Meanwhile, ten kilometres away, just outside the former crown estate of Sint-Maartensdijk, a strange conversation took place.

‘We need everything.’

‘Everything? Are you sure?’

‘Unfortunately yes... Give it all. I'm afraid saving for the future no longer makes sense. First see if we survive the present.’

The fresh breeze, which had been sighing here and there all day, waved playfully in people's concerned faces. Kobe the Owl glowered, as he smelt a well-familiar scent.

‘Are they not asleep yet?’

‘Not at all. It is still very warm in the afternoon. Too warm, yeah... I think they will keep it up quite a long time this year. After all, ivy still has to bloom.’

‘Ohh yes, blissful...’

Hundreds of bees flew rapidly back and forth past them, following their tried and trusted routes. Their merry humming and the sweet, spicy smell of the many, differently coloured well-kept hives usually put Kobe in a complacent and dreamy state. He found bees wonderful, well-ordered, and extremely useful creatures. Taking care of them, in his heart's desire, could brighten his retirement years. A cottage in the countryside, a few hives, his own honey.... Under other circumstances, he would have gladly stayed for a cup of tea, as usual, but today it was all about time. Every minute counted.

‘We have to hurry,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course,’ a small scrawny man, who looked a bit like a bee himself, just as busy, agile and affable he was, walked on fast, towards the low narrow farmhouse, which was almost entirely drowned in high grass and asters.

There were large capped hive installations spread around the house and about fifteen hives under a straw canopy. Everything looked a bit messy. But from his own experience, Kobe knew that this apparent chaos was just a masterfully created illusion.

Cees van Loon had lived here since 1967. It was ten years after the Delta work put an end to the existence of the Pluimpot gully. For hundreds of years it served as a small harbour and as a reminder of the times, when the island of Tholen as a unit did not yet exist. Sea waves would still splash against the stones of Sint-Maartensdijk. Perhaps there could even be talk of a lovely little beach. But circumstances changed. They always change... Just like now...

With a deep sigh, Cees hid his face in his wide tartan scarf. Because of his throat, too sensitive to the local winds, he had to wear it almost year-round. He had been born in warm tropical Curaçao, which gave his skin the warm brown hue he had inherited from his half-Creole ancestors. That's probably where he would have stayed, too, had the secret not been there....

The scary, terrifying and, at the same time, enchanting secret, which he shared with Kobe and other people. People like them.... People with a gift, who were much older than they looked. People with a hidden agenda. With the secret that brought them together and robbed them of normal life at the same time. Like Kobe, Cees had never been married, had never had a real relationship and was not expected to visit anywhere at Christmas. Bees were his only passion. Bees also became his secret service. Well, someone had to do it.

Cees stopped abruptly and asked, without looking at his companion, ‘Aren't you tired of all this?’

Kobe slowed for a moment. He looked questioningly at the beekeeper's thin back. ‘Sometimes. As we all are sometimes. I was still hoping I would make it to retirement.'

‘And when will that be, Kobe?’ the beekeeper shook his head and looked at him with a restrained smile, which, however, faded in an instant. ’Do you have a successor?’

‘What are you talking about? Which one of us has one?’

‘Well then. As if your imaginary retirement would change anything in your life. Come, hurry up,’ he quickened his steps again. ’It's already begun anyway.’

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

‘That's true, that's true,’ Kobe looked around once more to take everything in properly. Remembering it as it was now.

The low October sun, busy golden bees and the land... The long flat stretches of land around the farm, not yet swallowed up by the rampant campsites around the Pluimpot, so typical of Zeeland.

The location of apiary the Pot was perfect. An abundance of apple and pear blossom in spring, flowers farmer to the right, salt marshes and the whole Pluimpot in front. The apiary thrived. But few knew what was hidden behind the chaotically scattered hives. A special place, by the way. Place full of young vigour from the newly created land. The Pluimpot...

A dammed up estuary, with its salt plants, swarms of water birds and a flattened and hidden dark history.... Or, better to say, past history, which was now safely equalised in the name of man.

When a final decision was taken in 1957 to completely close the gully that once divided the island in two, it meant the beginning of a big job. They tried to buy time to save what could be saved. However, this resulted in less than they had hoped.

Setting up the apiary had, probably, been their best set in that situation. That way they not only had a Depot. But also an ample supply of what they now desperately needed. However, they had always hoped that this day would not come. But new times come with new challenges...

Kobe shuddered and followed the beekeeper inside. He could see it for the first time with his own eyes: dozens of crates and baskets filled the dungeon under the farmhouse that emitted a deliciously sweet smell. Beeswax. Wax candles. Hundreds of candles, cast in various shapes and shards of old glazed pots from their illegal finds from the farm fields.

‘Wow, that's a lot!’ whistled Kobe.

‘From the past three years, as usual,’ the beekeeper shrugged. ’If it's as bad as you say, it still can't be enough.’

Both were silent for a moment.

‘What about... um...?’ the notary asked cautiously.

Cees sighed.

‘I hope it's not necessary, it's under here.’

They looked intently under their feet, feeling and groping with a sixth sense, so well developed in each of them, a deep wide hole under the floor, where the Depot had been placed. Kobe closed his eyes, completely absorbed in his feelings. He perceived a space that was not empty but not full either, where it was neither dry nor wet, that had boundaries but at the same time seemed vague and unlimited. A space that was alive, and to which only the beekeeper had access.

The Depot...

Invisible from the outside, the secret essence of this place. The apiary was just a child's illusion, made to distract the eyes. Just like their own lives, for that matter. Kobe opened his eyes and found Cees studying him with a smile.

‘And how does it feel?’

‘Quiet. I don't feel any tension.’

The beekeeper nodded in agreement.

‘Well then,’ Kobe's matter-of-factness awoke again and he looked at the crates evaluatively. ’We'll take ten to start with. Wilhelmina is not here yet, so.... and please add a few more pots of honey.’

‘Hmm?’

‘For tea, of course,’ laughed the Owl. ‘After all, life is supposed to be sweet!’

‘Yes, tell that to our vicar,’ snorted Cees. ’Fine, I'll add three jars and give my regards to Gertrude. Where are your boys? I suppose you're not going to lug it all yourself?’

‘Certainly not, my friend, certainly not,’ and Kobe suddenly did something that would rather surprise everyone else. He put his palm to his mouth and let out a perfect owl cry.

‘It's still weird, you know?’ responded the beekeeper. ’How often do you practise?’

‘Too often, unfortunately. From today, no electronics for us, remember? No electronics, no visits, no unnecessary talking.’

‘Phh, I've been doing that for years. Do you know how peaceful that is?’

Kobe nodded in understanding. He looked at his old friend, who was known for the simplicity of his lonely life, with unspeakable tenderness. There was so much he wanted to say to him.... So much they had never talked about.... Who knows if they would still get the chance.

When all the boxes had been loaded into the van by the sombre twins, a bee landed on the beekeeper's shoulder. She moved her antennae anxiously.

‘What is she saying?’ asked Kobe with interest.

The beekeeper's face turned serious.

‘That I need to take a walk to the salt marshes. Something is going on with the sand bees.... But... Are you coming back?’

An outsider would not have been able to hear how much was in that question. He would not have grasped the depths that were darker and older than the average islander could suspect in fields of potatoes and onions, apple orchards and mussel farms of their land that had not always been land....

Kobe understood. He nodded and on a whim he hugged Cees and pressed him against his heart. ‘Of course. Tomorrow we'll come and get another load.’

‘I'll wait. Do you have much to do?’

‘How should I put it,’ Kobe released Cees and gave him a mischievous smile. ‘To the garden centre yet.’

‘No! No, no, no! Margaret will get pissed!’

‘I'm afraid we have no choice. No choice and no time to make choices.’

‘Well...,’ Cees answered sceptically, ‘good luck then!’

He slammed the door behind Kobe and watched with mocking interest as the car turned hastily towards the driveway.

‘You would definitely need that,’ he concluded. “Oh yes, definitely,” and laughed at his thoughts.