Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees (10 page)

The mayor, George Podcock, was a self-made man. His fortune came from haberdashery and underwear, and he liked to call himself the Underpants King. He disliked the Bells for the fact that they had inherited their estate of Bell House and seemed to do very little, as far as he could see, except live there. Yet why this should make him hate the Bells so much was something Darius didn't understand. There were other self-made men and women, and they didn't hate the Bells. And there were other people who had inherited things, and Podcock didn't seem to hate them – or at least not as far as anyone knew. For some reason he had fixed on the Bells as the chief objects of his resentment and he didn't miss an opportunity to show it. When he had the chance to hurt or humiliate them – as he had when Darius's father had been required to give the sixth Bell Gift the previous year and hadn't had the money for anything grand – he didn't miss that either. Darius really couldn't see any reason for the resolution against bringing new hives into the city but the mayor's animosity towards his family.

And now he was walking into the Town Hall with his father on their way to confront him!

His father gave his name to a purple-uniformed usher and told him that they wanted to see the mayor. The usher raised an eyebrow. Everyone at the Town Hall knew about the mayor's hatred of the Bells.

‘Wait here,' said the usher, and walked off.

‘Whatever happens,' said Hector to Darius, ‘remember you're a Bell. No one can take that name away from you.'

‘Yes, Papa,' said Darius.

‘That's more important than anything.'

Darius didn't reply. His brother Cyrus always said that was the problem, that their father thought the name of Bell – or Arbuthnot-Huntingdon-Castleton-Bell, to state it fully – was the most important thing they had. In Cyrus's opinion, it was the least important thing, and therefore the most damaging, because their father didn't realise it.

‘And don't get angry,' said Hector, ‘or if you do, don't show it. Never let them see it. Anger never wins you anything. Dignity, Darius, is the weapon. If a Bell has nothing else, he always has his dignity.'

‘And his name, Papa.'

‘Yes. That's right. And his name.'

Darius nodded.

Hector gazed at him for a moment. ‘All right. When we get in there, let me do the talking.'

They waited. Hector looked around the lobby. The last time he had been here was almost a year earlier, when he had given the sixth Bell Gift, a much smaller Gift than any of his ancestors had provided. The mayor had done his best to humiliate him, but it was George Podcock who had humiliated himself that day, when his pettiness and mean spirit showed in the things he said in front of a council chamber packed with spectators. Podcock was a vain, arrogant man and there was nothing he hated more than being humiliated in front of others. Dignity, as Darius's father said, had won the day. Hector Bell was the one who had come out of that encounter with his head held high – and the mayor's malevolence towards the Bells had only grown.

This time, the mayor had no intention of allowing himself to be shown up in front of anyone else. The usher returned and led Darius and his father along a corridor and up a flight of stairs to a grand office with a pair of big windows overlooking Founders Square. Alone in the office, behind a desk, sat George Podcock.

He was a short man with a big belly. He didn't get up.

‘Hector Bell . . .' he said. He nodded to himself. ‘And your son.' He flicked a finger in the direction of a couple of chairs in front of the desk.

‘Your manners haven't improved, I see,' said Hector.

The mayor gazed at him coldly. ‘There's no one watching today, Hector. No one to take your side when you look for sympathy.' The mayor's voice turned whiny.
‘Poor Hector. Poor Hector Bell . . . 
Don't even try it.'

Darius's father sat down on one of the chairs. Darius sat beside him.

‘Well?' said the mayor. ‘I haven't got all day.'

‘Bees,' said Hector.

‘What about them?'

‘You've banned them.'

‘They're dead, in case you hadn't noticed.'

‘You've banned new ones.'

‘For their own sake, Hector. Didn't anyone tell you? Bring new ones in and they'll die as well. We need to wait for after the winter to be sure the disease is gone.'

‘Who says?'

‘Not me, Hector.' Podcock put his hand on his chest, his eyes wide with false innocence. ‘It wasn't me. It's the scientists. It's the experts. Ask Dr Ingliss. It's her opinion, not mine.'

‘Isn't it true she's a friend of yours?'

Mr Podcock sat back in his chair, eyeing Hector Bell with a smug expression on his face. ‘Have you come here to beg, Hector? Is that why you're here?'

‘I have no intention of begging. I've never begged for anything in my life.'

The mayor laughed cruelly. ‘Sounds like you're starting now.'

‘A Bell, Mr Podcock, doesn't beg.'

‘Then what does a Bell do?'

‘Fight!' said Darius, who couldn't hold himself back any longer.

‘Really?' Podcock grinned. ‘The puppy's got more spark than the dog, it seems.'

‘You only did this to hurt us!' said Darius. ‘You didn't do it because Dr Ingliss said it. You only did it because you know Mr Cuthbert was going to help us. You only did it to stop Mr Fisher growing his crops.'

‘Did I really? And why would I want to do that?'

‘Because you know we need them. And you know Mr Fisher will have to leave if he can't—'

‘Leave?' cried Podcock in delight. ‘I didn't know that! That makes it even better. Thank you for telling me.'

‘You're a mean, horrible man!' cried Darius.

‘Thank you.'

‘You're an ugly, spiteful, vicious—'

‘Darius,' said Hector.

‘miserable, pathetic—'

‘Darius! Remember what I said!'

Darius stopped. He remembered. Never show your anger.

‘Never call a man ugly to his face, Darius,' said Hector, ‘no matter how loathsome he is, no matter how repul- sive in appearance, how crude in manner.' He glanced back at the mayor. ‘My apologies, Mr Podcock. The boy is rather too frank. It's the impetuousness of youth. He has a habit of saying what the rest of us are only thinking. He'll apologise. Apologise, Darius, for saying what everyone else thinks about Mr Podcock but never tells him.'

Darius grinned. ‘Sorry, Mr Mayor.'

Podcock glared at Hector Bell. ‘Spare me your apologies! What do you want?'

‘All I want is what's reasonable.'

‘What's reasonable – coming from a man who thinks it's reasonable to inherit an estate and never do a day's work in his life?'

‘We each do different work, Mr Podcock.'

The mayor snorted. ‘Writing stories? The last time I thought that was work I was in the third grade.'

Hector Bell took a deep breath. If being humiliated in public was George Podcock's greatest sensitivity, having his literary sensibilities derided was Hector Bell's.

‘Stories,' jeered the mayor, sensing Hector's vulnerability. ‘What kind of occupation is that for a grown man? It's child's play.'

‘Let the hive-keepers bring their hives in at their own risk,' said Darius's father, trying to ignore the insults. ‘Let them be gone by the end of the summer. If the disease kills their bees, that's their problem. If the disease continues, we still have the winter to clear it out.'

‘Sounds like a very sensible suggestion,' said Mr Podcock. ‘For a story-writer.'

‘It is very sensible. I'm sure Dr Ingliss would agree.'

‘No.'

‘Well, I think we should ask her—'

‘I mean no – I'm not going to do it.'

‘But you just said—'

‘It's too late, Hector. The resolution's passed.'

‘Then pass another.'

‘Don't feel like it.'

‘Don't
what?
'

‘Don't feel like it, Hector.' The mayor almost sang the words. ‘Don't feel like it.'

‘But you . . . you . . .'

‘Don't feel like it. Just don't. Not because it's not a good idea. It's a very good idea. But it's what you want, isn't it?' George Podcock laughed, jeering. ‘Because Mr Fisher will grow his crops, won't he? Because you'll get some of them, won't you? Because he won't be forced to leave. Because your problem will be solved and you can just sit there writing your stupid stories.' The mayor grinned. ‘I didn't become mayor to solve your problems, Hector Bell. I became mayor to make them worse!'

Hector stared at him. The words struggled to get out. His face went red, the veins in his neck bulged.

‘Don't feel like it,' said the mayor again. ‘What are you going to do about it? Go home, Hector. Go and write a story. Go home and write a—'

‘You are a disgrace!' roared Hector.

Darius stared at him. If he hadn't known better, and if his father hadn't explicitly told him never to do it, Darius would definitely have said his father was showing some anger. In fact, quite a lot of anger.

‘Am I?' said George Podcock, still grinning.

‘You're a stain on this city! You're a cockroach on the wall of history!'

‘Papa,' murmured Darius.

‘You're a toad! No – a toadstool!'

The mayor roared with laughter.

‘You're a fungus, a slime. You're a—'

‘Papa!'

Hector stopped. He glanced at Darius and nodded quickly. Then he took a deep breath and turned back to the mayor, who was still grinning mockingly.

‘Is that your final word?' he said.

Mr Podcock laughed. ‘Are you trying to bargain with me? What have you possibly got to give me?'

‘Is that how you do business as our mayor? Bargaining? Asking for people to give you things?'

‘I do business as I see fit.' Mr Podcock stood up. ‘I said no, Hector. The resolution stands, despite your
excellent
suggestion. I say no. And when I say no, my councillors say no.'

‘So that
is
your final word?'

‘Yes, it's my final word.'

Hector Bell stood up. ‘Come on, Darius. The mayor has given us his final word. The consequences will be on his head.'

Mr Podcock laughed. ‘I like that. Consequences. Very good, Hector. Scary word!
Consequences!
Oh, yes. I'm scared. Look at me. I'm quivering.'

They went to the door as the mayor jeered behind them. Darius turned and got a last glimpse of George Podcock sitting in his chair, hands on his belly, shaking with laughter as he watched them leave.

They strode quickly out of the Town Hall. Outside, before they got to their car, Hector stopped.

‘Let that be a lesson to you, Darius, in why you should never show your anger.'

Darius nodded. It was an excellent lesson. His father's shouting at the mayor had achieved precisely nothing. In fact, with every insult his father had thrown, George Podcock had seemed to grow stronger.

But in this case Darius didn't know if it really made a difference. It was obvious that the mayor had agreed to see them only in order to refuse their request, and with no audience watching, nothing was going to make him change his mind. No matter how reasonable, how sensible, how agreeable his father had been, Darius didn't think the outcome would have been any different. At least they had both got to tell the mayor what they thought of him.

He looked at his father, and his father looked back at him, and then they broke into a grin, thinking exactly the same thing.

But the grins didn't last long. George Podcock had won, and they had lost. Getting a few insults in along the way didn't amount to anything.

‘Papa,' said Darius, ‘what are the consequences? Did you really mean something by that? What's going to be on Mr Podcock's head?'

Hector was silent.

‘Do you think we can get the councillors to help us? Do you think they'll vote for a new resolution?'

Hector shook his head. ‘Podcock's right about that. When he says no, his councillors say no. A majority, anyway. They're too scared of him. We wouldn't get any- where near enough of them on our side to win a vote.'

Darius frowned. ‘Then what did you mean? Papa, did you mean something or not?'

Hector was silent again. When he spoke, his voice was low. He fixed Darius with a serious gaze. ‘Mr Podcock may be mayor, but the law rules. The law is a fearsome enemy, Darius – but if you know how to use it, it can be a fearsome friend.'

‘What does that mean?'

Hector Bell adopted one of his heroic poses. ‘Let the consequences be on George Podcock's head. If he won't back down, we'll fight, as you said. That's what a Bell does.'

‘How?'