PodCastle 420: The Bee Tamer’s Final Performance - a podcast by Escape Artists, Inc

* Author : Aidan Doyle

* Narrator : A.J. Fitzwater

* Host : Graeme Dunlop

* Audio Producer : Peter Wood

*

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PodCastle 420: The Bee Tamer’s Final Performance is a PodCastle original.





Rated PG-13

The Bee Tamer’s Final Performance

by Aidan Doyle

After my attempt to escape the circus fleet fails, the clowns imprison me in the hold of the asylum ship, along with the other performers who believe they aren’t real.

My legs are shackled, and I sit next to a slug juggler and a fortune caller. The slug juggler’s hands move in an unceasing blur as he keeps half a dozen painted sea slugs spinning in a swirl of impossible reds and midnight sea blues.



The fortune caller looks at me with her mist-filled crystal ball eyes. “When you are ready, I will call your fortune.”

Before I have a chance to reply, I hear the low hum of bees. Black boots appear on the ladder leading to the deck. The slug juggler’s hands falter and the painted slugs spill to the ground. They crawl up the juggler’s trousers, leaving a trail of phosphorescent green slime.

A clown descends the ladder and stomps his way towards me, the buzz of the bees growing louder as he approaches. Through the clown’s empty eye sockets I can see Black River Bees buzzing inside his skull. After the bees mutinied, they ate the brains of the clowns and used them as their vessels.

The clown wears a red suit patched with squares of green cloth. Instead of an arm, a jellyfish tendril is attached to his right shoulder, and he has a large waxy growth on his face where his nose should be. He leans in close, so I can smell the scent of his honey drool. “This clown was once called Mr. Polyp,” he says. “We want to help you, Tashinny. You are afflicted with unreasonable beliefs.”

The bees killed the ringmasters and banned the Book of Circus, but I still believe. I have nothing to say to the bees. Hugorn will rescue me. He is the hero.

“Conversations are more interesting if more than one person contributes,” Mr. Polyp says.

The bees are baiting me, but I can’t resist. “Is this a conversation or an interrogation?”

“The difference is one of emphasis.” He gives me the opportunity to reply, but I say nothing more. “We have always held your family in the highest esteem.”

Bee tamers typically regard the use of smoke and spiced whips as necessary tools, but my parents taught me to treat the bees with kindness. Every morning my father informed the bees of news from the other ships. My mother even convinced the fleet’s whalers to give the bees a whale corpse to lay their eggs in.

I never wanted to be a bee tamer. Instead I dreamed of becoming a stage magician and spent my time learning card tricks and practicing ever-more daring escape attempts. Now I am the last of the bee tamers.

Mr. Polyp runs a gloved finger down my cheek. “Have you considered the possibility that you are real?”

I don’t justify his taunt with a response. The Book of Circus tells us that we are characters in a story. Without meaning, what is the point of life?

“We have seized control of our story. We want to help you do the same.”

“The bees make nothing but honey and lies,” the juggler says.

“Be silent,” the clown hisses.

The slug juggler opens his mouth. Words from the Book of Circus are tattooed on his tongue. “You can’t be silenced when you have a thousand poems inside you.”

Mr. Polyp shakes his head. “If everyone is screaming, then no one can be heard.” His waxy growth twitches.

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