A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

	“The Queen is dead!”
	Weaving his way through the bustle of Monday morning crowds, the town crier jolted Beatrix out of her reverie. His harsh bell added to the already cacophonous murmur of workers getting about their business. Leaving her favourite spot by the window, she crossed her hexagonal room to the oak dresser. She splashed her face with warm water the maid had delivered, and set about brushing and braiding her auburn waves.  It was all a routine she had completed daily for years, but this morning her hands shook from a combination of fear and excitement. The moment for which she had been waiting and training her entire life was actually arriving.  

	Beatrix was a Future Queen.  She understood this did not guarantee her succession to the throne, but merely a chance at it.  As bees prepared multiple possible queens, but only one could take the role, so it was within the Colony.  She did not play with girls her own age as a child, and now in her late teens she was not sent out to work.  Instead, she was escorted daily to the Vestibule, a small school on the outskirts of the palace.  Here the Beekeeper had been her teacher, and the closest thing she was allowed to a friend.  Maids and other workers rotated so often that there was never time to get to know them, although she always tried to show them courtesy and gratitude. In the Vestibule, she was taught history, the intricate details of apiculture, other natural sciences, and practical skills related to becoming Queen and running the Colony.  Beatrix understood that, at any given time, there may be up to twenty Future Queens receiving training via the Vestibule, but they were always kept separated. 

	The Colony was populated by humans who had left Earth during the Swarming, seeking new hospitable planets after they had destroyed their home climate.  It started in ignorance, but human activities caused weather changes that led to plants flowering out of season, and the Bee populations began to struggle.  The great Bee Spirit was angered and sent the Prophetess with warnings.  But prophets are rarely accepted by their own, and the damage continued through arrogance. Eventually, humans were faced with extinction unless, as the Prophecy foretold, they left Earth and sought a second chance, modeling their society on that of the Bees, and relearning from the natural world.  Beatrix wasn’t sure where her fleet had landed, but all around her she saw the community trying to live up to what had been asked of them. 

	As the crier moved on, continuing to spread his message of impending change, Beatrix finished her ablutions and waited for the maid to return and take her to the Vestibule. She felt her heart fluttering beneath her ribcage, something the Beekeeper always said was a sign of the Bee Spirit moving within. She murmured something akin to a prayer or a mantra, “May I be.  May I be all that has been destined for me. May I be victorious. May the ghosts of Queens past be with me, be within me, be fulfilled through me.”

	The ghosts of Queens past were a popular superstition amongst the workers.  Lay interpretation of the prophecy was difficult, but the widespread understanding was that Queens worked towards transforming the Colony into a true paradise, each sacrificing something for the good of the many.  It was said that upon their death, their ghosts remained, aiding future Queens and sometimes punishing misbehaving workers. 

	Beatrix had never been satisfied with the Beekeeper’s answers to her questions.  He did not deny the Queen ghosts’ existence, nor that a Queen would be called upon to sacrifice for the Colony, but he described the superstitions as “simplistic” and “unenlightened.”
	“Enlighten me then!” she had once snarled at him in frustration.
	But he had merely tutted, “Patience, Miss Beatrix.  As the Prophetess declared, you will know what you need to know when the timing is correct.  We must submit to her wisdom. Trust her. That is the duty of a Future Queen.”
	She had railed against him that day. “You tell me I will be asked to make a sacrifice for the greater good.  You tell me I must be prepared for pain.  What if I choose not to?  You give me all this training but I still feel I know nothing of what will be expected of me. What happens if I just quit now? How do I know the Prophetess was even real? Why should I trust her?”
	He hadn’t answered, but his shoulders had slumped. The disappointment on his face was a slap to hers, and she knew immediately she’d overstepped.  Embarrassed at her outburst, she had murmured apologies and excuses. 
	“I am sorry, Beekeeper. You know how hard it is for me to bridle my curiosity and my frustration. I am not quitting. If nothing else, I would hope to make you proud one day. I do have doubts, sometimes, about the Prophecy, but I…” she had paused and looked into his eyes. “I trust you.  And if you trust her, that remains enough for me.”

	As she entered the Vestibule for this, the last time, the gravity of the situation tugged at her spirits. Statistically, she would be dead within the next 48 hours, unless she was able to pull together all her training, perhaps with the aid of the Queen ghosts if she was somehow deemed worthy.  She vacillated between a sense of pure self preservation - I must win this at all costs. I must survive. - and a sense of inadequacy and despondency - I’m unlikely to win, and even if I do, what do I have worth offering? What would I sacrifice? And would the pain be worth surviving today?

She moved to her locker and collected her pan flute and ceremonial dagger.  The training had been clear on this point at least.  It was modeled on honeybee colonies.  When it was time for a new Queen, the Future Queens must seek each other out with piped notes, and strike swiftly with no mercy.  The last one standing would be Queen. She had not yet heard any others piping, so must be the first. She knew this was expected to confer advantage.  She blew on her pan flute, and listened for a reply, before moving decisively in the direction of that sound.  As she approached the waif of a girl standing by the courtyard fountain, her opponent placed her flute and dagger on the cobblestones and curtsied.  		“Fear not, Queen Beatrix, you were born for this.” With that, her form disintegrated into nothing.

	Beatrix stood, confused. How had this other Future Queen known her name? And how had she vanished like that? The lilt of another pan flute brought her back to the moment, and she followed the sound to another opponent. Yet again, the dagger was laid down as this one intoned “May you do what I could not” and faded away. 

	The third was an older opponent, with laugh lines around friendly eyes. “We have been waiting for you. Your time has come. The secret is Love.”

	She rushed at the fourth in anger and confusion, words pouring from her lips like a battle cry, “Will none of you fight as we have been taught?” But the dagger struck nothing of substance, and as this form also faded she was told “The true fight here is within. Battles are won or lost first in the mind.”

The fifth quoted from the Prophecy:
“This Queen will set our Ghosts at ease;
if her Love can sate the Bees.
Her sacrifice frees honeycomb,
and sweetens this, our final home.”

	One by one, the supposed opponents faded away, the air hanging with the sound of advice and encouragement, until at last there were no more melodies.

				~~~

	The Beekeeper smiled warmly and bowed as Beatrix entered the throne room. 
	“Welcome, my Queen!”
	“There have been a lot of lies, Beekeeper.”
	“Half truths, my Queen, but never lies. There were things you could not know until now.”
	Beatrix bristled in rage. “Every single one of those Future Queens was a ghost! You said I trained alone in the Vestibule so that I would not befriend my opponents, but there were no opponents, not real ones anyway!”
	“They were not embodied, my Queen, but they were real nonetheless. I see your anger and confusion, but may I show you the Hive, and try to answer your remaining questions?  All knowledge is now permissible to you.”  He gestured towards a door behind the throne. She hesitated a moment, but acquiesced.  She needed answers. 

	She followed him to a cavernous room that seemed too large to be held within the palace, containing row upon row of what looked like giant honeycomb.  Each hexagonal cell was sealed over with a transparent membrane through which a human body could be seen floating in viscous fluid.  Transfixed, her anger overcome by awe, Beatrix’s question was barely audible, “Who are they?”
	“Of all those you’ve ever met, only you and I are embodied. These are the bodies of all the ghosts you met in your daily life, every maid, every worker.” He held up a hand, sensing her impending interruption. “No, my Queen, they do not know they are ghosts.  Whilst their bodies are in stasis here, their spirits believe they live normal lives.  There is not sufficient infrastructure here to keep many embodied at one time, yet they need to be conscious so that they may prepare for their future. My job is to raise one Queen at a time, until we can fulfill the requirements to repopulate Earth.  May I show you?”
	The Beekeeper walked towards some wooden shutters and without waiting for reply, opened them to reveal a stunning meadow of wildflowers.  While Beatrix looked out, her heart and thoughts racing, he continued his story.
	“Of all the fleets that left in the Swarming, we are the only survivors. There was no other suitable planet. Our only hope as a species was to return to Earth and do better this time.  The Prophetess placed all but myself into stasis, and tasked me with the job of keeping us alive until we can go back out. We are down to less than a third of our resources. We are running out of time.”
	He watched Beatrix intently as she looked out over the landscape.  He wanted to wait for her to ask the question.  Eventually she turned to him.
	“Why can’t we just go out there? This has something to do with me, doesn’t it? This has something to do with the sacrifice.”
	The Beekeeper exhaled slowly. “The Bee Spirit was greatly angered by the damage the human species did to Earth. She does not want us back without atonement as it were. Earth is now protected by Drone Bees that will sting any human in order to protect their own colony.  If we all go out there, we all die. But according to Prophecy, a single Queen can go out and be stung.  The pain will be intense. It will result in her death. But when Drones attack, neither do they survive, so a Queen who could endure the complete barrage of stings would equally wipe out their defenses, and buy us the time needed to set up a new Earth colony in line with the Prophecy.  And then, if we learn from past mistakes, and respect the harmony of nature, the Bee Spirit will allow us to stay.”
	“The Queens before me?” 
	“Most remained unable to do what was requested of them, and returned to stasis.  Some of those are ghosts you met today. They could not fulfill the Prophecy themselves but they aid me in preparing one who can.  Some died of natural causes, a hazard of being out of stasis. Three attempted the sacrifice.”
	Concern creased Beatrix’s face as she asked him, “Attempted?”
	The Beekeeper sighed deeply. “They could not endure. I sent them out with mercy capsules in case they could not, and all three succumbed to the need to use them. The hardest thing for me is I don’t know what happened to their ghosts, where they went, if they have peace.”
	Beatrix turned from the vista and examined his face. Moisture glistened at the corner of his eyes until a single tear trailed down his left cheek.  She reached a thumb up, and caressed it off. “You loved them, these Queens of yours.”
	“I did.  I still do. I love you. I love all these people. I would go out there. I would be the sacrifice. But my love would not satisfy the Prophecy.  The best I can hope to do is to raise a Queen who can.”
	“Love,” she mused. “The Ghosts mentioned Love. Why did you never teach me about that?”
	He smiled at her warmly, “But I hope I did, my Queen. Love is not a lesson in a book nor something that can be trained.  If I have taught you anything of Love surpassing its definition it will have been by example, by actions, by my love.”
	Beatrix shook her head softly, as though the physical movement could clear the jumble of thoughts she was trying to decipher.  “Love.  Willing the good of the other above the good of oneself.  How can I will what I do not even know?  I barely know you after all these years.  Do you even have a name? What were you before you were the Beekeeper?”
	Shadows of memory and emotion danced across his face. “Indeed, My Queen, my name was once Paul.  I was an historian and librarian. I am tasked with remembering and recording what has passed in the hope that we might not repeat our error.”
	They stood in silence until at last Beatrix moved to the nearest cell and touched the tag with her fingertips. “Number 382.  Elissa Longford.  Let’s start here.”
	“Start, my Queen?” Paul looked confused. 
	“Well, Paul, if I am going to love these people as you love them, I need to know them as you know them.  They need to be more than passing ghosts to me. So, you are going to tell me all of their stories, everything you know. And for the Prophetess’ sake, stop calling me ‘my Queen’ - it’s Beatrix to you.”

				~~~

	Queen Beatrix stood on the threshold, one hand on the latch, the other on Paul’s arm.
	“Paul,” her voice cracked, “Please tell them my story. Please tell them my name. Please tell them I love them.” She leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek, then pressed something small into his hand, and closed his fist over the mercy capsule.
	“I won’t be needing this.”  She undid the latch and stepped out before he could say anything that could possibly alter her course.  She pushed the door shut behind her, and walked into the wildflowers, never looking back as the Drones descended upon her. 


This was written for Round 1 of the 2023 NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge (Prompts: ghost story / a vestibule school / a beekeeper). It received Honorable Mention #2