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 center 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 and faced another door, 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 honor—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 looked down the dim corridor from which 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 emerged—I do not understand?”

“We were obliged to wait while a drone emerged. She saw such antics there.”

“Oh a new prince! Honor to our hive! Was he very handsome straightaway? 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 very 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 kept very still. 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 even if they could count—you may kill me if it is not so.”

“You need not give permission.” Sister Sage smiled and 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 that 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 looked 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 judgment 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 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 pushed open a door and Flora smelled the sweet, pure fragrance beyond it. “If Sister Sage herself hadn’t told me to do this, 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 young, pretty nurses moved silently about the ward with glowing mouths.

“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 beautiful!”

“Just another worker. Now find a male.” Sister Teasel indicated the whole vast Nursery.

“Yes, Sister.” Flora raised her antennae. At 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.