Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees by Odo Hirsch

their pollination if they’re so worried about missing out on their grubby little harvests. Well? Why not? Let the Fruit-Culturers do something for themselves for a change. Let them bring their own hives and let them—’
    â€˜Wait,’ said Darius. ‘What was that?’
    Mr Heberden turned on him. ‘Let them bring their own hives, I said!’
    â€˜From where?’
    â€˜Who cares? What difference does it make?’
    â€˜It does make a difference. Can they? Can they do that?’
    There was silence.
    â€˜Honey-makers will sometimes lend their hives to farmers if the flowers in their own region aren’t sufficient,’ explained Mr Cuthbert. ‘They get the honey that their bees produce and the farmers’ flowers get pollinated. It works for everyone. I have a cousin who’s a professional apiarist in Canada. He often does that.’
    â€˜Enough about your apiarist cousin in Canada,’ muttered Mr Heberden. ‘I’m sick of hearing about him.’
    â€˜What about here?’ asked Darius, ignoring Mr Heberden. ‘Are there beekeepers who would do it?’
    â€˜I believe there are some,’ replied Mr Cuthbert.
    â€˜How would that help us?’ demanded Mr Heberden. ‘They’d keep the honey. The Fruit-Culturers would get their pathetic two dozen tomatoes or three punnets of strawberries or whatever it is they’re so worried about. What would we get?’
    â€˜Mr Heberden,’ said Oliver, shaking his head, ‘you really are a very selfish man.’
    Mr Heberden frowned. Everyone in the room was staring at him, and no one seemed to disagree. Even Mr Rose, the note-taker, was looking at him disapprovingly.
    â€˜Well, they wouldn’t want to do it anyway,’ muttered Mr Heberden. ‘No one’s going to send their hives for a few backyard plots of tomatoes or a fruit tree in a garden here or there.’
    â€˜That’s true,’ said Mr Cuthbert. ‘They’ll do it for a serious orchard or field. They’ll do it if they know the kind of flowers they’re going to get and if the quality is . . .’ Cuthbert paused. He glanced at the Deavers, then back at Darius. ‘What did you say your name was?’
    â€˜Darius Bell,’ said Darius.
    â€˜From the Bell estate?’
    Darius nodded.
    Mr Cuthbert smiled. ‘They’d do it for the Bell flowers,’ he said. ‘They’d do it for the Bell honey!’
    â€˜They’d do it for the Bell honey,’ said Mr Heberden sarcastically. ‘No they wouldn’t. They’d be too scared their own bees were going to die.’
    â€˜They might, they might not. If ours are already dead, they might not catch the disease.’
    â€˜They won’t take the chance!’
    â€˜Won’t they? You never know what they’ll do for the Bell honey.’ Cuthbert turned back to Darius. ‘Let me make some inquiries. Where can I find you?’
    â€˜At Bell House,’ said Darius.
    Mr Cuthbert smiled. ‘Of course. Give me a couple of days.’
    â€˜Will you really make some inquiries?’
    â€˜Certainly. I’ve said it and I will.’
    Darius grinned. Suddenly, there seemed to be a solution in sight. Bring in beehives from somewhere else! Why not? Darius thought of all the honey the Deavers normally made each year, each variety so highly sought after. For an apiarist, the flowers on the Bell estate were a goldmine. No, he thought, even better, a honey mine! Who wouldn’t want their bees to use them?
    Darius glanced triumphantly at the Deavers. They were staring at him with a kind of frozen look on their faces.
    Darius turned back to the silver-haired apiarist. ‘Thank you, Mr Cuthbert. This has been very useful.’
    â€˜Glad to hear it,’ said Mr Cuthbert. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of days.’
    Darius got up. He could hardly believe what had happened – he had come to