Read the book: «The Bees»

Contents

Cover

Copyright

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Laline Paull

About the Publisher

Prologue

The old orchard stood besieged. To one side spread a vast arable plain, a dullard’s patchwork of corn and soy reaching to the dark tree-line of the hills. To the other, a light-industrial estate stretched towards the town.

Between the dripping trees the remains of a path still showed. A man in early middle-age kicked at the tall nettles and docks to widen it. Neat in her navy business suit, a younger woman followed. She paused to take photographs with her phone.

‘I hope you don’t mind but we’ve put out some feelers, and we’re already beating them off with sticks. Prime brown-field location.’

The man stared through the trees, not listening.

‘There – thought for a moment it had vanished.’

An old wooden beehive stood camouflaged against the trees. The woman drew back.

‘I won’t come any closer,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit funny about insects.’

‘So’s my father. He calls them his girls.’ The man looked up at the low grey sky. ‘Is that more rain? What happened to summer?’

The woman glanced up from her phone.

‘I know! I’ve forgotten what blue sky looks like. Must be hard with the kids off school.’

‘They barely notice. They’re always online.’

He walked forward and peered closer at the hive.

A few bees emerged from a small hole at the bottom. They walked along a narrow wooden ledge and hummed their wings.

He watched them for a while then turned back to her.

‘I’m sorry. Now is not the right time.’

‘Oh!’ She put her phone away. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

He shook his head.

‘No. I’ll sell …’ He cleared his throat. ‘But not yet. It feels wrong.’

‘Of course.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose it’s very hard to know approximately …?’

‘Could be months. Could be tomorrow.’

The woman allowed a respectful silence.

‘Well, rest assured that when you are ready, it’s a seller’s market.’

She began walking back along the path.

The man stood alone by the hive. On impulse he put his palm against the wood, as if feeling for a pulse. Then he turned and followed her.

Behind them, bees rose into the brightening air.

One

The cell squeezed her and the air was hot and fetid. All the joints of her body burned from her frantic twisting against the walls, her head was pressed into her chest and her legs shot with cramp, but her struggles had worked – one wall felt weaker. She kicked out with all her strength and felt something crack and break. She forced and tore and bit until there was a jagged hole into fresher air beyond.

She dragged her body through and fell out onto the floor of an alien world. Static roared through her brain, thunderous vibration shook the ground and a thousand scents dazed her. All she could do was breathe until gradually the vibration and static subsided and the scent evaporated into the air. Her rigid body unlocked and she calmed as knowledge filled her mind.

This was the Arrivals Hall and she was a worker.

Her kin was Flora and her number was 717.

Certain of her first task, she set about cleaning out her cell. In her violent struggle to hatch she had broken the whole front wall, unlike her neater neighbours. She looked, then followed their example, piling her debris neatly by the ruins. The activity cleared her senses and she felt the vastness of the Arrivals Hall, and how the vibrations in the air changed in different areas.

Row upon row of cells like hers stretched into the distance, and there the cells were quiet but resonant as if the occupants still slept. Immediately around her was great activity with many recently broken and cleared-out chambers, and many more cracking and falling as new bees arrived. The differing scents of her neighbours also came into focus, some sweeter, some sharper, all of them pleasant to absorb.

With a hard erratic pulse in the ground, a young female came running down the corridor between the cells, her face frantic.

‘Halt!’ Harsh voices reverberated from both ends of the corridor and a strong astringent scent rose in the air. Every bee stopped moving but the young bee stumbled and fell across Flora’s pile of debris. Then she clawed her way into the remains of the broken cell and huddled in the corner, her little hands up.

Cloaked in a bitter scent which hid their faces and made them identical, the dark figures strode down the corridor towards Flora. Pushing her aside, they dragged out the weeping young bee. At the sight of their spiked gauntlets, a spasm of fear in Flora’s brain released more knowledge. They were police.

‘You fled inspection.’ One of them pulled at the girl’s wings, while another examined the four still-wet membranes. The edge of one was shrivelled.

‘Spare me,’ she cried. ‘I will not fly, I will serve in any other way—’

‘Deformity is evil. Deformity is not permitted.’

Before the bee could speak the two officers pressed her head down until there was a sharp crack. She hung limp between them and they dropped her body in the corridor.

‘You.’ A peculiar rasping voice addressed Flora and she did not know which one spoke, but stared at the black hooks on the backs of their legs. ‘Hold still.’ Long black callipers slid from their gauntlets and they measured her height. ‘Excessive variation. Abnormal.’

‘That will be all, officers.’ At the kind voice and fragrant smell, the police released Flora. They bowed to a tall and well-groomed bee with a beautiful face.

‘Sister Sage, this one is obscenely ugly.’

‘And excessively large.’

‘It would appear so. Thank you, officers, you may go.’

Sister Sage waited for them to leave. She smiled at Flora. ‘To fear them is good. Be still while I read your kin—’

‘I am Flora 717.’

Sister Sage raised her antennae. ‘A sanitation worker who speaks. Most notable …’

Flora stared at her tawny and gold face with its huge dark eyes. ‘Am I to be killed?’

‘Do not question a priestess.’ Sister Sage ran her hands down the sides of Flora’s face. ‘Open your mouth.’ She looked inside. ‘Perhaps.’ Then she inclined her head over Flora’s mouth and fed her one golden drop of honey.

The effect was immediate and astonishing. Clarity washed Flora’s mind and her body filled with strength. She understood that Sister Sage wished her to follow in silence, and that she must do whatever she asked.

As they walked down the corridor she noticed how every bee averted her eyes and busied herself, and how the dead body of the young worker was already far ahead of them, carried in the mouth of a dark hunched bee who walked in the gutter. There were many more of the same type, all moving on the edge of the corridor. Some carried bundles of soiled wax, others scrubbed at broken cells. None looked up.

‘They are your kin-sisters.’ Sister Sage followed Flora’s eyes. ‘All of them mute. Presently you will join them in Sanitation, and perform valuable service to our hive. But first, a private experiment.’ She smiled at Flora. ‘Come.’

Flora followed gladly, all memory of the killing lost in her longing to taste more honey.

Two

The priestess walked swiftly through the pale corridors of the Arrivals Hall. Flora followed closely, her brain recording all the sounds and scents as different kin broke free of their emergence chambers. Many more dark sanitation workers moved along the gutters with bundles of soiled wax. Noting their sharp distinctive odour and how other bees avoided any contact with them, Flora drew closer to Sister Sage and her fragrant wake.

The priestess paused, antennae raised. They had come to the edge of the Arrivals Hall where the countless rows of emergence cells finished, and a large hexagonal doorway led into a smaller chamber. A burst of applause from within carried out a thrilling new odour. Flora looked up at Sister Sage.

‘Unfortunate timing,’ said the priestess. ‘But I must pay my respects.’ Once inside, she put Flora to wait by the wall then went to the front of a crowd of bees. Flora watched as once again they burst out clapping, gathered before the entrance of a still-closed emergence cell.

Flora gazed around this beautiful room. It was obviously an Arrivals Hall for more favoured bees, for it was spaciously arranged around two rows of central cells, each one made up of six grand and beautifully carved individual compartments. Sister Sage stood in the welcoming committee before one of them, where many bees held platters of pastries and pitchers of nectared water. The delicious smells sharpened Flora’s own hunger and thirst.

Muffled curses and thuds came from within the decorated walls of the compartment, as if the occupant was leaping and jumping. At the sound of breaking wax, the assembled sisters redoubled their applause and their kin-scents flowed stronger with excitement. Flora detected a molecule of a different scent and her brain knew its pheromone signal: A Male – A Male arrives!

‘Worship to His Maleness!’ cried several feminine voices as a big carved piece of wax fell out, followed by screams of delight as through the hole came the plumed head of a brand-new drone.

‘Worship to His Maleness!’ the sisters cheered again, and they rushed to help him out, pulling the wax free themselves and making a staircase of their bodies.

‘Quite high,’ he said as he walked down on top of them. ‘And quite tiring.’

He puffed his dronely scent around himself, rousing more sighs and applause.

‘Welcome and Worship to His Maleness.’ Sister Sage curtsied low. As all the other bees graciously did the same, Flora stared in admiration and tried to copy the movement. ‘Honour to our Hive,’ said Sister Sage as she rose.

‘Too kind.’ But his smile had charm, and all the sisters returned it, gazing at him avidly. He was rumpled but elegant, and very concerned with the exact set of his neck-ruff. When he had finally arranged it to his liking, he bowed with a great flourish. Then, to the sisters’ fervent applause, he showed himself off from many angles, stretching out his legs in pairs, puffing his plume and even treating them to a sudden roar of his engine. They screamed in delight and fanned each other, and some scrambled to offer him pastries and water.

Flora watched him eat and drink, her own mouth dry and her hunger keen.

‘Greed is a sin, 717.’ Sister Sage was beside her again. ‘Take care.’

She walked on, and before Flora could look back at the drone her antennae tugged sharply from the line of scent the priestess had attached without her knowledge. She ran to catch up.

As she followed, the vibrations in the comb floor became more insistent, stronger and stronger as if it were a living thing beneath her, energy running in all directions. With a buzzing sensation through all her six feet, a torrent of information rushed up through her body and into her brain. Overwhelmed, Flora stopped in the middle of a big lobby. Under her feet spread a vast mosaic of hexagonal floor tiles, the patterns scrolling across the lobby and down the corridors. Endless streams of bees criss-crossed around them and the air was thick with scent broadcasting.

Sister Sage came back to her.

‘Well! You appear to have accessed every floor code at once. Stay very still.’ She lightly touched both Flora’s antennae with her own.

A new fragrance cocooned them. Flora breathed it deep inside and the rushing confusion in her brain subsided. Her body calmed and her heart filled with joy, for the fragrance told her with utter certainty that she, Flora 717, was loved.

‘Mother!’ she cried out as she sank to her knees. ‘Holy Mother.’

‘Not quite.’ The priestess looked gratified. ‘Though I am of the same noble kin as Her Majesty, all praise to Her eggs. And as the Queen most graciously permitted me to attend Her today, I am richly blessed with Her scent. That which you feel is but a tiny fraction of the Queen’s Love, 717.’

Sister Sage’s voice came from a great distance and Flora nodded. As the Queen’s Love flowed through her body and brain, all the different frequencies and codes in the tiles slowed and clarified into a map of the hive, constantly running with information. Everything was fascinating, and beautiful, and she turned her gaze to the priestess.

‘Yes. Very receptive.’ Sister Sage looked at her, then pointed to a new area of the mosaic. ‘Now stand over there.’

Obediently Flora moved, feeling how the comb transmitted subtly different vibrations and frequencies. She adjusted her feet to receive the strongest signal, and the priestess watched with keen attention.

‘You feel something – but do you comprehend it?’

Flora wanted to answer that she did, but her physical bliss prevented her speaking and she could only stare. At her silence, Sister Sage relaxed.

‘Good. Knowledge only causes pain to your kin.’

As they walked on, Flora’s euphoria stabilised into a feeling of deep physical relaxation and heightened perception. Only now did she fully appreciate the beauty of Sister Sage’s elegant form, how her pale gold fur lay in silky stripes against the thin brown gloss of her bands, themselves exactly matched by the shade of her six legs. Long translucent wings folded down her back and her antennae tapered to fine points.

They continued deeper into the hive, Flora entranced by its carved and frescoed walls of ancient scent and the beautiful blend of her living sisters. She did not feel how the golden tiles changed underfoot and the bare pale wax began, or how the priestess spread her cloak of scent over them both as they entered an empty corridor which held no vibration at all.

Only when they stopped before a small plain doorway did she feel how far they had travelled, and that she was still very hungry.

‘Soon.’ Sister Sage answered her as if she had spoken. She touched a panel in the wall and the door opened.

Three

The little chamber was tranquil and bare, and a beautiful soft smell filtered through the walls. The pale hexagonal tiles showed a wide tread of past wear across the centre of the room and Flora set her feet wider in case there was any information to detect.

‘All long gone.’ Sister Sage had her back turned but she still knew what Flora did. ‘And you will hold your tongue.’

Then came the sound of running feet, and another bee burst into the room. She stopped in shock at the sight of the priestess standing before her.

‘Sister Sage! We were not expecting you.’ By her hard shiny bands she was a senior, but her fur was yellow, her face coarse and her antennae blunt. She bowed deeply. Sister Sage inclined her head.

‘Sister Teasel. Are you well?’

‘Never doubt it; every Teasel as strong and willing as ever. You will not find sickness in this kin! Why? Has someone been found ailing?’

‘No. Not at all.’ Sister Sage’s attention rested for a moment on the far wall. Flora looked too. Where the worn tiles ended was the faintest outline of a third door.

Sister Teasel clutched her hands together.

‘A visit from a priestess of the Melissae is always an honour – but did not Sister in her wisdom order this side of the Nursery closed off? Otherwise someone would surely have been stationed here to receive you—’

‘I wished to avoid notice.’ Sister Sage gazed down the dim corridor from where Sister Teasel had come. Sister Teasel took the opportunity to stare at Flora. Alarmed at her tangible disapproval, Flora attempted a clumsy curtsy. Sister Teasel rapped her hard on the closest knee.

‘Forward, never splayed!’ She looked to Sister Sage. ‘Such boldness! But by her wet fur she is newly hatched – I do not understand.’

‘We were obliged to wait while a drone emerged. She saw such antics there.’

‘Oh, a new prince! Honour to our hive – was he very handsome straight away? Or does it come upon them as their fur rises? How I long—’

‘Sister Teasel, how many nurses have you lost?’

‘Since last inspection?’ Sister Teasel stared in alarm. ‘Compared to other departments, hardly any. We are not like foragers, we keep ourselves safe from the outer world and its perils – but even our kin will sometimes suffer—’ She cleared her throat. ‘Six, Sister, since last inspection. I move them on for the slightest sign of confusion or hint of ailing – we take no chances. And of course, we have only the purest kin here, and the most obedient.’ She coughed. ‘Six, Sister.’

Sister Sage nodded. ‘And what do you hear, of other departments?’

‘Oh! Mere canteen gossip, idle tittle-tattle, nothing I would repeat—’

‘Please do.’ Sister Sage focused her attention on Sister Teasel, her scent flexing in the air. Flora looked down at the waxen tiles and did not move. Sister Teasel twisted her hands together.

‘Sister Sage, we are very fortunate in the Nursery, plenty of food, everything brought to us – we do not feel the shortages, we face no dangers …’ She faltered.

‘Come, Sister. Unburden yourself.’ Sister Sage was calm and kind, and Sister Teasel dared look up.

‘They say the season is deformed by rain, that the flowers shun us and fall unborn, that foragers are falling from the air and no one knows why!’ She plucked at her fur convulsively. ‘They say we will starve and the babies will all die, and my little nurses are worrying so much I fear they will forget—’ She shook her head. ‘Not that they do, Sister, ever, for they are most strictly supervised and the rotas are always guarded, so even if they could count – you may kill me if it is not so.’

‘You need not give permission.’

Sister Teasel burst out laughing and reached for one of her hands.

‘Oh, Sister Sage, it does me such good to jest with you – now I have shared the burden, I am no longer fearful!’

‘That is the role of the Melissae: to carry all fears, so the hive is free.’ A calming scent flowed from Sister Sage and filled the chamber.

‘Amen,’ said Sister Teasel. ‘But oh for the courage of the kin of Thistle.’

‘Why? What do they do?’ Too late Flora remembered herself.

Sister Teasel glared at her in outrage, her own distress forgotten.

‘She speaks? The impudence! Sister Sage, please, spare my curiosity and tell me the reason for her presence. If it is to clean, then I shall add her to the next detail – but I hope all Sanitation is not now possessed of tongues for we shall be in uproar!’ She glared at Flora. ‘Obstreperous dirty creatures.’

‘Does Sister Teasel stand in judgement of our purpose?’

‘No, Sister, never. Forgive me.’

‘Then kindly recall that variation is not the same as deformity.’

‘Sister graces me with her superior wisdom – though to my ignorant eyes those terms are one and the same.’ Sister Teasel stood back from Flora. ‘How monstrously large she is – and that fur when it dries will be thick as a drone’s, and her shell as black as a crow’s – not that I have ever seen one, thank Mother.’

Sister Sage became very still.

‘You are fatigued perhaps, by your long duty? Your loyal heart wishes to serve longer, yet your spirits tire?’

Sister Teasel shook her head in alarm. Sister Sage turned to Flora.

‘Open your mouth, 717, let Sister Teasel look.’

Flora obeyed and Sister Teasel promptly peered in. She looked to Sister Sage in surprise. Then she grasped Flora’s tongue and pulled it to its full length, before letting it snap back in her mouth.

‘I see! It might indeed be possible, but with that tongue comes—’

‘She will lose its use when it is time for her to rejoin her kin. And should it linger, I will personally wipe any knowledge from her mind. Test her, and if she does not produce anything, send her on immediately.’ Sister Sage looked kindly at Flora. ‘This experiment is a great privilege. What do you say?’

‘Accept, Obey and Serve.’ The words blurted from Flora’s mouth unbidden.

Sister Teasel shuddered. ‘Let us hope she will. Such ugliness!’

Ashamed, Flora turned back to Sister Sage as her shield, but the priestess had vanished.

‘They do that.’ Sister Teasel watched her. ‘Never know where you are with them, always surprising you. Come along then.’ She opened a door and Flora smelled the sweet pure fragrance beyond it. ‘If Sister Sage hadn’t told me to do this herself, I’d call it sacrilege.’ She pushed Flora through the door with her foot. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

Four

The enormous nursery was filled with row after row of glowing cribs, some with little rippling streams of light above them. Flora followed Sister Teasel deeper into the chamber. To her wonder, the light was in fact a luminous liquid, pouring in droplets from the mouths of the young nurses who leaned over the cribs. Many more of them moved silently about the ward, young and pretty with glowing chins.

‘It is so beautiful!

Despite her resentment, Sister Teasel smoothed her chest fur and nodded. She pointed to an unattended crib.

‘What gender?’

Flora looked in. The larva was newly hatched, soft pearly tendrils of shell still clinging to the translucent white skin. Its tiny face was closed in sleep and a sweet milky smell drifted above it.

‘A female. She is so perfect!’

‘Just another worker. Now find a male.’ Sister Teasel indicated the whole vast nursery.

‘Yes, Sister.’ Flora raised her antennae. On each row she drew in the smell of female babies, strong and constant.

‘You can’t do it from here, you silly girl.’

Flora did not answer. She smelled the different kin of the young nurses, and all the thousand female children. There was no scent of male.

‘I have searched and there are none. Why is that?’

Sister Teasel stared at her.

‘Late in the season Holy Mother stops making them.’ She shook herself. ‘A good sense of smell is not enough to keep you out of Sanitation. Now hold your bold tongue and let us conclude this foolish experiment.’

Sister Teasel pushed Flora to the first worker crib she had shown her, and tapped on its side so that the little creature woke. When it opened its mouth and began to cry, she folded her arms in satisfaction and looked at Flora. ‘And now?’

Flora leaned in to look, and the larva baby flexed and stretched towards her. Its warm scent rose more strongly, threaded with the delicate fragrance of the Queen’s Love. Immediately, two pulses began flickering in Flora’s cheeks, and her mouth began to fill with sweet liquid. She looked to Sister Teasel in alarm.

‘Flow!’ cried Sister Teasel. ‘Don’t swallow, let it come!’

She guided Flora into the right position as the luminous drops spilled from her mouth. As they fell onto the larva baby it stopped crying and wriggled to lap them up. The drops thickened into a thin stream which pooled around the baby’s body until it could drink no more.

The liquid ebbed and Flora’s cheeks stopped flickering. Completely exhausted, she held the side of the crib for support. The baby grew as she watched, and the base of the crib glowed. Other nurses looked across.

‘Well!’ said Sister Teasel. ‘If I had not seen it for myself. A flora from Sanitation, able to make royal jelly – Flow.’ She corrected herself. ‘You must only ever call it Flow.’

‘Why, Sister?’ Flora felt warm and sleepy.

Sister Teasel tutted.

‘No more questions. All you need to remember is to feed as your supervisor instructs you. Not a drop more, no matter how the babies beg. And they will. Now I must find you a place to sleep – though I don’t know what the other girls will say about it. You mustn’t expect them to touch or groom you.’

Sister Teasel led Flora to a rest area where young nurse bees lay talking quietly or sleeping, luminous traces fading round their mouths. She lay down at once.

‘Flora 717 is here by Sister Sage’s express wish.’ Sister Teasel’s tone dared anyone to remonstrate. ‘Yes she makes Flow and yes it is most irregular for her kin, but we are in the season of irregularity, with the rain and the cold and the lack of food – so we will all be helpful. Is that clear?’

The nurses murmured assent and placed food and drink within Flora’s reach, but she was too tired to move. Sister Teasel’s voice continued above her and she knew that when the comb shivered, the divine fragrance that rose up from it was the Queen’s Love, and that this was the sacrament of Devotion. She wanted to join the sweet harmony of nurses in prayer, but the room was warm and dark, and the bed was soft.

* * *

Like the other nurses, Flora’s job was simple. She must give Flow to the babies as directed, rest when it stopped, then repeat. As Sister Teasel had stressed to Sister Sage, the feed timing was very strictly observed and marked with different bells that signalled one or other area of the nursery was due more, or must now stop feeding. These constantly chiming bells, and the shimmering energy of the fed larva, created an intense and dreamlike aura in the nursery, but one sound always alerted Flora’s attention. It was the bright resonant tone of the sun bell, and its particular frequency told all the bees that beyond the safety of the hive walls, day had risen again.

Flora particularly enjoyed its vibration and listened out for its rare pleasure. Every three chimes, the supervising sisters came round and collected all the nurses whose fur had risen and whose Flow was dwindling, and replaced them with new ones, fresh from the Arrivals Hall, their fur still soft and damp.

Flora’s fur had not changed, so she was kept on. By the sixth sun bell, every nurse around her had changed, but her own Flow continued as strongly as ever. Supervising sisters also changed, but there were always several Teasel in their number. As she watched them go about their business, Flora began to understand the workings of the Nursery.

The cribs were always being rotated. Each day the nurses who were soon to leave would clean out a thousand of them, then a small army of sanitation workers would arrive to remove the waste and scrub the floors. Surreptitiously, Flora watched them. Though they never made eye contact or said a word, their vigorous energy was tangible and all the nurses were relieved when they left, none more so than Flora, ashamed of her own kin. Then the nurses would prepare the empty cribs in the newly cleaned area and the supervising sisters would say prayers of purification, before veiling the whole section with the shimmering scent of discretion, ready for the Royal Progress when the Queen laid her eggs.

When the next sun bell sounded, the glorious fragrance of new life rose in the Nursery and a thousand new eggs lay pure and perfect in their cribs. Every bee in the Nursery joined in songs of praise for Immortal Mother’s fertility. It took three more sun bells for the eggs to hatch into larva babies, and then it was time to feed them Flow.

Under strictly timed supervision from a senior sister, for the next three days Flora and other feeding nurses watched in amazement as the babies grew before their eyes. Their sweet scent rippled with changes in their bodies, and then came the stark moment when the supervising sisters piped a quick whistle to stop the feeding. No matter how hungry a baby might be, not a single drop more might be given, for it was time to wean them in the Category Two ward.

To Flora, this was a highly desirable place to work. Through the big double doors that separated the two nursery wards, she had often glimpsed older nurses playing and singing with the bigger children, even cuddling them in their arms.

Everything about the Ceremony of Transition was exciting to Flora, from the way the babies started wriggling and laughing in excitement at the delicious food smells coming from the double doors dividing the wards, to the first strains of the cheerful hymns sung by the nurses who came for them. With graceful curtsies to all in the Category One ward, even Flora, they scooped up the laughing babies and the doors closed soft behind them.

With their fully risen fur, elegant limbs and narrow curtsies, these sophisticated Category Two kins of Violet, Primrose and Vetch won Flora’s particular admiration. Discreetly in the dim holy atmosphere of Category One, she practised her own curtsy to overcome her shameful splay – just in case Sister Sage should reappear and move her to Category Two.

This was such a wonderful thought that Flora began including it in her prayers at Devotion. She forgot it each time the enchanting fragrance of the Queen’s Love rose up through the comb, but when the nurses changed again and her fur had still not risen, she gathered up her courage and sought out Sister Teasel.

‘You want to move?’ Sister Teasel stared at her in amazement. ‘From Category One, the holiest place in the hive and the closest you will ever come to Her Majesty? Why, She passes by us every day!’

‘But I have never seen—’

Sister Teasel swiped Flora’s antennae with a sharp claw.

‘Impudent, ignorant girl! Do you think a flora, a sanitation worker, is ever likely to be in the true presence of Her Majesty? I knew it would come to this! I was against it from the start – why, pray, are you now so eager to move to Category Two?’

‘It looks so bright and happy there. And the nurses play with the children.’

‘Yes, and as a result they are riddled with frivolity and attachment. I cannot believe it – move away from the Queen? Please, tell me: do you fantasise you are a forager, able to survive beyond Holy Mother’s divine scent? For clearly it is not enough to be a nurse!’

‘It is, Sister – forgive me for asking—’

But it was too late, for Sister Teasel’s agitation spread through the whole ward. The babies grew fractious, distracted nurses looked up from their feeding and Flow splashed against the cribs. Sister Teasel waved her arms at them.

‘Focus!’ She turned back to Flora. ‘Now you listen to me. We deliver one outcome here: identical care for identical brood. There is no improvising, no requesting a transfer, and, until you were forced upon us, no exception to the immaculate kin of our nurses.’

‘I know, Sister, I’m very grateful, it’s just that so many nurses have changed—’

‘What business is that of yours? Have you been trying to count?’ Sister Teasel came close to her. ‘717, have you been studying the rotas? Confess at once if you have, for it is a matter of hive security – what do you know about them?’ Her scent became fragmented with anxiety, and the babies began crying again.

‘Nothing, Sister! I just wanted to ask—’

‘There, that is the seed of it: you wanted!’ Sister Teasel groomed her antennae back from their trembling state, then glared at Flora again. ‘Desire is sin, Vanity is sin – it is all very well praying and splaying, 717 – and don’t think I haven’t seen you practising your ridiculous curtsy—’

‘Idleness is sin.’ Humiliated at her exposure, Flora continued the catechism. ‘Discord is sin, Greed is sin—’

‘And as for your appetite – as bad as a drone’s. No matter what the sainted Sage may think’ – and here Sister Teasel threw a quick glance around the ward – ‘you are typical of your kin. Greedy, ugly, obstinate things! Girls, what is our first commandment?’

‘Accept, Obey and Serve,’ chanted the eavesdropping nurses, staring at Flora.

‘Accept, Obey and Serve.’ Flora knelt before Sister Teasel. ‘A flora may not make Wax for she is impure, nor work with Propolis for she is clumsy, nor may she ever forage for she has no taste, but only may she clean, and all may command her labour.’

‘Exactly.’ Sister Teasel’s antennae twitched. ‘Yet here you are, feeding the Queen’s newborns. Summer is cold, floras speak: the world is upside down! Just be grateful for the honour, for it will soon be over. But I wish I knew when, for I have never seen the like of your Flow.’

‘What does it mean, for my knowledge to be wiped?’

Sister Teasel’s expression softened. She sighed.

‘You will find out soon enough. Now, spare us both – ask no more questions.’

* * *

Flora returned to the main floor, her hope replaced with dread. She joined a group of nurses who stood waiting to hear which section next needed Flow, their mouths already brimming with the bright liquid. The chime sounded, and ahead of them a dark little sanitation worker ran to get out of their way. Walking at the back of the group, Flora saw her clearly, cowering with her pan and brush and holding her wings so that she would not touch a higher kin by accident. Their eyes met for a moment. The little worker grimaced in a smile. Flora looked away and hurried on.

The next baby was big and hungry. She gazed down at its open mouth, always the trigger for the pulses in her cheeks to begin the feeding trance. Nothing came. The twisted friendly grimace of the sanitation worker stuck in her mind and Flora shook herself. She adjusted her position and concentrated.

The baby yearned up towards her, open-mouthed. The pulses in her cheeks flickered, and a few drops of Flow seeped out. Flora shook her head so they fell onto the baby and it lapped them hungrily. It looked up and opened its mouth for more. She concentrated until the sides of her mouth were throbbing with the strain, but nothing came. The baby began to cry.

A new nurse appeared at Flora’s side, her mouth and face glowing with fresh Flow. She was very young and deep in the feeding trance. She stood by Flora’s side and leaned over. Immediately the luminous stream began to fall and the baby quieted as it fed. Confused, Flora stepped back.

‘The miracle,’ said a kind, familiar voice, ‘was that you could feed at all.’

Sister Sage stood by her, beautiful and frightening. She smiled.

‘If your job bores you, 717, I will give you something more exciting to do. Consider it another test.’

Five

At the sight of Sister Sage all the Category Two nurses and nannies curtsied, though they looked warily at Flora walking with her. The priestess was not angry that her Flow had stopped, and seemed only to want to talk.

‘I would have said the experiment was a success,’ she said to Flora. ‘And I am sure Sister Teasel impressed on you the privilege of such sacred service.’

‘Yes, Sister. I am very grateful.’

‘But you are very curious about Category Two – a rather prosaic place, to my mind. Why is that?’

The more she breathed of Sister Sage’s strong scent, the more Flora grew calm, and felt an overpowering desire to tell the truth.

‘In Category One everything is always the same.’

Sister Sage laughed.

‘The very point of identical care. Yet it bored you.’

‘Yes, Sister. Forgive me.’ Flora lowered her head, but Sister Sage raised it and held her long antennae over hers.

‘We will forget the folly of the curtsies and your boldness in hoping to see Holy Mother, for I hear you are also very devout and hard-working.’

‘I hope so, Sister.’

‘And you love the Queen?’

‘With my body and my soul.’ Flora’s antennae trembled as she felt Sister Sage reaching deep into her mind.

Would you serve Her any way you can?

‘With my whole life.’

‘Good.’ Sister Sage walked on. ‘In this time of scarce forage, you have been surprisingly useful in the Nursery. Sometimes it works to spare the deviants, and experiment a little.’ She smiled. ‘Is this place as you imagined?’

‘Better, Sister! It is so lively, so full of wonderful things—’

‘Then look your fill. I wish you to know it.’

* * *

Flora could not take Category Two in at once, with its decorations and beautifully tiled play areas. Pretty nurses and nannies sat with their vigorous little charges, singing and playing games, or feeding them from shining platters. Healthy beautiful child-grubs were everywhere, their cheerful snubby little faces speckled with golden pollen dust. Gone was the heavy scent of Flow and the mumble of prayer, and in its place nursery rhymes, laughter and the bright aroma of fresh bread.

Sister Sage watched her. ‘What do you know of feeding patterns?’

‘Nothing, Sister.’ Flora admired two fat child-grubs, chuckling as their nurses tickled them. ‘Sister Teasel asked me that. All I know is that timing is very important and there are a lot of bells.’ Her own arms tingled to hold one herself and she turned away lest the sin of Desire take hold. ‘And we must always stop at the right moment and never give a drop more.’

‘Because …?’

‘I’m not sure, Sister.’

Sister Sage touched one of Flora’s antennae with her own, and Flora felt a piercing resonance in her mind. The sensation grew almost unbearable, then abruptly stopped as Sister Sage released her.

‘Good. You are truthful.’ Her long antennae flexed. ‘Tell me, though, about my sisters Teasel: do they hold any meetings or gatherings in the Nursery?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Flora felt a strong urge to please the priestess with the right answer. ‘But I know only the one, my supervising sister.’

‘Ah yes. To you they are all the same. And so they very nearly are, though they must still use speech to know each other’s thoughts. It is most quaint. But you will tell me if they hold private meetings, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sister.’

They had come to the end of the Category Two ward where great panels of carving marked another set of doors. Flora could not decipher the markings but knew instinctively not to touch them. Sister Sage answered her unspoken question.

‘They speak of Holy Time, when we have all slept in prayer.’ Her voice was soft and her face shone as if she experienced some great inner joy. ‘Each Devotion, we recall something of that state.’ She remained rapt in contemplation.

Flora felt it correct to stand in silence beside her. A movement caught her eyes. It was another of the wretched sanitation workers, working along the ward gutter with her pan and brush, and looking directly at Flora and the priestess. Flora pressed her knees together and drew herself up as thin and tall as she could, trying to emphasise their difference. Steadily sweeping, the worker passed on. Though nothing more than a look had occurred, Flora was angry and agitated.

‘Do not blame yourself: no one may choose their kin – or all would be Sage.’ No longer in her enraptured state, the priestess smiled. ‘Because you lack botanical heritage, yours forms the base of our society. Or rather, you draw it from impure and promiscuous flowers, shunned by this hive.’

‘Sister Sage! Sister Sage!’

Sister Teasel’s high, strained voice reached down the long corridor of Category Two. They smelled her streaming panic before they saw her, running towards them with antennae waving and wild fear on her face.

‘Please – you must – both of you, I beg you—’ Sister Teasel could hardly speak. ‘Everyone must report at once, the fertility police are here now on our ward!’

* * *

As Flora followed Sister Sage back through the Category Two ward, every nurse and nanny clutched her little charge tight to her, and stared at them in silence. Up ahead through the big double doors, the Category One ward was no longer dim and hushed but starkly illuminated and pulsing with a harsh bitter scent. Flora stumbled as her brain struggled to recall it. Sister Sage took her by the arm to quicken her pace and strengthened her own scent around both of them.

‘You have nothing to fear.’

They went into the ward. At first Flora thought the nurses had gone because all the cribs were unattended and the babies were already starting to cry, but then she saw them all standing in lines near the ward sisters’ station. Some openly wept in fear, their antennae waving uncontrollably, while others stood rigid. Standing around the edges of the ward were the fertility police. Their kin-scents were hidden under their masking scent, their eyes were blank, and their fur was slicked dark against their bands – but Flora recognised them from the Arrivals Hall. Sister Sage curled a filament of her own scent around Flora’s antennae and she felt her mouth clamp shut. The priestess joined her to the end of the first row then stepped forward and bowed to the police.

‘Sister Inspector, Sister Officers. Welcome.’

The Inspector saluted her, then turned to address the nurses.

‘Another wing deformity has been found.’ The masking scent distorted her voice to a harsh buzz. Despite their fear, the nurses murmured in revulsion.

‘Praise to the vigilant Thistle guard on the landing board.’ Her scent fired in jagged bursts as she surveyed the nurses. Sister Teasel began to weep.

‘Not here, Madam Inspector, never in Category One, it is not possible – Holy Mother is here every day, Her scent so beautiful and strong – there can be no—’

‘Silence!’ the Inspector spat at her. ‘Do you think I mean the defect could come from Her Majesty? You fly close to treason yourself, Sister—’

‘Holy Mother strike me dead before my next breath if so!’ Sister Teasel fell to her knees, but Sister Inspector yanked her back on her feet.

‘Measure her.’ She shoved Sister Teasel at two of her officers and they lashed their black callipers around her thick waist. Sister Teasel voided herself in fear and the smell mingled with the scent of the nurses’ terror, rising from their breathing spiracles. Behind them all the babies began to cry. Sister Sage looked on calmly.

‘Not her, at any rate.’ The Inspector released Sister Teasel then turned to the nurses. ‘Deformities mean evil roams our hive. Somewhere hides a desecrating heretic, who dares steal sacred Motherhood from the Queen. That is why sickness comes, that is why deformities rise. From her foul issue!’ Her antennae twitched compulsively and Flora felt her longing for violence.

‘Only the Queen may breed,’ responded Sister Sage, looking at the nurses.

‘Only the Queen may breed,’ some of them managed to reply, but others stared at Sister Teasel, her antennae bent in shame as she desperately cleaned herself. The Inspector held up a long sharp claw to the ward.

‘We will search every crib, we will measure every nurse’s belly until we find the culprit. And then we will tear her filthy body apart and cleanse our hive of sin.’

‘Do what you must, Sister Inspector.’ Sister Sage bowed again.

Sister Inspector signalled and some of her officers began moving systematically through the rows of cribs, while others used the black callipers on their arms to measure the bellies of the terrified nurses.

When it was her turn, Flora looked in distress at Sister Sage, convinced her greedy appetite would mark her as doomed, but the priestess ignored her. The callipers went round her belly but the police moved on, measuring each bee until all the nurses were cleared and none found guilty.

Those who dared turned to look at the cribs where the larva babies wailed as officers swept each one up. With the powerful scanners of their antennae, they sent sharp vibrations through the small tender bodies. The babies cried in fear and regurgitated their Flow, and the smell of it mixed with their infant defecation.

‘Our Mother, who art in labour.’ Sister Teasel’s voice was faint, but her nurses joined their own in support.

‘Hallowed be Thy Womb,’ they sang to control their fear.

‘Thy Marriage done, Thy Queendom come.’

Flora wanted to join in, but the scent from Sister Sage had bound her rigid.

‘From Death comes Life Eter—’ The beautiful voices stopped at the sharp squealing from one of the cribs.

Every nurse stared in horror as one of the officers bent over it. The squeal became an anguished shriek as the officer held up a larva baby, struggling to roll itself up. Another officer pulled it open with a sound of tearing skin.

Standing by Flora, Sister Inspector slid a claw from her gauntlet. ‘Bring it.’

Muffling the baby’s screams, she scanned it with slow-burning antennae until its pearly skin withered. ‘It is possible,’ she announced. ‘It has a foul strange scent.’

‘That is fear!’ cried Sister Teasel.

Ignoring her, Sister Inspector held up the baby and pierced it with her hook. It shrieked and twisted in agony as she offered it to her officers.

‘Destroy it.’

‘Wait.’ Sister Sage pointed to Flora. ‘Let her.’

With a jolt, Flora felt herself released to move. Sister Inspector pulled her claw from the larva baby to drop it on the ground, but Flora caught it and clutched it to her, the first child she had ever held. Its warm blood soaked into her fur and she pressed the agonised little thing close to her, trying to staunch the bleeding.

Eat it alive. The voice spoke inside Flora’s own mind. She clutched the baby tighter and a searing sound went through her antennae.

Do it NOW. Tear it apart.

Flora bowed her own head over the baby and shielded it with her arms. The voice roared louder in her mind.

DESTROY IT—

Her antennae felt like they had burst with the blow that struck her. She staggered and fell, the baby still clutched to her. Blows shook her body and her antennae became two pulsing rods of agony. The screaming baby was pulled from her grasp. She felt its warm blood splash her face and heard its tearing flesh and the grunts of the fertility police as they devoured it. As Flora screamed, her tongue twisted hard in her mouth and she choked on the sound.

‘I asked too much …’ Sister Sage’s voice was close and gentle. ‘The experiment is over.’