Glarious tutted with indignation.
‘…then, I must be here.’
Pooter cast his mind back to the night before. Had it been real? And then he saw the bandage that covered his right hand. He studied the shadow of blood, visible in patches where the wound had bled its last. It was a relief to see that some of what he remembered was true. But what was not true? And why was it that he remembered nothing of his rescue from the City streets?
‘And how, Punny, did you come by such a wound?’
‘Really, my dear, I have no idea,’ answered Pooter, already deciding that not all questions would get an honest answer.
‘Well, let me make you a cup of tea. I am sure it will help to clear your head. And my, how it seems to need clearing!’
‘That would be the most wonderful thing in the world,’ said Pooter. ‘And after that, I must bathe. For I am sure I must smell to high heaven.’
‘Indeed you do!’ said Glarious, standing from the bed. ‘I shall draw your bath. Then, my dear, after breakfast we must talk, for I have seen so little of you for days, and such wondrous days as I dare hardly believe.’
And with that she stood and left the room.
Pooter raised himself onto his feet, his sense of balance slowly returning to his heavy legs. He walked slowly to the large doors that opened onto his balcony and, pulling them too, stepped into a new dawn.
Mountainous white clouds, rolling over the distant horizon, bathed in the light of the Green Sun. He saw jawbeaks drifting lazily against them, hunting for prey. It was clearly a feast day; the peeling of joyful bells, each competing for primacy, added to a deep sense of calm. He breathed in the clear fresh air, so pleased to be alive and at home that he almost cried out with joy.
His attention was drawn towards the Hivedom and a thick trail of black smoke rising slowly into the sky. Beneath it he could see the remains of the Grand Hive, now but a smoldering skeleton.
Glarious appeared holding two mugs of tea that billowed clouds of steam before her. She gave one to Pooter and then looked to where he was staring.
‘Oh Punny,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it dreadful. Is there anything we should do?’
‘What can we do?’ said Pooter, his body so tired and his mind so exhausted, that the mere thought of leaving his home made his legs weak at the knees. ‘More powerful and wiser folk than we, will already be attending the scene.’
And with that he lowered his face into the cloud of steam and took a deep gulp of the delicious nettle tea, the warmth and aroma reviving his spirits in an instant.
Breakfast was late for the Pooter household, but was still a frantic affair, with all the children wanting Pooter’s attention at once. It was St. Mapletime’s Day, and Glarious had baked a large purple sweetcake. Only Allacar, their Eject child, sat quietly within the chaos, eating a piece slowly and with his thoughts clearly far away. In between wresting one child or another from his lap, or removing competing knives from the butter, Pooter found himself studying the young boy. For some time after they had adopted him, Glarious and Pooter had played fanciful games with his possible noble ancestry, but as the boy quickly developed his personality, such speculations were soon forgotten. For though the child was responsive to his parents’ attentions, and on occasion would play along with his adopted siblings, he was more often solitary and withdrawn. And with this behaviour first commencing at an age so far before self-awareness, that its heritage could only be natural.
Pooter smiled at Allacar, the boy smiling briefly in return and then staring at this father, for the briefest moment, with alert grey eyes.
Pooter dropped his toast in shock.
Chapter 45
When Lady Allessia came into view, a gasp of wonder filled the room. The sparkling light dazzled the eyes, such was the abundance of treasures that now adorned her body.
Allessia was followed by a retinue of femones that would scatter red, pink and white rose petals before her bare feet as she walked along the Nave of the Cathedral. Waiting below the Queen’s Wing, Lord Marshall Sideswipe, the new, and now one-armed, Commander of the King’s Army, stood at the head of a large troop of guards, six-abreast and with swords drawn, ready to provide her guard of honour. Her carriage too lay ready, freshly painted in bright colours, strewn with flowers, and harnessed to eight heavy-cavalry horses.
Pontinal Bartolamy watched as Allessia walked towards him. He remembered his words the morning he had returned, bloodied and exhausted, from his final confrontation with Lord Hardknot. ‘Though the Kingdom will have no King…it still can have a Queen.’
Allessia smiled at him, as if reading his thoughts, and Bartolamy felt his heart beat soar. Was it possible that one so beautiful, was also one that he could love and rightfully desire? Nothing in the dusty books of the Holy Church of Afterwards had come close to the fulfillment he now felt, from just being in her presence. She was truly the rightful Queen, he thought, and now that she had been saved from the dark ambitions of His Oneness, a joyful future lay in store.
‘My Lady,’ he said, bowing when she reached him. He stood upright once more and looked into her violet eyes, each a deep pool filled with love. ‘We are ready to depart for the Cathedral.’
It had taken Bartolamy several fraught nights to find the ceremony, for the coronation of a solitary Queen belonged to a far pre-ancient time. But then at last in the depths of the Grand Library, he had found the words that set his thoughts ablaze.
She will be recognised, and He will be chosen.
Then had the pieces fallen into place like a perfect puzzle.
No longer would the Queen be raided of her fertility, her eggs taken to be implanted in unfortunate Surrogates. Now she too could choose her King, and seek fulfilment through their union. It was a blessing that She freely bestowed upon all who wished to find it. In time, Bartolamy was sure there would be royal children too, and a line of succession leading into the future for all time. Lord Hardknot had opened the door to the truth, but in his arrogance and ambition, had twisted its meaning to suit his own ends. But once Queen Allessia sat upon the throne, all would be in its rightful place.
The title of Keeper of the Royal Honeybees had been stripped of any political power and bestowed upon Morthern Yule, his duties confined to the simple care of the Hivedom gardens and the wellbeing of the creatures he loved more than life itself. As for the Drollups, their unnatural qualities would no longer be raised in the Deep Hives. As they passed away, their duties within the halls, rooms and corridors of the Palace, would gradually be taken over by those in the City seeking work, the poor conditions of the Downcasts raised by paid employment in the service of their Queen.
The most welcome news to the City’s inhabitants, however, had been the completion of the removal of the high walls that surrounded the Hivedom; Lord Hardknot’s final act. For too long the many gifts of the Royal Honeybees had been denied to all. Now they were free to wander the City in search of nectar, bringing the sight and sound of their beauty to anyone who cared to tend a flower. It was a long forgotten pleasure, and celebrations filled the City as more and more honeybees were seen. Fast thinking individuals had started to produce window boxes and planters for the growing demand, whilst the fields that surrounded the City were now raided daily for soil. When Spring arrived, the City had burst into life with a display of colour that had been lost since ancient times, the sweet scents of millions of flowers and blossoms and the gentle hum of Her beloved creatures filling the air.
As for the Shufflers, Ramuth-Pro, now Lord Wellbourne once more, had visited his former community to announce their freedom. Unsurprisingly, the words from the former Prince of Dealmakers, now sporting a jet-black eye-patch, had been greeted with stoic indifference, and he had thrown back his head and roared with laughter. ‘For some in our beloved Kingdom, it will take time,’ he said to the Board of Doings when he returned. And so the records showed that although the Shufflers were now a free people of the new Kingdom, their role as nighttime keepers of the City
streets could be maintained. Save that from now on, no living soul fell under any inventory to which they could lay claim.
Pontinal Bartolamy led the grand procession through the streets to the Cathedral as if in a dream. Huge crowds had gathered to see the young lady who was about to become their Queen, their cheers filling the air as she smiled and waved freely to all before her. No one felt untouched by her presence that day, all mouths swearing later that the beautiful young lady had looked straight at them and smiled, and that they had smiled right back, their hearts bursting with joy.
Inside St. Parthanter’s Cathedral, there was not a single space to be found within a sea of faces, all enraptured as the mystical ceremony unfolded. Bartolamy sensed Her presence within him, but all eyes were fixed only upon a single source of light shining like a beacon in the dark.
At length, Bartolamy placed the new Crown upon Allessia’s head. The seven colours of the rainbow glinted from the ring of precious stones that had been freshly set around it, and in their midst, the largest flawless white diamond ever to be found, dazzled the eyes.
‘Thou art Queen Allessia,’ he said, ‘and all shall love and honour thee.’
He turned to face the congregation and cried out; ‘Behold thy Queen! May she be blessed forever in the light of Her eternal love!’
Queen Allessia stood to be presented to her subjects, the huge bells of the Cathedral bursting into life to announce the glorious news. Bartolamy watched her, his hand reaching once more for the strange crossbow bolt that had somehow saved his life, and that he always kept about his person. As a finger connected with the cold barbed steel, he saw a dark shadow within Allessia’s womb.
The strange image came to haunt his dreams for many nights to come.
Epilogue
Mr Punsworth Pooter stared at the page, turning the columns and rows of numbers into meaningful conclusions. It had been an early start to the day, for the Eject child, Allacar, had developed a habit of waking in the depth of night to read. His movement about the house often disturbed Pooter from his recent lightness of sleep. He had not told Glarious what he had seen in the boy’s vibrant grey eyes one morning over breakfast; how could he? He hardly understood it himself. Such a fleeting hint of recognition that had disappeared as soon as it had appeared. He was truly a strange child, that was clear, but a loved child nonetheless.
After his adventures, Pooter had returned to work with some foreboding. After being a part of such momentous events, he wondered whether he would detest the mundanity of his books, bills and calculations? But to his immense relief, and great surprise, he found quite the reverse, his intellect reveling more than ever in the logical nature of his chosen profession. He had a talent for Accountering, there was no doubt about it, and now seemed able to leap even further up the ladder of numerical dexterity. Every day the patterns of numbers revealed to him an inner beauty that filled him with delight. Cabble too, noticed the increase in his master’s output, his workload growing as the number of books he was required to ready for inspection continued to grow daily. And so the months slipped by, Pooter’s life blurring into a daily routine of happy family life and increasingly successful professional duty, his adventures soon only remembered as if from a dream.
One day, when summer was at its zenith, Pooter looked up from his books, his attention drawn to the glinting of dewdrops on flowers that Cabble had planted in a new window box. He stood and moved to the window, and upon releasing the catch a chorus of birdsong immediately filled his office. He opened the window wide and looked to the sky; the Green, Red and Blue Suns filled the world with pure white light. He breathed in deeply, the City air bursting with the sweet scents of flowers and blossoms. It was overwhelming, and Pooter smiled, happy to be alive on such a beautiful day.
He heard a gentle buzzing and looking down at the flowers he saw several honeybees hard at work, their backs and legs covered with pollen as they drew into their bodies the blessing of nectar. It was a moment of perfection; the transformation of physical nature into spiritual honey, the purest expression of Her love. Then his eyes nearly bolted from his head as a large honeybee suddenly fell clumsily upon the leaf of a flower, its weight such that it quickly dropped to the soft earth below where it lay on its back with its legs clawing the air. Pooter recognised the creature at once, and reaching down he plucked it gently from the soil and placed it upon his palm.
Where once the King Bee’s coat had glistened with the richest browns, oranges and yellows, it was now pale and threadbare, with several patches of white hair betraying its advanced age. It remained quite still on Pooter’s hand, as if relieved to have found a place where it could rest. He stroked its back with a single finger as the warm breeze fell over them, the cracked wings rustling only occasionally in the gentle air.
The minutes passed, Pooter spellbound by the visitor, until quite suddenly he knew that the King Bee was dead. He stared at the tiny body before him, now lifeless as the spirit that had moved within it for so long, finally took flight to the most beautiful Kingdom of all.
‘Farewell, my friend,’ he whispered, as memories of Rootsby, and even poor Abather, flooded into him once more.
Pooter formed a small hole in the soft earth with his fingers and placed the King Bee within it, covering it gently with fresh soil and flower petals before closing the window once more. It seemed the right thing to do.
Then as he turned to his desk, the light suddenly fell away to the deepest purple as a dark black cloud that had slipped over the City walls unnoticed, covered the Green Sun. Pooter heard a series of yelps from Ballazar, their new Toothless Grinhound puppy, who had quickly learnt the duties expected of a beast from such a proud pedigree. Then the huge bells of St. Parthanter’s Cathedral burst into life, their sound signifying momentous news within the Kingdom. As their peels soared skyward, the notes falling over him as a harmony of numbers, Pooter felt a flash of danger still within the City.
‘Strange,’ he whispered, the word seeming to catch flight and disappear into the rooftops and streets that led away towards the Palace of the Queen.
But in time that too became lost in the endless bustle and predictability of City life.
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