Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees (6 page)

‘What a clever boy,' said Hector. ‘Knew how to do it, too. Bamboozled me with science! Honestly. Totally bamboozled me.' Hector paused. ‘That would make quite a good story, wouldn't it? What do you think, Micheline? A child who was so clever he could bam- boozle his father just by opening his mouth.'

On Monday, Mrs Lightman's tune hadn't changed.

‘Where are the clothes?' she demanded, once the children had all lined up in the gymnasium. ‘Thirty-two costumes, Darius Bell. That was the deal.'

That was the deal
you
made, thought Darius.

‘Everyone's expecting you to do what you promised. You know what you have to do. Don't disappoint me, Darius. The consequences will be extreme.'

Darius looked around. He met with expectant gazes all around the gymnasium. No one had brought anything for themselves. They all obviously believed he was going to turn up with armfuls of clothes from the supposedly bulging wardrobes of Bell House.

Stephen Pintel stared at him, his eyes narrowed. Evelina Williams watched him with her arms folded.

‘As you know,' said Mrs Lightman, ‘I'm going to be away for the next few days.'

Darius did know. So did the rest of the school. Every- one was looking forward to it, most of all the teachers.

‘When I get back, I want those clothes, Darius Bell. Do you understand me? No excuses. Find them. You will do what I say. Disobedience is not an option.'

There was silence in the gymnasium. Everyone watched, even the most fidgety kids.

‘Now, we'll practise marching. For the Mayor's Prize we're going to have to march in our costumes. We're going to do it neatly and in time. That means we're going to practise. Everyone except Darius. Darius, because he's been so
helpful
, can go and sit over there and think about the costumes he's going to bring us.'

Darius rolled his eyes and went and sat at the edge of the gymnasium. For the next half hour he watched as the class marched up and down the gymnasium, out of step, bunching, stretching, some people stopping unexpectedly and others banging into them. Paul Klasky yelled at someone who kicked him in the ankle. Stephen Pintel yelled at him for yelling. Mrs Lightman yelled in exasperation. It was quite amusing.

Afterwards, one by one, the children had their measurements taken so the costumes could be altered once Darius – as Mrs Lightman insisted – had provided them. He was left until last. Paul and Oliver waited for him.

‘Who would have thought Stephen Pintel would care so much about a costume parade?' said Oliver.

‘You know what they say,' said Paul. ‘Still waters run deep.'

Oliver looked at him. ‘Do you have
any
idea what that means?'

‘Not really,' said Paul, ‘but my father uses it when people do unexpected things.'

They walked out of the schoolyard.

‘So are you going to bring the clothes or not?' asked Oliver.

Darius shrugged.

‘You heard Mrs Lightman – the consequences will be extreme. She doesn't joke about things like that.'

‘Where there's smoke there's fire,' added Paul.

‘Who says there even are any clothes?' said Darius.

Oliver stopped and looked at him. ‘Aren't there?'

‘No idea.'

‘Have you looked?'

Darius shook his head. Cyrus had liked dressing up when he was younger, and Darius had a memory of him walking around in an old camel-coloured coat that was far too big for him – its tail brushed the floor and its cuffs hung down to Cyrus's knees – so perhaps there were some ancient clothes left in the House in addition to the scarlet cape and the other couple of things he knew about in the old chest in the green drawing room. But if there were, Darius had no idea how many clothes he would find or where they were stored. And anyway, what gave Mrs Lightman the right to ask for them? And what gave people like Stephen Pintel and Evelina Williams the right to expect them?'

‘I told you,' said Darius, ‘I'm not interested in winning the Mayor's Prize. And there's no way we can win it anyway. Once the mayor sees me, once he knows there's a Bell in the class, we've lost.'

‘Maybe he won't recognise you,' said Oliver.

‘I've met him twice. He knows me.'

‘We'll put you in a mask. It's fancy dress, after all.'

‘You can go as a turtle or something,' said Paul.

‘Thanks.'

‘Why not? You know what they say – what you don't know won't hurt you.'

‘I might hurt you if you keep going,' said Darius.

Paul shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Easy come, easy go.'

‘I don't know what Mrs Lightman will do to you if you don't bring anything next week,' said Oliver.

‘That's true,' added Paul. ‘In this case, what you don't know
might
hurt you.'

Darius didn't reply to that. They walked on. ‘Let's get an icecream,' he said.

They headed for the Stone Cold icecream parlour. They got a cone each and sat on the bench outside the shop, watching the cars go down the street.

‘What happened to the bees in the end?' asked Oliver between licks of his icecream.

‘They're gone,' said Darius. He had already told Paul and Oliver about the emptying of Mr and Mrs Deaver's hives.

‘So it's really true? There are none left?'

‘None.'

‘And there'll be no fruit and vegetables?'

‘That's what Mr Fisher said. It makes sense. Remember what Mr Beale taught us?'

Oliver licked his icecream thoughtfully. Paul frowned and screwed up his nose, thinking about it as well.

‘What are you going to do?' asked Oliver eventually.

‘I've told my father.'

‘What did he say?'

‘He said to leave it to him.'

‘Well, he'd better get a move on if he's going to do something about it,' said Oliver.

‘A stitch in time saves nine,' added Paul.

‘Nine what?'

‘Nine of whatever you want,' said Paul. ‘Honestly, Oliver, why don't you try to work something out for yourself for once?'

That afternoon, when Darius glimpsed Mr Fisher in the blueberry field, he dropped his bag and hurried over to him. He told Mr Fisher that he had explained the situation to his father.

‘Thank you, Darius. I couldn't . . . I was going to, but I just didn't know how. I thought, I'll wait until Monday – don't want to spoil Mr Bell's weekend. And then today, I thought, well, I'll wait until this evening – why spoil Mr Bell's day? But really, it was just excuses. I was just finding reasons to put it off.'

‘Well, you don't have to worry about that now,' said Darius. ‘I told him for you.'

‘And what did he say?'

‘He knows how serious it is.'

Mr Fisher's face clouded with anxiety. ‘I don't know what he can do. There's not much time, Darius. The blossoms will be out soon. If there are no bees in a fortnight or so, that's it. The flowers won't be pollinated.' Suddenly he gripped Darius's arm. ‘Darius, I don't have enough to get the family through the next year if there are no crops. Do you understand me? I don't earn much from this place, only enough for the family to live on. And at this time of year, I've got nothing left. I earn almost everything in the summer when the fruits ripen. I've only got enough in the bank for another few weeks. '

Darius looked at him. There was real fear in Mr Fisher's eyes.

‘I couldn't stay. I'd have to leave. I'd have to get a job.'

‘But you could still live here, couldn't you?' said Darius. ‘You'd only have to get a job for a year. You heard what the Deavers said. They'll get new colonies in the hives for next year. The bees will be back.'

Mr Fisher shook his head. ‘There's not much call for my kind of gardening in the city. How many estates are there like Bell House around here? I'd have to go somewhere else.'

‘With everyone? The whole family?'

‘I wouldn't leave them behind.'

Darius stared at him. Then he shook his head. ‘You won't have to do that, Mr Fisher. My father knows how serious it is. I'm sure he'll find something to do.'

‘Do you think so? Really?'

‘Of course. He's not going to let you leave, is he?'

The gardener gazed at Darius for a moment, then he smiled as well. ‘Of course not.' He looked around the blueberry field. On every bush, the buds of the blueberry flowers were growing larger, getting ready to burst open.

He took a deep breath. For a moment he forgot about all his troubles, savouring the scent of the young blueberry buds, thinking only of plants and flowers and fruit, the things that made him happy. A smile played on his lips. ‘Can you
see
them, Darius? Can you
smell
them? Can you
taste
them as they will be?'

Darius nodded.

Mr Fisher nodded as well. The smile stayed on his lips for a moment. But then it was gone.

Hector Bell chewed his toast. He took another slice and covered it with a spoonful of Mrs Simpson's marmalade, then looked back at the newspaper. He took a bite, chewed it, and stopped.

‘It says here,' he said, ‘that some kind of disease has been killing the bees in the city.' He was silent for a moment as he read some more. ‘The Society of Apiarists – whoever they are – are holding a meeting on Saturday to see what can be done. Apparently all the bees are dead – and those that aren't are confidently predicted soon to be.' He looked at Darius's mother, a frown of pain on his face. ‘Imagine being a bee under such a sentence! Imagine knowing that you are confidently predicted soon to be dead.'

‘A bee wouldn't know that,' muttered Cyrus. ‘They don't
know
things.'

‘But imagine, Cyrus. Imagine if they did!'

‘But they don't.'

‘But imagine. Just imagine.' Hector Bell paused. ‘A man needs imagination, Cyrus. Facts aren't everything.'

‘Give me facts first,' said Cyrus, ‘
then
I'll think about imagination.'

Hector Bell sighed. He glanced at Micheline, who gave a slight shrug.

‘Papa,' said Darius. ‘I told you about that.'

Hector looked at him. He raised a finger, eyes narrowed, thinking. ‘You did. You did mention some- thing about that.'

‘I told you the bees were all gone. Don't you remember? On the weekend.'

Hector glanced at the newspaper again, as if to refresh his memory. ‘That's right!' He grinned. ‘That's absolutely right. What a boy, Micheline! He forgets nothing, absolutely nothing. What a child! What a memory!'

‘Papa, I told you the bees were dead. I told you there'd be no fruit or vegetables.'

‘Yes. I remember.'

‘I explained it to you, Papa. I explained how it works. The bees take the pollen from one flower to another. No pollen – no fruit.'

Hector nodded.

‘Do you understand, Papa?'

Hector shrugged. ‘Science, Darius. I don't understand it. Never have. I'm not saying it's a good thing, I'm not saying you shouldn't understand it either. In fact, I think you should. If you can, that is. See, Cyrus? I'm not such an old stick-in-the-mud. But personally, as for me . . . It's a closed book. A blocked window. A brick wall. I approach it. I look at it. Blank! Blank, Darius! What can I do?'

‘You could believe what I told you.'

‘I did. I believed every word. Did I ever say anything to doubt it?' He appealed to Micheline. ‘Did I, my love? Did I ever? A single word?'

Micheline raised an eyebrow.

‘Perhaps I thought you were exaggerating a little, Darius. A touch. A smidgin.'

‘I wasn't exaggerating!'

‘Perhaps I thought you were playing a prank.'

‘It wasn't a prank!'

‘Indeed.' Hector pointed at the newspaper. ‘I see that now. But you'll forgive your old papa, perhaps. After all, Mr Fisher didn't come to see me. If it was as serious as you said, I would have expected him to come.'

‘I told him he didn't have to.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I'd already told you!'

Hector Bell stared at Darius for a moment, then turned to Micheline. ‘It's like a comedy,' he said in delight. ‘Like a farce. What a story it would make.'

‘Papa, it's not a story!' cried Darius in exasperation. ‘It's real! It's happening!' Darius caught Cyrus watching him with a ‘What do you expect?' look in his eyes. He turned back to his father. ‘Haven't you thought about it, Papa?'

‘Thought about what, Darius?'

‘What we should do! There'll be no fruit or vegetables. I told you it was serious. Mr Fisher won't be able to grow a thing.'

Hector Bell smiled. ‘Darius, I know you're saying what you really think is true, but I do find that hard to believe. No fruit? No vegetables? I know there are no bees, but a gardener like Fisher, why, for him to produce fruit, it's as easy as for me to write a story.'

‘Yes, but people
want
his fruit,' muttered Cyrus.

‘Papa,' said Darius, ‘there'll be nothing. I'm not exaggerating. This isn't a prank. If you don't believe me, ask Cyrus.'

Hector looked at Darius's brother.

‘Darius is right,' said Cyrus. ‘If there are no bees, there'll be nothing. They're responsible for the pollination of all the—'

‘Stop! Don't bamboozle me again. It won't help.'

‘Then do you believe us?' demanded Darius.

‘I think the boys know what they're talking about,' said Micheline.

‘No fruit at all?' said Hector. ‘No vegetables? Is that really what Mr Fisher said?'

‘He'll have to leave,' said Darius.

Hector stared at him. ‘Mr Fisher?' he demanded. ‘Leaving?'

‘Who told you this?' asked Micheline.

‘Mr Fisher did.'

‘Does he want to leave?' asked Hector, looking hurt. ‘Doesn't he like living here? Doesn't his family? Don't they like us?'

‘They don't want to leave. But if they can't grow any fruit and vegetables, Papa, they can't earn any money. And if they can't earn any money, what choice do they have? Mr Fisher said he's only got enough for the next few weeks. He'll have to get a job.'

Hector was silent.

‘What about next year?' asked Darius's mother. ‘Will there be bees?'

‘The Deavers said they're going to rebuild the colonies,' said Darius.

‘Hector, maybe we could help the Fishers get through the next year. If we can find some money to . . .' Micheline's voice trailed away. Darius saw the way his father was looking at her.

There was silence.

‘Cousin Julius!' cried Hector suddenly. ‘If all else fails, I'm sure Cousin Julius will help. Not only sure of it – I'm certain. Why, only the other week I had a letter from him.'

No one said anything. Cousin Julius was supposed to be fabulously wealthy, and ever since he was a little boy Darius had been hearing how Cousin Julius was going to do this or Cousin Julius was going to do that, or how Cousin Julius was coming to stay or at least drop in for a visit, yet on each occasion Cousin Julius and the things he was supposed to do somehow failed to materialise. Sometimes Darius wondered whether Cousin Julius wasn't a figment of his father's imagination.

‘It's not just the Fishers, Papa,' said Darius quietly. ‘If Mr Fisher doesn't grow anything, we don't get anything either.'

He paused and glanced at Cyrus, who was watching their father intently.

‘Papa,' said Darius, ‘you said you understood how serious it was. I thought you were going to think of something to do.'

Still Hector was silent.

‘Darius,' said his mother. ‘This really is true, is it? The bees really are gone? This isn't some kind of a joke?'

‘It's true, Mama.'

‘And Mr Fisher says that without bees there'll be no fruit and vegetables? Is that really what he said? There'll be nothing at all?'

Darius nodded.

Micheline looked at her husband. ‘Hector?'

Darius's father was silent a little longer. Then he shrugged and heaved a heavy, helpless sigh. ‘What do I know about it, Micheline? It's a matter for experts. If anyone knows how to get a fruit out of a field, it's Fisher. If an expert like him doesn't know what to do about this, what do you expect from me?'