‘Oh my,’ he had whispered, as Pooter had handed him the keys to the safe so that he could continue to manage day-to-day affairs. ‘But you will return, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Pooter had replied confidently, ‘this is a mere precaution.’ But inside he had felt anything than certain that this would be the case.
Despite a long walk filled with ominous shadows that seemed to watch his every move, Pooter saw no one. His spirits were slowly lifting when a troop of what he knew to be Hivecarls, swept into view. He ducked into a recess beside a water trough, observing grimly the huge axes the tall warriors carried on their shoulders as they marched by. He waited until even their sound had vanished, and then continued his journey once again. Slow steps in the now heavy rain, and watchful for movement in every alleyway as it passed him by.
Pooter found the Eastern Gates, as he had feared, both sealed and guarded. Despite Rootsby’s confidence, the possibility that the guards would simply open the gates and let him leave the City, struck him as absurd. He certainly felt no inclination to try. It was at this moment that a small column of creatures, that he knew at once to be Jazpahs, slipped silently into view. Pooter froze, his heart pounding and his head praying that the awful figures would not look in his direction. They kept to the darkest shadows, moving in graceful strides towards the City wall. When a sudden burst of flame from a battlement brazier shone upon them, they melted away in the blink of an eye. Then as the light faded, and just as he had seen before in a Palace corridor, the creatures simply reappeared to carry on their way.
Pooter watched them reach the high wall where, one by one, they disappeared once more. He waited for several minutes, and then walked quickly to where the creatures had last been seen, looking up now and then at the shadows of guards in case they should spot him. They did not, and when he arrived he saw a metal grate beneath which rainwater could be heard gurgling as it sought a home. He pulled at the grate, and with a satisfying squelch it lifted free. He stared down into the darkness and could just make out the surface of rushing liquid below. With a final look around him, he lowered himself into the tunnel and dragged the grate home above him.
The tunnel was bereft of light, but thankfully the foul-smelling water only reached up to his knees. Reasoning that the creatures would not remain in such a vicinity, he moved forwards, the sensation of danger more familiar to him then he had ever imagined it would come to be. The City walls were known to be as thick as they were high, but it did not take Pooter long to reach the end of the tunnel and step into a dense bush filled with rigid thorns. Despite the disconcerting sound of tearing cloth, and the an even more worrying howl of a distant vulfbear, he saw with some relief the first light of dawn illuminating the open ground beyond.
He watched in silence the silhouettes of jazpahs as they fanned out into the open countryside like wasps leaving a nest. Were the creatures sharing his mission to find the young girl, he thought? If that were so, her plight was as precarious as it was possible to be.
It was only after the awful shapes could no longer be seen that Pooter plucked up the courage to step away from the safety of cover. There came yet another dreadful howl, closer now, and in his mind’s eye he saw the image of a vulfbear, a creature he was in no hurry to encounter in the flesh. But he had to move on. He took from his pocket the glass jar, rotated it back and forth, and watched the creature’s legs as they reacted to every single movement. He stared towards the horizon in the strengthening light; his first landmark, a distant hill topped with a dense fringe of dark green trees.
Pooter had never been outside of the City before and the sweet smell of the wet grass surrounding him completely overpowered his senses. He had spent his entire lifetime thudding over stone or wood, and the way the earth yielded silently to the pressure of each footstep was magical. A sea of raindrops before him sparkled like gemstones in the bright green light of dawn. He turned to look back at the high walls, but could see no one watching. What was there to see, he reasoned, that would keep them fixed on such a tedious duty? He turned and walked away with a brisk steady stride, and when at length he crested the top of a low ridge and began to descend the gentle slope beyond, the City walls finally fell away from view.
Pooter’s journey into the land beyond the City walls was a magical dream. The changing landscape of meadows, woods and hills delighted him at every moment, whilst the strange scents riding in the air and the sights and sounds of varied wildlife, dazzled his senses. But when he entered a dense wood as night fell, and the trees creaked and the bushes rustled, his heart drummed in his head like a drum. Upon hearing the howls of vulfbears close by he crawled into the heart of a tough prickly bush like a cornered animal, praying that neither jazpahs nor vulfbears would want to enter his hiding place. But being exhausted, he still managed to fall asleep.
The green light of dawn brought forth a cacophony of birdsong that woke him from a wretchedly uncomfortable night. He extricated himself from the bush, but not without puncturing skin and tearing cloth, and after drinking a cup of water and eating a bun from his hurriedly packed provisions, he observed once more the direction the King Bee was facing. He stood and continued his journey.
The three suns were as one in the heavens when he finally crested the brow of a steep hill to witness an incredible sight. Before him on a vast open plain dotted with majestic oak trees covered with the warm colours of autumn, there lay a vast camp. Small black flags, each bearing two-crossed golden axes, flapped in the stiffening breeze. Sunlight glinted from thousands of helmets and shields resting in nests close to the smoking embers of countless small fires. Shouted orders from a number of imposing warriors carried through the air, together with a growing number of terrifying howls from huge creatures tethered to chain leads as they were tossed dead sheep from several heavily laden wagons.
‘Vulfbears!’ Pooter gasped, as he recognised their awful countenance.
He dropped instinctively to the ground and then edged forwards to peer through a clump of tall grass at the strange spectacle.
Within the centre of the vast army that he guessed to be Vulfkings, lay several ornate tents, each quite at odds with the rough and ready nature of the camp surrounding them. A huge blue flag bearing the Royal Crown curled through the air above them. Several figures, clearly City nobles, could be seen tending to the harnesses on giant war horses.
Pooter had never imagined witnessing such a sight, and quite why such a force should be gathered so close to the City in the company of nobles, he really had no idea. But one thing was certain, he quickly decided. It was best to retreat and then work around the danger to avoid being seen.
The Green Sun had reached the horizon when Pooter caught sight of an imposing Castell. Brightly coloured leaves cascaded over its ramparts in a bewildering display of autumnal decay. Songs from a myriad of birds that thronged the battlements filled the air, whilst overhead he saw hunting skylarks, their shadows falling from the sky as lesser birds were ripped from their ledges in a flurry of blood and feathers. Despite the juxtaposition of death and beauty, it was the most wonderful place that Pooter had ever seen, and he sat upon the deep grass just to look upon it for a while.
As he did so, slowly the realisation came to him that it was the same Castell he had seen in the painting in the emporium; the Castell Florret, he seemed to recall. He stood and walked closer, puzzled that he still had seen no sign of life on the battlements. As he came near it seemed that the isolated fortification was deserted, the gates open and unattended and several windows swinging freely in the chilled breeze.
He entered a small courtyard and saw several jazpahs; his body froze in an instant lest they perceive his intrusion as a threat. Then beyond them he saw the bodies of several guards on the ground, each lying in an awkward heap and covered with bright red blood. Further guards could be seen sprawled across a stone stairway; a thick trail of blood trailed from step to step to collect at the bottom in a grim circular pool. Pooter observed the fresh blood that still clung t
o the creatures’ blades. He took a slow step backwards, terrified that an awful head might turn in his direction and see his retreat, but the jazpahs seemed strangely listless and unobservant. As he watched their unsteady movements, he found himself reminded of people who were the worse for too much nixtar. One jazpah even fell to the ground and seemed unable to get up, such was the torpor invading its body.
‘Strange,’ Pooter whispered to himself, and no sooner had the word cleared his lips than a jazpah on an upper parapet suddenly lurched and fell silently through space. It landed heavily with a sickening thud, its body rasping one final pathetic buzz before embracing the stillness of death. Clearly something had taken a deadly hold of the creatures, for they all seemed incapable of any action that might cause him harm.
Pooter saw a small open doorway leading to a spiral stone stairway. Several minutes later he reached the pinnacle of a high turret that commanded a magnificent view of the surrounding countryside. Black clouds that had held the horizon in their grip since mid-morning, now raced towards him. The aroma of rain hung in the air. He studied the orientation of the King Bee and observed a series of large wooded hills rolling away into a haze in the direction his journey must continue. He wrapped his cloak tighter about him against the strengthening wind, searching the horizon for any movement that might represent danger, but none could be seen. And then he saw it, a tiny flash of bright light that was gone in an instant. He strained his eyes to see more clearly in the gathering gloom, and there it came again. Something was glinting in the tree line, although it was impossible to make out its nature.
Pooter marked the spot and a short while later, just as the Green Sun settled onto the horizon and a deep purple light began to paint the dark clouds, he walked up to the fringe of the wood. The tall tree trunks lay almost hidden beneath a solid mass of needle-like green leaves; a symphony of swishing filled the air as they danced on the back of the wind. He stared into the darkness, but all he could make out were shadows, with no clue at all as to the cause of the phenomena. Then he saw it again, a sudden flash of light, but before he had time to react, he heard a shout followed by the thunder of hooves as a troop of mounted riders galloped from the wood.
Now Pooter saw clearly the glint of steel as the heavily armed men rode up to him, the lead horse stopping so close that Pooter could feel the warmth of its breath upon his face.
‘Who are you?’ a strong voice demanded.
Pooter gulped, not sure for a moment what would be best to say. But then deciding on honesty as the only feasible response, he lowered his arms, bowed, and then replied in as steady a voice as he could muster.
‘Mr Punsworth Pooter, of Pooter & Co, City Accounters, at your service, sir.’
‘An accounter?’ Several gruff laughs from the gathering. ‘Now, what would you be doing here, Mr Pooter, so far from the safety of the City?’
Pooter raised his head and met the gaze of a face that oozed power from every feature. Deep brown eyes fixed him like a hawk, whilst one particularly long scar falling down one side of a granite face and over a disjointed mouth, gave the inquisitor a curiously lopsided appearance. A fearsome array of weaponry surrounded his stocky frame, as it did each of his burly companions.
‘I am in the service…of a noble Lord, sir. He bid me follow this trail.’
‘And who is the Lord that has sent you to such a place? For to send a proletaire outside the City walls at such a time as this, is a fool’s errand indeed.’
Pooter blanched, the slight to Rootsby not one he felt prepared to tolerate, even from the powerful figure that now confronted him.
‘Were Lord Rootsby here, sir, you would not disrespect him so easily, for he is truly a noble man and…..’
Pooter’s voiced trailed as the warrior kicked his horse forward even closer before leaning down towards him.
‘And I am High Commander Sideswipe, late of His Mostfull’s Holy Guard. And everyone, be they Lord or Downcast, has to earn my respect.’
Pooter recognised the name at once, as he now did the scar, the reputation of the Champion of Champions, Old Two Grins himself, well known to all Proletaires. But despite this a response grew within him, as did the strength to deliver it.
‘Everyone deserves the right to be treated with respect, sir. For it is only through failing to deserve it, that respect should be denied.’
There was silence, with even the growing creaks and whispers from wind in the trees and the clinking of weapon and harness, seeming to fade. Sideswipe did not move, Pooter watching him closely, sure now that his impulsive effrontery was about to bring a swift and final reward. But slowly Sideswipe’s face relaxed into a huge lopsided grin and he put back his head and roared with laughter, his companions following suit.
‘Why, Mr Pooter!’ he cried. ‘Well said indeed!’
Pooter gulped and tried to laugh also, but managed to force only an uncomfortable smile onto his face.
‘And where has your master bid you go?’ Sideswipe asked. ‘What trail do you follow?’
Again, Pooter thought for a moment to deny the truth, but something told him that the powerful man before him was friend rather than foe. Besides, if that were not so, his mission was already doomed.
‘There is a young girl, I know not who, that is in need of protection from Lord Hardknot.’
‘Lord Hardknot,’ said Sideswipe, his eyes narrowing. ‘And why would His Oneness be so interested in this girl? And what could you, a City Accounter, possibly do to protect her?’
Several of the horses stamped their feet as if instinctively they sensed the mood darken.
‘I do not know,’ answered Pooter dejectedly, suddenly aware that he was indeed on a fool’s errand. ‘I know only that she is a treasure of the greatest importance, and one that is even now, in the very gravest danger.’
Sideswipe studied Pooter intently for a moment, clearly struggling to comprehend his presence in such a place, as well as the nature of his mission. ‘You appeared from nearby Castell Florret,’ he said at last. ‘What saw you there?’
‘The guards have all been slaughtered by creatures known as jazpahs.’
‘Jazpahs? You know their name?’
‘Lord Rootsby knows them well. They are an evil, brought to this place and time for some terrible purpose.’
‘And yet they did not attack you?’
‘They all seem to be suffering from a dreadful malady. Dying, I think.’
Sideswipe turned to his companions, barked an order, and three of what Pooter now recognised as Holy Guards, charged down the hill towards the fortress. As they did so Pooter saw a flash of brilliant light strike through the black clouds overhead, and in an instant, the heavens opened to a sheet of rain and the crackle of thunder.
‘Follow me, Mr Pooter!’ shouted Sideswipe, and together the group moved to the woods under the thick canopy of leaves.
Sideswipe’s eyes remained fixed on the Castell as his guards, swords now drawn, rode slowly through the gates, and several minutes later the troop galloped back up the hill through the teeming rain, one of the guards holding something large across his saddle. When they arrived, he threw the body of a jazpah to the ground.
‘He speaks the truth,’ the guard shouted. ‘The creatures are dead or dying, and no one else has been left alive.’
Sideswipe dismounted and knelt by the body.
‘A jazpah, you say?’
‘That is what Lord Rootsby calls them,’ said Pooter.
Sideswipe looked at the creature’s blade, only the drops of rain falling on the surface giving evidence to its presence in the gloom. He turned the jazpah’s face so that it looked straight at him, studying the lifeless alien eyes.
‘There is something familiar about these jazpahs,’ he said. ‘But for my life, I cannot tell what it is.’
‘I feel it too,’ said Pooter, ‘as if I have met them before. But I also know not when or where.’
Sideswipe stood and passed the blade to one of the guards who sheathed i
t in his belt.
‘You will come with us, Mr Pooter,’ he said. ‘Though the woods are full of dangerous appetites, the plains are now best avoided. Having found you safe, I would not wish to leave you to harm. And besides, if this young girl needs protection from Lord Hardknot, this gives us a worthwhile cause to follow.’
Pooter’s shoulders dropped with relief at the thought of safety in the company of such powerful warriors. For a moment, he even wrestled with the notion of showing them the King Bee, but before he could reach a decision, Sideswipe continued.
‘On our way to this place we caught sight of a Royal carriage being accompanied by a large detachment of guards. My guess is they are aware of the Vulfking horde gathered nearby and are headed for the Winter Castell for safety. Within the carriage I observed a young girl travelling in the company of our former Queen, Lady Camellia. Something struck me as strange about the way this girl stared from the window. Even from a distance, her eyes captured my attention. Perhaps this was the girl you seek?’
Pooter felt drawn to an intuition that this was indeed the case. Besides, he could check the direction they were headed later to be sure he was still on the right track. ‘That may well be so,’ he answered. ‘And is it far to this Winter Castell?’
‘What matter distance, Mr Pooter, when you have nothing better to do,’ said Sideswipe, breaking into a lop-sided grin. ‘Deepcut!’ he then cried out, and a burly Holy Guard with fierce features pushed his horse forward. ‘Mr Pooter will ride with you!’
‘Yes sir!’ the guard shouted, and riding up to Pooter he lifted him into the air like a child and sat him across his horse.
With a cry from Sideswipe the small troop turned and galloped away, the sound of their horses’ hooves quickly lost amidst the hammering of rain and the crash of thunder.
The Lords of Blood and Honey (The Kingdom of Honey) Page 21