The Lords of Blood and Honey (The Kingdom of Honey)

by David Gardner-Martin

  ‘Who was it?’ asked Oblong. urgently.

  ‘I saw only a shadow, Your Mostfull, and cold grey eyes that were not born of nature. I felt a blow hit home, I struck against it, and with a terrible buzzing the shadow disappeared. But not before it had buried this within me.’

  And with that Sideswipe lifted a thin dagger before him, a boney claw still gripping the hilt tightly and oozing dark yellow blood from a severed wrist. Sideswipe tried to rip it free, but the claw and blade seemed to be joined as one. Both men stared perplexed, for it was a hand like none they had seen before, with tough black skin and long fingers with sharp conical nails. The weapon it held like a vice seemed to dance in and out of reality in the light. Yet when Sideswipe touched the blade’s edge with the tip of a hard-worn finger, the skin fell open like butter before a hot knife.

  ‘‘The Mouthless One has summoned servants of evil,’ whispered Oblong.

  ‘Curse it man!’ Sideswipe shouted, as the thick needle pierced his flesh once more. ‘Have you still work to do?’

  The bodycian bowed. ‘But a moment longer, Commander,’ he said, and then quickly returned to his work.

  It was at this moment that Oblong’s nomination for the Crown, the young Baron Pencille, entered the room, idly munching on a sweet cake. He smirked as he saw the blood still flowing down Sideswipe’s back as the bodycian finished his work.

  ‘Distwessing indeed,’ he said, flouncing by and towards the rotund figure of Cardinal Oblong. ‘Your Mostfull!’ he cried, ‘I shall hardly sleep a wink in that wetched woom!’

  ‘It is for the best, Your Grace, to be secured on high,’ Oblong replied. ‘This is a time of sacrifice for us all.’

  ‘I do not see anyone else sacwificing much, in twuth I do not. I’d lay odds that your bed is not as hard as a wock! Nor his!’ This last comment in Sideswipe’s direction, who simply glared at Pencille.

  ‘And evweywhere has such tiny windows!’ Pencille added, indicating a small vertical slit through which a strangely subdued daylight entered the room. ‘Cwuelty beyond weason! May I not be moved to more salubwious apartments lower to the gwound, and be attended by the Sisters of St. Salacious?’

  ‘In time, Your Grace,’ said Oblong, retaining his patience, ‘for the hour approaches when you will be lowered over all men, as a King.’

  ‘Well, that may be so,’ said Pencille disinterestedly, moving to an arrow slit to view the City beyond. ‘But it had better be vewy soon is all I can say, for I cannot stand such tweatment.’ A rumble of distant thunder penetrated the gloom. ‘Now wain,’ he added with a despairing sigh as he looked at dark clouds gathering on the horizon.

  Cardinal Oblong instructed that a sister be sent for to help calm the young man’s naturally vexatious nature. ‘If Your Grace will return to his room,’ he said, ‘she will join you there presently.’

  ‘Only one?’ the young man asked, with a petulant air, a comment that bought Sideswipe to his feet and the bodycian tumbling onto his back. This seemed to do the trick, Pencille departing the room with soft curses under his breath and a final withering look at the High Commander.

  ‘Must he be endured?’ shouted Sideswipe after him, and then he sat down once more. ‘Finish now, or be damned!’

  ‘At once, High Commander’ said the bodycian, pulling the final stitch with fresh urgency.

  Oblong stared at the seated figure. Such a flash of anger in his presence had never happened before. Since the discovery of the Relical Bartolamy’s treachery, his faith in those closest to him had been shaken. But his High Commander? Was he also capable of concealing contrary thoughts? And if that were so, what were the dangers? But with strange creatures abroad in the Hivedom, now was not the time to try and prise them into the open.

  ‘I must return to my men,’ said Sideswipe, standing to strap his body armour to his powerful frame once more.

  Cardinal Oblong watched, and as he did so he realised the extent to which his confidence had been shattered in those closest to him. As he clipped his weapons to his armour, Sideswipe seemed to detect the shift in his master’s mood and gave a lopsided smile.

  ‘The creature was flesh and blood, Your Mostfull,’ he said, staring down at the claw and blade upon the floor, ‘as are Hivecarls.’ And with that he swished his two-blades through the air and back into its scabbard in the blink of an eye. ‘They all suffer a blow, the same as any living thing.’

  ‘You are to bring a troop of Holy Guards to the Cathedral,’ ordered Oblong. ‘There is to be a High Service.’

  ‘As Your Mostfull commands,’ said Sideswipe, before bowing and marching away.

  Several hours later Cardinal Oblong made his way to St. Vacant’s Cathedral in his Purple Carriage. News of a rarely seen High Service had travelled far, the crowds growing in density with every passing mile. He stared at the faces through the window as his magnificent vehicle rattled over the cobblestones. He saw fear and respect, but mostly fear, and nothing pleased him more than leaving its trail in his wake.

  When Oblong arrived at the Cathedral, High Commander Sideswipe and a troop of mounted Holy Guards were already waiting to receive him. He left his carriage and was carried in an ornate sedan to the Clavisium where several senior clergymen awaited his arrival, Bishop Constantly amongst them. When they saw their Primate, they all bowed deeply before him.

  ‘You have received my instructions?’ Oblong said, as two forsts helped him to step down from the sedan.

  ‘We have, Your Mostfull,’ replied Constantly, ‘but it has…’

  ‘And all is ready?’ interrupted Oblong, fixing him with this bright blue eyes.

  Constantly looked at his colleagues momentarily, and then replied. ‘Almost, Your Mostfull, but we must ask…’

  ‘Almost!’ exploded Oblong, with rising anger. ‘Would you keep me waiting?’

  ‘Your Mostfull,’ said Constantly, in a determined manner. ‘We are simply not prepared for such a High Service. There has been no time to prepare the pathways. This should surely be an Open Service at most.’

  ‘I am aware, Your Fullness, of the nature of Church procedure,’ interrupted Oblong. ‘Do not seek to lecture me. Given the momentous nature of recent events, there are many who will be looking to the Holy Church for guidance. As I entered the Cathedral I observed the approach of many noble carriages, and the streets are filled with footsteps. Do not meddle with my decisions; they are inviolate.’

  ‘But the Council of Yesses must debate such a dreadful ceremony,’ pressed Scrippler.

  Oblong walked forward until his face was but a few inches from that of the Bishop. ‘Have you any idea,’ he said, ‘what is at stake here?’

  ‘We are all subjects of Their One True Kingdom, Your Mostfull’ replied Constantly, his defiance clear to see.

  ‘The Church grows rich,’ said Oblong, moving to a large chest of jarros that lay open on a heavy wooden table. ‘Richer than ever before.’ He reached a hand into the coins and filled his palm. ‘Richer than even you, my dear bishop, could possibly imagine. Every day, the sufferings of the Sacred Hellholes multiply our good fortune.’ He allowed the purple coins to fall one by one back into the chest in a series of glass-like jingles. ‘Even with the latest increase to their numbers, our blessed Redhoods are pushed to the very limit of their skills to satisfy the growing demand for Indemnification. Three new chambers are already full, with two more nearing completion. Just last week I instructed the Sisters of St. Salacious to increase the production of Innocents. Never have they been visited by so many nobles seeking comfort. And when my plans are complete, the scale of suffering will be unimaginable; the simplicity of our profit perfect to behold.’ He turned and faced Scrippler once more. ‘And when all is done that shall be done, even the Hivedom will bow before our power.’

  Bishop Constantly argued no further, and as the huge building filled to bursting point with all sections of the Kingdom’s society, several spouts dressed Oblong in the magnificent vestments of High Service. After igniting the Grandi
ose Pole and setting fire to the Prime Incendiaratum, the procession prepared itself to enter the vastness of the St Vacant’s Cathedral.

  The doors to the Choir were opened; Oblong observed the scene with satisfaction, for the Cathedral was now packed beyond capacity. The standards of many noble families flew from the balconies, whilst the pews burst at the seams with proletaires of every occupation. Even the pens in the Northwestern Transept for the City’s downcasts were tightly packed, a sea of heads fighting for breath like fish in a net. There was now no doubt in Oblong’s mind that the service he planned would be reported far and wide. Whilst Lord Hardknot had the power to bring all manner of pressures to bear on those who lived and died within the City walls, he reflected, only he, the Primate of the Holy Church of Afterwards, could play with their souls.

  The procession entered the Choir in a billowing cloud of incense. The church drummer began to play, the beats from the giant Drums of St Cataclysm causing the very walls of the building to shake. When the procession reached the High Altar the drums fell silent. As the last note died, a spout moved to face the congregation.

  ‘May They protect you all!’ he shouted.

  ‘And Our Holy Church!’ replied the congregation as one.

  ‘Then let us truly praise Them, that we might live forever in Holy Unison!’

  ‘Amen to all that!’

  The service continued its inevitable course, until at length it became time for Cardinal Oblong to deliver his sermon. Given recent events the congregation hushed with anticipation. The King was dead and the Queen cast. What would the Primate of all that was holy say? Oblong climbed the ornate winding stone staircase that led to the Grand Pulpit, reveling in the uncertainty he could smell as clearly as the staleness of his robes. When he reached the top he took time simply to stare at the blur of faces before him, allowing the sense of anticipation to build. Though blessed with an ungainly body, Oblong’s ability to feel the sentiment of a crowd was as fresh as the day of his first spouting. When he judged the moment to be right, he began.

  ‘Praise Them!’ he cried, his voice echoing through the high ceilings.

  ‘And Our Holy Church!’ replied the massed congregation as one.

  There was a noisy rumble as several thousand proletaire backsides connected with thousands of wooden benches, there being not a sound from the balconies as the nobility reclined gently into velvet eiderdown cushions. From the downcast pens, the only sound to be heard was the continual gasping for air. When all fell silent once more, Oblong began.

  ‘I see that news still travels fast in our Kingdom,’ he said. ‘Never before have I seen such a gathering. It is for each one of you, to look into your hearts, and ask yourself why it should take a day such as this day, to bring so many of us together.’ He paused, his eyes roaming the pews accusingly. ‘My children.’ he continued, when sufficient faces had cast down before him. ‘It gives me no pleasure to bring further shocking news to you. But it would be a dereliction of my duty, if I did not inform you of a most dangerous development. For the Honeyists are amongst us once more!’ A gasp flew from the congregation, followed by an audible chatter of whispers. ‘Following the Bonfires of the Correction,’ Oblong cried, ‘our beloved ancestors believed they had at last, eradicated this evil spawn from our midst. Not one single hair on the head of a newborn Honeyist, was spared the flames. For forty days and nights the fires burned, consuming the bodies of the evil thinkers. The drains of our blessed Kingdom clogged with the fat of their unholy carcasses. Jasmine Parthanter herself, the most heinous of the anti-creed, was consumed by fire on the steps of this very Cathedral. Nothing remained!” He paused, his final exclamation ringing around the vastness of the Cathedral. ‘At least,’ he continued gravely, ‘this is how we have always believed it to be so.’ The tension grew in a silent pause. ‘For a seed remained untouched!’ Oblong then cried. ‘A seed from which the Mouthless One has sought to breed a new generation of Honeyists. A generation that, as with its ancestors, has but one aim; the destruction of our Holy Church!’

  He paused to stare over the congregation at the dark purple light illuminating the glorious stained glass windows, his final words echoing again and again in his ears.

  ‘And where lies this seed, I hear you ask?’ he continued. ‘A seed that, even as we gather here today, is growing fast the flowers of Her endless damnation.’ He allowed the question to hang in the air, then lowered his head and shook it gently from side to side before raising his bright blue eyes to the congregation once more. ‘Have no fear, my children,’ he cried, raising a single finger in the air and wagging it. ‘Our Blessed Church sees all! And though She may hide the stench of Her wordless ways behind the walls, and beneath the tower, of a powerful ally, the truth will not be denied!’

  At this the congregation filled with whispers as neighbour sought clarification from neighbour that what they had just heard had actually been said, the implication being more than clear. Oblong smiled, the true nature of Lord Hardknot and his Hivedom now released into the air at last, from where it could take flight throughout the Kingdom.

  He turned and beckoned a forst to approach him. The man bowed and walked slowly up the steps that led to the pulpit. He carried a small glass jar filled with a vibrant golden liquid, and when he reached Oblong he bowed, removed the lid, and gave the open container to Oblong. An audible gasp flew into the air from the shocked congregation.

  ‘Fear not, my children,’ cried Oblong, holding up before him with both hands the jar of honey that Relical Bartolamy had found in St Butterbean’s Tower. ‘For the blessing of Them will protect us.

  ‘Amen to all that!’ came an anxious return, the sight of honey so close at hand causing many present to look away.

  Oblong closed his eyes and whispered words that none could hear, but he knew their significance would be beyond doubt. Even a Primate needed the protection of Words from so close an exposure. Within the Hivedom, honey fulfilled an ancient purpose in the life of the Kingdom. Without it the Queen would be barren and the Palace would have no drollups. But as with any great power, its nature could be twisted to serve a cause. And Honeyism, with its wordless doctrines of love and desire, was the cause most feared by the Holy Church of Afterwards. He allowed his face to grow dark with concentration as the tension grew. Finally, he opened his eyes once more, and with a slow single movement, dipped his index finger deep into the honey. Another unrestrained gasp flew from the congregation, as if they expected the figure before them to burst into flames. Oblong lifted his finger into the air, turning it back and forth so that a thick dollop of liquid remained suspended in the air. A powerful aroma filled his nostrils, the sweetness at once appealing and terrible in equal measure.

  ‘Do we need to remind ourselves, of the evil of the Honeyists?’ he shouted. ‘Do we need to remember how those lowly scum, take this liquid, born of Royal Honeybees in service only to a Queen, and seek to turn its purpose to serve Her evil ways?’ A warm glow began to spread through his body, but he forced the sensation into the shadows of consciousness. ‘But Their Words,’ he shouted, his body trembling with the exertion of maintaining mastery over the liquids spell, ‘protect me from the Mouthless One, as they will protect each and every one of you. For Word is more powerful, more worthy, and more blessed, than mere sweetness can ever be.’

  Oblong passed the jar back to the forst who quickly sealed it. Several spouts washed Oblong’s finger with cloth soaked in holy water, their mouths moving constantly as they whispered words of protection. When they were finished, they hurried away to destroy the contamination by fire. Oblong turned to the awe-struck congregation. Only a Primate in the fullness of his power could challenge the Mouthless One in such a direct way.

  ‘It is our duty,’ he cried at last, ‘to deal with these new servants to Her cause. For many are the ways in which they will seek to corrupt our Holy Church.’

  He paused once more, the congregation fixed upon his every move. Finally, after a full intake of breath, he shoute
d with great theatrical force, ‘Bring! - Him! - Forth!’

  A moment of stillness, and then from behind the High Altar came a grinding of stone on stone. A piercing red glow illuminated the air, and then, as if half-imagined, thousands of distant screams could be heard, their individuality consumed by the uniformity of suffering. All knew what the awful sound heralded; the doors to the Sacred Hellholes had been opened.

  Oblong saw terror sweep through the balconies, as those in the highest seats caught first sight of a hexrack being wheeled out of the hellholes by several redhoods. As it cleared the altar and became visible to all, cries of horror filled the air. At first it was difficult to identify the bloodied shape, gripped by cruel steel wires tightly stretched across the web-like heart of the device, but once the hexrack reached the pulpit, the image of a young man’s naked body could be seen.

  Cardinal Oblong turned and looked into the face of the helpless victim. Even through the network of wires that fixed them to the cruel device, stitching their eyes and mouth shut in the process, the features of Relical Bartolamy could still be recognised. The sacrifice of one so capable was unfortunate, thought Oblong, but pragmatism outweighed all when it came to the needs of the Church. Bartolamy had been defiled by honey and made of himself a worthless vessel. Divorced from the blessings of the Holy Church of Afterwards, he was now nothing more than a convenient receptacle upon which Oblong could write large the wages of deviation. For there could be no halfway house with belief, and no better guarantee of faith than fear.

  ‘My children.’ said Oblong, turning to face the congregation. ‘The pestilent creature you see before you, was once a loved and trusted servant of the Holy Church. But strong is the call of the Honeyist creed when it finds a willing receptacle. How open then, lies the road to damnation, if one such as this man, a man of once a most high and worthy stature, can fall prey to the temptations that Honeyism, with all its attendant falsehoods, can lay before us.’