Outcast of Narnia

Chapter Nine: The Key to the Honigs

A hush filled the banquet hall as Lucy entered. The honigs had worked magic with her appearance. Although she herself did not think much of the style, her hair was twisted into elaborate braids and woven with gold bands. It made her neck seem longer and her face more grown-up. Black charcoal had been applied to her eyelashes and brows. The gown was of heavy silk, also embroidered stiffly with gold, and her arms and neck were clasped with jewelled necklaces and bracelets. A pair of platform slippers made her seem taller than she really was.

The musicians paused when she entered, the lords stopped their talking and Lord Gennaios bid her to sit at his left hand. To Lucy’s left was a handsome young knight, who rose and bowed to her as she arrived.

The food was nothing so nice as a feast at Cair Paravel, but there were fresh fruits (only a little shrivelled), some sort of rice salad, and tender meats, and plenty of chilled wine and sherbet.

Lord Gennaios, after patting Lucy’s hand and telling her she looked a vision of loveliness, spent all his time talking with Prodotis, the high priest, to his right. Lucy turned to the young knight, who introduced himself as Sir Aetos, and seemed to see it as his duty to make sure that her cup was always filled.

With bright eyes and a flush in his cheeks, he entertained her with stories of Ruh as it had been before the disappearance of the women. “Such banquets and balls as you have never seen. One day,” he said, “if your highness wishes, when the weather is again what it was, I will throw a ball for you at my family home in the north, where the breezes are cool and the running brooks flow through beds of flowers. Although none of the blossoms are as beautiful as you, my lady.”

Lucy blushed and lowered her sooty lashes. “I do not in truth know where I am free to go, my lord. But I should be honoured to see your home when you think it fit to receive me.”

A troupe of gymnasts entered, with three honigs in place of clowns. They formed the base of a pyramid that rose higher than Lucy had thought possible. Lucy clapped her hands. “Oh look. They are very strong,” she said.

“I don’t know what we would do without the honigs now,” he said. “Although you know, they have only been with us for a short while. His Holiness Prodotis summoned them. To make up for the loss of our maid servants.”

“Where did they come from?” asked Lucy. “All they could tell me was that they didn’t remember how they got here, but that they had lived somewhere else before, and they were much happier there.”

“No one knows. It is said that in his dark chambers he can make creatures out of the very air that we breathe, and the dust that blows from the sky…” he trailed off, and Lucy saw that he was looking at Gennaios, who was looking at her.

“What kinds of stories are you telling her highness?” rumbled Gennaios.

“Nothing, my lord. She was commenting on the strength of our servants,” stammered Aetos. The acrobats had finished their performance and the musicians were taking their place.

“My dear,” said Gennaios, “I think it is perhaps time that you leave us. It is getting very late for one so young as yourself.”

“But I’m not the least bit tired,” said Lucy.

“Nonsense. Off with you now. We don’t want to spoil your beauty with fatigue.” He looked at Prodotis and they both stood up, as did the rest of the guests. Lucy stood reluctantly, and Gennaios took her arm firmly and handed it to one of the honigs. “Take her highness back to her room. She is finished for the evening.”

Lucy managed a last glance back at Aetos as she was led from the room by stout honigs on either side. Before the doors closed behind her, Aetos heard Gennaios whisper to Prodotis, “are you sure we must?”

Prodotis whispered close to his lord’s ear, his dark beard brushing his shoulder, “There is no other choice, my lord.” Gennaios dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

* * *

The honigs took nearly as long to undo Lucy’s splendid braids as they had to put them in. There were three in her room, one of them was Bedung, the one who had held her hand that morning. “Can’t you remember anything about where you came from?” “We have tried,” my lady. “We are not so good at thinking without our queen.”

“Where is your queen?”

“We do not know,” said Bedung. “She did not come with us when we were summoned here. Without her we cannot—how do you say—think together. We are used to thinking together. We just know what to do. Now we must do whatever anyone tells us.”

“Must you do what I tell you?” asked Lucy.

“No. Only what Lord Gennaios or Prodotis tell us to do, or the chief guard and chief cook. Prodotis has a special amulet that lets them tell us what to do. And we must obey. Even when we do not want to do it.”

“But one day we will find our queen, and then we will be able to think together once again.”

“What does the amulet look like?” asked Lucy innocently.

“Oh, my lady,” said Bedung. “It is not much to look at, no gold or silver, just a piece of dark stone, carved like, and oh so smooth. I held it in my hand once when helping our queen.”

“And shall do again,” said Lucy, laying her hand on Bedung’s arm and looking into her sad dark eyes.

The honigs left her quickly, and the two guards at the door locked it behind them. She pulled on the doors hard, but could not open them. Sitting on the bed, she tried to take stock.

1) In a land, not Narnia, but where they have heard of Narnia.

2) No sign of Aslan but they have heard of him too.

3) Some kind of enchantment with the weather and the honigs.

4) Prodotis seems at the centre of it all.

There was a scratching and scraping in the corner behind the wardrobe, and Scutterwag emerged, a bit of bread in his mouth. He hid it carefully inside one of her slippers before bowing at her feet.

“My lady, I have the most dreadful news to report. I almost do not know how to begin.”

“Speak,” said Lucy. “We have faced danger before.”

“The tale is in the kitchens, my lady, that his Holiness Prodotis has convinced Lord Gennaios that you must be sold to a most dreadful monstrous creature, the one who has been devouring all the women and girls. A most gigantic, fire-breathing bull, Foveró. It is said that this bull and Prodotis are responsible for the enchantment that has fallen over the land of Ruh.”

Lucy pressed her handkerchief to her lips to control their trembling. Had she ever been in such an awkward, dangerous situation? Her brothers or sister or Aslan had always been there to help.

“Do they say when?”

“Tomorrow, at the festival,” said Scutterwag.

“We haven’t much time then,” said Lucy. “Oh bravest of servants, with a heart as big as he is small, I do not know how I shall repay you. But I must ask you to descend into the dungeons and see if you can get hold of the amulet that Prodotis uses to control the honigs. That may be the key to our release—and theirs.”