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

by David Gardner-Martin

  ‘Yes,’ said Hardknot after a brief pause. ‘But remember, note by note. For you must play a symphony of the Seven Immortal Agonies within His Mostfull. Some notes to be stretched, some sharp, and others wrapped together as if in chords. All to be performed with endless variety.’ He turned to face Slate, his grey eyes burning with passion. ‘For I would not give this man even the mercy of repetition. His must be eternal life, wrapped in eternal agony.’

  Slate bowed and moved towards the Drollkeepers who stood before a series of dials and keys.

  The first note struck; Oblong’s body straightened like a rod. Then came another, his face contorting as the unbearable sensation hit home. Then another, then three, then four, the agonies rising and falling within him in a kaleidoscope of suffering. A chair was brought and Hardknot sat upon it, his attention not wavering for a moment as he watched the reward of blasphemy now come to life before him. It was a moment he had dreamt of for so long, and now that it was finally upon him, he would drink his fill. An hour passed, Slate’s attendants playing the keys like master weavers on a loom, and all the while Oblong’s body twisting and shuddering as each agony struck home. When Slate ordered a change of tired fingers, Hardknot sat forward, then smiled with satisfaction as the process survived intact. Even the surface of the honey vibrated in tune as Oblong’s body span in torment.

  At length Hardknot stood and walked back to where Slate was orchestrating the ghastly procedure.

  ‘Let not one single second survive unused,’ he said. ‘Day and night, night and day, now and forever, it must be thus.’

  ‘‘Your wishes will be fulfilled, Your Lightness,’ answered Slate bowing once more. ‘We have several teams prepared, and as the years pass we shall develop a program to introduce new recruits to fill the gaps of retirement. There shall be no cessation. It shall be eternal.’

  ‘He must be made ready to be moved to the Cathedral at first light. The Altar of Depravity is prepared and waiting.’ He turned to the writhing figure of Cardinal Oblong once more. ‘For I will make of him a living lesson, for all time, on the reward of heresy.’

  Slate bowed obediently. ‘As you command, Your Oneness.’

  ‘The new Pontifect, Bartolamy the First, together with a troop of King’s Own Guards, will accompany you.’

  ‘Yes, Your Oneness.’

  Then with a last stare at the golden chamber and the final remnant of the Holy Church of Afterwards, Lord Hardknot left the Infusion Chamber.

  He climbed the long stairway leading to the surface and walked into the fields of the Hivedom. The Green Sun had now left the sky, the Blue and Red alone dressing the scene before him in a deep purple cloak. Despite the onset of autumn, it was a clear day, the fresh air seized with a cold russet energy. He looked down at the carpet of Royal Clover, the edges of a myriad of tiny pink petals tinged with bright violet threads. Whatever the season, these flowers flourished within the safe confines of the Hivedom’s walls. With practiced care, he avoided stepping on the honeybees as they busied beneath him. Having recently been deprived of so many of their subjects, the Queens had grown hungry, and now their servants toiled as hard as they might to make up for lost time. Despite the falling temperature, there would soon be autumn swarms, the Hivedom sent once more into frantic activity as the Beekeepers rushed to capture the dense knots of honeybees in need of a new hive. If they were not housed quickly, they would perish in the cold night air. When Spring finally came, the air would come alive with the wings of drones as they rushed to fulfil the passion driven deep into their psyche. Only death could assuage their desire. And when they fell to the ground, their brief lives lost in one fleeting moment of pleasure and duty, so would the future of the Hivedom be secured once more.

  He stared at the myriad of hives that fell away into a hazy distance. He breathed in deeply the concoction of sweetness and love. He saw the face of the young lady he had found, his Queen to be. The Zenjos would surely return soon; the final piece in the jigsaw would then be his to take. A jolt ran through his veins and tightened his stomach like a knot. He closed his eyes and saw her silk gown slide from her shoulders. She stood naked before him, her long auburn hair flowing in a gentle breeze, her eyes upon his, her mouth open and inviting. He moved closer and kissed her on the lips, and all was innocence. He stroked his fingers gently over her body, and she smiled and kissed him in return, the first of many gifts. He moved closer still and…’

  ‘Maarstur!’ cried Yule, suddenly at his side. ‘They be returnin’!’

  Hardknot opened his eyes as the vision faded, prepared to forgive the transgression of a beloved beekeeper. He followed Yule’s pointing finger and saw a vast swarm curling across the sky towards the Hivedom like a monstrous snake.

  ‘Oh maarstur,’ cried Yule, tears flowing down his cheek.

  ‘This is good news,’ said Hardknot smiling.

  ‘The very best, maarstur. But the nights be chillin’ down. If it be not judged, cold may invade even the most ‘omely crews, ‘specially if they be tired. When they be all safe, shall we douse ‘em with warmed air?’

  ‘Do whatever needs to be done,’ said Hardknot, and he watched as Morthern Yule hurried away to attend to his duties in the deep blue light of evening. Everything would be well, he thought, with loyal men such as he to tend the Blessed Hives.

  Chapter 33

  The freezing weather had closed in fast. Even the wide river they followed in the depths of a huge gorge was now frozen solid, its swells, currents and eddies, captured in ice as if by a team of master sculptors. Conditions underfoot became so treacherous that High Commander Sideswipe ordered everyone to dismount and continue their journey on foot. Mr Punsworth Pooter watched the line of Holy Guards ahead of him as they led their horses with care towards their final destination.

  Night had fallen when the keenest eye first saw a light in the distance. Then at length the outline of a huge turreted fortress could be seen against the clear night sky. But when at last, cold and exhausted, they finally reached the Winter Castell, news of the death of Lady Camellia and the kidnap of her new companion, a young girl named Allessia, was delivered to them by Commander Underworth.

  Sideswipe kicked the embers of a welcome fire into the sky with anger. ‘The Zenjos were heading in this direction,’ he said. ‘Cruel was the fate that prevented me from questioning their mission. For I have no doubt it is they that have stolen the lady we seek’.

  The next day broke stark and joyless, the wind ice-cold over the high castell walls and the sky grey with snow. Despite the discomfort of only a single fur laid upon a hard-stone floor, Pooter had managed to find some sleep, but when he stood he realised he had never been so tired before, nor so desperately hungry. In the courtyard, the Holy Guards were readying their horses, High Commander Sideswipe amongst them, a bucket in his hand as he fed his own mount.

  ‘Mr Pooter,’ he called, when he saw him emerge from the outbuilding. ‘There is meat, fruit and water.’ And he nodded with his head towards a rough table that had been laid with a cold breakfast.

  ‘The Zenjos will be acting under Lord Hardknot’s purse; that must be clear,’ said Sideswipe, when they were sharing a simple meal together. ‘We will not be able to overtake them before they deliver their prize. If this lady is to be saved, we must find a way to enter the City.’

  ‘I am most thankful for your help,’ said Pooter. ‘But if Allessia is about to be taken into the Hivedom, then I fear my mission may have already failed.’

  They were interrupted by an angry buzzing. Pooter reached into his pocket and brought forth the jar, the King Bee now wide awake within and wheeling round and round in obvious distress. Both men stared captivated as the insect suddenly shot through the glass and disappeared up into the sky.

  ‘By the bees!’ exclaimed Sideswipe, staring at the small hole left behind, the edges still tinged with a hot orange glow. ‘What manner of creature was that?’

  ‘It was my guide,’ said Pooter, ‘given to me by Lord Rootsby. Dou
btless it has sensed that Allessia is in peril and leaves to find her. But without its direction to where she has been taken, all is surely lost.’

  Sideswipe stared up into the dark clouds from where huge snowflakes were now beginning to fall.

  ‘Nothing is lost, Mr Pooter,’ he said, standing, ‘to those who can still take action.’

  By the time the small group of Holy Guards were ready to depart, thick snow falls driven by a strengthening wind bleached the scene.

  ‘There is a man called Ramuth-Pro, the Prince of Dealmakers,’ Sideswipe spoke, as he lifted Pooter once more onto the back of a saddle behind a mounted Holy Guard. ‘Though he lives as a shuffler in the shadow of the City, he is a man of noble birth. If we are to rescue this girl, Ramuth-Pro will know a way to pass through the City walls without being detected.’

  Sir Horace Underworth trudged slowly towards them through the snow, his chest heaving from the exertion.

  ‘The gorge will now be sealed,’ he gasped. ‘You must seek lower ground…to escape the storm. Head first for that mountain,’ he turned and pointed to a vast white-capped block of granite that lay in the opposite direction to the City. ‘It sinks deep into yielding ground. Follow a trail leading downwards…and when you reach the plain below…turn towards the sunlight. That way leads to the City.’

  A moment later Sideswipe clapped his horses flank with such a smack that the animal jumped towards the gate. ‘We stop for no one!’ he cried, and the troop trotted out of the Winter Castell to be quickly lost in a swirling mass of whiteness.

  It took them most of the morning to reach the base of the mountain where, as Underworth had said, they quickly found a suitable rough stone track leading downwards. To Pooter’s huge relief the snow and wind gave way as they began to descend, and then as if by magic, a hole appeared in the clouds above them to reveal a bright clear day. At length, they reached a vast open plain, the horizon lost in a distant heat haze. Sideswipe glanced up at the Red, Green and Blue Suns, now joined as one in the sky, and then turned the troop towards the City once more.

  As their horses walked steadily across the wilderness, Pooter stared in wonder at a layer of white crystals that covered the ground as far as the eyes could see; from its surface rays of sunlight were dazzled into rainbows in every direction. The crunch of the horses’ hooves as they sank into the soft surface and the jangle of harnesses, seemed strangely focused in this still and silent world. It was a place the like of which Pooter had never imagined.

  All day they travelled across this strange white wilderness, the temperature at times almost unbearable, until at last they encountered a vast cliff blocking their way. They walked beside it for a short while and at length a wide track leading upwards led them back towards the still-waiting storm, the hole in the sky eventually lost once more behind dense grey clouds.

  ‘Are we far from the City?’ Pooter asked Sideswipe, his head buffeted by wind and snow as the troop fought its way through deep snowdrifts once more.

  ‘Beyond that rise on a clear day, you could see the distant walls,’ he replied. ‘But we will work our way to the Shufflers through those woods.’

  Pooter followed his lead and saw a canvas of trees heavily laden with snow, and when at last the small troop finally reached them, they entered a dark cold world. A thick canopy of evergreens protected a deep pine needle carpet from more than patches of dusty snow. They moved on in silence, the strangest sensation of being watched suddenly falling over Pooter’s entire being. The Holy Guards clearly sensed danger too, and drew their weapons as they moved deeper into the wood. The minutes seemed to take hours, a deep fear now clinging to Pooter like sweat. On several occasions, he saw a movement in the corner of his eye, but when he looked in its direction, nothing was ever there. When at last they cleared the tree line and began to descend through open countryside towards a network of small dome like shapes, Pooter almost laughed with relief.

  ‘Did you see them?’ asked Sideswipe, as they trotted away.

  ‘See who?’ replied Pooter, turning to look back at the dark wood once more.

  But Sideswipe, saying nothing more, spurred his mount into a brisk gallop, the snow layer now being broken by patches of grass in the lee of the wooded hillside.

  Pooter stared in fascination as they approached the myriad of dark brown Shuffler mounds, their doors and shutters tight shut against the cold. He knew the Shufflers to be an integral part of City life, but had never imagined a day when he would enter their outcast domain. They were met by a shaggy-haired ragged urchin who would not look upon them, but stared at his dirty feet.

  ‘Take us to Ramuth-Pro,’ demanded Sideswipe, and without a word the child turned on its heels and skipped ahead of them to lead the way.

  Ramuth-Pro was already waiting for them, doubtless alerted to their arrival. Pooter stared at the tall man stood before a large mound that dwarfed its neighbours, his bearing quite unlike any of the ragtail group nearby observing proceedings with obvious uncertainty. He had smooth dark skin, piercing olive-green eyes, and was dressed in a neatly cut, though simply woven, tunic. At his side lay a curved blade that shouted a heritage quite at odds with the reputation of Shufflers as an ill-favoured breed. Though nothing about his manner was threatening, a powerful hand gripped the hilt of the weapon as if ready for action at a moment’s notice.

  ‘You are welcome,’ called Ramuth-Pro, as the troop pulled to a halt before him. ‘I will provide food and drink for man and beast alike. But what brings High Commander Sideswipe and his Holy Guards, together with a proletaire, it would seem, to my humble dwelling?’

  ‘We are most grateful for your hospitality, Prince of Dealmakers,’ said Sideswipe. He dismounted and walked towards their host. ‘Once my men and their horses are cared for,’ he continued, ‘I would be glad to share with you the nature of our visit.’

  He held out his hand which was grasped in return.

  ‘It is good to see you again, my friend,’ said Ramuth-Pro warmly.

  ‘And you too, My Lord,’ replied Sideswipe, his lopsided grin wider than Pooter had ever seen before.

  ‘No longer a Lord,’ said Ramuth-Pro smiling. ‘Simply as you now find me, a shuffler. But come, we have much to talk about.’

  Later that day, as the group settled into the warmth and goose smoke of Central Mound, a hearty meal laid before them which Pooter took pains not to ravish unacceptably, Sideswipe told his long-lost friend all that had happened. When he had finished, there was silence, and then Ramuth-Pro spoke, his words heavy and his face dejected.

  ‘I have seen this lady, Allessia, of which you speak,’ he said, ‘captured and bound before me. I have seen the light that lay behind her eyes. But I should have seen far more than that.’

  ‘These are strange times, my friend,’ said Sideswipe, laying a hand upon Ramuth-Pro’s shoulder, ‘and many are the number who must learn to see with fresh eyes. Myself amongst them.’

  ‘I must find a way to tell Lord Rootsby what has happened,’ interjected Pooter. ‘If Lord Hardknot has taken Allessia, then something truly dreadful is about happen. He has said as much. But what, I do not know. If I can only get to my office, I am sure I will find him there. But, the City is sealed.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said Ramuth-Pro. ‘Word has also reached me this very day that even the ancient Shuffler pathways have now been blocked. Lord Hardknot moves with speed, his plans well laid.’

  ‘He is an evil man,’ spat Sideswipe. ‘That is the rightful title he should take to an early grave. But despite all difficulties, if this lady is to be rescued, we must find a way to get Mr Pooter into the City.’

  ‘There may be a way,’ said Ramuth-Pro.

  When night had fallen, Pooter stood and watched as Ramuth-Pro left on foot with several hand-picked men to check for a Shuffler entrance into the City that may have been overlooked. Several were known to him that had been abandoned for many years and now lay hidden behind wild vegetation. The small group quickly disappeared into a blizzard, the
sky foreboding and snowflakes as big as apples swirling to the ground once more in the ice sharp wind. Pooter watched after them for a while and then pulled a large Holy Guard cloak tighter about him, his mind adrift in a sea of such uncertainty that he feared the earth might open beneath his feet. He turned and saw the powerful figure of High Commander Sideswipe, watching too as his friend disappeared into obscurity.

  ‘Mr Pooter,’ Sideswipe said. ‘Have you no need of sleep?’

  ‘Truly, I am very tired, sir,’ answered Pooter. ‘But my heart races so within me. Sleep, I fear, will be impossible.’

  ‘Do you have a family in the City?’ Sideswipe asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Pooter. ‘Both a wife and children. And they are all dearer to me now than I could ever have imagined possible. But I fear for them so.’

  ‘They will be safe,’ said Sideswipe. ‘Even Lord Hardknot’s appetites do not stretch to those that can neither help nor harm him.’

  ‘What do you suppose is happening in the City?’

  ‘We shall learn more when Ramuth-Pro returns. He is a man not easily thwarted.’

  ‘You knew him before?’

  ‘He was once a nobleman of great and ancient privilege,’ replied Sideswipe. ‘I knew him as a young man when we attended the Militasary together. That was before his family were wantonly destroyed by the house of Pencille. A cruel deception stripped his father, Lord Wellbourne, of wealth, reputation, and most damnable of all, of liberty. Lord and Lady Wellbourne both died soon after in the Turret, whilst their only son was sent into exile as a shuffler.’

  ‘Ramuth-Pro was a noble?’ exclaimed Pooter.

  ‘The 293rd Lord of Wellbourne,’ replied Sideswipe.

  ‘But…how could such a noble family, be so completely destroyed?’ asked Pooter, after they had returned to the smoke and warmth of Central Mound.

  ‘The Pencilles are a family with powerful allies, Mr Pooter. Under the protection of the Church, they have lied and cheated their way to great wealth and influence. The current Baron Pencille, a worthless fop, enjoys the patronage of His Mostfull, Cardinal Oblong, and together they covet the Crown. Ill-gotten luck can be easily come by, when even the Church loses its way.’