Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees Read Online Free PDF

rooms that he didn’t even know about, and who knew what they might contain? It was possible that somewhere, hidden across the House, were the clothes Mrs Lightman wanted. But Darius doubted it. Over the years, as the previous generations of Bells had got poorer, almost anything of value had been sold, and Darius didn’t see why that wouldn’t have included clothes. And even if they hadn’t been sold, he didn’t see what right Mrs Lightman had to demand that he bring them for all thirty-two kids in his class. He didn’t know what kind of a deal that was, as Mrs Lightman had described it. A deal, as far as he knew, was when both sides agreed to do something – not when one side was forced by the other.
    â€˜What are you going to do?’ asked Oliver.
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    More kids came towards them. Marguerite Fisher, the gardener’s daughter, was among them
    Paul Klasky grinned. ‘Maybe she can tell you.’
    â€˜Very funny,’ said Darius.
    â€˜Marguerite!’ called Paul. ‘Darius has a question— Ow! ’ he cried as Darius elbowed him in the ribs.
    Marguerite separated from her friends.
    â€˜I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Darius to Oliver and Paul.
    Darius and Marguerite turned towards the House, conscious that everyone was watching them.
    â€˜What was that all about?’ asked Marguerite.
    â€˜Paul was just being an idiot, as usual,’ said Darius. ‘Where’s Maurice?’
    Marguerite shrugged. Maurice was her younger brother and went to the same school. ‘Must have already gone home.’
    They walked back to the House together.
    â€˜Come to the kitchen,’ said Darius when they were crunching up the drive. ‘We’ll see what Mrs Simpson’s got.’
    Marguerite hesitated for a moment.
    â€˜Come on. She told me she’s making apple tarts today.’
    A dozen fresh apple tarts stood cooling on the kitchen bench. Mrs Simpson smiled when she saw Darius and Marguerite come in and she cut a slice each for them out of one of the tarts. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, and poured some cream into a bowl. She began to whip it, holding the bowl in the crook of her elbow and rapidly beating the cream, the muscles rippling in her powerful forearm. Darius knew how much strength that took, because he had tried a few times and always had to take a break before he managed to get the cream to stiffen. Mrs Simpson did it in one stretch. In front of their eyes, the cream turned from a liquid into a stiff, white foam, peaked in the middle. Mrs Simpson put a healthy dollop on each slice.
    â€˜How is it?’ she asked anxiously as they each took a bite.
    â€˜Good!’ said Darius.
    Marguerite nodded enthusiastically, her mouth full.
    â€˜I was a bit concerned,’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘I left out the honey, you see. Normally I use a little to glaze the apples. But we have to be careful now. Can’t afford to waste a drop.’
    Darius looked at her uncomprehendingly.
    â€˜Haven’t you heard?’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘Mr Deaver told me when he came by today to give me some eggs. The beehives are empty.’
    â€˜You mean the one in the pumpkin field,’ said Darius. ‘The one that swarmed.’
    â€˜No, all of them. Everywhere. Over the last couple of weeks they’ve all emptied. Mr Deaver says there’ll be no honey at all this year. He’ll need to rebuild the colonies over the winter.’
    â€˜That’s . . .’ Darius frowned. ‘All the hives? They couldn’t all have swarmed.’
    â€˜They didn’t. The bees have died, apparently.’
    â€˜The bees are dead?’ said Darius. ‘All of them?’
    Mrs Simpson nodded.
    Darius stared at her.
    â€˜Something’s killed them. Mr Deaver doesn’t know what, but whatever it is, he says it’s gone through all the hives. It must be some kind of disease. He’s