The day was hot, humid and oppressively heavy, it felt as if water could be squeezed out of it. The sky had an electric blue look and was almost alive with static, a thunderstorm of major proportions was brewing. Fully accoutered with her heavy apiarist’s suit, boots, gloves and veiled hat in the sweltering heat, she could feel the tiny usually invisible and unnoticeable hairs on her body standing up from the static despite the cloying damp that covered her body. Perspiration was dripping off the end of her nose, her thighs were sticking together and her upper arms were sticking to the sides of her chest. She was not having fun.

It was absolutely the best conditions possible for a heavy nectar flow to produce honey by the hundred weight, but the worst of all possible conditions to open up a hive. There were drones, large eyed, strong flying, stingless males, by the hundreds around just waiting for their chance to inseminate a virgin queen on her mating flight. Sadly that was what would kill the ones lucky enough to pass on their genes. The vast majority would be fed by the female workers all summer and unceremoniously threwn out of the hive to die in the autumn.

Watching a group of drones and wondering if she had missed some queen cells thus potentially allowing a swarm to emerge, she could hear the roaring of the workers, sterile females armed with a sting, in the over hot hive as others worked ceaselessly bringing in vast quantities of nectar, pollen, propolis and water. The fanners were at the front of the hive alighting board ventilating with their wings for all they were worth to prevent overheating of the wax combs and a complete meltdown of the colony. The smell of the honey, wax and propolis, a fragrant resin collected from trees as a sealant for the hive, was overpowering, intoxicating, as was the acrid smell of the bees’ anger pheromones.

She had known days ago when she’d killed the old queen she had to open them up on that day and no other. There is only a one day window to destroy unwanted queen cells, plus a day either side possibly but that’s chancing it even in cool weather, when the workers are raising emergency queen cells for a re-queening, but a queen of a different breeding is required. However, the weather hadn’t changed for days and wasn’t due to break for a fortnight. It had always had to be today.

Bees react very badly to static which disproportionately affects their small bodies and also to sweat, as well as perfume or after shave, which they just dislike. In consequence she rarely used cosmetics, fragrant bath products, body lotions or even hand cream.

Bee keeping was her living and it was hard enough under pleasant conditions, so the hive had to be re-queened, for the eggs laid by the old queen developed into bad tempered bees that jumped off the combs at her when she was inspecting them, stung with no provocation at all and followed any one who came within thirty yards of the hive for over quarter of a mile. They were dangerous to both livestock and humans alike. They made her life working with her other hives in the apiary unpleasant because she didn’t usually bother wearing gloves or a veil which was hot and sweaty and provoked the bees, but these bees necessitated her wearing the full kit when working with any of her bees in that apiary.

Taking her courage in her hands, she opened the hive. The roaring of the bees intensified and the air was solid and black with tens of thousands of bees boiling out all competing to land on her and sting. She managed to complete what she had to do, destroying the queen cells that were the progeny of the old queen, and donating the new queen cell, the daughter of one of her best and gentlest queens, but as she was closing up, after heaving a sigh of relief, she carelessly tore her veil open on the corner of the hive lid.