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

by David Gardner-Martin

  A second troop of Palace Guards charged into Hexagonal Place, their swords drawn to their shoulders and their faces hard as slate. They ignored the spectators and galloped straight across Hexagonal Place to disappear into Pumpkin Park. Now the offices and shops began to close as people made the decision to hurry homewards. Pooter too decided to leave, instructing Cabble to put out for Abather food enough for two full days before he also departed.

  ‘Take no chances,’ said Pooter. ‘The Kingdom is changing, and who knows what will happen next.’

  ‘I shall be careful, sir,’ said Cabble, hurrying off to complete his duties.

  The streets were thick with people and Pooter made slow progress. Rumours swarmed through the air like flies. The omens were all bad, and being safely home became the prime focus of city life.

  A third troop of Palace Guards galloped recklessly down the street and Pooter ducked into an antiquities emporium for safety. As he closed the door behind him, the proprietor greeted him with calm observance of the hallowed principals of all custodians of culture, bringing his fingers to his lips and issuing a shushing sound.

  ‘The streets are not safe,’ Pooter whispered, but the proprietor just shrugged and continued with his cataloguing duties, writing perfect index numbers on small cards with slow deliberate strokes.

  The noise of further commotion rushed into the gallery as the door flew open once more.

  ‘This is a gallery,’ whispered the proprietor to a wheezing white-faced gentleman in a grand overcoat and tall hat, ‘not a thoroughfare. Nor,’ turning to Pooter, ‘a waiting room.’

  Panic now filled the street outside and Pooter decided it would be best to remain where he was until the situation had calmed. To observe the proprietor’s request, therefore, he walked deeper into the emporium.

  As with many trading outlets within the City, the frontage of the gallery belied the scale of the premises to be found within. Pooter found himself passing through large spaces filled with works of art depicting miracles, coronations, carnage, and more mysticism than he had the wit or wish to understand. Eventually he reached a vast open gallery with a monstrous cobweb strewn chandelier hung high above the floor like an explosion from a firecracker. A magnificent painting that almost reached the ceiling caught his attention. It was clearly a very ancient work, the surface cracked and the colours dark with age, but despite the ravages of time, it was still possible to see the powerful vision that had been captured on the canvas. A King wearing a crown sat astride a bold white stallion. Wind and rain lashed both man and beast as forks of lightening illuminated the scene. The King’s right hand grasped the horse’s reins whilst his free hand held a sword; beams of coloured light dazzled from its surface. Behind the King lay a beautiful Castell, a single beam of sunlight that fell through a dark cloud illuminating the myriad of flowers which embraced its turrets, towers and battlements. Above the Castell a rainbow arched from horizon to horizon, and at its zenith Pooter saw an intricate golden symbol. But the symbol was not without blemish, for placed upon it was a tiny dark object that seemed to break its perfection. Pooter obtained a chair to stand upon and studied the shape more closely, but the years of grime obscured the detail. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe the painting gently, and as a deep black stain was slowly removed from the picture, Pooter’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. For there before him was an image of the King Bee, the tiny crown fixed upon its head as clear to see as it had been in the Grand Library.

  He stepped down and moved back to look at the entire painting again, struggling to take in its meaning. Then as he did so, for several wondrous seconds, the painting burst into life, the natural world filling with energy and the King Bee’s crown sparkling rainbow colours into the sky like a beacon. And then he saw the figure on the horse in a different light; suddenly not a King at all, but a warrior Queen, her long auburn hair flowing freely from beneath a shimmering crystal crown.

  The vision faded at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  ‘T’is Far Pre-Ancient,’ said the proprietor, as he arrived at Pooter’s side. ‘Its provenance is secure, but the event it portrays close to the Castel Florret, as with so many aged works, is lost in time. Many years ago, it hung in the Twelfth Palace, which, as I am sure you know,’ this said with a beaky look over the rim of his glasses, ‘was destroyed in the Fourth Great Fire. But this work survived.’

  ‘It is…wonderful,’ said Pooter.

  ‘Indeed it is,’ replied the proprietor, with growing interest, ‘and an astute investment too. It is a bold work, and one that would complement a handsome setting?’

  ‘Perhaps, one day, I shall have need of such a painting,’ said Pooter.

  ‘Doubtless it will still be here,’ said the proprietor, walking away.

  Evening had fallen into a deep purple glow, the streets now largely deserted, but Pooter still had to duck into a bolted doorway to avoid a troop of Palace Guards as he made his way homeward. Most disconcerting of all, among their number was the imposing figure of a senior nobleman with his hands tied behind his back. ‘Untie me, you scum!’ Pooter heard him cry out as they trotted by, but no one paid him any heed.

  To lessen any chance of further encounters, Pooter kept off the main avenues to work his way home through more modest residential streets. An eerie silence surrounded him. He saw faces at windows. Several dogs barked, one particularly fearsome beast even growling and rushing towards him, but Pooter calmed it quickly with his customary warmth.

  ‘All alone?’ he said, as he patted a huge matted head and two flat ears. The dog followed him for several minutes until something in a dark alleyway sent him yelping away. Pooter could see nothing to cause such a reaction, but was in no mood to dally, so hurried away also.

  But Pooter quickly became disorientated by the network of identical lanes and alleyways that crisscrossed this part of the City, and as the light began to fade, he came to the sudden realisation that he was now completely lost. He stared behind him into the dark silence and it was as empty and as featureless as all the possible routes that lay ahead. ‘Oh my,’ he whispered, not at all sure what he should do next for the best.

  He made a hopeful choice and headed down the widest alleyway, his intention being to try and reach a City wall as soon as was possible. Once there he could climb to a vantage point to see his way home, the skyline even at night, being spread with towers and spires that each betrayed some uniqueness in design to knowledgeable wayfarers. But when at last he reached his destination, a group of agitated guards barred his way up the stone stairway. Two of their colleagues high above were staring out of the City.

  ‘What ails ‘e?’ cried out one of the guards, but both men ignored him.

  Eventually a gap opened and Pooter stepped nimbly through it, the guards too lost in their own concerns to give him any attention.

  The steep climb was exhausting, Pooter gulping in the chilled air as he finally reached the battlements. The guards were still fixed to the spot, and when at last Pooter recovered his breath and stood beside them, he understood the reason why. Away in the distance a ghastly howl could be heard riding on the strengthening wind, a howl of such terrible quality that stilled the blood in his veins.

  ‘Vulfbear,’ said a guard, and he spat over the high wall in disgust.

  ‘An’ ‘ow do you know that then?’ asked his companion.

  ‘Seen ‘em once, when I were training in the plains. Filthy great beasts that only the Vulfkings would dare to breed. If one be near the City, t’is not a good sign.’

  There came another terrible howl.

  ‘But what would a vulfbear be doing near the City?’ asked Pooter, remembering the size of the creature he had climbed inside in the Palace corridor, and their huge teeth and claws too.

  ‘No good, that’s fer sure,’ said the guard gravely. ‘An’, if you’ll get me pardon, sir, nor should you be here, neither.’

  ‘I am sure you are right,’ said Pooter, staring into the dista
nce to try and see the source of the dreadful howl, but without success. ‘Truly, that is a most terrible sound.’

  Both guards nodded slowly as they too turned to look once more into the misty distance.

  Pooter took the chance to look back over the City; the dome of St. Vacant’s was clearly visible, and beyond it, the silhouette of the Grand Hive almost lost in the creeping darkness. Then to his relief, he recognized the jutting pineapple-topped spire of Lord Puddle’s Folly; Dutiful Crescent lay closer than he had feared. To the sound of yet another distant howl, he bid the guards a ‘good evening,’ and raced down the stone steps to hurry home.

  Chapter 17

  Allessia opened her wardrobe and took the darkest dress that she could find. The fashion of the day placed style high above comfort or mobility, so she found her scissors and cut away several large pieces of material which she pushed under her mattress. Whilst the resultant tattered outfit looked strange, at least she could walk easily, and even run should the need arise, and that was all that mattered. She dispensed with footwear, deciding that bare feet would be quieter and more comfortable, and then tied her long auburn hair into a tail and stuffed it down the back of her dress. She gently opened the door to her bedroom and tiptoed away.

  Allessia had no memory of ever having left the Seventy-Third Wing, but so much was vague when it came to remembering the past, that she rarely bothered to try. A powerful sense of adventure filled her, reminding her a little of the feeling she got in the pit of her stomach when the honeybees had visited her. Tomorrow, she determined, there would be a fight at bath time when Mrs Pultroon produced the little bottle of green scent.

  She walked slowly down the corridor, her mouth suddenly dry and the shadows staring at her with unfriendly eyes. In a dark hallway, she felt a strange presence that reminded her of Forster Culcuth, and had to fight to shut out the thought. She stopped and listened, but no sound could be heard, so she moved on and into total darkness.

  One thing Allessia had learnt about herself was her ability to see at night. Even when her drollups switched off all the lights at sleeptime under a dense cloud covered sky, she had discovered she could still see sufficiently well to read her books. Allessia saw a staircase. She had not intended to leave her floor, but now that the opportunity presented itself, she seized the chance to explore.

  The staircase led down to a wide hallway brightly illuminated by large glowicks. Allessia gazed at the richness before her. She had never imagined that mere places could be so beautiful, and for a moment she stood still and marveled at the high ornate ceiling, the luxurious gold and silver tapestries, and the breathtaking paintings and sculptures. In the distance, she could see several guards, as well as glimpses of people with tall wigs rushing to and fro. For a moment, she considered returning to the safety of her own wing, but the impulse to explore got the better of her once more, and she began to tiptoe across the floor towards a large green door that had been left ajar. Just then a sound reached her ears that she knew instinctively, rather than through any experience, was to be feared. She froze, turned her head sideways, and found herself staring into the bright pink eyes of an enormous hound, the growls in its chest issuing ominously through two rows of sharp white teeth. Terror was a new experience for Allessia and she found herself rooted to the spot, unable either to move or cry out. The hound had a large silver chain around its neck, and at the end of this chain stood a guard, his face a picture of incredulity.

  ‘Now what ‘ave we ‘ere,’ he said maliciously, and as he did so the hound raised itself onto four legs and let go a bark that hit Allessia in the chest, such was its force.

  ‘So, at last we find you, eh?’ the guard added. ‘There’ll be no escapin’ now, me lad.’ He turned, put two fingers to his mouth, and let out a powerful short whistle. ‘’Ere!’ he shouted after it. ‘I’ve got ‘im!’

  As he did so, and on an impulse, Allessia bolted across the corridor and toward the green door. She heard shouts and a crescendo of barking.

  ‘Get ‘im boy!’ the guard cried, and Allessia heard the scrabble of clawed feet on the polished wooden floor.

  Without looking back, she ran through the doorway and pushed the door closed behind her. She saw a key and turned it hurriedly, the impact of the hound as it hit the door knocking her hand from the handle; but it held fast. She searched the room frantically for a means of escape, her breath catching in her throat in short terrified gasps. She spotted a large metal flap in the corner and rushed over to it and lifted the lid. A slippery metal surface fell into darkness. The door handle rattled, accompanied by a heavy drumming of fists and the sound of raised voices. A fearful growling could be heard. There was a deafening crack and the end of a large pikestaff burst through the door. A hand reached through the resulting gash to feel for the key. Allessia lifted herself to the lip of the chute, let go her grip, and fell from view.

  The speed of her fall made it impossible for her to have any control over her arms and legs, or the painful way in which her head bounced off the hard surface. She heard herself scream and felt her fingers grasp for purchase, but find none. Faster and faster she fell, the air rushing past her and her head spinning. A particularly vicious curve in the chute banged her forehead so hard that she fell into unconsciousness.

  Allessia finally came to rest in a deep wicker basket full of dirty linen. For several minutes, she lay still in an awkward heap, then she began to moan softly, the deep throbbing pain in her head accompanied by a series of flashing lights before her eyes. Gradually her head cleared sufficiently for her to remember what had happened, and she groped her way to the side of the basket and stared at a large mist-laden hall. Wicker baskets, just like the one that had broken her fall, were lined up in rows, some standing below similar metal chutes with others clearly waiting their turn. Behind them stood a line of giant silver cylinders connected by a maze of twisted pipes. Steam hissed angrily into the air from a variety of valves. A myriad of switches and gauges waited patiently for their operators to kick them into life. Thick moisture and the strong smell of soap lay heavily in the air. The room appeared completely deserted - but then a shadow moved.

  Allessia stared intently into the gloom. Had the bang to her head caused a trick of the light? But then the shadow moved again, and this time clearly towards her. It moved in long cat-like strides, so alien to her as to defy recognition. She dropped quickly and silently out of sight, her heartbeat drumming so loud as to almost drown out the constant hissing. She buried herself in the dirty linen, and then discovered she could still see through tiny cracks in the wicker. She stared frozen, hardly daring to breathe as the shadow crept closer still. It seemed to be carrying something in one of its hands, something that glinted even in the dull light as it was swept from side to side. A deep buzzing sound could be discerned within the constant hissing. As it came closer still, she saw a tall sinewy body, unreal in its proportions, and two large grey eyes that did not blink.

  ‘Help me,’ Allessia whispered involuntarily. The creature stopped and buzzed angrily, as if sensing something. Allessia closed her eyes and tried to imagine it was all just a dreadful dream, that she was still asleep in her bed. Even Mrs Pultroon would be a welcome sight now.

  The minutes passed, until after what seemed an eternity, the buzzing disappeared into the background noise. Allessia opened her eyes and peered through the cracks once more. She looked and waited for some time, to be sure, but all the shadows remained still.

  It was more than an hour before Allessia found the courage to slide out of the basket and onto the damp floor. Her head span in the warm scented air and she felt as if she was going to be sick. The thought of the strange creature kept her focused, however, and she found the strength to walk towards a large door marked with some faded red lettering. She pushed a long-hinged bar and it opened; a blast of cold air flew into her face. Still half-dazed, she walked thankfully away from the oppressive hall, the door closing with a loud clatter behind her. Allessia looked up, her eyesigh
t slowly adjusting to the darkness beneath a beautiful star-studded sky.

  The feeling of open space overpowered her completely, and she found herself staring up and into the wonderful complexity of patterns above her. Though she had seen many of them from her room, never had she been able to see their wholeness in one spellbinding moment. Suddenly the realisation hit her that she was outside the Palace, and a very long way from her room now clearly high above her. She turned and tried to open the door, but it had no handle on the outer side and was tight shut. She had escaped, but without meaning to, and was now alone in the dark outside the Palace.

  ‘What have I done?’ she whispered to herself.

  The distant light from the stars and her powerful eyesight revealed a wide cobbled street. Had Allessia been told the same stories as other children, she would have quickly found somewhere to hide until the first rays of the Green Sun began to clear the sky. But she had not, and so was ignorant of the dangers that nightly roamed the City streets. She began to walk away from the door, the gentle padding of her naked feet on the cold stone the only noise to disturb the silence. Dark shadows seemed to follow her once more and she sensed watching eyes. She stopped, her heart beat drumming as she looked into the gloom, and this time she saw quite clearly a rapid movement toward her. She turned to run away, but before she could escape something leapt upon her. She tried to cry out, but two strong hands pulled a gag around her mouth and then quickly tied her legs and arms. She felt her body being lifted into the air and pushed into a large foul smelling sack. Unable to move or shout, Allessia bounced up and down as her captor carried her away on their shoulders.

  Sometime later, Allessia awoke from a deep dreamless sleep, a sleep that had seemed to take forever to rescue her. She opened her eyes, but could see nothing. She tried to move, but was unable to do so. Cramp grew in one of her legs and she tried to cry out, but the gag across her mouth prevented anything but a groan. All else was silence. At length, a chink of green light grew through a broken wooden shutter, and as her eyes adjusted to the light of dawn, she saw the vague outline of a small grubby room.