Perception Page 4

  “These boles,” began the grandmaster, indicating the four walls, “shelter over five million honeybees. The bees are primarily responsible for our abundant orchard and gardens, but in the springtime, we also loan hives to work some of the larger farms outside the city wall. Each skep is home to a single autonomous hive.”

  Helaine reached out and ran her fingers along the side of a skep. Unlike the ones at the worktable, which were a pale yellow, the ones on the boles wore a gray-green coating. It was dry, but smooth under her fingers.

  “What are they covered with?” she asked.

  “Manure.”

  Helaine yanked her hand back in disgust. Her fingers carried no visible trace of the excrement, but she could feel it on her just the same. With no towel in sight, she dropped her hand to her side and held it away from her body.

  “It prevents water from entering the skeps,” continued the grandmaster. She stopped and reached into her pocket to retrieve a small whistle-like instrument with a U-shaped mouthpiece. “We give the bees cozy, safe little homes and plenty of food, and in return they pollinate our crops and provide us with honey and wax.”

  She placed the mouthpiece in her mouth and held it between her teeth, leaving her hands free. Then, she blew a series of notes that she repeated again and again. As she played, the bees calmed. Continuing her tune, she grabbed a skep, placed it on the ground and turned it upside down to give Helaine a look inside.

  Half a dozen honeycombs sat in orderly, parallel rows running the width of the skep. Bees completely covered them, scrambling in all directions.

  “So many,” said Helaine, stooping to get a better view. “Crawling on top of each other and jumping all over the place. It’s so chaotic.”

  The grandmaster positioned the skep upright and returned it to its bole before removing the whistle from her mouth. “It’s the most orderly chaos you’ll ever see. And I can assure you each bee knows exactly what it’s doing.”

  They resumed their stroll around the apiary as the grandmaster continued Helaine’s brief introduction to bees, their behavior, and their social structure. By the time they had completed their round, Helaine’s mind was swimming with new information, and even more questions.

  “So,” said Grandmaster Brightwater, panting from their morning walk. “What do you think? Are they slightly less terrifying than fish?”

  Helaine smiled sheepishly. “Far less.”

  “And how does a summer project in the apiary sound?”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Excellent. Then let me introduce you to Dov.” The grandmaster led her over to the worktable where the man sat stitching. He set his repaired skep aside and stood to greet them.

  “Helaine,” said Grandmaster Brightwater, “this is Dov, our head beekeeper. Dov, this is Helaine. She’ll be helping out this summer.”

  Dov grunted and folded his arms across his chest, his gaze assessing Helaine. “Good,” he said. “These need a new coating.” He inclined his head to the stack of newly repaired skeps on the worktable beside him.

  Helaine’s upper lip curled involuntarily as she took his meaning, and her soiled hand began to itch.

  “Oh, Dov, you do like to tease,” the grandmaster said with a laugh.

  The muscles in Helaine’s face relaxed. The last thing she wanted to do was spend hours getting intimately acquainted with a bucket of cow dung. Anything but that.

  Grandmaster Brightwater continued. “No, I thought we’d start out with something less taxing. Helaine here will guide the swarms.”

  Helaine’s head snapped to the grandmaster.

  The beekeeper grumbled. “What about Reese?”

  “He already has so much on his plate, I’m sure he’ll be glad to be relieved of that duty,” chirped the grandmaster.

  Helaine just stared. Lead a swarm?

  Gather honey? Yes.

  Feed them? All right.

  Tuck them in at night and fiddle a nice lullaby? No problem.

  But surround herself with a swarm of furry, angry buzzers with their cute little barbed behinds sharpened and at the ready?

  Helaine shivered as a droplet of sweat formed on the back of her neck and slid down her spine.

  But what could she say? Grandmaster Brightwater was doing her a favor by finding her a summer project. And she had already let slip her aversion to marine life. She couldn’t protest this assignment without seeming ungrateful.

  Besides, she was already days behind the other students.

  She mustered her spirit and pasted on a brave smile. “That sounds . . . stimulating.”

  “It should be fairly straightforward,” said the grandmaster. “Most of the hives have swarmed already, but we expect about half a dozen afterswarms. It will be your job to make sure the afterswarms settle here in the apiary and not end up in a tree hollow somewhere or, worse, outside the city.”

  “And how, exactly, do I do that?” asked Helaine.

  “Ah-ah,” said the grandmaster, her doughy face molding unto a mischievous smile. “Learning is discovery,” she sang. “I can’t give you all the answers. Dov here will tell you the hows and whys of the swarming season, but you must figure out the best way to guide them yourself.” She patted Helaine on the arm, then made her way toward the opening separating the apiary from the rest of the grounds. “Might I suggest starting in the Archives?” she called over her shoulder. “And you have a week, at best, before the bees get restless, Miss Vastrof. I wouldn’t dawdle.” And with that, she disappeared between the boles.

  Helaine turned to Dov. He met her wide eyes with blank stare and a slow blink.

  Her summer was shaping up to be vastly different than she had expected.

  Chapter 5

  “Did you know bee swarms aren’t actually angry?” Helaine stretched out on her belly across Petrin’s bed and assumed a more comfortable position.

  Petrin offered a distracted “Mmm” from where he sat by the fire, his bare toes stretched toward the flame and his nose in a book. It was his favorite way to relax, but as it was already summer, the single small log on the hearth provided more ambiance than heat.

  Helaine continued. “It’s how they form new colonies. When the hive gets too crowded, the queen leaves and over half of the bees follow her. They all surround her to protect her while they find a suitable place to start a new hive.” She rested her chin in her hand. “Aww. That’s kind of sweet.”

  Petrin turned a page and replied with divided attention. “They sound a lot like my roommate.”

  At the mention of Pax, Helaine forgot all about the bees.

  She hadn’t seen him around since the examinations ended and the summer projects began. She’d wanted to question him more about Nadja and see if she could glean any more details about her friend’s disappearance. But with everyone busy with their own projects, there hadn’t been a chance. As it was, she was lucky to have this evening with Petrin. Grandmaster Wayguard had been keeping him so busy with the young craftsmen, they’d barely spent two minutes together in the past week.

  “And how is Pax’s summer study coming along?” she asked, casually.

  “No idea.”

  “What do you mean, ‘no idea’?”

  “I mean,” said Petrin, pulling his nose from his book and meeting her eyes, “I haven’t seen him since he left for the Luthiers’ Guild Hall at the beginning of last week.”

  “Not in the evenings?”

  “No. He’s staying there, so I doubt we’ll see much of him at all this summer.”

  “Oh.” Disappointed, Helaine turned back to her own book. Petrin did the same.

  Before she read a complete sentence, another thought interrupted her.

  “Whatever happened with the guard?”

  “What?”

  “The guard. You said they had been questioning everyone from the Heartstide Festival performance. Did Pax have anything to say about that?”

  “Not really,” said Petrin. “He said they asked him a few standard questions
.”

  “But did they say what they were looking for, or what might have happened?”

  “No.” Then, as if struck with a new idea, Petrin set his book down on his lap and turned to her. “You’re not still worried about that, are you? Because I’m sure we would have heard something else about it by now if there was any danger.”

  “Oh, no,” said Helaine. She melted when she saw the concern in his soft, brown eyes. “No, no. I was just wondering, that’s all.”

  “Because I don’t want you to feel unsafe in any way. You know,” he began. He cleared his throat and tapped the book against his knees. “You know I would never let anything happen to you.”

  Her heart leaped. A shy smile spread across her face, and she dipped her chin as heat prickled her cheeks. “I know.”

  “Good.” He flashed her a relieved smile before turning back to the fire.

  A comfortable quietude settled around the two as each became engrossed in the words before them. The only sounds that marred the silence were a light crackle from the fire and the occasional swoosh of a turning page.

  Suddenly, Helaine bolted upright. “They can’t hear!” she exclaimed.

  “What the—” Petrin jumped, fumbling his book.

  “Oh, sorry,” Helaine whispered, shrinking back on the bed. “It says it right here: Bees can’t hear. How much sense does that make? How am I supposed to lead a whole swarm of them if not a single one can hear? I might as well be playing to the wall.”

  “Surely not.”

  She shot to her knees again. “Or, maybe that’s part of the challenge. Maybe I’m not supposed to use my music at all. But why wouldn’t Grandmaster Brightwater tell me that? Seems kind of mean if you ask me.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. We’re all here to improve our music skills, or craft skills as the case may be. I can’t see the value of spending an entire summer study avoiding its use. If you’re assigned to lead the swarms, there must be a way to do it with music.

  “What about Grandmaster Zephrys? He doesn’t work with living things. But just because the weather doesn’t have ears, doesn’t mean he can’t command it. Remember,” he chuckled as he quoted Grandmaster Gilmoren, “‘Sound is vibration which travels through the air and is perceived by our ears and interpreted by our mind as something we hear.’”

  Helaine smiled at the memory of Petrin’s brave, yet failed attempt to define sound on the first day of class. He might have been wrong that day, but he had gotten her attention.

  “Perhaps the bees perceive and interpret differently than we do,” he said.

  Helaine nibbled the inside of her lip as she pondered his words. Leave it to him to come up with the most logical explanation.

  “Which,” he added, hesitantly, “is something you have some personal experience with.” He closed his book and set it on the table behind him, turning his body to her and giving her his full attention. “Have there been any changes since you woke?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Still nothing. But Grandmaster Westbrook said we could wait a little while before notifying Doctor Corinson. He said it might clear up in a few days.”

  “It’s been more than a few days.”

  “I know,” she sighed. She looked down at the bedspread and traced the stitching with her finger. “And I’ll admit, there have been a few times when I kind of missed it. But, really, I feel fine.”

  “Helaine,” said Petrin.

  Her stomach fluttered at the sound of her name on his lips, and she looked up.

  “I know being cooped up in the infirmary was hard for you.” He exhaled slowly and turned his face to the fire. His eyes captured the dancing flame, and he spoke the next words as if recalling a story from long ago. “Even while you slept, it seemed, at times, your dreams tormented you. Your little hand would grip mine so hard, and I tried my best to soothe you. Little good it did, but I tried. My whole life, I’ve never wanted to be anything other than a craftsman. But in those moments, I would have given anything to be a physician.” He looked up from the fire, meeting her eyes. “There are things at work here we don’t understand.”

  Regret tainted his words, and there was a desperation in his voice that pulled at her. How could she have been so thoughtless? She hadn’t considered what it had been like for him as he sat by her side day after day, not knowing when or if she’d wake up. She rose from the bed and crossed to him, settling herself in his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his hair.

  Petrin embraced her and shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. Just speak with Grandmaster Westbrook again, please?”

  She leaned back and studied his face. Gone was Petrin, the image of facts and logic. He had been replaced by a man whose face was awash in emotion. Pain and fear, but also hopefulness, and . . . could that be love?

  Helaine’s breath caught in her chest.

  She nodded in agreement, not trusting her tongue to form the words.

  “Promise me,” said Petrin. His voice was gruff with emotion.

  She swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat out of the way just long enough to answer him.

  “Promise,” she whispered.

  Petrin’s mouth came down on hers with an intensity she had never felt before. The shy, tentative kisses they had shared faded to nothing when compared with the ardor of the man before her. His arms tightened around her back and held on to her as if he feared she would dissolve and slip through his fingers. Dizziness engulfed her head, and her hands fisted the fabric of his shirt as she clung to him.

  In that moment, something changed between them. Something unspoken, yet thoroughly communicated. Whatever happened, whatever trials would come, one thing was sure.

  He loved her.

  And she loved him.

  Helaine hummed softly to herself as she strolled through the Archives’ stacks. The air beneath the conservatory always carried a chill, which was a welcome change from her morning spent baking under the summer sun. Since being assigned to the bees, she’d split her time between here, rummaging through the books and sheet music, and the apiary, fishing what information she could from Dov. Usually, she was diligent in her studies. But today, memories of yesterday evening divided her attention in a most pleasant way.

  He loves me.

  She giggled as the words repeated themselves yet again in her mind, the sound echoing off the stone walls and sounding much louder than it ought in the quiet room. She pressed her fingers to her lips to silence herself. The touch made them tingle and flooded her senses with the memory of Petrin’s mouth on hers. Her cheeks bloomed a bright crimson, and she jerked her hand away, peeking over her shoulder to see if anyone had spotted her and been privy to her thoughts. The rest of the room’s inhabitants were engrossed in their own reading and research.

  What a silly thought. As if someone could read my mind.

  She lifted a book from the shelf in front of her, then moved to a wall of cabinets, pulling open a drawer and leafing through the sheet music.

  An involuntary smile curled her lips once again, and she pressed them together, lest she appear a fool to anyone who might come this way.

  He loves me.

  Of course, he hadn’t said it aloud. Petrin was a man who spoke precisely and chose his words with care. He was cautious, taking his time and comparing all possible outcomes before proceeding. But he had left her in no doubt of his feelings, and she felt certain he would say it, in time.

  There it was.

  She slipped the piece of sheet music out of the drawer and added it to her pile. The drawer slid closed with an almost imperceptible click, and she made her way to the front with a light step.

  “Back for more, are you?” asked the cheerful man seated behind the counter.

  “Yes,” said Helaine. The smile returned to her lips as soon as she opened her mouth. She plonked her books and music onto the desk and separated them into two piles. “I’m returning these,” she
said, indicating the first pile, “and borrowing these. Oh, and, Jeramy, thank you for recommending Greenwood’s Entomological Airs and Jigs. I think it’s going to be just the thing.”

  Jeramy smirked. “I wondered if you’d had some luck when I saw you flirting with the sheet music over there.”

  Helaine blushed at his words, but took no offense. Jeramy was a walking, talking catalog of every book and song within the Archives. He had been immeasurably helpful in her research, and she knew the jest was kindly meant.

  “You looked exactly like I do on my days off,” he continued, opening a large, brown index and logging her borrows.

  “You take days off?”

  Jeramy’s mirthful chuckle was all the reply she needed. “You have me there,” he said. “Yes, I do take days off, but not without protest. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. They can keep me out of this chair, but they can’t keep me out of the stacks.”

  Helaine shook her head even as she smiled back at him. How anyone would want to spend their life buried beneath the conservatory, surrounded by nothing but ink and paper, was beyond her. Yet his enthusiasm was infectious.

  He added her returns to the small pile behind him. “There you go,” he said, sliding her borrows back to her.

  She gathered them in her arms. “Thank you again for all your help.”

  Jeramy beamed at her. “You’re very welcome. It’s what I do.”

  Before Helaine could leave, Jeramy swished a finger through the air, stopping her movement. “Now, I have one quick question before you go. You’re friends with Miss Nadja Machinal, aren’t you?”

  Helaine nodded.

  “Would you hold on a moment, please?” Jeramy pulled a red notebook from a shelf to his left. He flipped to the desired page and ran a finger down the rows of neatly printed script. “Here we are,” he said. “Miss Machinal borrowed a few books quite some time ago and has yet to return them.” He glanced back down at the book. “Pantomaria: Our Neighbor to the East, Musica Antiqua, and Folk Tunes of the Nor—, oh, no, it looks like she returned that last one. So, just Pantomaria and Musica Antiqua then.” He smiled up at her. “Would you be so kind as to remind her they are overdue? She’s welcome to keep them longer, but she will need to come and check them out again in person.”