Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  The Queen of Anglorachnis gasped with mortification and slapped him hard on the face. Then, as if noticing for the first time that they were concealed from the world by a floor-length damask tablecloth, she threw herself upon him and stuck her tongue as far down his throat as was humanly possible.

  The Glimmer had finally reached Dreadnought, even if it was by a roundabout path. Kassa Daggersharp was biting her lip, and trying to avoid Daggar’s accusing glare. “Well,” she said finally. “At least he might not win now.”

  “I thought you wanted him to win!” said Daggar exasperatedly.

  “Yes,” said Kassa. “Well. That was before I knew what the prize was.”

  26

  Losing Things

  All around Lady Talle, everyone was screaming and trying to escape being turned into sea monsters by the viciously random water-glints. Ladies swooned and fops pretended to be brave while looking for things to hide behind. The local knights were too exhausted to do anything productive, while the Spider-Knights had never seen anything like this before and were reduced to staring openly.

  The Lady Emperor was alone in the Imperial Pavilion. Queen Hwenhyfar had disappeared, as had Reed Cooper. Griffin had been swept away by a crowd of hysterical ladies-in-waiting. Talle forced her gaze to remain fixed upon the duel between the Nameless Knight and the King of Anglorachnis.

  Suddenly a stray glint swept down, engulfing both combatants in a haze of blue light. When the haze faded, the swords in play were no longer making dull thunking sounds when they hit each other. They were going clang, clash, tink. Metal swords. Steel swords. Technically, the match was now null and void, but everyone was far too distracted to pay any attention to a minor detail like that.

  The Lady Emperor leaned back, smiling snakishly. The stakes had been raised.

  “Did you do this deliberately?” Daggar yelled.

  “Of course, not!” Kassa retorted. “And to answer your next question, I don’t know how to stop it either!”

  Daggar nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’ll be over there, hiding behind those bushes.”

  “We’ll meet up later,” agreed Kassa absently.

  Daggar smiled too brightly, and replied “Ey, of course we will.” It was only as he loped off that he muttered, “Not if I get a head start, we won’t.”

  Kassa craned her neck to see what was going on in the tourney field. She was about to look for something to climb up on for a better view when she became aware of a presence behind her. “Oh,” she said guiltily. “It’s you.”

  “Indeed It Is,” replied Skeylles the Fishy Judge, Lord of the Underwater. He wore a long blue velvet cloak and carried opera glasses and a carton of popcorn.

  Kassa tried to smile, but gave it up as a bad job. She swallowed hard instead. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I Did Come Hoping To Watch The Tournament.” He glared at her. “You Have Made A Right Mess Here, My Girl. I Still Haven’t Forgiven You For Washing All Those Glints Into My Ocean.”

  She stared at him suspiciously. “Are you causing all this? To teach me a lesson?”

  “Now, Would I?” boomed the voice ironically.

  Kassa felt vaguely hopeful. “Could you take these water glints with you, then? Surely you could cancel out most of the other wild magic if you were armed with water glints—right?”

  Skeylles looked very grim. “You Have A Very Simplistic View Of Life, Kassa. I Think This Goes Beyond The Boundaries of Godfather Duties.”

  “But you’ll do it anyway, won’t you?” she asked humbly.

  His face looked like thunder. “I Don’t Want To See You For At Least A Year After This.”

  She crossed her heart. “I promise. I won’t ask you for anything else.”

  “Right,” grumbled the Lord of the Underwater, not sounding as if he believed her. He vanished, and with him went the remaining glints, the lords and ladies who had been transformed into sea-creatures, and the giant pile of seaweed which had until recently been Aragon Silversword’s tourney steed.

  Kassa pushed her way to the edge of the crowd, which was much diminished now. Most of the remaining spectators were in a state of shock. “Fight well, my champion!” she cried unenthusiastically. If you win now, I’ll rip out your heart and eat it with a spoon.

  The Nameless Knight reacted to her voice, or perhaps to her unspoken thought, and his opponent took the opportunity to clout him in the groin. The Nameless Knight moved swiftly side, using his weight to knock the King of Anglorachnis flat on his back.

  The victor lay his sword ceremonially at the throat of the vanquished. Then he looked at the sword more closely. “Who the hell gave us steel swords?” rasped Aragon.

  King Durraldo shrugged, an awkward thing to do in armour.

  All was quiet, which gave the Lady Emperor an opportunity to strut her stuff. She stood up, the elegant drapery of her gown falling around her in smooth curves. “You fought well, King Durraldo, and have done your good consort much honour this day.”

  Queen Hwenhyfar emerged from behind the prize table, looking slightly dishevelled. She absently kissed a hand to her husband and then sat down hurriedly on the throne provided. Reed Cooper tactfully waited a while longer before emerging himself.

  King Durraldo bowed to the Lady Emperor and then trailed away to remove his armour. Talle turned then to the Nameless Knight. “Good sir, you have won this day the honour to serve your Emperor as Imperial Champion. Come forth, and bring your consort with you that she may share thine honour.”

  The Nameless Knight stalked into the crowd and took the hand of the woman in the blonde wig whose banner he had fought under. “Aragon, what are you doing?” she whispered.

  “What you told me to do,” he replied crisply, fastening his metal gauntlet around her wrist and pulling her in the direction of the Imperial Pavilion. “I won.”

  “That was before I knew what the prize was!” she hissed wildly. “I didn’t want you to become her champion again!”

  “Well now,” he said calmly. “It is far too late to change your mind.”

  The Lady Emperor smiled benevolently as they knelt on the cushions by her feet. “Sir Knight, wilt thou not remove thy helm?” she asked, deliberately lapsing into archaic speech. “We are all friends here, and all the Empire must know the name of my champion.”

  Aragon hesitated for only a moment and then removed his helm, dropping it in Kassa’s lap.

  The Lady Emperor breathed out with relief, her suspicions confirmed. “Ahh, Sir Silversword. I am honoured that thou hast returned to me.” She turned her head slightly. “And thy lady?” she questioned deliberately.

  “Take it off, Kassa,” said Aragon steadily, his grip around her wrist increasing.

  She tried to pull free, but the metal gauntlet bit further into her skin. “Aragon, you’re hurting me!”

  “That has always been the plan,” he replied in the coldest voice he could manage.

  Kassa looked at him in horror, and the glamour which had disguised her features fell off her like a sheet of silk. She tossed her head and the wig slid to one side. Hair the colour of old blood cascaded down her back.

  The Lady Emperor’s hand lashed out, gripping Kassa’s face tightly. “Ah, thou hast brought me a rare gift indeed, Sir Silversword.”

  “He has brought you nothing,” snapped Kassa. “Take off your breastplate,” she ordered Aragon.

  For a moment, it looked as if he was about to refuse, but then he began undoing the buckles. He removed his gauntlets slowly and pulled off his breastplate, revealing a padded shirt underneath. Kassa lunged forward and grabbed at the collar, ripping the shirt open. “Do you see that mark, Talle?” she demanded, stabbing a finger at the brand mark. A spiral within a spiral burned over his heart. “Aragon Silversword belongs to me now!”

  “The matter is still under discussion,” said Aragon stiffly.

  The Lady Emperor looked amused. “Indeed? Then you have a decision to make, my champion.”

  “He is
not your champion,” Kassa insisted.

  “Is he not?” said the Lady Emperor with wide eyes. “Indeed.” She looked harder at Kassa, her expression changing. “Are you the one responsible for this magical blight on my land?”

  Kassa stared back at her. “Let’s just say that pointless vandalism is a family trait,” she said flatly.

  “I see,” said the Lady Emperor with a sparkle in her eyes. “Then I am afraid that I will have to sentence you to execution. For high treason,” she added. “My champion, I take it you have no objections to carrying out my sentence?”

  The mark over Aragon’s heart was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot, but he paid it no mind. “With pleasure, my Lady Emperor,” he said politely, picking up the sword he had unexpectedly been awarded during the tourney.

  Kassa looked at him, stricken. “Don’t even think it, Aragon,” she warned.

  He hefted the sword thoughtfully. “Oh, no? Kassa, if you don’t start running, I’m going to cut you down in front of all these people.” He lowered his voice to a more intimate tone. “Wouldn’t you prefer some privacy?”

  She glared at him, and took a deep breath to begin singing. His hand slammed over her mouth, making a spell impossible. “Don’t even think it. I’ve had enough enchantments to last me a lifetime.”

  Kassa shot him a look which would have melted sand into glass. And then she turned on her heel, running as fast as she could in knee-high boots and a long silk dress.

  Aragon paused for a moment to salute the Lady Emperor with a clipped bow, and then he ran after Kassa.

  Behind a large shrubbery at the rear of the Imperial Pavilion, Tippett the jester-poet fidgeted restlessly. “Can we come out of hiding yet?” he asked.

  “Not quite yet,” said Daggar steadily.

  “But I want to see what’s going on! There can’t be any gaps in the ballad…”

  “All right then,” sighed Daggar. “We’ll follow them. But slowly, mind. Don’t run—walk.”

  Kassa tore through the arched doorway in the wall and out towards the trees. She scraped wildly through the undergrowth, cursing herself for not considering this possibility. She had put too much trust in that bloody witchmark—she might have known that this magic stuff would fail her when she most needed it. She should have listened to Summer Songstel and got herself properly trained…

  Aragon was close on her heels. Kassa ducked to avoid a low-hanging tree and tripped on a branch of brambles, landing in a puddle. She glared up at her pursuer, who smiled nastily.

  “I should have listened to Daggar, much as I hate to say it!” she flung at him. “You really have been more trouble than you are worth!”

  “Indeed?” Aragon said pleasantly, laying the tip of his sword to her throat. “Never mind, it will all be over soon.”

  She looked up at him with her wide golden eyes. “You can’t kill me.”

  “Oh can’t I?” he replied in a chilling tone, drawing his sword back to strike.

  Of course he couldn’t kill her. The brand over his heart was already burning hot, and he hated to think what would happen if he increased his betrayal any further. But he wasn’t going to let her know that.

  “Well?” Kassa insisted. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Rip the hem off your dress,” he said harshly.

  “What’s this, a plan to degrade me even further?”

  “Just do it.”

  She scowled, but did as he had asked, ripping the length of her hem from her dress until it was one long strip of silk. “Now what?”

  Aragon rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and drew the sword across his left arm, cutting into the flesh. Without a word, he held his bleeding arm out to Kassa. She bound it silently, winding the green bandage firmly around his self-inflicted wound. He pulled the shirt sleeve down to conceal the bandage, and turned to leave her. “If the Emperor ever discovers that I let you live, my head will be on the block. You might want to consider changing your name.”

  “So that’s it?” she challenged. “You’re just going to walk away from me?”

  “Don’t push me, Kassa,” he threatened.

  “You are my liegeman!” she burst out.

  He turned slightly. “It was not my choice, and you know it. Witchmarks cannot work by trickery.” And to prove it, he walked away.

  No need to tell her of the burning pain in his chest as the brand exacted its revenge for his treachery. Aragon refused to look back as he walked through the trees. He told himself that it was to demonstrate how little he cared about her, refusing to accept the possibility that the sight of those golden eyes might diminish his resolve altogether…

  Aragon Silversword continued to walk until he reached the arched doorway back into the tourney area, passing a nonchalant-looking Daggar and Tippett on the way.

  Their deliberately casual expressions faded somewhat when they saw the blood on his sword, and they both ran past him at a surprising turn of speed.

  Aragon kept walking through the tourney area, past the knights who were all packing up their armour, horses, squires and consorts. He did not stop until he reached the Imperial Pavilion, and knelt to lay his bloody sword at the feet of the Lady Emperor.

  “Is she dead?” inquired Lady Talle, pronouncing the words delightedly.

  Aragon met her gaze evenly. “As a doornail,” he pronounced.

  “Oh, my champion,” breathed Lady Talle in true bloodthirsty fashion. “I shall reward you well for this day’s work.” She leaned forward eagerly. “Did she suffer?”

  “I cannot help my exceptional sword skill, my lady,” apologised Aragon. “The accused was perhaps executed more swiftly than you would have liked. I shall do better next time.”

  “See that you do,” said Lady Talle with a little smile.

  Aragon almost smiled himself. “While we are on the subject of rewards, my lady, I have another gift for you.”

  Lady Talle purred like a milk-fed kitten. “For me?”

  Daggar burst through the trees. “Kassa, where are you?”

  “Don’t talk to me, Daggar, I’m in a bad mood,” came the angry reply.

  He barely restrained himself from throwing himself bodily into her arms. “I thought you were dead!”

  “I think that was the general plan,” she said grumpily. “Damn him to the Underworld and back!”

  “What exactly happened?” asked Tippett, eager for details.

  “Never mind that now,” said Daggar. “Everything’s all right. We’ve still got some ready cash and an escape route. Let’s just go home while we still can.”

  “And where exactly is home?” asked Kassa in a strange voice.

  Daggar shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it much. “The ship, I suppose.”

  Kassa went very pale. She folded in on herself as if she had been punched in the stomach. If it wasn’t so tragic, she might seriously have considered laughing at herself. “I gave him the ship!” she said incredulously. “Gods, I even gave him the ship!”

  Lady Talle turned the silver thingummy around in her fingers. “A pretty trinket, my lord, but it is hardly appropriate to give me the favour you received from your consort this day.”

  “Allow me to demonstrate,” said Aragon graciously. He took the silver thingummy from her and hurled it out into the centre of the tourney field, now empty. The flash of silver shimmered, and became a gleaming ghost-ship once again.

  “Behold,” said Aragon Silversword, “The Splashdance silver. Or, to be more precise, the Silver Splashdance.”

  Lady Talle was hardly able to speak. “You have done well, my champion,” she said finally. “Indeed, I believe you may have just sealed my conquest of this Empire. How can I reward you?”

  27

  Putting Things Back Together

  Daggar hurried after her. “Can’t you just witch it? Whistle it back like you did before?”

  Kassa whirled around. “You don’t understand! I gave it to him of my own free will. He didn’t steal the damn thing. How can
I whistle back something which technically belongs to him? What kind of witch do you think I am?”

  “Is this a trick question?” asked Daggar hesitantly.

  Kassa stalked away from him and he decided not to press her on the matter. They marched along the edge of the city towards the Skullcap forest. Well, Kassa marched. Tippett and Daggar followed nervously behind her, hoping she would find someone to take her anger out on soon.

  Once they were well away from the city, Kassa let out a scream. A long, frustrated, ringing scream in a voice forged by the salt of the sea.

  Daggar stood behind a large rock, and Tippett started taking surreptitious notes on his sleeve.

  Kassa whirled around. “If you put any of this in my ballad, I’ll nail you to a talking tree,” she threatened.

  Tippet’s quill pen broke.

  It was then that a giant clockwork net came spiralling down from the trees, tangling around the infuriated Kassa.

  “Oh, oh,” said Daggar.

  “Gotchoo!” said a warlock, sneezing as he emerged from behind a fluorescent pink elderberry tree.

  Several mounds of false shrubbery were flung aside to reveal a large golden carriage being pulled by several mutant goats. A rather flabby looking Lordling was hanging out of the window. “Hmm, well done, Forkbend,” he called heartily. “Caught them red-handed, wot?”

  Kassa stopped struggling with the clockwork net and stared at the newcomers. “What?” she said dangerously.

  Tippett approached her bravely and helped her untangle her hair from the net. “It’s my former master,” he whispered. “He—he is hunting pirates, you see.”

  “Oh,” said Kassa in a calm voice. She stood very still, considering her options. The pirate blood in her was urging her to grab a curvy sword, grow a beard and kill them all. The witch blood in her was making insidious suggestions about sleeping thorns and illusion songs. Kassa stifled both the inner pirate and the inner witch. She was going to handle this her way. She smiled at the Lordling and the warlock, and batted her eyelashes. “I’m not a pirate.”