Oblong nodded to the redhoods and with the clicking of several ratchets, the wires of the hexrack were tightened still further; Bartolamy’s body twisted in silent agony.
‘But this is not noble suffering!’ cried Oblong, ‘It does not add anything to the blessed tally that They, in their endless generosity, keep on account for each and every one of us. Being low born, it is as nothing to Them. For only where there is the suffering of Innocence, can there be true Indemnity. And this man, this terrible, evil, unworthy man, is no more innocent than the Honeyist Whores of Thesamanica, who after seducing and then drowning their victims in honey, stole their very souls!’
Oblong's perspiring face now glowed red with the intensity of the sermon being spat into the air. He steadied himself on the pulpit by grasping the well-worn head of a gargoyle. Only the distant screams of the Innocents in the Hellholes and the sound of Bartolamy’s body thrashing in the grip of the hexrack could be heard. He stared at the horrified faces before him; not one was whispering now. The time had come.
‘Let us remind ourselves of the true reward of Honeyism!’ he cried. ‘Let us witness the terrible gift that They have readied for any of us, should we fall prey to the seductions of the Mouthless One. Let us witness together the only reward that this most sinful of the anti-creeds can bring. Let us witness, the death of a soul!’
Oblong turned from the frozen congregation and walked down the stairs from the pulpit and towards the altar. Bishop Constantly waited for him, a look of horror as clear upon his face as it was on many of the assembled bishops.
‘Your Mostfull,’ Constantly exclaimed in an agitated whisper when Oblong reached him, 'I really must protest. We are simply not prepared for such an event. If the soul is not safely extinguished, it may yet escape to serve the Mouthless One.’ He leant forward to bring his face close to Oblong's ear. ‘There are children present, innocent spaces within which a desperate entity might find a way to cling to existence.’
‘Fear not, Your Fullness,’ said Oblong. ‘Swift shall be this soul’s removal into total oblivion.’
Constantly went to protest again, but a sudden jolt from Bartolamy’s body caught his eye. He observed the dreadful sight for a moment, but said no more.
Oblong moved to where a copy of 'Church High Services' lay open upon a silver lectern, and after staring at the words before him for several seconds, he raised his head and began to speak.
‘My Children!’ he cried. ‘In as much as They have shown us the ways to deliverance, so too have They shown us the ways to everlasting death. There is before us now, one who has freely chosen blasphemy, over the blessings of our Holy Church. For such a worthless being, there can be no salvation. Let us therefore commit his soul to eternal nothingness, and extinguish its spark for evermore.’
He looked down once more at the terrible words that would turn Relical Bartolamy into a soulless creature. A moment passed, and then ‘The Incantation for the Death of a Soul’ began to spill forth from his lips and into the fear-laden air.
‘Unholy miscreant!’ he cried. ‘Thou art worthless and base beyond measure. Thy last moment of hope is upon thee!’
At these words Bartolamy began to thrash with fresh intensity. His face contorted and his mouth struggled as if to scream, but no sound could be heard through his tightly stitched lips. Several nearby spouts lowered their heads and closed their eyes, their instincts warning them to distance themselves as much as possible from what was about to follow.
‘O Blessed Them, from which all things come and go,’ continued Oblong. ‘Take thee the soul of this deviated one, and place it within the Endless Circle of Nothingness. There let it become Unimagined, Uncreated, Unbegotten, and Unmade! Let it be so. And let it be…Now!’
A heavy cloud formation swept over the purple sky and the Cathedral fell into an eerie darkness. Not a sound could be heard. Bartolamy’s body gave one last spasm, and then became still.
‘Remove this carcass,’ cried Oblong to High Commander Sideswipe and his Holy Guards stood to attention against a far wall, ‘and take it to the dark woods outside the City! Let the foul creatures that inhabit that place have their fill! For it is now naught but meat!’
The redhoods began to remove the wires from Bartolamy’s unconscious body, their actions accompanied by the congregation making a hurried exit from the dreadful High Service they had just witnessed. When Bartolamy was at last freed from the bloodied wires, he fell from the hexrack and onto the hard-stone floor with a sickening thud. Still Sideswipe did not move a muscle, his face fixed like granite as he stared at Oblong. Oblong glared back at him, and for a moment the two were locked together, as if combatants awaiting the order to commence fighting. Oblong went to speak, the impudence beyond bearing, but as he went to move his lips, Sideswipe began to speak at last.
‘You have heard our orders,’ he shouted to his men. ‘Take this body and follow me to the City gates.’
Two Holy Guards walked forwards and lifted Batolamy into the air like a rag.
‘Your Mostfull,’ said Sideswipe, bowing but not meeting his eyes again, and then without waiting to be dismissed, the powerful figure turned and marched away, the Holy Guards following their master and Bartolamy’s lifeless body leaving a trail of crimson blood in their wake.
Oblong watched them depart until they disappeared. Silence, but for the footsteps of the final remnants of the congregation and the distant screams of the Innocents. In that moment, he knew that he had lost total faith in his High Commander, a man he had come to rely on to a dangerous extent. In some way, Sideswipe too had become contaminated, but when and how? Could it have been the strange creatures blade, he wondered? Who could know what infections might be possible from close contact with such alien life. But whatever the cause, when the High Commander returned from his mission beyond the City gates, this night would need to be his last.
Chapter 15
The clammy odour of the horse’s saddle was the first sensation to greet Bartolamy’s consciousness. The horse was trotting, it’s hooves thudding on rough stone cobbles. Lying across the animals back, Bartolamy bounced in unison, the motion causing the wounds covering his entire body to announce their presence once more. But in a single moment of relief, he realised that at least his eyes and mouth had been unstitched. He groaned involuntarily as the rough leather saddle inflicted blow after blow upon his chest, the sound lost within the clatter of a troop of mounted Holy Guards.
When they reached the City gates he heard voices shouting orders, then the sound of ratchets and scraping as something large was moved against its will. At length, the troop rode out of the City and into the open countryside beyond.
Bartolamy stared down at the unfamiliar nature of long grass, only dimly lit by a bright star studded sky, but clearly visible. Dazed, and with the agonizing pain still so insistent, his dire predicament was all he could dwell upon. Then as reason slowly flooded into the forefront of his mind once more, he began to remember.
His removal to the Sacred Hellholes; the viciousness of Redhoods; the awful High Service. As if in a flash of light, he relived them all with terrifying reality. But then he remembered honey, and once again a strange salvation spread through his body like a warm glow. There was agony and despair, but deeper by far, there was hope.
The horse carrying him stumbled in the darkness and he cried out once more, this time the sound rising above the squelch of hooves sinking into soft turf.
After what seemed an hour, but may have been minutes, a shouted command brought the troop to a standstill. Bartolamy could hear the gush of a strengthening wind in the branches of trees. He turned his head and saw the outline of a wood silhouetted against the horizon. He felt strong hands haul him from the horse and start to drag him over the damp grass towards the darkness. The hands that held his armpits to keep him from falling to the ground, gripped his flesh like a vice.
‘Wait,’ said a powerful voice, and the Holy Guards obeyed the command.
In the half-light
Bartolamy watched a figure approach on a huge warhorse. The man stared down at Bartolamy for a moment, rubbing his chin as if weighing the situation. Only a deep rustle of swaying leaves close behind him disturbed the silence.
‘Now what could you have possibly done, to offend His Mostfull so?’ the man asked at last in a deep graveled voice.
Bartolamy went to reply, but only a garbled groan escaped the mutilations visited upon his tongue and lips. His head sank onto his chest in despair.
‘Shall we take him into the woods now, sir?’ he heard one of the Holy Guards ask.
‘No,’ replied Sideswipe, pulling the reins of his mount as it stamped the ground with impatience.
‘But, he is surely a demon, sir,’ said a guard gripping Bartolamy tight once more. ‘And His Mostfull ordered us to cast him away.’
‘Not yet!’ said Sideswipe angrily. ‘For I would first know more. What has he done that has brought him to such a downfall?’
There came a distant howl which stilled the blood; at first wolf-like, but as each cry reached its crescendo, it fell away into a thunderous roar.
‘By the bees,’ gasped the guard holding Bartolamy. ‘What manner of beast was that.’
But before anyone could answer, a group of warriors rushed from the darkness to fall upon them. They carried huge double-edged axes which they wielded above their heads like windmills in a storm. Several heads were severed in an instant as the troop were taken completely by surprise. The Holy Guards tried to mount a defense with their broadswords, but the attacking force was so strong in number and so quickly upon them, that they quickly fell to the terrible blows. He felt the men holding him release their grip to enter the fray, and as he fell to the ground he saw a small group of guards that had remained mounted, turn away to flee the carnage. The attackers hurled long spears at their backs that brought two men crashing to the ground. Several more went to give chase.
‘Leave them,’ cried a warrior to still their action, and the guards made good their escape into the dark wood. ‘We do not follow there,’ added the warrior, clearly the commander of the group.
He hauled Bartolamy to his feet as if he were a child.
‘Bartolamy?’ he demanded.
Bartolamy found the strength to give one sagging nod of his head.
He felt his body lifted into the air once more and onto a powerful shoulder. And with that the warriors turned away to walk back in the direction of the City.
Bartolamy eyes were now used to the dark, and despite the pain of holding his eyelids open, he studied the warriors who had made such short work of the powerful Holy Guards. He reasoned they must be Hivecarls, the guardians of the Hivedom and bodyguards of the Keeper of the Royal Honeybees, Lord Hardknot. He struggled to comprehend why His Oneness would have sent his warriors to rescue a lowly relical. It made no sense at all.
He looked up at the stars and saw long streaks of black clouds racing across the sky. The breeze stiffened into a cold wind and the group lowered their heads as they walked purposely over a soft yielding meadow towards the lights of the Outer-City Wall battlements.
Bartolamy felt that his life had entered a strange new reality. Was he already dead, he suddenly thought? If that were so, then perhaps everything, even the constant pain, mattered little. What would be, would be, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt like a child on a fairground ride of unknown duration. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something, anything, that would take away his suffering. He smelt the sweet aroma of damp long grass passing by beneath him.
Chapter 16
Even before it had started, Pooter sensed an awkward conversation that might demand more than awkward answers. He stood from the breakfast table to leave; but too late.
‘I was speaking with Seldomly Codswalloper yesterday,’ said Glarious. ‘She told me something most interesting.’
‘Indeed,’ said Pooter.
‘Punny, please! Will you sit and take a moment to talk to me! And your toast is half-eaten, your infusion untouched. For the sake of afterwards, why are you always in such a rush?’
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ said Pooter. ‘But there is so much to do, and what with the demands of…’ His voice trailed at the sight of Glarious’ withering stare. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But really, I can delay only for a short while.’
‘A short while will suffice.’
Pooter sat once more and picking up the dark grey infusion, sipped a comforting mouthful.
‘As I was saying, I spoke to the Seldomly Codswalloper. Well, it turns out that a cousin of her husband, Brinth, works in the Palace Barracks as a Quartermaster. Apparently, the King’s Army has been put on a state of high alert. Have you heard of this? I mean, with you being called to the Palace and attending regularly to, Royal duties.’
‘Indeed, I have not,’ said Pooter, relieved that he could speak the truth. ‘And, I must add, I have never even heard of such a thing.’
‘That is exactly what Brinth said,’ said Glarious. She leant forward conspiratorially. ‘But there is more, Punny. Apparently, he has also heard that the City gates have all been sealed. Surely, my dear, you must have heard that?’
Pooter had not, and was not all sure that the Codswallopers, well-known gossips, would have the right of it, but decided on a prudent course.
‘I did hear something, that’s true. But as you know, my work is so taxing, that most of the time I am buried under books.’
‘You will be buried under a lot more than that, Punny, if you do not start telling me what is going on. Brinth Codswalloper, a mere jumped up storeman, telling me what is going on in the Palace, when my very own husband is working under a Royal appointment! Really, my dear, it just will not do. Do you care nothing for my position, my status, that I must hear such news….’
‘Calm yourself, my dear. I understand completely. But you must understand something too. It is precisely that Brinth is, as you say, a mere…what was it?’
‘Jumped up storeman.’
‘Indeed,’ said Pooter smiling. ‘Well, that is precisely why he is spreading these rumours. He will not have been placed, as have I, under a Royal Oath of Discretion. He will not have been charged with a Royal Warrant to fulfil. He will not be working in the Inner Palace, but will be mixing with all the Outer Palace riffraff that daily fill the corridors with tittle-tattle. In short, my dear, he will be speaking words so deformed by the distortion of endless repetition, that he may as well have told you that the King has turned into a teapot, and the Queen is a table.’
Glarious stared at Pooter dumbfounded. ‘Really Punny, how can you make such awful jokes at such a time?’
Before Pooter could reply, there came a knock at their front door which Glarious went to investigate. Pooter heard the cries of a lady’s voice and a moment later Mrs Seldomly Codswalloper burst into the room in a state of high distress.
‘Oh Glarious! Mr Pooter!’ she cried. ‘It was awful!’ She lowered her head into her hands and gave a series of dramatic sobs that Pooter took to be false, until he saw the tears flowing down her cheeks.
‘There, there, Mrs Codswalloper,’ said Pooter, leading her to a chair and sitting her down.
‘Let me pour you an infusion, my dear,’ said Glarious, and she reached for an empty cup.
‘What is it that upsets you so?’ enquired Pooter, anxious to be on his way to the office, but certain he could not escape until calming the situation.
‘Did you not hear?’ Mrs Codswalloper cried. ‘Why, the City streets are awash with the news! And I…was there! And with all my children too! Oh, their poor, dear, hearts!’
More tears until a shaking hand took the cup of refreshing hot liquid offered by Glarious.
‘But, where were you?’ asked Pooter, looking at his wife to share their mutual perplexion.
‘At the Cathedral, of course! Where else? And oh, such a dreadful sight there was to be seen!’
It took several minutes of patient coaxing to prise from Mrs Codswalloper’s
lips the events she had seen in St. Vacant’s Cathedral.
‘I could not sleep a wink!’ she cried at last. ‘Such torture to be seen! And so much…blood! And all my poor dears left with such nightmares that Brinth has had to take them out of school for the day!’
A short while later, and with his wife and Seldomly Codswalloper still chatting in their lounge, Pooter felt free to leave for work. He reflected on the rumours that Brinth Codswalloper had overheard. Could there be any truth in them? Were things really happening in the Kingdom that he had not heard about? The green light of dawn revealed streets and squares and proletaires heading for work, just as it had done on countless other mornings. And yet something in the back of his mind told him that everything was very different. It was all most disconcerting.
The books Cabble laid before him, topped, as always, with the most pressing bills, seemed like visitors from another dimension. The world had become strange, and even a vast sales ledger was unable to submerge the distraction. He tried to quell his unease by staring hard at his work, but his usual enthusiasm to check and double check the additions and subtractions became lost in butterflies that increasingly took flight in the pit of his stomach. He found his attention drawn to the small circular hole in his window pane. He walked to it and pushed his finger once more into the air beyond. Without its presence before him, he felt sure that recent events would be recalled only as if they were dreams. But what did it all mean? Something profound had altered in the City, the very air now charged with a dark energy.
A troop of armed horseman galloped past his office at full pelt.
‘Upon my word!’ cried Cabble, rushing into the room and joining his startled master at the window. ‘Palace Guards! No doubt about it! But what in heaven are they doing in the City, sir?’
Pooter dashed into the street in time to see the last guard disappear from view, Abather’s barking now filling the air and her claws clenched against the stone. Doors were flung open around him as the residents of Hexagonal Place came to investigate the strange disturbance to their ordered world.
The Lords of Blood and Honey (The Kingdom of Honey) Page 14