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

by David Gardner-Martin

  ‘Why yes!’ cried Pooter, delighted at last to be able to show off his hard-won prize, but then suddenly stalled by fear of Rootsby’s reaction.

  ‘Lay it before me,’ said Rootsby with a warm smile. ‘Here, upon your desk.’

  Pooter did as he was bade as Rootsby brought close a small glowick. He held it close to the jar, his rainbow eyes adding their own coloured light to the object before them. Both men stared in silence, the sheer beauty and intricate detail of the King Bee suspended in the honey, captivating their senses.

  ‘There have been times,’ whispered Rootsby, ‘when even I doubted your existence. That I had followed a dream, and would forever be cursed with seeking something that did not exist. How fickle then my intellect, to soften so the rock of faith. For here you are before me at last, and no less beautiful than I have often times remembered you to be.’

  ‘It is beautiful,’ whispered Pooter, hardly hearing Rootsby’s words such was his relief that his prize was being so well received.

  Rootsby reached forward and took the container into his hands.

  ‘Thy time has come,’ he whispered gently against the glass.

  Slowly Lord Eaglett Rootsby unscrewed the top of the container, Pooter watching in frozen silence, and then he started to pour the contents onto the desk, the thick golden liquid releasing a glorious aroma that quickly filled the room. The King Bee fell forward, carried gently on a tide of honey until it too settled on the desk. There was stillness and silence until, quite suddenly, one of the bee’s wings began to vibrate, the tiny vein like patterns blurring with short bursts of energy that were beginning to pulse through them.

  ‘It is…alive?’ gasped Pooter.

  ‘O more, much more, than that,’ said Rootsby.

  Gradually the King Bee began to move its legs, until at length it walked out of the pool of honey, slowly at first, but then more confidently. As it did so the golden wax sheen of its body began to fade to be replaced by a rich coating of brown fur. The crown too seemed to dissolve, the precious stones evaporating with tiny puffs of smoke as they were released to another world. At last the most beautiful creature Pooter had ever seen took to the air.

  The King Bee flew around Pooter’s office several times, unsteady at first and careering wildly past several ornaments and only narrowly missing the clockwork Queen Bee as it announced the hour. But then it seemed to gain control and hovered in the air above them, both men tipping back their heads as a deep buzzing filled the room.

  Then Rootsby began to speak.

  ‘For the King shall bring the Dance of Fire to His Beloved,’ he said. ‘And those that have perished, shall be raised again, their Souls inviolate, and their Death undone.’

  When he had finished the King Bee flew directly at the glass of the window, and as Pooter cried out with concern, waiting for the tiny thud of contact that would doubtless knock the creature senseless to the floor, it flew effortlessly through the glass, a tiny hole with bright orange edges sizzling for several seconds behind it. Pooter blinked, hardly believing what he had seen, and then rushed to the window. The hole was clear to see, but as if in doubt he pushed his index finger through it, and felt the last remnants of heat as the tip forced its way into the cold air beyond.

  ‘Incredible!’ he cried turning to Rootsby. ‘Simply, incredible!’

  Chapter 11

  Though it had only been several hours since Relical Bartolamy had been dragged into the Sacred Hellholes, already it seemed like an eternity. He watched, still bound and gagged, as the redhoods thrust yet another metal cord through his skin, a cord that as with all its predecessors, was then pulled tight and tied. Even the cheeks on this face had been stitched to the hexrack, a vicious implement of torture he had seen pictures of, but had never imagined he would experience in reality. He screamed again, an endless scream, to try and shut out the agony, but its power was absorbed by his gag. He squirmed involuntarily as yet another cord was pushed through his body and pulled tight once more.

  One of the redhoods removed its hood, its deeply scorched face a deathlike mask. The figure lifted a dark bony hand, pointed a sharp nailed finger at Bartolamy’s face, and then spoke. ‘You will do well,’ he said, its voice like sandpaper being scraped across glass. ‘I see potential for much suffering within you. Many Indemnifications to be obtained.’

  The redhood stepped closer and jabbed its finger into one of Bartolamy’s eyes, the sudden jolt of pain quickly added to the tally. Seemingly satisfied, the redhood then reached for Bartolamy’s eyelids with both hands where hard-skinned fingers pulled them roughly together. The stabs of even more pain as his eyes were slowly stitched closed became lost within the totality of suffering. Darkness fell, and then for one desperate minute his screams were free to fly as the gag was removed. He vented his agony again and again into the air, the sounds so primeval that he did not recognise them as his own. But then as another series of cruel stitches also gripped his lips tight together, his cries were muffled once more.

  Only his ears were left free to hear the redhoods finishing their work, but he did not realise why. He did not realise anything anymore, other than the constant and unendurable fact of torment.

  ‘More pain soon,’ whispered a harsh voice in his ear.

  ‘All suffering good,’ came several voices in sing-song harmony.

  Then there was nothing more as, with a final act of mercy, his tortured mind fell into unconsciousness.

  Bartolamy awoke some hours later to the screams of Innocents incarcerated in the bowels of the Hellholes. He tried to move his body to ease the pain that still fell over him like a cloak, but each attempt at comfort only made things worse. And so he remained still, and tried to focus only on the sound of suffering beneath him as it rose and fell like waves upon a shore.

  Bartolamy knew that Innocents were Ejects; the unwanted offspring of the Sisters of St. Salacious and their noble clients. Following Cardinal Oblong’s new Doctrine of Indemnification and the decree that suffering did not need to be one’s own for a benefit to be reaped, these unfortunate children were no longer made available for adoption. Instead they were taken at birth to the depths of the convent. After spiritual cleansing, they were wrapped in Holy Words, and then one by one, their ears were stopped and their eyes and tongue removed to prevent any chance of contamination. Once they had recovered sufficiently from this ordeal, they were carried through tunnels to the Cathedral and into the care of the Redhoods, a new order created by Oblong to oversee the suffering meted out to Innocents in the Sacred Hellholes. So skilled had Redhoods become in the arts of torture, that it was possible for an Innocent to live for several years in constant torment, with not one single second of respite from agonising pain. For there was as little limit to the demand for Indemnification of the soul, as there was to the supply of jarros dropped daily into the Church’s fast swelling coffers. As Cardinal Oblong regularly took the time to reminded all his clergymen, how else could a noble obtain a cast-iron guarantee of salvation in the blessed Afterwards? ‘Profit and Pain in perfect harmony,’ was his oft quoted saying, usually accompanied with a smile.

  Bartolamy thoughts were interrupted by shuffling footsteps entering the room. He could see nothing, but heard the ruffle of heavy cloth and the wheezing of lungs ruined by the smoke of the Hellholes. He heard the slow clicking of a ratchet as the hexrack was tightened. He felt the slack being taken up in every fibre of his body as the network of steel cords were pulled onto the wheel. There was a moments silence, and then a single voice broke forth.

  ‘Where Fairness and Compassion lie!’ it cried. ‘So there, does the Mouthless One gain hold!’

  ‘And so we cry as one, let suffering begin!’ cried all the redhoods in unison.

  Bartolamy wanted to plead for mercy, to offer up anything he was asked to be released, but all was helpless. He heard the ratchet sing and his world exploded in an instant into a sea of utter torment. No thoughts could survive the onslaught, his perception even of living, lost within
the scale of such momentous hell. There was nothing else but the present, and it was terrible.

  Chapter 12

  Even through the closed windows, Allessia heard the strangest sounds. Away in the distance, Queen Camellia was being cast, a crying-horn clearing her route through the crowds lining the Royal Procession’s route to the City walls. The femones accompanying her to Castell Florret sang a beautiful melody, the notes weaving magical spells to protect her spirit from flight. A roar filled the air as the throng caught sight of the Queen’s State Carriage. Allessia listened spellbound, a strange energy filling her being with sadness and a deep sense of loss. Though she did not know what was happening, it was clear that something of terrible magnitude was happening in the Kingdom. At length, the sounds faded and her room returned once more to the familiarity of silence.

  There came a series of tiny thuds on a window pane. At first Allessia did not notice them, such was her gloom, but as they persisted her attention was drawn to a small shape moving about on the glass in the growing light of morning. She walked to the window and stared with curiosity at a creature that appeared to be dancing before her. It was moving in a slow zigzag fashion, its wings beating fast and its legs tracing patterns before her eyes. Allessia enjoyed the performance for several minutes, enchanted by the determination of her visitor, until on an impulse, she lifted the latch and opened the window. She watched with growing excitement as the creature first flew away from the window, then turned and flew straight into her room.

  Allessia hardly dared draw breath as the bee flew towards her and settled on her shoulder. She knew from her studies that it was a honeybee, even though she had never actually seen one before. It had rich golden fur, legs as black as soot, but seemed far larger than she had always imagined honeybees to be. The magical creature buzzed its wings and Allessia somehow knew that it was very pleased to see her.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, gently. ‘It’s lovely to meet you too.’

  The honeybee flew into the air, and when Allessia held out her hand it settled gently into her palm and began to dance again. A warm tickling sensation accompanied the rhythmic pulsing of its wings. At length, it took to the air once more and after wheeling around the room several times, headed straight out of the window to disappear into the sky.

  Allessia looked after it smiling with joy, and then she caught sight of something tiny in her hand glinting in the growing light of dawn. She looked closely and could just make out what seemed to be a small droplet of golden liquid settled within one of the lines of her palm. Without thinking, she raised her hand to her face and allowed her tongue to lick the liquid; the sweetest taste she had ever experienced swept into her mouth and down and into her entire body. Moments later something powerful was released deep within her, and as the sensations grew she gasped out loud, a feeling of supreme lightness now invading her being. The sensations continued to grow, Allessia gripping the window ledge and her eyes opening wide with surprise as her heart beat began to soar. She stared open-mouthed at vivid patterns beginning to appear before her. There was a sudden rush, a feeling of immense tension, and as the air exploded into a cascade of bright sparkles, the power of a million tingling sensations fell away into a sea of calm.

  Allessia lay on her bed and fell asleep, and the dreams that came to her were the most powerful she had ever experienced. She stood on top of a huge mountain, a warm sea breeze blowing sweet scents through her long auburn hair. Beautiful birds sparkled rainbows into the sky, their spellbinding chorus filling the air. So musical was their singing that when Allessia awoke she found herself humming a strange melody that seemed to have no beginning and no end. It just circled and circled around inside her head. But as it did so it brought to her the recollection of her dream, and the sights, sounds and smells of a magical mountaintop, which seemed to be as high as the sky.

  Her drollups arrived to bathe her. They stood in a line like sheep in a pen, and stared at her with fearful eyes. One of their number held out the bottle of musky green scent in a trembling hand once more.

  ‘My…lady?’ it asked, its monotone voice tremoring. ‘It is…time for…your bathing.’

  Allessia felt awful. Her drollups were special to her and she loved them all deeply. To see them all so upset filled her with sadness.

  ‘Of course,’ she said smiling cheerfully. ‘You may bathe me now.’

  Her drollups all cooed with delight and clapped their hands.

  ‘Let us go to my bathroom together,’ Allessia added.

  Broad smiles of glee fell over their faces, even a tear or two.

  ‘But,’ said Allessia, a single word that froze them all to statues. ‘I will not be scented. You may put that,’ said pointing at the dark green bottle, ‘in there,’ said pointing at a bin in a corner of the room.

  Drollups had duties and always did their best to fulfil them, but they were also trained to obey orders from their superiors, whoever that might be. They all nodded their heads glumly as the bottle disappeared from view.

  When she had been bathed, Allessia sent her drollups away. They stared with doleful eyes at the bin as they filed out of the room. She watched them go, happy that she had not treated them too badly, and then went to sit by the window. She opened the latch once more; chill vibrant air washed over her. On an impulse, she took off her bathrobe, and as she did so she felt once more a part of her being carried away on the strengthening breeze. She started to hum the melody of the mountaintop. A few minutes later the magical honeybee flew into her room once more, but this time it was followed by another bee, then another, and then bee after bee, her room quickly filling with the sound of buzzing. The honeybees began to settle upon her, covering her naked body with the gentle rhythm of their dance. One by one they deposited their gifts, and as the golden liquid began to penetrate her skin, so there grew within Allessia waves of pleasure so powerful that she could not move. She felt her soul carried high into the sky. Stars streaked past her like fireworks as she soared across the heavens. Her heart beat pounded and beads of perspiration rolled down her skin like crystals. At length, all the honeybees departed, her room still and silent once more in the pure white light of noon. She lay on her bed, fell asleep, and dreamt as before, the music of the birds and the colours and scents of the mountaintop as real to her as being awake.

  She was disturbed by her mother and father flying into the room followed by a line of terrified drollups.

  ‘Where is it,’ shouted her father.

  As Allessia pulled her bedclothes over her body, a single drollup padded forward, its arms fixed by its side and its head bowed to the floor. It lifted the bottle of scent out of the bin, closed its eyes, and held it out in a shaking hand.

  ‘Why have you been missing her scenting?’ her mother cried, as she grabbed the bottle from the drollup.

  Her father was in a terrible rage. ‘You will all be scraped!’ he shouted, his eyes boring into the sheepish herd that started to whimper and huddle together in a corner of the room.

  ‘But father!’ Allessia implored. ‘It’s really my fault, not theirs!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ her mother shouted. ‘They were given clear instructions, and they disobeyed them!’

  Mrs Pultroon, an aggressive matronly woman who worked in the kitchens, arrived.

  ‘Allessia is to be bathed and anointed three times,’ said her mother handing over the bottle of green scent. ‘And thrice daily thereafter…without fail.’

  ‘Yes, Milady,’ said Mrs Pultroon, folding her huge arms and staring at Allessia with hard eyes.

  ‘We are most displeased, Allessia,’ said her father as he departed, the gaggle of whimpering drollups going before him being fetched several well-timed blows around the ears as he herded them through the door.

  ‘Please, mother,’ said Allessia, ‘it’s not their fault.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before,’ she replied, before leaving the room and slamming the door behind her.

  When Mrs Pultroon eventually departed
Allessia sat at the open window once more. The musky green scent enveloped her in an overpowering cloud. She felt abused, empty, lifeless. She waited, but no more honeybees came to see her. She stared into the sky where dark misshapen clouds drifted by. Her mind bubbled like a cauldron, all her uncertainties seeming to rise to the surface at once. It was almost more than her young heart could bear. What was happening in the world below her window? Why was she so special that she had to be hidden away? What was going to happen to her? She had to know. But more than all of this, she wanted to see her honeybees again, and if no one would help her do this, then she would find a way to do it for herself.

  Chapter 13

  After orchestrating the casting of Queen Camellia, now Lady Camellia, Lord Hardknot had returned to the Palace. There were many powerful nobles in positions of influence who had him to thank for their rise to eminence, and now was the time to collect their dues. As Received Obligants, each knew well that they were never more than one careless mistake from exile. As with many in the Palace, their loyalty to Hardknot, as well as their lips, were sealed by his very existence.

  It was at one of these meetings with the ambitious Earl Sawstone, that Hardknot received information that would suit his purposes perfectly. After the King’s death had first been announced, Sawstone had observed Lord-Marshall Highgate, Commander of the King’s Army, enter a meeting with a large group of senior nobles, Lord Chillhide and the Duke of Westnaine amongst them. The meeting had lasted over two hours. Hardknot had no doubt what manner of business would have been discussed at so clandestine a gathering, a gathering that, in contravention of strict Precedent, he was sure would not have been recorded. He left for the Board of Doings to request an immediate meeting behind closed doors, a request that was duly granted.

  The Board of Doings met in Fulcrum Tower, an ancient building situated in the very centre of the City. Fifteen vast floors were devoted to the libraries which housed the Books of Doings, whilst beneath this mass of manuscripts lay living quarters and a small boardroom, the only place where meetings could take place and where Precedent could be ratified.