Honeycomb by Joanne Harris (book series for 12 year olds .txt) 📕

and wealth grew, he found that stories no longer satisfied him. He was unhappy and did not know why. He had no friends and did not know why. He began to believe that everyone was thinking ill of him all the time; envying his wealth and fame, criticizing his handiwork.

And so he began to make puppets to use to spy on the people he feared most. And into each beautifully made figurine, he put a little piece of his soul, so that their eyes would be his eyes, their ears his ears, their words his words. He hid these elaborate puppets in the homes of those he suspected. In this way, he could overhear what other people said about him. And he became very bitter. He learnt that he was not generally liked. People thought him contemptuous; unkind; people did not trust him.

The maker of puppets grew angry (and secretly, still more afraid). He abandoned his storytelling to devote himself entirely to the making of puppets. And into each of the puppets, he put yet another piece of his soul. And at night, the puppets would whisper to him, telling him everything they had seen and everything they had overheard, and he grew increasingly angry.

Very soon, even those who had once been his friends began to avoid him. They saw an emptiness in his eyes that made them very uneasy. They heard an emptiness in his words that made them shiver and turn away. And this made the maker of puppets feel ever more bitter and angry. And so he began to make figurines to spy upon his closest friends and family. And into each and every one he put a little part of his soul. But still he was not satisfied.

Until one sunny day, he found that he had finally lost his soul. He no longer cast a shadow, and his eyes were like old pennies. Even among strangers, he could no longer pass as a human being. And so he went into the woods and made his home under the bridge that went across the river. And all the children avoided the bridge, knowing a monster lived there.

But sometimes, during the winter nights, the puppets he had hidden away in the homes of his neighbours and friends would open their eyes—and whisper.

10

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RAFTSMAN

There once was a craftsman who worked in wood, whose skill was unequalled throughout the land. But he was no businessman. He had no head for money, and therefore no means of selling his work. And so he went to the city, where the owner of a shop agreed to take his work and sell it for a commission. This arrangement worked well, for a while. The wood-carver’s work was popular, and the shopkeeper made money. The craftsman grew to consider the owner of the shop a friend, and was very grateful to her for having offered him a chance.

But he was an artist, and curious to find new ways of developing his craft. And so one day, he tried working in glass. He worked in secret, fearing, perhaps, that his work in glass would not equal the beauty of his work in wood. But when he had finished, he looked at his work and felt a joy in what he had done. And so he took his work to his friend, and asked her what she thought of it.

The shopkeeper praised the craftsman’s work. And yet, she was uneasy. She had a reputation for selling beautiful things made out of wood. She owed her fame in part to him. But, in spite of its quality, she had no desire to start selling glass. On the other hand, she had no wish for the craftsman to take his work elsewhere. Finally, she told the man:

“I will buy all your glassware and sell it for you in my shop.”

The craftsman was delighted. He continued to work in both wood and glass. But while his pieces in wood sold well, and his reputation grew, his work in glass remained unknown, and he began to grow suspicious. One day, he went in secret to his friend’s shop in the city. He saw his work in wood on display, though none of his glass was anywhere to be seen. But, looking in the cellar, he found all his beautiful pieces of glass hidden away in the darkness, their cases unopened; gathering dust.

He went to his friend and asked her why.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “There does not seem to be a market for glassware.”

The craftsman was disappointed. But he still loved working with glass. And so, while he continued to carve wood for his friend, he also continued to work in glass, and tried to sell his work elsewhere. He went to a local merchant, who, knowing the craftsman’s work in wood, promised to make him equally renowned for his wonderful work in glass.

But the city friend was displeased. She had hoped to sell all the man’s work herself, and to reap all the benefit. And so she grew cold towards him, and lost her enthusiasm for his work. The glassware remained in the basement, gathering dust. No one saw it, and even when folk came to ask whether the merchant sold glassware, she refused to sell it, or even to admit it was there.

One day, the craftsman decided to ask for the return of his glassware. “It’s doing nothing but taking up space,” he said. “My glass-merchant friend can sell it for us.”

But the city shopkeeper refused, saying: “You may buy it back, if you wish.”

The truth was, she was angry at him for changing his medium, and for affecting her business. And she named a price that was so high that neither the craftsman nor the glass-merchant could afford to pay a tithe of it.

The craftsman tried to change her mind, but still she refused to give it back. “I gave you a chance to sell your