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

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The Lords of Blood and Honey (The Kingdom of Honey) Page 16

by David Gardner-Martin


  Until this moment, her only memory of waking up had been the cheerful greetings of her drollups as they rushed to grant her every wish. Would she be washed first and then dressed, or would she like a warm fruit cake with milk whilst her bath was filled? What clothes did she want to wear? Could they put her hair up, it was so lovely? Did she want the window open or closed? On and on, their tireless enthusiasm sometimes causing her to snap with impatience. But now how she wished she was waking up in her cosy bed!

  She had no idea how long she had been asleep. She remembered her adventure, right up to the moment she had found herself locked outside the Palace. After that, there was nothing but darkness and confusion. She became angry with herself for her stupidity. It had not been her intention to escape, merely explore, a twist of fate abandoning her to the dark streets far below her window. She wondered what her parents would make of her disappearance. They would be angry of course, but what would they do? She pictured Forster Culcuth punching his knee with frustration, and Mrs Pultroon raising her eyes to the heavens. Would they send guards to find her? Surely they would. But where was she? And how would they know?

  Allessia heard the rattle of a chain and then with a blinding flash of light a door was flung open. She tried to see the face of her abductor, but before her eyes could adjust, a rough sack was slipped over her head once more. Despite the gag, she tried to call out a demand for release.

  ‘You keep still,’ said a deep voice, ‘lessen you wanna stickin’.’

  Then they were outside to the strange sound of squelching footfalls and a painful bumping on her chest as her captor carried her away on his back.

  Through tiny holes in the loosely woven sackcloth, Allessia saw the blurred shapes of people and dwellings rushing by. At least she thought they must be dwellings, for the small dome-like shapes were more than strange to her. On several occasions people called out as they passed by.

  ‘Whar’t you got thar, Shad-Grit?’ cried one voice.

  ‘Mind yer business,’ her captor shouted in reply, ‘It be fer Ramuth.’

  ‘Hope it’s a tasty morsel!’ cried another.

  ‘Ramuth don’t take second bites!’ cried yet another, to howls of laughter.

  Allessia whimpered. Was this how her adventure was about to end? Dreadful images that she had seen in a picture book about the Swamp Cannibals appeared before her. Would they eat her? A fresh jolt caused her to gasp out loud, her insides heaving with fear and discomfort.

  The awful journey continued for some time, until at last Shad-Grit stopped running and threw her roughly to the ground. She heard her captor catch his breath and mumble words she could not understand. Then she was hauled into the air once more.

  ‘Who goes thar!’ shouted a formidable voice several seconds later.

  ‘It be Shad-Grit, Gutterscraper!’ her captor shouted in return.

  ‘Hold still, Shad-Grit!’ said the voice. ‘And state both yer business, an’ yer package.’

  ‘My business be barter!’ shouted Shad-Grit. ‘An’ me package be a Pretty One!’

  ‘A Pretty One?’ shouted a more distant voice.

  ‘Aye!’ cried Shad-Grit.

  ‘Enter Shad-Grit,’ shouted the voice, ‘and present thy Barter!’

  Allessia sensed Shad-Grit walk slowly forward; a thick pall of smoke and a dull yellow light penetrated the sackcloth. She coughed as the acrid atmosphere filled her lungs.

  ‘I carn’t see you, master!’ Shad-Grit cried. ‘Which be you?’

  Laughter rippled in the air and Shad-Grit, clearly determined to be bold, called again.

  ‘I comes to barter in good faith, master. But if you be not in’erested….’

  Allessia felt him turn to leave.

  ‘I have been expecting you, Shad-Grit,’ said the voice, calmer and closer now, and strangely refined.

  ‘Ramuth-Pro, Prince of Dealmakers,’ Shad-Grit said turning, his deep bow nearly spilling Allessia onto the floor. ‘May the debris o’ the living, come only unto thee.’

  ‘And to thee too,’ said the voice that Allessia now knew to be one Ramuth-Pro. ‘And you say you have a Pretty One. Now where did you find that?’

  ‘Outside the Seventy-Third Wing of the Palace,’ replied Shad-Grit.

  ‘The Seventy-Third?’ said Ramuth-Pro, evidently surprised.

  ‘Aye, master,’ replied Shad-Grit, clearly relieved to have the attention at last of the man he had come to see. ‘I foun’ her larst night, wanderin’ as ‘appy as a grublite, an’ quite alone.’

  ‘Then you may stand before us, Shad-Grit the Gutterscraper,’ said Ramuth-Pro. ‘Isn’t that so!’ he added calling out.

  ‘Aye!’ came several loud responses amongst more laughter.

  ‘And you wish to barter this Pretty One?’

  ‘Thar’t I do.’

  ‘Then let us all see the goods for ourselves.’

  Shad-Grit seemed to hesitate, but then Allessia felt herself lowered onto a rough surface and the sackcloth pulled off her head.

  Thick smoke stung her eyes whilst the rough leather straps prevented her from moving or crying out. She was in a large circular space under a low dome-like ceiling, the air thick with dense smoke rising from several braziers. Her captor, Shad-Grit, was a rough looking man with heavy features and a thick knotted beard. Allessia heard laughter growing in the gloom.

  ‘O’ course she don’t look much now, I grant it,’ said Shad-Grit. ‘But she is a Pretty One, of thar’t thur be no doubt. Jus’ give ‘er a good cleanin’ an’ yer’ll see!’

  Allessia caught sight of her roughly shorn garments and dirty hands and feet, her long and luxurious auburn hair now falling over her shoulders in a mass of tangles and hemp strands. She glared at Shad-Grit, but then saw a tall figure move out of the smoke towards her.

  Ramuth-Pro was a good six inches taller than even the sizeable Shad-Grit, and his dark-skinned face, unlike the heavily bearded and weathered face of Shad-Grit, was clean and smooth. His bold olive-green eyes studied her intently. He walked around the heavy wooden table that she lay upon to observe her from all angles, Allessia watching his progress as far as she was able. When their eyes met, Ramuth-Pro deliberately held her stare, but Allessia was well-practiced in the Art of Gazing and stared back, her violet eyes glowing like stars. Finally, Ramuth-Pro could hold her power no longer, and with the flash of a brilliant smile he threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘Oh, she’s a Pretty One alright,’ he cried. ‘Of that there be no doubt!’

  He turned to a table covered in scraps of leather parchment, studied the mess for a moment, and then called out, ‘Thum-Print!’ A small impossibly thin figure with a gaunt beady-eyed face rushed into the room. Ramuth-Pro pointed at the desk and Thum-Print immediately began to clear its surface, shoving the parchments into a huge leather bag strapped around his waist. When he had finished, he climbed on to a high stool placed at the far side of the table, a fresh clean parchment and a sharp brillbird quill now ready in his tiny hand. Ramuth-Pro looked at Allessia once more and then shouted, ‘Let the barter begin!’

  At this a great commotion filled the space as everyone seemed to cry out at once, their tongues babbling at such staccato speed that Allessia was quite unable to understand anything being said. At length, the noise began to thin, until eventually only two voices could be heard shouting incomprehensible words back and forth like a ball between two bats. At last just one solitary voice shouted a final babble and then there was silence.

  Ramuth-Pro smiled and then held up a hand and clicked his fingers. Thum-Print, who had been writing on his parchment at breakneck speed since the bartering had first began, obeyed the command and rushed forward and placed the parchment in his master’s hand. Ramuth-Pro studied it closely, occasionally lowering his eyes to gaze at the helpless figure of Allessia, and then at last he spoke.

  ‘We will barter, Shad-Grit,’ he said.

  Shad-Grit’s shoulders dropped with relief.

  ‘However,’ continued Ramuth-Pr
o, ‘such goods are not always easy to move on, they being so rare and difficult to keep. But there are those that will pay handsomely for a genuine Pretty One. And so we will barter. In truth, Shad-Grit, it is amazing lucky that you have been.’

  Shad-Grit nodded his head and smiled.

  ‘Amazing lucky indeed to find a Pretty One,’ Ramuth-Pro continued. ‘But you did right, and no one can say anything but that, the law being on your side. However,’ and with this he leant forward and stared with frightening seriousness at Shad-Grit, ‘if you be false, and it be not the Seventy-Third, but some other place that does not fall under Shuffler jurisdiction; or the hour is a lie, and not an hour that belongs to our inventory; there will be no saving you. That must be clear.’

  Shad-Grit stared at Ramuth-Pro, as if lost in thought, but then filled his chest and announced, ‘Seventy-Third Wing, master, an’ within our time. Thur be no doubtin’ it.’

  Ramuth-Pro stared at Shad-Grit for a moment longer and then lowered his eyes to the parchment and began to read out loud. ‘Subject to the usual clearances, diligences, cleaning, the correct movement of limbs, purity of stature, the wholesome nature of all channels, the lightness of the eyes, the clarity of voice, and the like, as is usual and expected in a Pretty One, we are prepared to offer for the acquisition of title, deed, body, and all rights of whatever nature pertaining, vested in, or otherwise belonging to this, as yet, unaccredited Pretty One;

  three days’ grubbing

  two days’ hunting

  one days’ cutting

  one half days’ fighting, but only threes.

  five barrels of coaker, last year’s as well.

  two sacks of grassflour…’

  The realisation that she was being sold dawned on Allessia like a blow, and she struggled with her bonds; but all eyes were fixed upon Shad-Grit as he continued reading the list.

  ‘….twelve jars of pickling,

  one tub of goose grease,

  three ducks,

  one pig,

  two hunting skylarks, trained to the hand,

  and finally, and by no means last, four nights tumbling in the Sweet House!’

  The room broke into immediate applause and shouts of approval whilst Allessia, almost beside herself with consternation, stared with a mixture of anger and fear at the teeth-filled faces she could see in the smoke-laden shadows.

  ‘T’aint enough!’ Sahd-Grit shouted at last. ‘Not fur a Pretty One,’ he added, his voice betraying the mixture of anxiety and daring within him. ‘An’ not for this Pretty One, neither!’

  Thum-Print looked as if his eyes would pop out of his head and then his thin wheezy voice cried; ‘T’aint…enough?’

  Ramuth-Pro held up his hand to stop any further interruption, studying Shad-Grit's face for a few seconds. Then he laughed out loud and the room relaxed.

  ‘No, by the darkness!’ he cried. ‘You are right. It’s not enough!’

  There was but a second’s pause before Thum-Print leapt from his seat and raced over to Ramuth-Pro. He grabbed the piece of parchment from his hand and rushed back to his seat. Then as he picked up his quill once more, the room broke out into a fresh babble of voices as additional offers were shouted, added and totaled. When at length the barter was over once more, Allessia watched spellbound as Thum-Print returned the parchment to Ramuth-Pro’s hand for a second time, darting a cold look at Shad-Grit as he did so.

  Ramuth-Pro studied the parchment again and then stood and walked toward Allessia. She fixed him with glaring eyes, a powerful anger at her predicament beginning to rise within her. He took hold of her bound hands and studied the nails on her fingers.

  ‘Very pretty,’ he whispered, as he saw their perfection. He looked across at Shad-Grit. ‘Very pretty, to be sure.’

  Shad-Grit nodded.

  Ramuth-Pro returned to his seat where he studied the parchment once more briefly, and then he began to speak. ‘In addition to the aforementioned, and subject to final public examination, when all clearances and diligences will be performed, etcetera, etcetera, we will offer, for the full titles and deeds as listed above, etcetera, etcetera;

  three chains, full length,

  five antlers, walkdeers no less,

  three smoked hams,

  one bag of yellow beans,

  two packs of goose bacon, Gore-Fall’s own,

  five boxes of nails, roundheads,

  two boot repairs by Grist-Ham,’

  And then, with a final flourish of the hand and a huge smile, Ramuth-Pro added;

  ‘And this I hardly dare believe myself, but it says it here so I’ll read it;

  a fifth night at the Sweet House in the company of Dawn-Silk herself.

  But…not a morsel more!’

  There was silence as all eyes watched Shad-Grit for his reaction, Allessia’s included as her curiosity got the better of her strange situation. Shad-Grit did not move, his fingers twitching as he seemed to struggle with a strange conflict of emotions, then something within him got the upper hand, and he shouted, ‘T’is enough!’

  The room broke out into a fresh bout of shouting whilst Ramuth-Pro flashed a hugely satisfied smile at Allessia. ‘You have done well, Shad-Grit the Gutterscraper,’ he said, turning to the seller once more.

  ‘Reckon so, master,’ replied Shad-Grit, his face now a picture of relief.

  ‘Thum-Print will see to the paperwork,’ added Ramuth-Pro, passing over the parchment.

  Shad-Grit bowed thankfully and then followed Thum-Print from the room, avoiding looking as he did so at the figure of the young girl he had just sold to an unknown fate.

  Allessia stared back at Ramuth-Pro, wondering only how long it would be before he removed her gag and she could tell him who she was, roasting his ears into the bargain and insisting that he send at once for her father, the Earl of Rumball, to come and take her home. She watched as a line of shabby figures walked slowly past her, each face looking her up and down with evident satisfaction, until at last the room had cleared and she was alone with Ramuth-Pro. He moved towards her and looked deeply into her eyes once more.

  ‘Doubtless you wish for me to remove your gag,’ he said softly.

  Allessia did not react at first, puzzled by his new tone, but then she nodded slowly.

  ‘The problem,’ Ramuth-Pro continued, ‘is that if I do, I will hear your voice, and that I dare not risk. You are now chattel, nothing more, and cruel though it is, there is nothing I, nor anyone else, can do about it. Anything found on the streets of the City between sunset and sunrise, belongs to the Order of Shufflers, and once taken out of the City, can never be returned. These are the rights granted to our kind, in perpetuity, to allow the cleaning of the City streets. No one, not even a King, would dare to interfere with such an ancient precedent.’

  Ramuth-Pro took Allessia’s hands in his own, caressing her fingers with a gentle touch but making no move to untie her.

  ‘The sooner you forget the past, my child, the better it will be,’ he continued. ‘For whilst not all the options facing you are without possibility of comfort, any hope of returning to your previous life must, in truth, be completely abandoned.’

  Allessia’s eyes stared wide, the words piercing her young heart. Slowly tears began to well in her eyes, their colour now dulled, until small channels of salt water began to flow over her cheeks.

  ‘Ah, tears,’ said Ramuth-Pro. ‘The heralds of sadness and of joy. If they help, then let them flow. But do not count on even their unnatural power to soften the reality of your situation. Were you an angel of the heavens, still there would be nothing I could do to help you.’

  Allessia looked into Ramuth-Pro’s eyes and saw that they too, were now moist. He seemed to stare through her and into the distance, whilst Allessia, confused, upset and angry, in equal measures, tried desperately to understand her situation. But mostly she wondered why this person before her, a person of obvious intelligence and feeling, was doing nothing to help her. She struggled to speak, but her gag was
still too tight for any communication to be made.

  At this moment, several shufflers swathed in black cloaks entered the room followed by a striking woman dressed only in a purple and gold cloth wrapped lightly around her. She bowed to Ramuth-Pro.

  ‘Master, you require my services?’ she spoke, in a silken purr.

  ‘The Pretty One before you is of the highest value,’ Ramuth-Pro replied. ‘It is beholden upon you and your servants, Luy-Kawn, to see that no harm comes to a single hair of her head. She is to be bathed and dressed as befits her rank. She must remain bound, and none must hear her voice. She must be presented here the day after tomorrow at yellow light.’

  Luy-Kawn turned to Allessia with an icy stare, looking her up and down as if she were a fatted calf about to be slaughtered.

  ‘As my master commands.’ she replied softly, and then snapped her fingers at her shufflers. They immediately stepped forward and lifted Allessia onto a stretcher that one of them had brought on his back. As she was carried from the room, Allessia looked helplessly towards Ramuth-Pro, but he had already turned away to study his parchments once more.

  Chapter 18

  Lord Chillhide strode towards the Seventy-Third Wing of the Palace, the Duke of Westnaine mumbling curses in his wake. A gaggle of first light cleaning drollups obstructed their progress, and Westnaine, with a sudden surge of anger, drew his blade above his head. ‘Out of our way!’ he shouted, and the drollups shrieked and huddled together by the wall.

  They found the Earl of Rumball slumped on a chair in Allessia’s bedchamber. The absence of his large ornate wig, which lay carelessly on the floor before him, made him look somewhat older than his fifty-three years. On the far side of the room his wife stared out of the window. Rumball looked up, recognised the men entering the room, and rose to his feet.

 

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