The Tale of a No-Name Squirrel

by Radhika R. Dhariwal

  He was about to say something when Des beat him to it. With a loud noise Des rolled over and muttered, “Just can’t sit like that.” He stretched his legs out behind him and let out a relieved “Aaah!”

  At that very moment, there was a buzzing rustle and all the kneeling bees rose in one swift motion. Squirrel managed to scramble to his feet just in time. It took Des a bit longer.

  Then a troupe of bees in straw skirts flitted into the room, swaying together. In synchrony, they spun round and round, their arms swishing about their bodies gracefully.

  And then, without realizing it, Squirrel too was spinning. Like leaves in the wind, his arms lifted to his sides automatically, twirling and swishing as they never had before. He looked around. Des, Azulfa, Nizza—and all the others in the circle—were twirling as well.

  Squirrel tried to stop himself, tried to control his muscles, but he could not—he was on autopilot. He looked at Des and Azulfa, and could tell by their expressions that they were as surprised by their pirouetting as he was.

  They danced faster and faster—till the crow, the dog, and Squirrel were spinning like tops in a tornado.

  “What’s going on?” Squirrel whispered.

  Nizza shook her armored body till she looked like a robot having a seizure. “Zhe izz coming,” she said with a jiggle. “Queen Apize izz flying in now.”

  A Dance and a Drink

  A streak of gold descended on the sky; the smell of night-blooming jasmine filled the air. The Queen landed and fluttered her wings.

  She was taller than the other bees. Her violet eyes glinted against her fair skin, and her lips looked like flower petals. A petal blouse showed off her flat stomach, and a dewdrop tiara crowned her forehead.

  The Queen smiled at her court and then began to shimmy her belly with graceful vigor. Along with her, everyone in the court began to shake their bellies.

  As his stomach wiggled in ways he could not imagine, Squirrel felt Des nudge him in the side.

  “Hey, check out the stinger on that royal hottie. It’s longer than Nizza’s and it’s curved,” said Des, who seemed to be blissfully enjoying the belly shaking.

  “But, Des . . . why are we belly dancing?” asked Squirrel as his stomach rolled in and out.

  “When we’re around Queen Apize, we danzz like her. Her body zendzz chemicalz that make uzz all danzz,” answered Nizza. “It izz called the waggle danzz.”

  “Are we gonna dance throughout?” asked Squirrel as a cramp gripped his abdomen in protest.

  “Not exactly,” said Nizza, sketching the number eight with her hips. “We ztop when Queen Apize ztopzz.” Squirrel held his belly, hoping the Queen was almost done with her waggling. He watched as one of her attendants shimmied up to her and gave her a crystal goblet full of white cream. The Queen smiled. Squirrel thought her smile was prettier than spring, yet he was sure he would enjoy it more if he were not dancing like a drunk octopus.

  “What’s she drinking?” he whispered to Nizza, watching the Queen swig the goblet.

  “Royal Jelly. The Queen izz fed Royal Jelly all the time. Now, zhhhuzh! Court izz about to begin.”

  One of the Queen’s attendants buzzed, “I prezzent Queen Apize of Mellifera. The Court of Commonz izz now in zezzion.”

  Still swaying her hips, the Queen walked up the steps and sat on her throne. As soon as she sat, everyone stopped swaying.

  It had not been a moment too soon. Squirrel’s tummy felt like a bowl of knotted pinecones. He was not sure if the knots were because of the dancing, or because of his nerves.

  “Now, boyzz, you will zee how wize our Queen izz,” said Nizza. She looked almost as proud as when she was showing off her stinger to Des.

  Squirrel watched two bees stand up. The first had a delicate face painted with makeup. Her yellow suit clung to her body like a peel, and a purple flower was pinned in her primped hair.

  The other bee wore the same uniform, but her jumpsuit fell about her frame like a pair of overalls. Her face was sharp, with keen brown eyes. She bowed and began to speak.

  “Queen Apize, I am zorry to zay I witnezzed a violazzion thizz morning.”

  “You have my attention, Zizter Izzak,” said the Queen. “What infringement did you witnezz?”

  “While taking my roundz of our gardenz, I zmelled zomething different. It wazz . . . it wazz . . . the zmell of frezh baby zap. A flower bud had juzzt been plucked.” Sister Izzak paused as a murmur of protest ruffled the courtroom. With a stern nod, she continued, “And then pretty Zizter Eulia came flying around the corner. Thizz murdered young flower wazz in her hair.” Sister Izzak gestured to the guilty bee beside her.

  Queen Apize looked at Eulia, her gaze long and steady. “Izz thizz true, my zizter? Did you pluck a youngling flower from our gardenz?”

  Sister Eulia kept her eyes fixed on the ground. Her thoroughly rouged cheeks grew redder and redder. “I’m zorry . . . It wazz juzzt zo . . . zo . . . pretty.”

  “Your Majezty, thizz izz a crime mozt zevere,” piped Sister Izzak. “Flowerz belong to the hive—to all of uzz. Zizter Eulia haz ztolen. Zhe muzzt be punizhed.” Sticking out her lower lip, Sister Izzak stared at the Queen.

  Squirrel watched the Queen, whose face was as still as marble. She simply blinked and nodded. When she spoke, her voice tinkled through the open-aired Parthenog like a wind chime.

  “Eulia, my zizter, your punizhment izz to wear thizz carnazzion in your hair, not juzzt today but all through zpring. Alzzo, you are banned from the gardenz till zummer.”

  “But, Queen Apize, that izz not enough! Zhe will not learn anything!” said Izzak, shaking her head like a furious fan.

  “But zhe zhall learn, Zizter Izzak,” said Queen Apize patiently. “The flower will wither. It will die and grow ugly. But Zizter Eulia will ztill keep it in her hair azz a reminder that individual vanity izz uzelezz. Good only comezz from zerving the colony.”

  The Queen took a sip of Royal Jelly and continued, “Becauze zhe izz banned from our gardenz, Zizter Eulia will long to zmell the zweetnezz of our living flowerz, to zee their vibranzy, to fly among their living graze. Zhe will realize that not a zingle flower izz beautiful. It izz the entire living garden, the act of pollinating, of giving life to flowerz, of working for the good of the colony, that izz truly beautiful. Zhe will realize that the community muzzt come firzzt. Thizz izz my royal ruling.” She clasped her hands together and brought them to her forehead. Her voice melted in the air.

  As a much-appeased Sister Izzak bowed, an attendant stepped forward and said, “Queen Apize will hear the next caze. Who zhall zpeak?”

  Nizza nudged Squirrel. “You’re next.”

  Squirrel felt his heart jump to his throat. He got up and shuffled to the center of the room and waited for the Queen to say something.

  Queen Apize picked up the cup of Royal Jelly and sipped it slowly. “What izz your purpoze here, guezzt?”

  But Squirrel had gone numb. He had been so excited about speaking to the Queen that he had not thought of what to say. Was he supposed to tell her about the zipped memory? Or about seclasion? Or about Brittle’s Key? What was he to do? His mind had turned to mush; only one sentence came to mind. “I need a cup of Marbled Honey,” he blurted out. His knees wobbled as he spoke.

  The Queen stared at him; her violet eyes made his fur sizzle. “You want a cup of Marbled Honey?” she whispered.

  For a moment, Squirrel was so scared that he almost threw up everything he had eaten. But then he thought of the key to Brittle’s Map, of slavery, of his name, of his freedom. What was the point of being free if he could not think or speak clearly?

  He breathed in, focusing on what he wanted to say. He looked into the Queen’s fiery eyes. “Your Majesty, I have come all the way to Mellifera for your Marbled Honey. I hope not to leave without it. Just a small cup of it should do. In fact, even a sip . . .”

  Queen Apize lifted her wing and flapped it gracefully. “I have the Marbled Honey, my guezzt. But whether I give it to
you or not dependzz on the anzzer to thizz quezztion: Why do you want it?”

  Squirrel had to use all his strength to push down the panic in his throat. Scooping all his thoughts together, he said, “I want the Marbled Honey because . . . because . . . the honey brings me closer to finding something. Something that I must protect. For the good of my community. As you just said yourself, Your Majesty, the community must come first. And I need this honey to help protect mine.”

  The Queen’s mouth curled into a soft smile. “You zpoke well, guezzt. I’ll give you a drink of Marbled Honey. But making Marbled Honey makezz me weak. Hence, it izz only fair that I make you weak too. Do you agree to thizz?”

  “Agreed,” said Squirrel. He would have traded his left eyeball for some Marbled Honey.

  “Good,” said the Queen. She drew her stinger straight and walked up to Squirrel. Before Squirrel could react, the Queen jabbed just the tip of her stinger into the meat on his palm. Squirrel yelped as a hot sting shot from his arm to his heart. Blood bubbled out from his palm and dripped onto the white marble floor.

  Then, as Squirrel’s knees went weak and the strength drained from his arms, Queen Apize said, “Now I zhall mix you a batch of frezh Marbled Honey.”

  She swiveled her wings, and her attendants began to scurry like mice in a cheese shop. One bee conjured a curved, frosty marble slab and laid it in Queen Apize’s lap. Another held a blue petal pitcher and she tilted it, pouring brown syrup into the icy marble dish. A third bee handed a dainty, lollipop-like object to the Queen. All eyes were on the dish. All except the Queen’s.

  Queen Apize’s eyes were closed. Her pretty face contorted with pain. She began to shake. Then she brought her hands to her milky white neck and began to stroke it. Her lower lip curved, forming a perfect O. Then she blew a stream of soft gold vapor into the marble dish.

  When she was done, Queen Apize picked up the lollipopish ladle and dipped it into the dish.

  His palm throbbing, Squirrel watched as the Queen stirred slowly till the lollipop dissolved into the dish. The syrup became thick and went from brown to a shimmery gold.

  Looking as though she might collapse any moment, the Queen lifted the ladle. A big dollop of golden gel fell back on the marble slab. The Queen smiled weakly. “The Marbled Honey izz ready.”

  Squirrel watched as one of the Queen’s attendants rushed forward and took the marble slab off her lap and poured some creamy Royal Jelly into her mouth. Only after the Queen seemed to regain her strength did the attendant ladle the honey into a wax goblet and hand the cup over to Squirrel.

  Squirrel did not wait. He drank the Marbled Honey down.

  He did not have even a moment to relish the sweet, chilled drink.

  A zap and a crackle ripped from the back of his brain all the way to the front. A terrible pain seized his head, blinding him, choking him. He fell on the floor, shaking as though an electric current was sizzling him alive. The only thing he could feel was a deep unzipping—as though his head were being cleaved in two. And then, as it had done before, his mother’s voice sang to him—cool aloe to his badly burned brain.

  Now, my son, as you proceed

  Find stolen stones that you now need

  Two slate-blue stones from a tomb

  Buried close, in a white-bone womb

  Then, my son, with haste you go

  To where the tea leaves thickly grow

  Nestled in the hills of heart

  Lies your own journey’s second part

  Pluck ten leaves from richest soil

  Mix in water, and bring to boil

  If you brew this tea, you’ve learned

  To give what you have newly earned

  Return what has long been stole

  For that, my dear son, is your role

  When Squirrel came to, he realized that Des and Azulfa had propped him up and Nizza was fanning him with her wings. Actually, Nizza was fanning Des with her wings, but Squirrel was a lucky beneficiary of the cool air as well.

  It took a moment for Squirrel to speak. He thought through the words he had just heard in his head. Finally he looked straight at Nizza and gulped, “I really hope that there is more than one tomb around here.”

  They sat in Nizza’s cell in the comb in silence. Azulfa was stretching her body, Squirrel was pouring over a tattered military map that Nizza had given him, and Des was scribbling a letter to his family on a dry-leaf scroll, with Nizza blowing butterfly kisses to him from across the room. They were biding their time.

  Much to Squirrel’s dismay, the only tomb nearby was the big, white tomb in the mortuary across the river. The Bone Palace, as it was called, was the same place Nizza had called too creepy for words. Yet, it sounded like the tomb with the slate-blue stones. First, it was the only tomb close by. Second, it was white. Third, it was made of bone. However, there was a problem: Queen Apize had forbidden anyone living from entering the tomb.

  Squirrel did not want to go to the tomb anyway, and he really did not want to disobey the Queen’s order. But he knew he had to. So, as soon as Nizza left to find Des a waxy heart memento, he announced, “I’m going to break into the Bone Palace. I’ll go alone. The stones have gotta be there.”

  “You’re not going there alone. Of course we’ll go with you,” said Des, his smile wavering only slightly.

  Azulfa nodded. “We’ll go in the middle of the night. There’ll be less chance of being spotted.” Squirrel and Des agreed, and returned to their tasks.

  Taking a break from his letter, Des looked over at Squirrel. “Any luck with what your mother meant by the ‘hills of heart’?”

  “Perhaps . . . have a look at this,” said Squirrel, pointing to a range of hills on the eastern edge of the map. The name “Darling Tea Hills” was neatly lettered below.

  Squirrel continued, “My memory said, ‘Go to where the tea leaves thickly grow; Nestled in the hills of heart.’ It seems to match, doesn’t it? Darling is a tea estate. And the ‘hills of heart’ fits with the hill station of Darling. Whaddya think?”

  Des grinned. Even Azulfa almost smiled. “It must be Darling Tea Hills.” She looked at the map and seemed to make a few mental calculations. “I can get us there by our next sunset, I think.”

  “Excellent!” said Des, pumping his fists. “Let’s just wait for the sun to start snoring. Then, first stop is the Bone Tomb. Next, Darling Tea Hills.”

  Squirrel forced a smile at Des’s enthusiasm. But he himself could not help questioning this mission. His freedom would not come easily; and this journey seemed to be riddled with danger. A part of him felt like running home. His life was comfortable enough, even though he was a no-name slave. But deep down, something in Squirrel began to bubble. He wanted to find his name. He wanted to be free.

  So he steeled himself. “Des, finish your letter and drop it off at the BuzzEx office,” he said. “Then, we should rest before we go to the Bone Palace. Who knows what we’ll have to deal with there.”

  A Great Theft

  He is right outside Mellifera,” said the Colonel. “I know exactly where. And he is not alone.”

  “I shall find Squirrel, sire. I promise you. I shall find him and his friend,” said the Madame.

  “I don’t care for your promises, Madame. Just go. Find Squirrel. I shall not tolerate any more of your mistakes. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sire,” said the Madame as she bowed deeply and scurried out of the cave before the Colonel could growl again. She had to find Squirrel. Luckily, the Colonel had told her exactly where to look.

  “Davaaz uzzaq abiz, Zust ho lim lim, Zunder banaz lapiz, Khuzza jo zzim zzim.”

  Squirrel heard Nizza’s voice fade away as the bridge to Mellifera banged shut, with him, Des, and Azulfa outside. A tendril of fear gripped Squirrel—he had to raid a tomb, and a tomb that scared the wings off every bee in Mellifera.

  Through the darkness he looked at Des and Azulfa. At least Azulfa’s strong, muscular presence was something of a comfort. She did not look s
cared. Instead she seemed to be in her element as she skulked along the shadows of the great, orange wall.

  Squirrel darted from shadow to shadow, until—just as suddenly as it had appeared in the morning—the walled city of Mellifera fell out of sight and became a piece of the past.

  Squirrel faced the present. In the moonless night, it was just him, his two friends, the darkness, and the gush of an angry river. He hurried toward the sound of the water and stopped when they reached a wide riverbank. Squirrel gulped.

  “We’ll have to wade through it,” said Azulfa, confirming Squirrel’s fears. “I don’t want to fly because the soldier bees might catch sight of us.”

  “Well, let’s just get it over with, then,” said Des, looking at the churning white water.

  Azulfa went first, her strong wings cutting through the fierce stream easily.

  “It’s shallow—just wade across slowly,” she said as Des slid into the water and paddled across.

  Des pulled himself out of the water and gestured at Squirrel. “Your turn, mate.”

  Squirrel tried to smile back, but he knew his face could not have been convincing. Taking a deep breath, he slid into the water, pressing his feet into the riverbed. Carefully he began to waddle through the water.

  Just when he reached the smack middle of the river, the muddy floor below his feet began to dissolve. He tried walking faster, but it was too late. The riverbed caved and Squirrel felt himself getting sucked into the current.

  Wildly Squirrel tried to grab anything—a straggly rock, a strong weed, a stray log—anything that would keep him afloat. But his paws only gripped fistfuls of slippery water.

  “Sink . . . sinking,” he cried as unwelcome gulps of icy water shot down his throat.

  Through the gush, he heard Des’s voice. “Mate, it’s not deep. Sink your claws into the bedrock.”

  Squirrel tried, but he had no footing. He just kept getting pulled into a whirlpool of white froth. Desperately he looked at Azulfa and yelled, “Help!”

  But the crow did not move. She stood there, watching Squirrel with empty, glassy eyes.