The Politics of Bees

Hard work, for Coralie, was all she'd ever known. 

The town of Twinstone was like a bee's nest. Its politics ran similar to that of a hive. There was, of course, the queen bee that ran the operation, and in Twinstone, the queen bee was the Kleindale monarchy.

Coralie was the daughter of a merchant and was always overworked in their shoe shop. Her father was a brilliant man but, being born into poverty, was never able to showcase his intelligence. Doing so would have been a death sentence. Under the Kleindale monarchy, the rich thrived, and the poor were driven into the dirt - like cattle - forced to do the labour that allowed the affluent to prosper. King and queen Kleindale viewed the merchants, craftsmen, and peasants of Twinstone as lesser people and sought to work them until they begged for mercy. They sought to gain every cent possible without ever needing to work a day themselves. 

Coralie was not allowed to think for herself. She was told by the monarchy what to say and how to behave. She didn't know how to read or write, but she'd fill journals with hatred for the Kleindale rule if she did. Perhaps, it was better that she was illiterate. Then she could never be whipped, or worse, hung for defying the king and queen.

Coralie was a young woman, and this meant she was valuable. For her looks and youthful energy, she could be exploited in many ways, and it was likely her life would be spared in such a case. On the other hand, her father would be killed immediately if he ever lifted a finger against the crown.  

It was the summer of 1806 that the shoe shop graced the presence of a bee's nest. While shining the shoes of a nobleman, Coralie heard a faint buzzing. She was momentarily distracted from her work. 

"Stupid girl," cried the nobleman who had been waiting impatiently. Coralie rushed to finish the job, desperately wanting the man to leave. She whispered apologies as she handed him the polished boots. He tossed a single silver coin on the counter and stormed out ungrateful.

Coralie's father had left her in charge of the shop for the week while he traded for leather materials. The sun was low in the sky, casting golden hues along the wooden floor, and Coralie decided she would close early for the night. Business had been slow for a fortnight as uprisings were occurring more often than ever. The wealthiest people of Twinsdale had their hands full dealing with the insurgents, and purchasing shoes was not a top priority. 

Coralie wished to join the revolution against the crown. Still, her father would never agree to it, arguing with reason that it was far too dangerous. She'd long since learned that further protest incited her father's anger. He wasn't angry often, but the few times she'd seen him during an outburst, she'd been terrified. He was a large man, burly for years of hard work, with even larger hands. He'd slapped her once, and she'd cried silently.

The buzzing started up again. The sound might have always been there, but thoughts of the uprisings had distracted Corlie from focusing on it. She followed, getting hotter than colder until she discovered the hive hidden under a floorboard at the back of the shop. The building was falling apart, so the hive's location received a scattering of sunlight that bees tend to appreciate.

Peeling back the floorboard, Coralie braced herself for an angry swarm of wasps. She bounced back and knelt a few feet away, balancing on her toes to get a good look.   

…

The next few days at the shop were slow but steady. Coralie's father returned home three days later.

"Oh, father," gasped Coralie as her father walked through the door that evening and sprinted into his welcoming arms. "I've missed you! Were your errands successful father?" 

"Hello Rose Bud. All went well and I've brought you back a gift. It's nothing too special, just some chocolates from a sweet shop I passed in Fordville." He caressed the top of his daughter's head, soaking in the scent of her half-clean hair. 

Coralie shrieked with joy. It wasn't very often that her father was able to bring gifts home from his trips. Money was always short.  

"Father, you look tired. Come, sit down and let me make you warm milk with honey and herbs."

"Yes, good idea. It's been a long journey and my feet are quite sore." Coralie's father told her of his errands as she boiled milk over kindling and added rosemary for taste. She stirred in a teaspoon of honey. 

"Rumours have been spreading about the revolution. There was a gentleman in -" 

"Father," Coralie interjected. "Why, you said revolution. Not rebellion."

"I did," he sighed. 

"Does that mean you are against the crown. Do you wish to be a revolutionary father?" 

"I did not say such a thing, Rose Bud. Now off to bed. I don't want any more discussion of this tonight." 

Coralie wished to ask more questions. Had her father joined the revolution while he was away? Was he going to ask her to join as well? How was the revolution planning on taking down the Kleindale monarchy?

Her father was tired, and she decided it was better if she didn't press him further tonight. Perhaps she would get lucky, and he'd open up to her in the morning.  

Things were changing. She could feel it in her bones. 

…

"I've been asked by the King himself to manufacture boots for the army efforts," her father announced the following morning. "They are struggling to fight back against the revolution." 

Coralie gasped. "Asked by the king himself. Surely you don't wish to comply."

"We must. He will have me killed otherwise." Coralie could hear the fear in her father's voice. And was that a slight tone of anger she heard as well? She knew her father hated the crown even though he would never admit to it openly. Whenever a nobleman entered the shop or spoke of how wonderful the king and queen were, she could see her father grinding his teeth. 

Coralie was constantly grinding her teeth. There was a constant buzzing inside her mouth. 

For the next week, Coralie and her father worked endlessly, making, polishing, and delivering boots to the castle. It was the most demanding work she had ever had to do. Her elbows and knees ached. Her skin was filthy. Her own shoes became worn through, he left pinky toe poked out. 

Any time there was a break in the day for lunch, Coralie would watch the bees nest. She hadn't mentioned it to her father because she knew he would exterminate them. They were dangerous creatures. They'd known a few children who'd been stung to death because they got too close and didn't know any better. 

She watched the bees as they worked in unison to provide for their queen bee. There were the honey makers, the pollinators, the hunters and gatherers who brought food, the maids and butlers who kept the nest clean, and the soldiers who protected the walls. 

I'd be a honey maker if I were a bee, though Coralie. 

… 

The fall season was approaching fast. The summer had flown by for Coralie, who spent almost every day making boots for the castle military, which was constantly demanding more. The revolution was fighting hard and making advances every day. Coralie kept up to date with the weekly paper. 

When her father left for errands, Coralie had to work twice as hard. The palms of her hands were so calloused they often bled. She was completely drained. 

Once, she'd accidentally delivered a set of boots that were stained with blood. She received a whipping on the backs of her legs for her incompetence. She could not walk and attempted to crawl back to the shop when a young gentleman noticed her. He gave her a lift, free of charge, in his horse-drawn carriage. 

"Best be more careful next time," he warned. 

She thanked him politely. "Yessir." 

Coralie could not continue work, so she decided to finish for the day since her father was away on another errand and couldn't say otherwise.

She fixed herself a vegetable sandwich and sat watching her beloved bees. 

Coralie noticed something strange was happening in the hive. She scooted closer, being careful not to disturb the nest. 

There were large swarms of bees forcing others out of the nest! Coralie watched as the swarms attacked a single bee by pushing it out of the nest and piling on top of it. When the swarm returned to the nest, the attacked bee lay on the ground, moving. Coralie grabbed a stick from the fireplace and poked the bee. It didn't move. Was it dead? She watched intently as it happened again and again. She concluded that the swarms were suffocating the singular bees. But why? Hours must have gone by as Coralie observed the strange behaviour. 

She was fascinated by their activity. It reminded her of the castle military and the revolution. The swarms were the military, and the singular bees were the revolution. The queen wanted some of the bees dead, just as the Kleindale monarch wanted the revolution dead. 

Coralie was a worker bee, and she sympathized with those in the swarm. She didn't think they truly wanted to kill their peers, but the queen was forcing them to. Perhaps the queen would kill them if they disobeyed her orders. 

I would still join the revolution, thought Coralie. Even if it meant a death sentence.