The Bees: A Novel by Laline Paull Page B

with her, and how wonderful to be able to help the busy priestesses!
    There was one last story. The sixth panel smelled inert, yet it held a powerful stillness. Cautiously, Flora focused on it. Nothing happened; no scent, no image, no sound came forth, but the air in the Library grew warm and close. From the center of the little panel blew a faint trace of fresh air. Feeling like she was suffocating, Flora could not help going closer.
    The Library vanished and she smelled the Nursery. One crib pulled her closer, huge and dark. Deep within it a baby cried in pain, and a cold wind howled. As Flora ran toward it the crib began to rattle and break apart. The baby cried louder, and as she leaned over the crib to see it, a twisting black comet screamed out of its depths and into her brain.
     
    F LORA CAME TO HER SENSES back in the ladies’ quarters, lying on a bed. She heard Lady Burnet and the others talking quietly—until they heard her sit up.
    “Such vanity,” Lady Burnet said, “such folly.”
    Flora stood up. Her body trembled, and she looked around in fear, but all was quiet.
    “Crawling out of there raving and ranting,” continued Lady Burnet. “Comets and cribs—I am sure Holy Mother said nothing about touching those panels—”
    “She did—” Flora’s voice was thin. “She wanted to know—”
    “Tales of terror and madness? You surely misunderstood Her Majesty, for only the priestesses may touch the Sacred Mysteries—why would she ever ask you, a sanitation worker? I think the wasp cost you your senses.”
    “Yes, my lady.” Flora’s heart filled with shame at her mistake. She had misunderstood the Queen, and been foolish and vain.
    “Despite that,” said Lady Burnet, “Holy Mother is ever-loving and forgiving, and has asked that you attend her.” She stood back, her face rigid with resentment.
    “Do not keep Her Majesty waiting.”
     
    T HE Q UEEN WAS RESTING on her couch in a shimmering golden aura, but she opened it to admit Flora, then closed it around them. Flora wanted to talk, to tell Holy Mother about her experiences in the Library, but each time she tried to speak, the greatest weariness took her tongue, and she felt tears rising.
    “Hush, little daughter,” the Queen said softly. “We heard that you read them all. We too once knew them, but it was many eggs ago, and we have forgotten.” She smiled and stroked Flora’s face. “You will recover.”
    Flora nestled against her wise and beautiful mother, breathing the healing fragrance of her Love deep into her body. It had changed—in the subtlest way, but distinctly. Something was new in its molecular structure, but just as Flora sniffed it deeper, the Queen twisted and gasped in pain.
    “Mother!” Flora leaped up. “What is it? Shall I call one of the ladies?”
    “No”—she gripped Flora’s arm and pulled her back—“no. Stay with me.”
    Pressed against the Queen, Flora felt another shudder pass through both their bodies. “Holy Mother, let me call them—”
    “No—” Pain clamped the Queen’s voice. “We need no assistance.” Then whatever seized her relaxed its hold, and she let go of Flora. She flexed her great abdomen and settled herself again. “Our Progress was normal today. We filled every crib with life, did we not?”
    Flora could not speak, for the reverberation of the Queen’s pain was still ebbing from her own body.
    “If we had missed one, our ladies would say—that is their job, but they did not, so all must be well.” Her Majesty took a deep breath. “It must be the cold. Has our hive been cold, daughter?”
    “Not to me, Holy Mother,” said Flora, “but they say my fur is so coarse my kin feels nothing.”
    The Queen smiled, and her scent flowed strong again.
    “All is well. But do not speak of this to anyone, do you understand?” She wrapped her fragrance around Flora’s antennae. “Promise me,” whispered the Queen.
    Enraptured, Flora nodded. “I promise . . .”
    The Queen