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

stood her ground, even though she wanted nothing more than to run. “I need to find the Lacewing King,” she said. “Can you take me to him?”

For a long time, the eyes remained fixed on her. Then, the rasping voice replied, “The Night Train only serves the dead.”

“Then take me to the Land of the Dead,” said the Princess. “Take me to Hel.”

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There is only one infallible way to reach the kingdom of Death. But to reach it as a living soul demands a great deal of courage. The Barefoot Princess had that, as well as determination and zeal. The Driver of the Night Train had never had a passenger who wanted to be taken to Hel, and the dim intelligence that lurked behind its dead eyes puzzled and sought for an answer to this strange conundrum.

Finally, the dry lips moved. “I will take you there,” it said. “Whether or not you remain there is your own responsibility.”

Thus began the journey of the Barefoot Princess and her friends into the territory of Death. Death has no boundaries; no geography. Death is at the same time everywhere and nowhere. It can be found in a second; or vainly sought across continents. The journey can take many years, or can be over in a single lightning-strike. And the Kingdom of Death is endless; a vast expanse of featureless dust, bleaker than any desert. The Night Train tore through the darkness, Worlds flashing by in an instant, and its passage was like the sobbing of a thousand voices in the night. The Barefoot Princess and the Engine Driver watched through the windows in silence, until at last the engine slowed, and they saw a red light in the distance.

“This is where the line ends,” said the Driver of the Night Train.

The Princess looked out of the window. Outside, nothing but darkness, except for the glow of that distant red light. “Where do we go from here?” she said.

The Driver of the Night Train shrugged. From his desiccated throat came the sound of laughter. “This is Hel,” he said. “No one here goes anywhere.”

The train stopped at last. The Barefoot Princess and her friends prepared to get out onto the platform. But as the boy stepped out onto the boards, there came a low, moaning sound, like that of wind through a tunnel, and in the light of the carriage, they saw the boy disappear in a cloud of dust, that vanished into the ceaseless wind that blew from the dismal plains of Hel.

“What happened?” said the Barefoot Princess, dismayed at the loss of her new friend.

The Driver of the Night Train gave a rasp of laughter. “That boy had been with me a hundred years,” he said. “His time, like mine, was long past. Now he sleeps in the Kingdom of Death. If only we could do the same.”

The Barefoot Princess looked around at the passengers of the Night Train. Grey-faced and silent, they looked back; the hopeless faces of the damned.

“Then why don’t you leave?” she asked him.

The Driver of the Night Train gave a dreadful, crustacean sigh. Behind its dead eyes, insects moved. “I and all my passengers,” he said in his dry and creaking voice, “are here until the End of Days. We all feared Death too much to accept to enter the realm of the Hallowe’en Queen. And so she cursed us to this half-life; to travel the Worlds, without respite; without finding peace; forever.”

The Barefoot Princess thought for a moment. “If I can persuade the Ruler of Hel to lift the curse, then will you help me—one last time?”

The Driver nodded. “I can try. But I cannot delay the train longer than an hour.”

“Very well,” said the Barefoot Princess. “Wait for me here on the platform. If I am not back in an hour, then you’ll know I have failed in my task. But if I return with good news, then you must find the Lacewing King, and take me to wherever he is.”

Slowly, the Driver nodded. “An hour it is. But no longer,” he said. “After that, the Night Train leaves.” And he brought out a great dark hour-glass and set it down on the platform. “The sand in this glass was taken from the furthest plains of Hel,” he said. “When the last grain of sand has run through the glass, I will know that you have failed.”

“I won’t fail,” said the Barefoot Princess.

The Driver of the Night Train shrugged. “Everyone fails,” he told them in his dry and dusty voice. “But if you can help me find peace, I will give you what you ask.”

And so the Barefoot Princess and the Engine Driver stepped out into the dust of Hel and started the strange and weary walk towards the hall of its ruler.

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PARROW

In a distant land there lived a King, who kept a bird in a golden cage. It was a small, brown, humble bird, with bright dark eyes, and a cheery song. It was in fact a sparrow; but the King and his courtiers did not know this. The court was filled with exotic birds. There were parakeets from the islands, and macaws from beyond the Ninth Sea. Peacocks roamed the gardens, their tails spread proudly behind them, and there were dovecots and hunting hawks—but there was only one sparrow.

The King was very proud of this rarest of specimens. And the sparrow seemed to sense his joy. All day long, it would chirp and sing; and the King and his courtiers would listen and dream of freedom and faraway places; of distant mountains; forests; fields; the cloudlands; and the open sky. These were things the folk of the court could only know from stories; and yet they never tired of dreaming and hearing about them.

“Behold, my singing bird,” said the King. “Have you ever heard such a marvellous song? Have you ever seen such plumage,