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

Princess was perplexed. “What are you trying to tell me?” she said. “What must I ask of the Hallowe’en King?”

But the bees would only answer in song, repeating the words she already knew:

“Long ago, and far away,

Far away and long ago.

The Worlds were honeycomb, we know;

The Worlds were honeycomb.”

It sounded like a story. But what could stories teach her, here, in the citadel of Death? And then, it struck her. After all, stories were what had brought her here. Stories had nourished her childhood. Stories were how the Lacewing King had tricked the crown from the Spider Queen; a story was how the Hallowe’en King had made himself the Ruler of Death. Perhaps the bees were right, she thought. Perhaps what she needed most was a story—and if so, the Princess knew exactly which story she needed. She looked at the Hallowe’en King and smiled straight into his living eye.

“How can I know you’re not cheating?” she said.

The Hallowe’en King turned his skeletal face towards her, and said, “Cheating?”

“Well, be fair,” said the Barefoot Princess. “Your eyes can see into all the Worlds, and into the hearts and minds of the Folk. How do I know you won’t use your powers to see the cards I’m holding?”

The Hallowe’en King gave a low growl. “Is my word not good enough?”

The Barefoot Princess laughed. “Perhaps. But I’ve heard deviousness runs in the family.”

The Hallowe’en King was not displeased. The child was as witty as she was astute. “Very well,” he told the Princess. “Be assured, I will play fair.” And he took out his dead, all-seeing eye from out of its socket of bone and laid it on the table, where it shone like a piece of amber.

“But what shall be my stake?” he said. “Wealth? The knowledge of ancients? The dying whisper of a man who learnt the secrets of the stars, but never lived to tell them?”

“A story,” said the Barefoot Princess. “Your story. That is all I ask.”

The Hallowe’en King gave a frown. “What kind of a stake is that?” he said.

But the Princess just smiled and dealt the cards. “Shall we play, Your Majesty? Remember, my time is running out. The Night Train must not leave without me.”

“Very well,” said the Hallowe’en King. “Let us play, then. And don’t be afraid. Time works differently in Hel. Your train is far from ready to leave.”

And so the three began to play a hand of Dead Man’s Poker. The Engine Driver was the first to deal. Then the three players looked down at their cards.

“Well? Will you wager?” said the King. “Ten years of your life for a tale?”

The Barefoot Princess smiled. “I will.”

“Then I will, too,” said the Driver.

The Hallowe’en King shrugged. “As you wish. Now let me see your cards,” he said.

The Barefoot Princess had three blackhearts. The Engine Driver had a pair of Queens. But the Hallowe’en King had a full dark house, and so he claimed the victory. With a wave of his skeletal hand, he prepared to collect his prize.

“Your Majesty, wait,” said the Barefoot Princess. “Surely, ten years is not enough.”

The Hallowe’en King raised an eyebrow.

“Double or quits,” said the Barefoot Princess. “I’ll wager twenty years of my life, Your Majesty, for your story.”

The Engine Driver was looking at her—of course, her life was also at stake—but she trusted the Barefoot Princess, and would have followed her anywhere.

“Very well,” said the Hallowe’en King, and dealt the cards—the Barefoot Princess and the Engine Driver taking care to avoid his skeletal hand.

They looked at the cards. The Engine Driver had a pair of spades and a pair of blackhearts. The Barefoot Princess had a rising flush. But the Hallowe’en King had a Graveyard Flush; five rising cards of the same suit, which made him, once more, the winner.

Once more, he turned to the Barefoot Princess. “You owe me twenty years,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed; twenty years at my side may not be the nightmare you think it is. I can be kind, when I choose to be. I can even be generous.”

The Barefoot Princess looked him in the eye. “One more game,” she said evenly. “I’ll wager my life—the rest of my life—just to hear your story.”

The Hallowe’en King turned away. The living side of his face was smiling.

“Very well,” he said. “One more game. If you win, I’ll tell you my tale and send you off on the Night Train. But if you lose, you and your friend will stay with me forever.”

The Princess dealt. The cards were like ice, but her hands did not tremble. And this time, as she dealt, she glanced—just glanced—into the eye of the Hallowe’en King, which was lying on the table. Not to see his cards, no—that would indeed have been cheating—but to see if she could catch a glimpse of the Driver of the Night Train and know how much time had already elapsed.

And there he was, holding his hour-glass, looking out into the darkness. The sand in the glass was fine as soot and slightly phosphorescent, and the Barefoot Princess could see that almost half of it was already gone. For a moment, she almost allowed her self-control to slip. But she knew that if she did, her advantage would be lost. Instead, she looked down at the cards in her hand and allowed herself a little smile.

“Well?” said the Hallowe’en King. “Will you wager your life on the cards?”

The Engine Driver put down five spades. The Hallowe’en King had a Charnel House—three Kings, and two matching skulls. But the Barefoot Princess had all four aces, and the King of Skulls, which made her the winner.

For a moment the Hallowe’en King stared at the cards as if he couldn’t believe he had lost. But then he looked up, and he levelled his most charming smile at the Barefoot Princess.

“Well played, my child,” he said. “You win.”

In actual fact, he was not displeased. The child was capable, he thought, and would be excellent company. He was far