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

will be your guardian. Keep it close as you walk near the woods, and you will be spared your sister’s fate.”

The good and beautiful daughter did just as her father commanded. Until the day she died (giving birth to her third and youngest daughter), she was never without the clockwork tiger by her side, and neither wolf nor wild boar ever ventured anywhere near. And as she lay on her deathbed, she called her daughters to her side, and gave them the clockwork tiger, telling them never to go into the woods without it.

The good and beautiful daughters duly obeyed their mother. But it was their sister, who had entered the world just as their mother had left it, who was most fond of the tiger. She grew up as wayward and brilliant as the girl who had built it, and she would often roam in the woods, with the tiger at her side, while her good and beautiful sisters stayed at home with their needlework, or eyed the young men on the way home from church, or looked after their father.

“Let her have the beast,” they said. “What do we need with a clockwork tiger?”

Time passed. The father died. The wayward, brilliant sister had already grown into young womanhood. The good and beautiful sisters had moved away into homes of their own. But the younger sister did not move away, but chose to remain in her grandfather’s house, and opened up his workshop, and marvelled at the many things he had made in the days of his youth. But there was nothing as marvellous there as the clockwork tiger, even though it was old now, and its amber eyes were milky with age, and there was a tremor in its paws on some cold and wintry days. But the brilliant sister was sure that she could help revive the beast, and she spent many months in the workshop, discovering her grandfather’s tools, and slowly but certainly learning his trade.

The older sisters laughed at her. “How ridiculous,” they said. “How will she ever find a man? Fancy spending all your time in a dusty old workshop, getting oil under your nails, and all for a stupid old tiger that doesn’t even work anymore.”

But the brilliant, wayward sister paid no attention to them. Instead, she made a new pair of eyes for the clockwork tiger, and oiled its secret machineries, and took the rust from its ancient claws, and made it purr like a kitten, and run as smoothly as a pocket-watch.

The good and beautiful sisters began to laugh more openly. “What a silly girl she is,” they said to their husbands and friends from church. “Why does she need that old thing anyway? There haven’t been any wolves or bears near the village for years and years.” (Of course, the reason there were no wolves or bears was precisely because of the wayward sister and her clockwork tiger.)

But the young girl paid no heed. In her grandfather’s workshop, she made herself a fine mechanical crossbow, which she would take into the woods, with her tiger by her side. And there she would hunt the wild wolves, driving them further and further away, making the forest safe again for everybody to enjoy.

As the months and years passed, her good and beautiful sisters became more and more contemptuous, both of their sister’s obsession, and of the dangers of the forest.

“All the wolves have been hunted to death,” they said to their friends. “If anything, we should be protecting these animals, not encouraging their destruction.”

The ladies in the village agreed. To be fair, it had been such a long time since wolves had presented any danger at all that many had never seen one. Led by the two sisters, they went to the toymaker’s workshop, bearing placards and chanting, “Save the wolves! Tigers, out! Save the wolves! Tigers out!”

The brilliant, wayward sister heard their protest and went outside. “Don’t you understand?” she said. “The role of the clockwork tiger was to protect you all from the wolves. It is the reason you are all still safe.”

“Safe?” repeated the ladies. “You are the threat to our safety. You spend all your time in this workshop, doing things no lady would do. You have disgraced our family, made us into a laughing-stock.”

“That isn’t true,” said the brilliant, wayward sister. “In my grandfather’s workshop, I have discovered many things. Things that will change our lives for good. I have made a mechanical horse that will never need to rest. I have made crossbows for all of you; weapons for your protection. Come inside, let me show you.”

But the brilliant sister was all dusty from the workshop. Her hair was unkempt; her dress was torn; her nails were broken and grimy with oil, and the ladies would not listen to her. Instead they took their placards into the heart of the forest, where the wild wolves still roamed free.

“Tigers out! Save the wolves!” chanted the ladies, dancing and waving their placards.

The wolves, attracted by the noise, came slinking out of the undergrowth. Several of the poor ladies, hampered by their long skirts, were immediately savaged to death. Others ran and were lost in the heart of the forest. And the good and beautiful sisters returned in tears to the village to find that the wayward sister had taken her clockwork tiger and her crossbow and ridden off on her mechanical horse to new and exciting adventures.

The good and beautiful sisters never mentioned her again. They both married well, to handsome men who promised to look after them, and had good and beautiful children. The wolves moved back into the outskirts of the village, but since no one dared enter the woods anymore, none but the most reckless (or drunk) ever came to any harm.

As for the wayward, brilliant sister, the villagers never saw her again. But there are many stories of her, and of her clockwork tiger, and of the many things she did, and