A short time later, the first bee appeared. It flew around the room once, twice, then vanished, only to return shortly with a companion. Then more. Soon, they were a constant murmur in Minnie’s orbit, circling her head, settling on her shoulder, brushing her wrist with delicate feet.
At first, the other maids shrieked and swatted with whatever they had on hand, convinced it was some sort of curse. In a castle where any oddity might prove fatal, their fear made sense. But the Crone was away, and no harm followed the bees’ arrival.
Eventually, the staff stopped noticing. In a place so thick with dread, a few quiet bees seemed comfortingly natural.
To Minnie, they were more than that. They became her shadows, her companions. They came and went as they pleased, trailing behind her, drifting ahead, or peeling off toward a side passage she hadn’t noticed before. If she followed, they never led her wrong. And when they were near, she never felt afraid.
In her stolen moments, wrapped in Herman’s cloak, she took to wandering the castle, ducking behind worn tapestries, squeezing through forgotten passageways, crawling along tunnels that bypassed the main halls entirely.
One of those tunnels led her to a hidden treasure vault, choked with dust and the sour smell of mould.
Gold glimmered under the grime. Magic hummed faintly from idle trinkets. Tangled weapons lay strewn across sagging chests. Portraits leaned against the walls, along with ceremonial robes and ornate knick-knacks. She was tempted to try on the jewellery and parade in front of the tall mirrors, but decided against it. She’d never get the dust off her clothes if she disturbed anything.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
And then, one day, she discovered the library.
It was just as abandoned as the vault, but the contrast was staggering. No dust coated the air. No cobwebs draped the corners. The scent of flowers lingered faintly in the stillness. Some quiet magic was at work, keeping the space clean and dry.
Towering shelves. Ancient scrolls. Tomes older than her village. It was overwhelming. Minnie had only ever seen two books before: Martha’s cookbook, and Martha’s Book of Ailments, both worn soft with use, their pages nearly translucent. To stand among thousands of books was like walking into a temple.
And there, in the hush of the doorway, with the bees zipping around her head like they had something urgent to say, a phrase returned to her, clear, solid, alive:
The bees will remember.
The thought hit like a bell struck in her chest.
The bees weren’t just following her. They were leading her.
They had been leading her all along.
And if she could find the place her memory pointed to, whatever it was, they would show her the rest. She was certain.
When she told Herman about the treasure room, he perked up immediately.
“Did you happen to see a large staff?” he asked, licking his nose like the thought physically pleased him. “Gold-plated. Twin snakes curled at the top?”
Minnie frowned. “No, I don’t think so. But I didn’t open everything.”
“Hm,” he muttered, clearly picturing something very pleasant.
But when she described the library, his mood cooled fast.
“Books,” he said, and sniffed. “You want to stop for a bedtime story while we’re at it?”
Minnie gave him a look but didn’t argue. Much as it hurt to admit, Herman was right, the Crone’s library wasn’t the place for leisure reading.
And the bees?
He gave her a long, sceptical look.
“So you think your tiny army of fuzz-butt bugs is here to unlock your past?”
Minnie’s mouth twitched. “It makes more sense than anything else we’ve got.”
He grunted. “Fine. Stranger things have happened. But unless we figure out where your little fire-in-the-sky memory is pointing, we let that thread lie.”
They sat together for a while after that, silent but alert, each turning over their own riddles.
Finally, Herman gave a decisive swish of his tail.
“All right then. I want to see that room for myself.”
