and make ready the common parts while she and the other ladies took Her Majesty into her private sanctum to prepare her for rest. As Lady Violet closed the doors, Flora curtsied and gazed her last on Holy Mother, her heart filled with love and a tearing sadness that this day of beauty and wonder was over. With scrupulous attention she swept and cleaned, knowing that when the doors opened again, she must leave.

      The ladies-in-waiting filed back out. Determined to show that a sanitation worker had manners, Flora pressed her knees straight and curtsied to Lady Burnet.

      ‘Thank you for all your—’

      ‘Oh, do not be so craven.’ Lady Burnet had a strange look on her face. ‘Holy Mother has requested you attend her again.’

      ‘Me?’ Flora looked around at the ladies. None smiled.

      ‘You.’ Lady Burnet spoke neutrally. ‘Do not linger, go at once.’

      * * *

      The Queen parted her golden aura when Flora entered and bade her sit beside her. Then she drew it close again, so that Flora was wrapped in it with her.

      ‘I have not left the hive since my marriage flight. Now I only taste the world through food and drink, and the stories of my Library.’ The Queen gazed through her golden veil, as if out upon the open sky. ‘Did they frighten you?’

      ‘Yes, Holy Mother, at first. Then I wanted to know more.’

      ‘They tell of our religion, and must be fed with attention. After my labours I have not strength to scent them myself, though my ladies do their best. The priestesses read them when they can, but in these strange times they are so busy with matters of governance that it is not their priority.’ The Queen smiled. ‘Tales of the world, my daughter, of beauty and terror.’

      ‘Holy Mother, I will read them gladly – after the wasp, I fear nothing.’

      The Queen’s laugh sent ripples of delight through Flora’s body, though she did not know how she had so amused her.

      ‘Let us see,’ said the Queen. ‘The first three will be enough for you.’

      * * *

      And so Flora kept her position as attendant to the ladies-in-waiting for another day, fetching water and refreshments for them until the Queen had laid her thousand eggs and returned to her chamber – and then her second job began.

      While the ladies groomed each other, ate their supper and the Queen rested, Flora went to the Library. Without the anxiety of the other ladies around her, she was calm and could focus, and the intense energy of the chamber no longer overwhelmed her. In the still air she detected wisps and trails of the story fragrances as their living energy drew her attention and sought release – but this time she was determined not to lose control.

      Very carefully, Flora scented the first story panel. There it was, The Honeyflow in all its blossoming glory, the foragers calling to each other in the Old Tongue – and there were the terrors of the Myriad lurking in wait.

      Beside that was The Kindness, where a sister saw her own death by the hand of another. Then came the third, that honey-scented door to chaos – The Visitation, from whence a filament of smoke curled out its invitation. Flora stepped back, and the smoke retreated. The Queen had said three panels were enough, but excitement coursed through her body. If the priestesses were too busy to read the last three panels, then surely it would be of benefit to the hive if she could perform that service.

      She looked at the last three panels. No tremors went through her antennae, nor did her feet drag forward without intention. The lilting singing of the ladies in the rest area beyond came through the walls, sweetly reassuring. Flora stepped up to the fourth panel, and the singing grew louder. A beautiful choral sound filled the chamber, the sound of ten thousand sisters singing one word that ebbed and flowed around the Library, as if they moved just beyond its walls. Flora could not quite decipher it, and as she concentrated the Library filled with the bright busy smell of the Dance Hall – and a great pressure wave rolled through the chamber.

      Expiation! The choral blast of the word made Flora stagger. It echoed and died away, and the scent of the Dance Hall faded down.

      Flora shook herself, her blood racing. Though she did not understand the strange word or the scents, and the feeling in her body challenged her to flee, the Queen wanted her to know the stories, and she would not fail her.

      Flora moved on to the fifth and penultimate panel. At first glance it was very simple – just one carved leaf. As she looked more closely, it took on a golden hue and its filigreed veins pulsed energy that grew into a stalk, then a stem which stretched down the length of the panel and into the floor, its golden roots spreading all through the chamber and back up the walls until they met overhead. The heavenly smell of Holy