Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees by Odo Hirsch

tantalisingly—’
    â€˜There won’t be any this year,’ blurted out Darius suddenly.
    Hector stopped, finger in the air. ‘Why not?’
    â€˜There are no bees.’
    Hector frowned. ‘No bees where?’
    â€˜In the hive in the pumpkin field.’
    â€˜That’s very odd, Darius. Why shouldn’t there be any bees in the hive?’
    â€˜They’re all dead.’
    â€˜Who killed them?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Does Mr Deaver know?’
    â€˜I don’t think so.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t he find out?’
    â€˜I think he’s trying.’
    â€˜Well,’ said Darius’s father, and he cleared his throat. ‘The death of one bee,’ he announced solemnly, as if he was a great expert on the matter and had studied it extensively, ‘is not a matter of great concern – other than to the bee, I suppose, and his friends and family. The death even of a number of bees is not a concern – with the same exceptions. But the death of a hive – an entire hive, and particularly one responsible for a honey as noble, as vital, as necessary as pumpkin-flower honey, which is, after all, not merely a honey, but a queen of honeys, a queen bee of honeys, one might say the crowning glory of the honey species, if one can use such a term, which I believe one can, since honey, if not a species, is at least a thing of such extraordinary importance, of such overwhelming attributes, of such unparalleled—’
    â€˜Papa, there are no bees.’
    â€˜munificence, a gift, as it were, to humanity, and not merely a gift, but a life-force, a boon, a spiritual—’
    â€˜Papa! There are no bees! Anywhere!’
    Hector Bell stared at his son in silence. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow, Darius.’
    â€˜There are no bees in any of the hives. They’re all dead.’
    â€˜All of them?’
    â€˜There are none left. Every hive the Deavers have is empty.’
    â€˜Well, the Deavers have been very careless, haven’t they?’
    â€˜Papa, I don’t think it’s their fault.’
    â€˜How do we know? That’s the point, isn’t it? We don’t know. According to what you’ve told me, we only have their word for it.’
    â€˜I really don’t think it’s their fault, Papa. There are no bees anywhere in the city. They’ve all died.’
    Hector Bell raised an eyebrow doubtfully.
    â€˜Papa, there’s not going to be any honey at all this year.’
    Hector Bell shrugged, as if he didn’t want to hear it.
    â€˜And there won’t be any fruit and vegetables either. Papa, did you hear me?’
    â€˜Ridiculous! Darius, what are you talking about? First no honey, now no fruit and vegetables. What next? No sun? No moon? Your imagination is getting away from you. You know I’m all in favour of imagination. A literary man like myself, where would I be without it? And yet there are limits, Darius. One doesn’t go around frightening people willy-nilly with rumours of no honey and no fruit. If you want to write a horror story, write it! Don’t spread rumours as if they were true.’
    â€˜It’s not a story! Listen to me, Papa. It’s basic science. The bees—’
    â€˜Science!’ cried Hector in horror. ‘Darius, spare me. I’m a man of literary sensibilities.’
    â€˜No, Papa. Listen. It’s not hard to understand. The bees are needed to pollinate the flowers.’
    Darius’s father stared at him blankly.
    â€˜Pollination, Papa. That’s what makes a flower into a fruit. The pollen from one flower goes to the other. Surely you’ve heard of that?’
    Hector shrugged slightly.
    â€˜Look, Papa, the bees go from flower to flower collecting nectar, don’t they?’
    Hector frowned. ‘I suppose so . . . Such questions, Darius! Why are you asking me if you already know the