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

And so he summoned his master boat-builders, and commanded them to build him a ship larger than any ever yet seen. And so they did; with purple sails and a mast that was topped with a golden crown. And with much pomp and excitement, the ship was launched, with the King aboard, and set sail for the Edge of the Worlds.

Now the King of the neighbouring island heard of the first King’s plans, he knew that he, too, had to build a boat. And so he commanded his builders to make him a mighty longship, with space for a hundred oarsmen and a saffron-coloured sail. And when it was ready, he too set off in search of other places.

But the King of the archipelago saw the longship sailing past, and he too was envious. And so he had his craftsmen build him a schooner with a hundred sails, and he set off for the Edge of the Worlds, leaving the other two ships in his wake, and the red-sailed barque of dreams far behind.

But the builder of boats did not give up. She sailed on towards the Edge of the Worlds. Her boat was slow in comparison with the three great ships built by the Kings, but she was not discouraged. Instead, she watched them from afar, trying to avoid their wake, which disturbed the sea and attracted sharks and Kraken and sirens, and other kinds of predators.

But as they passed through the archipelago and into the Ninth Ocean of the Worlds, the Kings of the Outer Islands saw the three great ships approach, and set to building their own to compete. And so, as time passed, it became a fleet of schooners and longships and catamarans, and heavy-bellied galleons, and great canoes and coracles, and ships with masts that scraped the sky. All sailing towards the Edge of the Worlds, while far behind, and losing hope of ever overtaking them, the builder of boats in her red-sailed ship (now bleached to rosy-pink by the sea) urged her small craft doggedly towards the pale horizon.

By now, the fleet had grown in size and fame, and everyone cheered as it passed. But no one cheered for the builder of boats. No one flung ribbons and sweets, or blew kisses or waved flags as she passed. Instead, the islanders laughed at her and said:

“Look at that tiny boat, trying to copy the big ships!”

The builder of boats tried to explain that she had been the first to launch, but the crowds only laughed at her all the more. And still she was not discouraged but sailed on, ever more painfully, towards the Edge of the Worlds.

Time passed. Storms blew. The fleet of tall ships weathered them. But the tiny red-sailed boat (its sail now worn thin as a dragonfly’s wing) was tossed and smashed and broken. Even so, the builder of boats carried on, making repairs as she sailed to the Edge of the Worlds, braving the ridicule of the Folk who saw her pass, and urged her to give up on her dream.

By now, the main fleet was far ahead, and the builder of boats was obliged to endure the stench of the refuse they flung in their wake, and repeated attacks from devil-fish. But still she did not turn back from her goal. The sunset was filled with the masts of the fleet, and the green flash obscured by their turbulence, but still she sailed on, wretched, half-blind, towards her destination.

The fleet was thirty miles ahead, racing towards the horizon. The schooner of a hundred sails was still in the lead, with the longship close behind, and the rest of the fleet—the galleons, tall ships, catamarans—racing behind on the light wind. Of course, the little red-sailed boat could never dream of catching up. Which is why her captain could only watch as the great fleet sailed off the Edge of the Worlds and down into the bottomless gulf of the stars, and was lost forever.

The builder of boats sailed up close to the Edge of the Worlds and looked down into the darkness. There was no sign of the great fleet, not even a piece of wreckage. Then she hoisted her sail again and travelled back from the gulf of stars and had many more adventures.

There are a hundred stories about what happened to that fleet; of how they battled the Kraken; braved the song of the Sirens; then sailed off the Edge of the Worlds and were lost forever. But few (except, perhaps, for the bees) know what became of the red-sailed boat—bleached to nothing by the salt; dry as driftwood under the stars—or to its single occupant. Because, where dreams are concerned, it is not the size of the vessel that counts, but the power of the dream, and hers were inexhaustible.

And yet, just one of her stories survives, amongst the legends of the Folk. Because, when hope had failed him, and with Death only moments away, she alone was the reason that the Lacewing King was rescued.

53

R

ESCUE OF THE

L

ACEWING

K

ING

The builder of boats had steered her craft halfway across the Ninth Ocean. It was the widest of oceans; clear and filled with teeming life; and, knowing the ways of oceans, in spite of its vastness, the builder of boats had managed to keep herself alive, thanks to the bounty of the sea as well as her own ingenuity.

Thus, she had food in the form of fresh fish; water, collected from rain-barrels; shelter, made from the branches of green sea-palms and coconut trees, and even company, in the form of gulls, sea-turtles, and dolphins. She had seen storms and shark attacks and great continents of drowning weed. In fact, she thought she knew everything the sea could possibly throw at her. Which is why, on the evening of Midsummer’s New Moon, she was astonished to discover a man in