Samantha wasn’t listening, not to her mother, not to the queen, only to her heart. Deep down she knew she didn’t deserve this punishment. In fact, she was sure everyone including the queen knew she didn’t deserve it, but no one was prepared to say what they believed was right. They all lived in fear of the High Priestess and were too afraid to make a stand for the truth.
Well, she was having none of it. If she was going to go to prison, then she wasn’t going to go without a fight. She was going to let everybody know that what was happening today was wrong and could happen to any one of them tomorrow if they didn’t do anything about it now. She recalled her dream from last night. This was her chance to bee or not to bee.
“There’s a reason to everything,” she said to the queen, “and it’s determined by the Great Mother, not you.”
The roar of disapproval almost shook the queen’s portrait off its hook. Even the floor began to tremble. The reporters scribbled like mad and the magistrate bellowed for silence, without success. At some stage, Samantha heard a drone shout that someone had fainted (she discovered later that it was her mother). Then one of the CB’s jumped over the railing with a placard held high above her head, bee-lining straight for the prisoner’s docks. Before she got to Samantha, luckily, two guards blocked her path and escorted her out of the courtroom, kicking and yelling. It took several minutes before order was restored.
The queen took it all in her stride, seemingly amused. “Samantha, my dear child,” she said, “you are young and naïve, and you are ignorant of the way this world works. This, I can forgive you for. I can not, however, forgive you for breaking the law.”
“You do what you feel you must do,” Samantha said, resigned to her fate, “but it will not change my belief. My life rests in the claws of Another.”
The queen paused for a second, a curious glint in her black eyes. “Pray tell me,” she said, “who is going to stop me from having you imprisoned, or executed, or even banished from the hive?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I will tell you, young lady: nobody. Your life lies in my royal claws, not yours, not anyone’s, only mine.”
Samantha nodded respectfully. “As your subject, I must accept your sentence,” she said. “But I still believe that there is a higher reason than our own, including yours.”
“We shall see, young lady, we shall see.” The queen then nodded to the two guards standing on either side of the prisoner’s docks. “Take her away!”
They escorted Samantha out of the courtroom with the howls and jeers of the gallery ringing in her ears. The mayhem was only brought under control when extra guard reinforcements arrived to escort the maddened throng outside. The reporter bees were to write that a riot had only just been averted.
But by then, Samantha was already locked away in Hive Prison.
SAMANTHA SAT IN the dark dungeon cell on the edge of the bed. Heavy with despair, her head drooped like a wilting sunflower and her wings flopped to her sides. She was faced with the undeniable truth that she was now a prisoner who had nothing; she had no hope of freedom, no chance of happiness, no foreseeable future to look forward to. If the Great Mother Bee had a reason for her suffering, she couldn’t see it. It was frustrating, but she figured that if she didn’t understand at this moment what it was she was supposed to learn, then perhaps she should just have the faith to believe that she would learn it at some other time, when she was ready to learn it.
Maybe, she mused, that was what was going on: her faith was being tested. Faith was kind of like knowledge in that sense. She could only show the teachers at bee-school how much she knew by writing exams. Likewise, she could only show the Great Mother how much faith she had by being tested, like now.
The idea slowly rekindled her hope that she would one day understand the reason for all her troubles. At that moment, she heard the rattle of keys outside. “You have work to do!” said the prison guard.
Before Samantha could reply, a worker bee with a large blue- and white-striped sack on her back entered and dumped it in the far corner. It didn’t stop there. Bee after bee dumped similar sacks, one on top of the other in a pile that soon reached the ceiling. After the last bee had come and gone, the guard slammed the door and peered through its little barred window. “Finish them by this time next week, or you’ll be punished!”
Samantha stared at the pile of sacks. Like a mound of large boulders, they took up almost a quarter of the whole cell. She untied one of them and peeked inside. It was filled with blue things with long legs and short arms. She removed one, unsure as to what to make of it. It was ripped and made of some kind of material she’d only ever seen humans wear. Inside was a tag: PRODUCT OF PROCRUSTE ANT INC. ONE SIZE FITS ALL.
“They’re overalls,” the guard said. “You’ll find socks and antennae warmers in the other sacks, all ripped. Your job is to mend them. Now get to work!”
“What’s Procruste Ant Incorporated?” Samantha asked. “Whose are all these clothes?”
The guard laughed and told her that that kind of information was strictly on a need to know basis. Samantha shrugged, spying a red toolbox next to the pile of sacks. Inside was a tray of needles, thimbles and scissors. She lifted out the tray and saw a delightful rainbow of colour. Spools of thread littered the bottom of the box. Red, green, blue, yellow, orange – they reminded her of all the flowers in the queendom, especially the crimson rose that had lured her into its corolla. She glanced at the sacks, now wishing that she had attended hive-economics, like her mother had wanted, rather than aerobatic flying school. She was never going to be able to stitch up the whole lot within a week.
Nevertheless, what else could she do? If she didn’t at least attempt it, she’d never finish. Sitting on her straw bed, she removed a needle, threaded it with blue yarn, and then set to work mending the overalls. By the time of the changing of the guards at midnight, Samantha had almost patched and sewed all the items in the sack.
She turned to the large blue- and white-striped mound in the corner of the cell. There was still so much to do, and her claw was throbbing from the constant pricking of the needle, but she went to sleep knowing that at least she had made a start.
If she thought that was the end of it, however, the end of the week held a rude surprise. More sacks. More ripped clothing from Procruste Ant Inc. Sewing, sewing, sewing! It was never ending, and it continued week in, week out, for months, but she always managed to complete the task before the deadline arrived. As she sewed, she dreamed of the day she’d be allowed to buzz around the garden and see the flowers once more. She received no guests. Not even her parents were permitted to visit, to her constant despair. There was one exception, however.
Every first day of the month, at precisely ten o’clock in the morning, the queen would pay a royal visit to Samantha’s cell and inquire as to whether or not she still refused to acknowledge that her life rested in her royal claws. Samantha could sense that, like so many bees in the hive, what the queen wanted was to be told that she was right. She suspected that all she had to do was agree to what the queen said and she’d be set free.
Except, she couldn’t, no matter how much she yearned to feel the wind in her face and the sunlight on her wings, or yearned to see her parents again. She couldn’t because the queen wasn’t right. She couldn’t betray her beliefs, and she certainly couldn’t betray the Great Mother, even if it meant that she was locked away in this dingy cell for the rest of her life, locked away from her family and the things she loved. It was at these moments she’d recall the old actress in her dream: To bee or not to bee, which, she figured, meant being true to her beliefs.
So, like the question, the answer was always the same. “I believe only in the Way of the Goddess, the Great Mother Bee. My life rests in Her claws.”
Queen Beetrix would then smile, and say, “We shall see, young lady, we shall see.” And sometimes she would add: “Keep sewing!”
Ten times this had occurred, always the same, and always with Samantha confined within the
se cold, dark walls with nothing to keep her company except tatty pairs of underwear and overalls. If at all nothing else, she consoled herself, she was now a pretty accomplished seamstress. She had taught herself to double stitch, zigzag stitch, double zigzag stitch, spider stitch, blanket stitch, and loads more handy sewing techniques. She never thought she’d be so enthusiastic about such a menial task.
Sewing, however, was the last thing on her mind at that moment. Today was the anniversary of her imprisonment. It was also the first day of the month, and she sat on the bed waiting for the queen with a strange and uneasy feeling: today’s encounter was going to be different than the previous occasions.
SHE DIDN’T HAVE long to wait. At precisely ten o’clock, she heard a rattle of keys outside the door. Samantha stood to greet her royal guest just as the lock was unbolted and two royal guards entered her tiny cell, each standing to one side. As was her duty, she curtseyed when the queen entered.
“Tell me if you’re ready to answer my question,” the queen said, summoning Samantha to rise. “Do you still refuse to believe that your life rests in my royal claws?”
To bee or not to bee, the old actress had said. “I believe only in the Way of the Goddess, the Great Mother Bee,” Samantha said. “My life rests in Her claws.”
Queen Beetrix Bee IV frowned, and then sighed rather loud and unroyal-like. “You have become thin and weak and your stinger is blunt,” she said, and glanced Samantha up and down. “You’ve become this way because I have wished it to be. How can there be any doubt that it is I, not you, not anyone, who controls your life?”
To Samantha’s surprise, the queen dismissed the guards with a curt wave. They objected at once, claiming it was too dangerous to leave Her Majesty alone with a prisoner. She hushed them and waited until they had shut the door on their way out.
“Every month I come to your cell and ask you the same question,” she then said, “and every month you offer the same reply. To say the least, I am beginning to find it tiresome.”
“That’s because you don’t understand the Great Mother’s Way,” Samantha said.
Queen Beetrix stared at Samantha blankly. Then she chuckled. “Young lady, you are certainly one of a kind. But I’ve not come to philosophise with you. I’ve come to tell you something.” She paused, and Samantha didn’t like her smile. “I’m sending you to the Crazy Lands.”
Samantha gulped and felt her wings suddenly stiffen. Fear rose into her heart from the cold floor like dank mist from a swamp. She glanced through the barred window to the distant hills, feeling more scared than the day she was sentenced to prison. No one had ever returned from the Crazy Lands in the living memory of the hive. She had heard that just a glimpse of one of the monsters that roamed there was enough to turn a bee into stone, and even if she were lucky enough to avoid them, then of course there was the wastelands. Miles and miles of barren desert littered with the withered exoskeletons of those unfortunates banished from the queendom. Nobody survived in the Crazy Lands for too long, and those that did went utterly, utterly mad. Up until now, she’d thought her life couldn’t get any worse than it already had. How wrong could she be? This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t fair.
Just at that moment, a voice whispered through the window, carried, as it were, on the westerly wind. It was the same mysterious voice she’d heard a year ago, calling her into the rose.
“Samantha,” it urged softly. “Be a bee.”
She didn’t know what to make of the voice. She glanced at the distant hills again, then back at the queen, who was still smiling as she had. “Things happen for a reason,” Samantha said, holding her head high. “I am not afraid.”
“Not now, perhaps,” the queen said, “but you will be. You certainly will be.” She went to the door, but just before she knocked for the guards to enter, she faced Samantha and said, as if an afterthought, “I’m in need of something, something that will earn you a pardon for your crimes. If it’s accomplished to my complete satisfaction, of course.” Samantha pricked her antennae as the queen stepped toward her. Speaking in a low voice so as not to be overheard by the guards outside, she went on, “As you know, the High Priestess has complete control over the production of honey in the hive. It has to stop.” She glanced at the door before continuing. “Have you heard of Beebylon?”
Samantha’s antennae suddenly went rigid with astonishment. Every bee had grown up with the fable of Beebylon, the magical hive where dreams came true, where everyone was happy and no one ever got sick. It was said that in Beebylon honey dripped from the walls of the towering cliff on which it was built, that they had discovered honeyroot, the magical substance that turned stone into honey, the secret of Infinite Richness.
“The place in the fairytale, you mean?” she said.
Queen Beetrix Bee IV now stood tall, towering over Samantha, her demeanour as hard as the cell walls. “For your sake,” she said, “you’d better start believing in fairytales. I want you to go to Beebylon and bring me honeyroot. Only then will I allow you to live with your mother and father again.”
Samantha’s hopes suddenly flew out between the bars of the window. The queen was asking the impossible, but what choice did she have? She could either stay here, rotting in this cell for the rest of her life, or she could risk everything and travel through the Crazy Lands in search of a fanciful dream. Crazy if she did. Crazy if she didn’t.
She drew a deep breath and said, “You leave me no option. I’ll find Beebylon and I’ll bring back your honeyroot. Maybe then your eyes will open to the Way of the Great Mother.”
The queen returned to the cell door. “Maybe, my child,” she said, knocking for the guards to enter. “But you forget, I have nothing to lose out of this. You, on the other hand, have everything to lose. Including your sanity.”
THAT AFTERNOON, SIX royal guards came to escort Samantha to the Crazy Lands. Her wings and legs shackled, they marched her out of the prison and through the hive gates, a guard on either side lifting her up beneath each wing. Samantha ignored the stares of the worker bees in the garden, averting her eyes elsewhere, barely able to believe that this was happening.
In the distance lay the forested hills. As she well knew, the Crazy Lands began miles before those undulating tors, at the brook where the wild roses grew. Halfway there, across the meadow of high grass, they came upon a large, crumpled wreck. It was diamond-shaped and made of some kind of red material she had never seen before. Two wooden crossbeams, broken and bent at awkward angles, were tethered together in the centre. A tangle of thread lay next to it. Only when she was directly above the wreckage did Samantha recognise it as the kite she’d seen from her prison window, the one that had crashed into the high grass exactly a year ago to the day. Then it was behind and out of sight.
It took another three hours before Samantha heard the babbling of shallow water. The crystal brook marked the end of the queen’s realm and the beginning of the Crazy Lands. This was as far as any sane bee would go. The two guards carrying her put her down on the upper bank and removed her shackles.
“Enjoy your holiday!” the captain said, shoving her forward.
“And send me a postcard!” added another with a mocking laugh.
Samantha ignored them, not looking over her wings, not wanting to show the fear on her face. Like a scary book, the Crazy Lands opened up before her. Wild rose bushes grew to the side, and closer, just over the brook, a field of lush grass led up to a crop of sunflowers. The forested hills lay not too far in the distance, now much larger than before. The barren deserts littered with the bone-dried exoskeletons, she figured, must lay beyond the shimmering lake she could see in the valley. All in all though – and three happy cheers for small mercies – it didn’t look that much different from the queen’s realm.
The captain shoved her again and told her to get a move on. Samantha stumbled forward, then took a hesitant step toward the brook, and then another. Each step felt as if she was still walking with shackles, her feet seemingly ham
pered and joined together. The guards kept yelling at her to get a move on. At the water’s edge, her wings began to flap and fret.
“Don’t worry, Samantha,” she said to herself. “Everything happens for a reason.”
She closed her eyes, spread her stiff wings and buzzed into the air. After a year of confinement, flying was awkward and tiring at first. She struggled over the brook and into the Crazy Lands, with no particular thought in mind other than to seek refuge from the beasts and monsters that roamed these fields. With every flap of her wings, the taunts of the guards faded behind her, like the light of the setting sun.
Soon, she thought with dread, it would be dusk.
SAMANTHA HAD NEVER been alone at night outside the hive. At home she’d always been with her parents. Even in prison, although it had been dark and cold, there was always the security of knowing the four walls of the cell were protecting her from whatever lurked outside. Now though, in the vast open space of the Crazy Lands, she felt a knot of fear tighten inside, the first sign of panic.
At first it started as a faint queasiness. Then it began to squeeze her chest. She started to take quicker and shallower breaths, but this only made her head start to spin. Next, the fear stuck in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to scream. It was the worse feeling she had ever had, as though she was drowning or suffocating, or both. She was certain she was going to die. She zipped through the air in one direction, then the other, up and down, forward and backward, buzzing in erratic and jerky circles like a maddened mosquito.
Then, like the kite she had once seen from her cell window, she began plummeting toward the ground, somehow forgetting how to fly. She couldn’t tell which way was up or which way was down. With what could only be seconds before she crashed, she suddenly remembered her lessons at aerobatic flying school and quickly executed a blowfly back flip, a full reverse-loop with a half twist. For a brief moment she thought she’d managed to pull up and out of the dive, but as she came out of her half twist, she thumped into the belly of a sunflower. Unfortunately, it could only cushion the impact to a partial extent. Tumbling over, she felt her right wing bend and snap. The pain shot into her head, and she squealed in agony.
Samantha Honeycomb Page 3