1st 5 Pages November Workshop- Krumwiede Rev 1

Name: Lana Krumwiede

Genre: Middle-grade Fantasy 

Title: DILUVIANS

The first time Beatrice communicated with an insect was the day Mom finally agreed to let her have a beekeeping lesson. It was the perfect day for it—a white-hot July afternoon. Beatrice wore a long-sleeved long-pants zip-up suit, thick gloves, some serious boots, and a wide-brimmed hat with a veil that hung down to her chest. Kid-sized, of course. 

Mr. Andelin, her eighty-one-year-old neighbor, wore the same protective gear. He was about to open the lid of the white box on the top. 

Not a box, Beatrice reminded herself, a super. That was the correct name for it. When it came to science, correct vocabulary was important.

A low, constant hum came from the hive. Already there were quite a few bees zipping around. When one flew by, a soft buzz would get louder and then fade away, like a tiny jet zooming past. One landed in front of her face on the other side of the mesh that hung down from her hat. She had to almost cross her eyes to look at it. “Hey there, little guy.”

Mr. Andelin looked up, bees circling his head like electrons around a nucleus. “Girl, you mean.” 

That’s right, worker bees were girls. In the insect world, females were fiercer than males. They were the workers, the queens, the warriors, the hunters. They were the ones with stingers. While Beatrice liked the idea of fierce females, she didn’t want to get stung by one. 

“Is the buzzing getting louder?” she asked. “Or is that my imagination?” 

“The veils are making the bees uneasy,” he said. “They’ve never seen me wear one before. We’ll have to move slow and quiet to keep them calm.”

Yes, please. Beatrice definitely wanted them to stay calm. But could insects really notice things like that? In the videos she’d watched, beekeepers always wore veils and used smoke to calm the bees. All the times Beatrice had seen Mr. Andelin working at his hive, he didn’t use either. 

The only reason he wore the suit and hat today was because Mom had insisted. It had taken a lot of convincing to get Mom to agree to this, and full protective gear for both of them was one of her conditions. 

“Why don’t you like wearing a veil?” Beatrice asked.

Mr. Andelin gave a tiny shrug and answered quietly. “The bees and I have an understanding. I make sure they have what they need, and they share their honey. It’s all very friendly.”

Hmm. That sounded very non-scientific. It was true that bees were intelligent. Scientists had even trained them to search out land mines in military zones. But they couldn’t have friendly feelings toward people, could they? “What do you mean, an understanding?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. I trust them, and they trust me—that’s what friends do. How would you feel if every time I came to visit you, I wore a bullet-proof vest and a helmet?” 

“I don’t think that’s the same thing.” Trust sounded fine, but it didn’t seem like the best idea with bees. 

As Mr. Andelin pried open the hive’s lid, Beatrice noticed something she hadn’t expected: She was nervous. 

Even after the dozens of videos she’d watched. Even after the stacks of library books she’d read. Even after the four and a half essays she’d written on the benefits of beekeeping for a ten-year-old, which was mainly to convince Mom. Even after all that, Beatrice still had a twisty-gut anxious feeling now that she was actually here.

Mom was the one who was queasy about bugs, not Beatrice. Whenever a bug showed up in the house, Mom refused to get near it, dead or alive. Beatrice would scoop the bug into a cup, cover it with a card, and release it outside. The bug was probably just lost, and nobody deserved to be executed for being lost. 

But with all the bees around, this was different. A colony this size had about fifty-thousand bees, and if they got aggressive, they would defend the hive with their lives. 

Twisty-gut feeling and all, Beatrice was dying to get a good look inside the hive, especially the brood nest, the innermost part where the queen and the larvae lived. At least, the scientist part of her wanted to.  The scaredy-cat part of her wanted to go home and read about it. The scientist won out. 

Mr. Andelin had the lid off now, removing the wooden honeycomb frames one by one to inspect them, and Beatrice forced herself to lean forward for a good look. There wasn’t much to see yet. She counted a total of seven bees crawling on the honeycomb. Oh, now eight. Most of them would be deeper in the hive. 

Mr. Andelin stood very still and didn’t talk for a bit. 

Beatrice did the same. This was one of the things she liked about him. She could ask him dozens of questions, or spout as many science facts as she liked, and it didn’t annoy him. He seemed to enjoy it. Sometimes when she helped him water his flower garden or refill the butterfly feeders, they didn’t talk at all, which was perfectly comfortable. 

Another bee landed on her veil, walking in a circle in front of Beatrice’s face. Following its path made her a little dizzy. 

“That’s Jasmine.” Mr. Andelin motioned toward it. “She’s just curious. And a bit too outgoing for her own good.”

Strange how Mr. Andelin thought of his bees like people, giving them names and personalities. And even stranger that he could tell them apart. 

Mr. Andelin pulled out another frame and inspected it. He spoke softly, but loud enough for Beatrice to hear. “Look, Hazel. Rosa has a mite on her back. Right there. Can you get it off?” 

Oh, gosh. Now he was talking to them. Did other beekeepers do that? People talked to dogs. And she’d seen a movie once where a boy talked to a cow while he milked it. 

Maybe he talked to his bees because he was lonely. Mr. Andelin lived by himself and didn’t have family nearby. Beatrice could understand lonely. She had Mom, every other weekend with Dad, and a few friends at school. But when it came to someone to talk to about ordinary stuff, not so much.

Mr. Andelin was still whispering over the honeycomb. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Hazel took care of it. Now, off you go.” 

A long pause followed. Did he think they were talking back? 

“We’re getting close to the brood now,” he said. “No jerky movements or loud noises. Nothing to make the bees nervous.”

Beatrice leaned closer for a better view. “Do you think we’ll see the queen?” 

“Probably not. She has thousands of children, with more on the way. She’s very busy.” Slow and easy, Mr. Andelin unstacked the last honey super and lowered it to the ground. The hum got much louder and higher, like an engine accelerating. He murmured reassuring words, but still the buzz intensified. 

Moving at a sloth’s pace, he lifted one of the frames from the brood nest. It was boiling with bees.  

Beatrice stood up straight and took a backward step. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

“Oh my,” Mr. Andelin whispered. “The queen has come out to meet you. Come closer.”

The hum was louder than ever. 

“I’m not sure I should,” Beatrice said.

“Nonsense. You don’t want to miss this.”