It’s been unseasonably warm this week and someone (or something) has been using my garden sprinklers to cool off.

I’d not normally be bothered but whoever it is as no concept of moderation and has all but drowned the herb beds, not to mention leaving the hydrangeas wet, in the full glare of the sun. I’ve never seen such badly burnt leaves.

So, when I get word from the breezes that someone has turned on the lower garden reticulation (currently disconnected from its water supply), I make my way to the vegetable beds. I’d been planning on checking them for harvest scheduling anyway.

I found a robed figure stomping the paths, wilted flowers swirling through the air in their wake.

I paused at the entrance and crossed my arms. “Is there a problem?”

The figure turned. Tall and thin, with a pale, pointed face, eyes of pure black, and small antennae growing from her forehead. Most definitely a her, a Queen Bee, no less.

She tilted her chin and looked down her nose at me. “Water.”

“I turned it off. You’re killing the plants.”

She looked about the garden and blanched – the miserable herbs, the empty bed of what been an assortment of seedlings, drowned yesterday and the soil still soggy. I saw her wince when her gaze lit on the hydrangeas.

She may be in something like human form now, but a Queen Bee is still a bee and she’d clearly just realised what she’d done to her subjects’ key source of sustenance. 

Still, she turned back to me and tried to look unconcerned. “Water.”

“There’s a good-sized stream in the woods, and a pond further up my garden, use one of those.” 

She frowned. “No monsters.”

Fair enough, the resident of my pond was a little picky about who shared their water, although I’d never known them to get huffy over insects, but what was in the stream?

My confusion must have shown as she added. “For my workers, not me.”

Ahhh, of course, there were fish in that stream who would see a hovering bee as a tasty snack and only discover their mistake when it was too late for both of them.

I considered my options. If I played my cards right, this could provide tenants for my second (currently empty) bee hive, and an increased supply of both honey and wax. “Let’s negotiate.”

Twenty minutes later, I had new tenants, and a swarm of sentient bees had a new home. All it took was for me was promised access to my flower garden and some form of water source for the bees near their new home.

If the foolish thing had bothered to speak to the normal bees, or explore closer to my house earlier, she’d have seen the insect pool I already have at the end of the terrace – a broad pottery bowl, stacked with stones to form little islands in the water, something for bees, and others, to land on to drink.

I’ve heard sentient bees produce exceptional quality wax and honey, and they’re also amazing messengers and (frankly) gossips. I’ll be right up with all the latest news now.

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