Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  “Are you with me so far?” said Reed. “There’s this boy and this girl…”

  “Yes, yes,” said the Vice-Chancellor tetchily. “I am a tenured professor, young man, and perfectly able to keep track of plot-threads. Proceed.”

  “Right. Well, one day, the pirate girl and the pirate boy decided that if they got married, then they could both become Pirate King, and everything would be all right.” Reed coughed, looking more and more embarrassed as the story unfolded. “They were about fourteen years old or so, so it seemed logical at the time, okay? They didn’t know how you went about being married, so they went to visit the goddess Amorata. She said that they weren’t destined to get married, but she could possibly pull a few strings here and there if they did a favour for her…”

  The Vice-Chancellor leaned forward eagerly, munching a mustard and potato-crisp sandwich and wiping his fingers on his leather elbow-patches. “Ho, now it gets interesting,” he declared.

  “Anyway,” Kassa continued. “This god got it into his head that it would be a fine thing if he caught some stars to keep as pets. So he reached out his godly fist and took a handful of what he, in his inebriated state, thought were stars.”

  “Didn’t his hand burn off?” asked Daggar eagerly, for he liked a good story, even if he had heard this one before. If Kassa was telling stories, they almost certainly wouldn’t have to run away from anything for at least half an hour.

  “Ssh,” said Skeylles, Lord of the Underwater. “Let Her Tell The Story.”

  Kassa glared at them both. “Of course, they weren’t really stars, for as modern philosophy tells us, the stars are reflections of our own sun, bouncing off the million shards of glass caused by the breaking of the ancient Moon Mirror, but that’s another tale. What Binx—I mean, this anonymous god—got hold of was a handful of something much worse than stars. They were tiny silver things, glittering trinkets, barely large enough to cover His thumbnails. And He called them glints.”

  “But the favour,” said Reed Cooper, “was something that two young pirate apprentices could never be expected to do. They had to hunt down this mad god who had been contaminated by this strange space-dust, and get the space-dust from him to give to Amorata, who liked shiny things. So they set off for Dreadnought, because this was where the mad god was to be found…”

  The Vice-Chancellor was making notes on his napkin. “Ho,” he said as he wrote furiously. “I’m assuming that this ‘mad god’ would be the habitually drunk patron of Dreadnought known as Binx?”

  “Don’t interrupt,” said Reed Cooper, “We’re just getting to the good bit.”

  “In time,” said Kassa, “All this booze-fuddled god could think about was the glints. He just lay there, playing with them and staring at them, and doing little else. The other gods got jealous, and one particular goddess sent two, uh, young pirates to steal the glints for her.”

  “Young pirates, eh?” said Daggar insinuatingly.

  “Pirates,” she agreed.

  “And who were these ‘young pirates’?” asked Aragon.

  Kassa looked flustered.

  “Shut Up, All Of You,” snarled Skeylles, the Fishy Judge. “If You Don’t Let Her Tell This Story, I Will Turn You All Into Baby Dolphins.”

  Kassa grinned gratefully at him, until the Lord of the Fishies added, “And Yes, In Case You Are Interested, One Of The Young Pirates In Question Was Kassa Daggersharp.”

  Everyone else nodded knowingly at each other, but the smiles were wiped off their faces when Skeylles continued, “The Other One Was Reed Cooper.”

  Reed Cooper lay back on the pink and saffron striped grass and tucked his hands comfortably behind his head. “The stealing of the glints wasn’t hard,” he said. “Gods don’t need to sleep, but one who spends most of his waking hours drinking hard liquor has to do a certain amount of sleeping off. We—they put the handful of glints into a special silver casket that Amorata had given them—us—them. And off they went. But it wasn’t long before Binx awoke and gave the alarm, and then the chase was on.”

  “We ran through the night, taking turns to carry the precious box,” said Kassa sulkily, hating to admit that she was a main character in this silly story. “And the servants of Binx followed us. He didn’t have supernatural servants like most gods—he had a pack of trained warlocks. This was before the decimalisation, so he wasn’t limited to ten. Close to a hundred men in pointy hats came flying after us, most of them sending firebolts and strange clockwork nets flying at us as we fled…”

  “Into the Skullcap Mountains,” said Aragon in a world-weary voice.

  Kassa smacked his hand with a fish carcass she’d picked up from the floor. “Don’t pretend you know what I’m going to say, Silversword. It’s rude, pompous and utterly egotistic.”

  “I humbly apologise,” he said courteously, making a small but florid bow in her direction.

  “So you should,” she retorted. “So the hundred warlocks gave chase, and the young pirates fled into the Skullcap Mountains, which were a great deal more normal in those days.” She darted a quick glance at Aragon, daring him to look smug.

  “There were few inhabitants of the mountains then,” she continued. “A few sprites, the occasional hermit, but none of the grand communities you see these days. The Hidden Army were a lot better at hiding back then, and so the young pirates didn’t meet them, either.” Kassa grinned at Zelora, having added that last part just for her benefit, but the Deputy Leader of K Division was asleep on her husband’s grotesque shoulder, the sulky expression still firmly fixed on her face and a nest of vipers writhing where her hair used to be.

  “So they ran through the forests and climbed the mountains and found countless good places to hide,” said Kassa. “But, warlocks being as over-qualified as they are, the pirates were always discovered, and had to flee again. The main problem was that they didn’t have anywhere to go. Amorata is like the Dark One—she doesn’t sponsor a city-state or a particular land mass. When they dared, the young pirates would call to her, but for some reason she couldn’t hear them.”

  “I can guess why,” said Daggar with a grin, but someone elbowed him in the ribs.

  “And at last, on top of one of the largest of the Skullcap cliffs, the young thieves were surrounded,” said Kassa. “And the boy suggested a method of summoning Amorata, but the girl would have none of it, and she threatened to throw the box over the cliff.”

  An old trick,” smirked Aragon.

  Kassa ignored him. “The warlocks advanced menacingly, and the girl…”

  “As the warlocks closed in,” said Reed Cooper, “The girl pirate—who was part witch, although she usually refused to admit it—somehow managed to open the box. It wasn’t an earthly lock, so I can only assume she whispered some word of power. Anyway, the box was opened and the glints were released. It was sunrise, you see, and that seems to activate them. As soon as the glints were free, they all split into hundreds of pieces, each deadly and magical and all that. They bred like wildfire, and those that had finished breeding went on the attack. Have you ever visited the Skullcaps?”

  “Once or twice, dear boy,” said Vice-Chancellor Bertie. “For research purposes and scout camps, don’t you know?”

  “Well, somewhere up there is a grove of ordinary trees,” said Reed Cooper. “They have ordinary brown trunks and ordinary green leaves, and the occasional ordinary starling makes a nest in one of them. These particular trees don’t talk, don’t dance and don’t produce magic acorns. That is all that is left of Binx’s Army of Hundred Warlocks. One glint did that. One.” He stood up, stretching his legs. “So that’s how the first Glimmer got started. I didn’t think we would have to deal with another one.”

  “So,” said the Vice-Chancellor, removing his spectacles and buffing them with his handkerchief. “You think this girlfriend of yours is responsible for this Glimmer too?”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Reed Cooper, fetching the bicycles while Bertie packed up the picnic. “Although she’s n
ot a girl any more, and I don’t think I can count on her to be much of a friend. I killed her father recently, and it might be a long time before she accepts that I was just doing my job.”

  “Onwards,” said Vice-Chancellor Bertie, hopping astride his elderly bicycle. “To Glimmers and glory, Cooper my lad. To Glimmers and glory!”

  “Whatever,” said Reed Cooper, and they set off down the road once more, towards the multi-coloured sky. It was evening now.

  “That’s it?” said Daggar in disbelief. “That’s all the story we get?”

  “There was more, of course,” said Kassa with a shrug. “But that’s not part of this story. I don’t think any of us have time to sit around listening about the days of plague and horrible transmutation. After all, all we have to do is pop our heads outside—it’s happening again.

  “How did you open the box?” asked Tippett curiously.

  Kassa looked slightly shamefaced. “If you must know, it was an accident. I dropped it, and the lid flew open.”

  “So you have now been responsible for two of these magical cataclysms?” said Aragon Silversword archly. “That’s quite a record.”

  “We don’t know which of us caused it this time,” Kassa snapped, “You could just as easily have done it while you were mooning around in that love haze. Or, given that Amorata imprisoned the glints in a silver box, we don’t have to look hard to find a culprit who might have disturbed it.” She glared at Daggar, who entirely failed to look sheepish.

  “Don’t talk to me about silver,” he moaned. “I’ve lost it all, remember? The haul of a lifetime, and it slipped through me fingers! The Profithood are going to eat me alive!”

  Tippett glanced up from his parchments and asked, “Can we say it was Kassa who caused this Glimmer? It makes it more dramatically balanced, from the point of view of a ballad…”

  “Who cares about ballads?” said Daggar gloomily. “I may as well stay down here now the silver’s all gone. They’re going to retire me! I hate water.”

  “Silver?” said the Lord of the Fishies with a frown on his little face. “Like That Shiny Shrapnel That Splashed Down Here A Few Hours Ago? You Can Have That Back If You Like, None Of Us Want It.” He pulled back a seaweed curtain to reveal a hastily-stacked heap of silver, including the little wheelbarrow which had a purple and green winged sheep sitting proudly on top of it.

  “Singespitter!” said Daggar cheerfully, looking around everywhere for a sack. “Good sheep. I think he’s a tracker.”

  Skeylles looked at the strange creature. “That Isn’t Right,” he said with a frown, waggling his godly finger at the mutated sheep. Instantly, the purple and green hues faded into an ordinary off-white colour, and the wings retreated until they could not be seen. “Much Better,” said Skeylles with satisfaction. No one had the heart to tell him that Singespitter was supposed to be a human. After all, he did make a very good sheep.

  The ghost of the Splashdance emerged from the salty depths of the Cellar Sea, as unscathed as was nautically possible. The translucent pirate galleon glided through the shallows of the water and up through the beach, heading towards a particular rosy glow which lit up the evening sky.

  “Not another god,” groaned Daggar.

  “Not that one,” said Aragon urgently.

  “Don’t worry,” said Kassa. “You won’t fall in love with her unless she wants you to.”

  “Oh, that makes all the difference,” said Aragon sardonically.

  The ghost of the Splashdance glided towards the sultry brunette goddess known (very affectionately) as Amorata. “Hail, my Lady,” called Kassa politely.

  The goddess, lying in a golden hammock as her winged servants captured stray glints and turned them into love spells, waved a lazy hand. “Greetings, travellers. It’s young Kassa, isn’t it? Where’s that handsome pirate beau of yours?”

  “We haven’t spoken to each other since he killed my father,” said Kassa. “I don’t suppose you have any of those silver boxes left, do you?”

  Amorata sighed prettily. “I wouldn’t worry about the Glimmer, darling. We’re diverting all the excess magic into the Midden Plains.”

  “What about the farmers?” asked Kassa in alarm.

  “Well, they might get some interesting crops for a year or three,” admitted the goddess. “They should be thanking us, really.”

  Kassa looked helpless. “But I wanted to…”

  “Just walk away,” advised Aragon. “It’s not our problem.”

  “Listen to your handsome friend,” agreed Amorata, settling back into her hammock. “I don’t suppose you would like to trade him for anything?” she suggested with vague interest.

  Kassa was far too impatient to get proper mileage out of that comment. “Can’t you do anything to help us stop this?” she demanded.

  “Sweetie, why would I want to?” replied Amorata. “All these pretty colours…I haven’t had so much fun in Ice Ages!”

  Griffin had returned to the Palace, and the Lady Emperor had finally been informed of the terrible news. “A Glimmer,” she said in a stunned voice, swooning back on to her pillows.

  “It would seem so,” said Griffin.

  “The last one nearly tore the Empire apart!”

  “This one probably will. Most of the farms in the Middens have been evacuated, and the Skullcaps are close to exploding with the extra magic resonances. And as for the civil unrest caused by all this…well, it’s no use telling the populace that the danger is over when they are already heading for the hills.” He paused. “To be honest, most of the hills were hit worse than anywhere else, so heading for the hills is likely to make matters worse. Your Empire is about to fall apart, my lady.”

  “No, it shall not be!” said Lady Talle furiously. “What about me, what about my campaign?”

  “The people are terrified about being turned into pink hedgehogs. They don’t really give a rat’s unmentionables about who might or might not be Emperor right now.”

  “Then make them care!” hissed Lady Talle. “That is your job, boy!”

  “And how do you suggest that I do that?”

  “We must make them forget about the devastation,” said Lady Talle insistently. “We must do something magnificent, to make them think of higher things, grander things. To restore their faith in me!”

  “Something to arouse patriotism and to reinforce an awe of royalty?” suggested Griffin slyly.

  Lady Talle pounced on the note of enthusiasm in his voice. “You have an idea?”

  “My Lady, I think I have the very thing,” the urchin announced with a wicked grin. “How long do you think it has been since the people of Mocklore witnessed an Imperial tournament, with all the trimmings?”

  Lady Talle closed her eyes in rapture. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “It would impress the Lordlings, appease the peasants, entertain our royal visitors and liven up my garden party! Not only that, but a tournament will be significant bait to bring the errant Sir Aragon Silversword out of the woodwork. It is about time I got my hands on him. Success and revenge, Griffin. Who could ask for more?”

  Vice-Chancellor Bertie and Reed Cooper reached the top of a hill which looked down on the Glimmered beach. It had been easy enough to find the place; they had just followed a trail of anguished creatures which used to be trees.

  “Ho,” said Bertie approvingly, fishing his wax tablet and stylus out of his bicycle basket. “That’s a Glimmer all right. Damned good specimen.”

  Anarchy of a particularly magical type reigned below. The multi-coloured griffins, dragons and ancient purple trolls outnumbered the people now, and the only survivors were those who had managed to hide behind the trees which hadn’t been turned into blue ferrets.

  And then, out of the middle of it all, a translucent pirate ship emerged, spinning wildly over the area of concentrated chaos.

  “It’s her!” said Reed Cooper, straightening his eyepatch. “Them,” he added hurriedly, remembering that he still had scores to settle with Aragon Silversword
and that mangy cousin of Kassa’s who had thrown him off a cliff.

  A woman, dark red hair flying in all directions, was steadily climbing the recently-repaired mast of the Splashdance ghost-ship. She was singing. High, bell-clear notes rose and descended in perfect harmony, altering the balance of reality.

  “What does she think she’s doing? said Reed Cooper in bemusement. “She’s barely even a witch, and the greatest of warlocks wouldn’t be able to…”

  “Oh, clever girl!” interrupted Bertie the Vice-Chancellor. “Well done!” he added heartily. “That one’s got quite a head on her shoulders. “Ho, fine shoulders, wot?”

  “What?” said Reed, not quite listening.

  “She’s not trying to sing away the glints, dear boy,” said Bertie. “Too sensible for that. She’s doing a rain spell.”

  “How do you know?” asked Reed absently.

  “I’ll have you know that I have taken tutorials in Spell Recognition for thirty years,” said the professor hotly. “And that’s a rain spell, mark my words.”

  “But what good is a rain spell?” insisted Reed, who knew nothing of such things.

  Aragon Silversword stood at the foot of the mast, wind biting into his face. “Kassa!” he yelled above the noise of the wind and bluster. “In the name of all that might possibly be merciful, what use is a bloody rain spell?”

  Kassa sang one more resonant, perfectly sculpted note, and then she broke off to answer him in a single word. “Watch,” she said serenely, her eyes fixed on the horizon. It was nearly evening, and the sky was no longer purple, green, yellow or anything else which it shouldn’t be. It was grey, and getting greyer at a steady pace.

  22

  Muddy Weather

  It was raining, and there was nothing misty or romantic about this particular crop of sky-water. Rain dripped from the noses of statues, slid insidiously over the cities of Mocklore, and made nasty-smelling puddles in inconvenient places. But most important of all, it was raining over the Glimmered beach. Everything was wet, and getting wetter.