Barret Beesbury

  Alice was the first to break the silence once all five of them arrived in their usual hideout. “So, how’d it go?”

  “Father seemed to like it.” Barret said as he scratched words in the dirt with a stick.

  Henry looked down from the tree he was climbing. “Are you sure? My dad said Lord Beesbury was acting weird during his speech down in Honeytown. Maybe he was upset.”

  Barret frowned for a second before shaking his head. “I mean, he and Maester Robert asked me a lot of questions, but he was happy when I showed it to him.”

  “He better be happy, it took us a month to make the thing.” complained Robin, who was collecting good-sized pieces of wood and putting them into the basket on his back.

  William spoke up as he looked at the alphabet Barret had written for them earlier. “Lord Beesbury is a good lord, I’m sure he likes it.” He shook his head and looked back up. “My father sure would like it, I’ve seen how much he complains about the regular skeps.”

  Barret sighed as he sat down on the dirt. “I just wish I could talk to him. I haven’t seen him in days.” The Beesbury household usually ate breakfast and dinner together, but Lytton had been taking all his meals in his solar recently. Maester Robert had come the day after the feast with a few servants who carefully took the hive up to Honeyholt, and had come to ask Barret questions about the hive and its various parts.

  But whenever Barret asked about his father, Robert would always say he was busy. It was a bit saddening, going from seeing his father everyday to not at all. But Barret kept himself entertained, playing with his retinue or his siblings. His current plan was to teach his friends how to read and write, so that when he was lord he could make them do all the work. It was brilliant!

  So in between tree climbing, footraces, and hide-and-seek, Barret put on his best Maester impression and had his retinue draw out letters in the dirt. It was having mixed results, with Alice and Henry figuring out how to spell their names already, while William and Robin were still struggling.

  Just as Robin was getting frustrated with the lesson, a familiar voice called out from outside the trees. “Barret, are you in there?”

  Barret called back, “Yes father, I’m coming!” He and his friends made their way to the main trail down Honeyholt hill, where Lord Beesbury, Maester Robert, a few servants, and a guard were waiting. Barret made his way to Lytton and gave his father a big hug.

  “Hello Barret,” Lytton said as he returned the hug, “we’re going down to Honeytown for an assessment, and afterwards we are going to meet some people to talk about your hive. Did you want to come with us?”

  Barret thought for a second, before pointing to his retinue. “Can my friends come as well?” At Lytton’s hesitation, Barret continued, “they helped me make the hive, and they know a lot about it as well!”

  Lytton smiled and patted Barret on the head. “If it makes you feel better, then yes. But tell them not to make a scene, okay?”

  Barret nodded. “Okay, father.” He waved to his friends, who made their way to the group. The newly enlarged procession leisurely made its way down the hill until it reached the outlying farms that fed Honeytown and Honeyholt. The farmers and travelers they passed on the dirt road bowed and called out compliments and thanks to Lord Beesbury.

  Eventually, they reached Honeytown proper, with its workshops and warehouses. They turned onto the main street which ended at the docks, passing by the neatly ordered apartment buildings that lined the main street. The road was filled with people going to and fro, and on the sides were stalls selling snacks like fruit or hot waffles, peddlers with their goods set out on blankets, and the occasional beggar. The smell from a pie shop almost had Barret wander over, but his father placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “We are here to see the condition of our people, son. There will be time for fun later.”

  Sufficiently chastised, Barret rejoined the procession as they made their way around Honeytown. From the docks, where teams of burly men emptied and loaded great trading cogs, to the workshops and warehouses that were clumped in one section of the town. Lytton and Robert constantly muttered to each other, with the occasional scribble making its way into Robert’s notes. There wasn’t much for Barret to do, but the sights, the hustle and bustle of a town of thousands of people, was enough to keep him entertained. The most interesting part was when they visited the hiveworks, where skeps were processed and their honey and wax were processed and made into valuable products like candles. “That whole batch is due for the Citadel,” Lytton said, pointing at a stack of candles that was taller than Barret. “The Maesters and acolytes burn enough wax reading every night to coat the walls of Honeyholt.”

  Eventually, once Lytton and Robert seemed satisfied with their inspection, the group stopped at a large, sturdy looking building with colourful flowers growing from handing baskets. A sign with a carved flower was mounted outside its door. “The Violet Inn,” Lytton said, “it has a large hall, and I know the owner. We’re going to be meeting with Honeytown’s guildsmen here.” At his words, the group made their way through the entrance.

  The inside was nice. Spacious, with plenty of candles and a recently cleaned floor. Multiple large wooden tables had been pushed into the center of the room with enough chairs for fifty people, and there were two boxes covered in cloth standing against the wall. As they walked in, a rotund man in an apron walked over with his arms stretched wide. “Lord Beesbury! I’ve had the place prepared for you, just the way you like it.” He bowed to Lytton at the head of the procession. “I even opened up that cask of mead your father gave me. Quality stuff.”

  Lytton smiled. “Thank you, Jon.” He made his way to the head of the table, and Barret was ushered to sit next to him. Across from Barret was Maester Robert, with the servants and children seated at a few tables behind the main one.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “We are just going to talk about making more of your hives, Barret.” Lytton said. “If you don’t know what to say, just let me or Maester Robert speak. Okay?”

  “Okay, father.” Barret said, still a little nervous. Maester Robert shot him a smile before pulling out a small sheaf of paper and looking through them.

  Soon enough, people started trickling into the inn. There were a mix of men, older with grey hair and young with thick muscles, but they all were clean and wearing their best clothes. It looked like the sept on a holy day.

  As they sat down, Jon and a young girl came around with trays of bread and small mead. Barret took a cup of mead and a slice of bread, drizzled with honey. Once everyone was settled and had their refreshments, Lytton spoke. “Good day, esteemed guildsmen of Honeytown. I have called you here today to discuss a project of great import to Honeyholt, one that will see all of us enriched. Barret,” Lytton placed a hand on Barret’s shoulder, “has invented a brand new type of beehive that I wish for you all to replicate.”

  He waved his hand, and the servants brought over the smaller of the two covered boxes. Lytton removed the cloth, and it was Barrret’s small hive. There was a lull as the guildsmen took in Lytton’s words, until one raised his voice.

  “Sorry to ask this, milord, but why the urgency? We’ve been using skeps ever since Ellyn Ever-Sweet, and they’ve never done us wrong.” Barret noticed a few nods from the men around the table. Perhaps it was adherence to tradition, or maybe they just didn’t trust something claimed to be invented by a child, but some of the craftsmen were hesitant.

  Lytton spoke with a bit more weight in his words. “Because,” he said as he took the hive’s lid off and removed one of the frames, “this hive does not need to be destroyed to extract the honey and wax.”

  There was an immediate change in the atmosphere of the room. Men went from respectful and curious to seriously engaged. Everybody in Beesbury lands knew somebody that was engaged in the beekeeping industry. There was a general consciousness and appreciation for the work that went into beekeeping, and extraction specifically. The benefits of being able to ease that process was obvious to everyone. Also, most residents of Honeytown, Honeymen as they were called, viewed bees as smart and pleasant creatures, and not having to crush them with the hive generally sounded like a good idea.

  Lytton waved his hand again and the servants brought over the other box. Barret noticed one of the servants remained standing at the table when Lytton removed the box’s covering. It was another, bigger hive. “This example was made by Hob. How was the process of making it?”

  The servant, who Barret now recognized as Honeyholt’s carpenter, spoke with a rough and scratchy voice. “It was dead simple, milord. Mostly just cutting and hammering joints. The trickiest part was the bars between the top and bottom boxes. Getting them just right, where the queen can’t get through but the workers can, that took a couple tries.”

  “But you can do it?” Lytton asked, although Barret felt the question was more for show than anything.

  “Oh yes, definitely. We could probably make a couple every day if everyone in the workshop helped out, and it’d get quicker as we get used to it.”

  “Thank you, Hob.” Lytton returned his attention to the men sitting at the table. “What I am asking you to do is make as many of these… Barret hives as you can. I guarantee a good price for each one, as long as they are right and proper. You can ask Maester Robert for the specifics, and that box will be kept here for you to inspect.” The older Maester spread his sheaf of papers on the table, on which were notes and drawings of each part of the hive.

  As the carpenters, who Barret now realized were all seated on the same side of the table, started muttering amongst themselves, Lytton turned to the other group. “As for you, I have a need for blacksmiths and metalworkers. I am sure you realize, just crushing these frames would be a waste. My son talked about spinning the frames to extract the honey, and Maester Robert has made a sketch of a machine that does just that. I want you to devise the best way to build it, with a reward for those who are successful.”

  “Uh, milord, how do you know this will work? I don’t want to make something for you that doesn’t work.”

  Lytton paused, then turned to Barret. “My son was the one who thought up the method, so let us ask him.”

  Barret suddenly felt very exposed, with dozens of eyes on him. But his father’s hand gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, and Barret spoke. “I had the idea when I saw a servant spinning a full bucket of water. It stayed inside, pressed against the bottom of the bucket. So, I tried spinning the frame around with rope, and the honey got pushed out of the comb. You just have to cut the top layer of wax first.”

  Barret was relieved that he managed to get his thoughts out in a cohesive manner, and his father gave him a proud smile before taking over. “So as you see, my son’s method works. This machine will just speed up the process. Are there any other questions?” When there was no response, Lytton stood up.

  “Then, we are finished. Work hard, and you will be richly rewarded.” a servant and guard stayed behind with Maester Robert, but the rest of the procession followed Lytton out of the inn. Barret and his friends exited as well, but before they could walk down the street Lytton called Barret over.

  “Barret, you did well today. You spoke with confidence and behaved properly. Remember, honeyed words will often buy you more than the sting.”

  “Yes father,” Barret nodded, then asked a question. “May I go play with my friends?”

  “I suppose Robert will be too busy to do your lessons today. Go, but be back in Honeyholt by sundown. Remember, if you need help…”

  “Find a guard and show them my crest.” Barret recited.

  “Good. Oh, and here is a little something. I saw you eyeing those meat pies earlier.” Lytton reached down and handed Barret a few copper groats and stars.

  Barret put the coins in his purse and hugged Lytton. “Thank you, father!” He said, before rushing off to join his retinue. They clapped him on the back and celebrated the success of their creation, especially after Barret showed them the stars his father gave him.

  After a tour of Honeytown where his retinue showed Barret all their favorite places, he started getting a bit hungry. They had circled town and arrived back at the Violet Inn, and Jon the innkeeper seemed like a cheerful fellow, so Barret went inside.

  Jon and the young girl were cleaning up from the earlier meeting, and she walked over when Barret entered. “Hello, my name is Jenny. How may we help you?” she asked in a sing-song lilt, and Barret noticed the hair and eyes she shared with Jon.

  “Me and my friends are looking for something to eat.” Barret said, motioning to his retinue who followed him inside.

  Jenny turned back to her father and called out, “they’re wanting some food!” Her tone was much less soft, but it sounded real to Barret’s ears.

  Jon looked up from where he was setting up long tables with benches. “Sorry, the stew is still cooking. It’ll be ready by the evening rush. I only have some bread, cheese, and pickled fish.”

  His friends seemed disappointed, but Barret wasn’t deterred. “That sounds delicious. Could you make me a sandwich?”

  Jon paused and stared at Barret. “A what?”

  “You take two slices of bread, about this thick-” Barret showed the size with his fingers, “and put the rest of the fillings in between. That way, you can eat it on the go.”

  Jon nodded. “So it’s like putting butter on bread, but with more ingredients and another slice of bread so it’s a full meal.”

  “That sounds easy. I can go make you all some.” Jenny gave a quick bow before walking to the kitchen.

  Barret and his retinue spent the time helping Jon clean up the room, and about ten minutes later Jenny returned with a sandwich for each of them. Barret thanked her, handed over a copper groat, and headed out. As he left, he heard Jon muttering “sandwiches, eh?”

  With food in hand, the five friends started walking again. “Now what do you wanna do?” William asked, always eager to be doing something.

  Barret thought for a moment before deciding. “Let’s head to the market. I have some things I need to buy.”

  “Another one of your projects?” Robin asked with a groan. As an apprentice carpenter, he had been the one to do the bulk of the physical labour for Barret’s prototype beehive. He was obviously dreading a repeat of that experience.

  Barret laughed and patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to suffer alone like that again. This time everyone will have to work themselves to the bone.”

  And it was with a chorus of groans that they started walking to the market. Barret smiled as he finished the pickled fish and cheese sandwich. Today was shaping up to be a good day.