Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

They hit the grass hard, tumbling and rolling over each other. Pinning her to the ground, Daggar stared down at Sparrow. She in turn stared up at him, narrowing her eyes to slits.

  “What was that?” he demanded, finally finding his voice. “Self-sacrifice?”

  “Instinct,” she shot back, glaring hard.

  Aragon Silversword stepped down from the golden ship and walked past them, only glancing briefly in their direction. “I’m not even going to ask,” he said.

  Daggar rolled to one side and Sparrow sat up slowly. “I will not travel in time again,” she said resolutely. “I will not risk it.”

  “Fair enough,” said Daggar easily. “If this thing with Kassa works, we won’t need the liquid gold again. What about your withdrawal effects?”

  “I will have to manage.” Sparrow looked back at him, her expression thoughtful. “I suppose I should thank you.”

  “If you two don’t mind,” cut in an acid voice. “We do have a job to do.”

  “We’ll get to you in a minute,” said Daggar, not wanting to lose the moment.

  “Now,” Aragon snapped. “I can see Silver Splashdance on the horizon.”

  Reluctantly, Daggar stood up and brushed the grass and twigs from his clothes. “You’d better close up the ship, then. Oh, and make sure Singespitter isn’t trapped in there when you do. He really hates that.”

  “How much longer will we be hiding behind this shrubbery?” demanded Sparrow.

  “As long as it takes,” replied Aragon.

  “You did not say we would be here all afternoon!”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “I do not see why I should not get up and move about,” she snapped. “It is not as if I have past versions of myself sunning themselves on that ship.”

  “Keep your head down,” he ordered. “It won’t be much longer.”

  Daggar, who had been scouting a few shrubberies away, hurried back. “She’s coming!” he announced.

  As Sparrow heard the sound of boots against the sandy path she lifted her head, curious to catch her first glimpse of Kassa Daggersharp. Instantly Aragon’s hand came down on her head, forcing her face towards the ground.

  Daggar’s head shot up as he heard his own voice elsewhere, anxiously demanding, “Is she all right?”

  “You’re fine,” assured the voice of Aragon Silversword. “You’re not hurt.”

  The three crouched in the shrubbery heard a cough, and Kassa’s voice say, “Oh, it hurts. Trust me on this one.”

  At the sound of his mistress’s voice, Singespitter the sheep perked up and started scrabbling to go to her. It took the combined strength of Daggar, Aragon and Sparrow to keep the sheep still, and they only just heard the end of an the exchange between the other Aragon and Daggar.

  “What?”

  “Dead.”

  “Not—dead dead?”

  “Dead.”

  “Oh. She won’t like that.”

  After a long pause in which the three behind the bushes held their breath, they heard the slight crunching of people moving away.

  “Incidentally,” said Aragon as they stood up to stretch their legs. “You were correct. She didn’t like it. She was most displeased about the whole thing.”

  “Can we move her yet?” asked Daggar. “She’s still in line of sight from the ship.”

  “Do you have the substitute?” replied Aragon.

  From behind another of the bushes, Daggar proudly produced a blanket-wrapped bundle. “I had to filch this from their Splashdance when they were looking the other way.”

  Aragon looked at him in horror. “Are you mad? Do you have any idea of the consequences if you should meet yourself?”

  “No, and neither do you,” replied Daggar amiably. “Don’t sweat—I waited until we were all in the hold investigating that rattling sound, remember? I had to, all our blankets are that sparkly gold colour. Anyway, what do you think?” He held it up for inspection. “Is it lifelike enough?”

  Aragon snatched the fake body bundle from him. “It isn’t supposed to look lifelike. I’ll make the switch.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” said Sparrow, opening her arms to receive the bundle. “If I do it and one of you back on the ship happens to look in this direction, the worst they will see is some blonde stranger in armour stealing the body of their captain. An inconsistency, but not as much of a paradox as if one of them saw one of you. Right?”

  “Right,” said Daggar, who was convinced.

  “If you say so,” said Aragon, who wasn’t.

  “Right,” said Sparrow. Grappling the unwieldy package, she climbed around the shrubbery and headed for the fallen body of Kassa Daggersharp. A few moments later she returned, Kassa’s body by the boots. “Is she supposed to look like this?”

  “What’s wrong with her?” said Daggar, defensive of his second favourite cousin.

  “She’s not even wearing any armour,” said Sparrow. “Good boots, though. How do we perform this resurrection?”

  Daggar looked at the unmoving body and then back at Aragon. “Well?”

  Aragon produced the ring. He flinched slightly as he took Kassa’s hand. “She’s still warm.”

  “Well, she has only just died,” said Sparrow. “Thunderdust, will you get on with it?”

  Aragon slid the spiral ring on to Kassa’s finger and sat back. Nothing happened.

  “Is it the right finger?” whispered Sparrow.

  Aragon turned on her furiously. “Of course it’s the right finger!”

  “I was only asking!”

  He looked down at Kassa’s body. “Where’s the cat?”

  The little grey furball emerged from behind a shrub. It darted forward, nuzzling at Kassa Daggersharp’s left boot. Its eyes slowly changed from amber to green.

  “Aren’t you supposed to kiss her?” suggested Daggar. “That’s the way they do it in the ballads.”

  Aragon stared at him with considerable venom. “Turn your back,” he commanded finally. “And you,” he snapped, nodding at Sparrow.

  Obediently, they turned their backs on him and Daggar even took the trouble to turn Singespitter’s face away.

  Aragon Silversword leaned over the body of Kassa Daggersharp and touched his mouth to hers. Just as he drew back, prepared to concede defeat, a pair of strong, warm arms slid around his neck. Kassa arched her neck, prolonging the kiss. Only then did she open her deep golden eyes.

  “Aragon Silversword,” she said, letting go of his neck and propping herself up on her elbows. “What took you so long this time?”

  28: Not Letting Sleeping Wenches Lie

  The Underworld was dying. Pomegranate had done her best, but the liquid gold was winning. Indeed, if it wasn’t for Pomegranate’s particular immunity to time, the Underworld would already have been destroyed. Still, it was hard to see what difference that delay made right now. The liquid gold streamed everywhere, under the floor, through the corridor tunnels and in undetectable specks through the air. Pomegranate breathed it in. Everyone was breathing it in, even the dead mortals who weren’t supposed to be breathing at all.

  Throughout the Underworld, wraiths and spirits of the dead were changing. Child-ghosts suddenly shot through puberty and adolescence, causing no end of problems. Other ghosts reclaimed their youth. The ghosts of Vicious Bigbeard Daggersharp and Black Nell had reverted to their teens and were currently staging protest marches in the corridors.

  Pomegranate felt as if she was being pulled apart. Bad enough that her newly-acquired business venture was exploding around her, but she also had to cope with suddenly being six-foot-one, with womanly hips and breasts. It was all far too much. None of her clothes fit!

  In the midst of the chaos and collapsing ceilings, an immaculate beige-blonde goddess stepped into the breach. She waved a single hand irritably. “Come and be banished, then,” she sighed.

  Like flies to honey, the liquid gold swarmed to the newcomer. Pollen and dust, swirly light effects, every mote of it surrounded her, clingin
g to her skin, hair and gown.

  The Underworld stabilised around them. Pomegranate stared in surprise at her saviour. “Who are you?”

  “Just call me the cleaning lady,” said Lady Luck bitterly, and vanished.

  The liquid gold vanished with her, every trace of it gone forever from the Underworld. Unfortunately, the effects remained, but it was a tolerable price to pay for survival.

  “What’s wrong with you all?” said Kassa Daggersharp. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” She extended her wrists to Aragon and he pulled her to her feet.

  “It actually worked!” said Daggar in a stunned voice.

  “Well, of course it worked,” said Kassa, brushing her skirts down briskly with both hands. “Well done. Much better than being a cat, in any case.” She glanced at Sparrow, her expression unreadable. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “That,” said Sparrow evenly, “is a matter of opinion.” She extended her hand in greeting. “Sparrow. Mercenary.”

  Kassa took the hand. “Kassa. Pirate. And now I really must change my clothes.” She looked down at her black leather bodice and bright red skirts. “I’ve already discarded this outfit once, and I’m bloody sick of it.” She stepped over the nearest shrubbery. “Where’s the ship? Oh, there it is.”

  “No!” said Daggar and Aragon in unison, leaping to stop her.

  “But the ship is back there,” she protested as they both took hold of her elbows and steered her off the path, into the trees beyond. Sparrow followed them, with Singespitter close behind.

  “That’s not our version,” said Aragon.

  “We had to go back in time, you see,” added Daggar.

  “Well,” said Kassa as they steered her towards a little beach cove well out of sight of both the village and the earlier version of the Silver Splashdance. “Where is my ship, then?”

  “In Aragon’s pocket, of course,” said Daggar. “Silversword, do the honours. We’d better get Kassa out of here as quickly as possible.”

  “And what was that package lying on the path back there?” asked Kassa as Aragon threw the little ship-shaped charm into the air to turn it back into a full-sized pirate ship. “What did I miss while I was dead? And what the blue-bearded blazes have you done to my ship?”

  “Uh oh,” said Daggar guiltily, looking from the golden Splashdance to Kassa’s livid face and then back again.

  “You bastards,” she said, sounding dazed. “My beautiful ship. I leave you alone for a few days and you redecorate my pride and joy.” A look of absolute horror crossed her face. “My clothes!”

  Aragon and Daggar exchanged looks. “Stop her,” said Aragon.

  They were too late. With three bounds Kassa was up on the deck and scrambling down the trapdoor into the hold. A few minutes later she emerged, much dishevelled, with an armful of her favourite garments. The fabrics were all in various shades of yellow, gold and amber, all glowing.

  A feral growl issued from between Kassa’s teeth and she started pelting Aragon and Daggar with golden bodices, skirts and boots. “You rats, you irresponsible, cold-blooded pieces of troll-dung!” Sand sprayed up as her feet hit the beach again and she advanced on the remaining members of her crew. “My silver jewellery is all gold! Do you know how long it took me to collect it all, how difficult it is to find decent quality silver? I’m going to tear you into little strips.” Her voice rose up in one final wail. “My beautiful ship!”

  “I suppose the fact that the new colour scheme is due to the fact that the ship can now travel in time and was directly responsible for your current ‘alive’ status will cut little ice?” said Aragon sardonically.

  “No consolation,” snapped Kassa. “Fix it!”

  A sudden clap of pink lightning lit up the sky.

  “Okay,” said Daggar cautiously. “I think we should take that as a bad omen and get this ship moving. We can argue later.”

  “Count on it,” said Kassa between her teeth.

  The sky, which had up until this point been a rather nice late-evening blue with a few clouds dotted around, suddenly went grey. A solid scroll of blankness filled it from horizon to horizon.

  “Speaking of bad omens,” said Aragon. “I’m assuming the sky doesn’t usually do that.”

  “Which god is it this time?” growled Sparrow.

  “Not Lady Luck, for once,” Daggar retorted. “Isn’t grey the colour of Fate?”

  “Will you all shut up about gods?” said Kassa frantically. “This isn’t a god, this is witchwork.”

  Aragon shrugged. “Is that all?”

  She turned on him. “Aside from myself, whom we all agree is pretty rotten at the whole witching thing, have you ever actually met a real witch?”

  “Discounting the repulsive woman with the gingerbread house?” he said slowly.

  “Who isn’t actually a witch,” interrupted Kassa.

  “Then no.” Aragon met her gaze evenly. “I have never actually met a real witch.”

  “Then keep your opinions to yourself. I say we batten down the hatches and hope for the best.” Kassa climbed up into the golden Splashdance and disappeared down into the hold.

  Daggar and Sparrow looked at each other. “Do you think we should…?” said Sparrow.

  “She usually knows what she’s talking about,” said Daggar.

  The two of them followed Kassa at double speed.

  Aragon was left on the sand with Singespitter the sheep, who had only just caught up with them all, the grey kitten held firmly in his mouth. “You know,” said Aragon conversationally. “I’m not witchmarked any more. I can leave any time I like.”

  Singespitter gave him a disdainful look, sprouted wings and flapped up on to the deck of the Splashdance, where he spat out the kitten.

  “Just a thought,” said Aragon, pulling himself up on to the deck.

  The grey sky cracked open, making ominous rumbling noises. The trapdoor flew open and Kassa’s head emerged. “Get down here, bone-brain,” she said crossly.

  Aragon raised an eyebrow. “What happened to that undying gratitude for rescuing you from the Underworld?”

  “I got over it.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Singespitter trotted over to Kassa and licked her face. “Euwghh!” She ducked out of sight. The sheep nosed open the trapdoor, pushed the kitten inside and crawled after it.

  There was a splashing sound. Aragon turned around to see that a mermaid had taken up residence on the ship’s rail. She was grey from head to scaly tail, and sported waist-length silver hair. “Have we met?” he asked. “Only I’m sure I would remember any acquaintance with a mermaid.”

  “We have not met,” replied the mermaid coyly. “After all. You don’t know any witches. Remember?”

  Before Aragon could respond to this, her steel-grey tail flicked out, brushing his face. Aragon froze. His skin hardened, taking on a stone-like quality.

  Kassa emerged from the trapdoor, brandishing what had once been a ruby-studded bronze umbrella, but was now glowingly gold all over. “You bitch!” she shouted.

  “Witch,” corrected Dame Veekie, restoring her usual appearance. “You should at least know that. Initiate.”

  Sparrow was wedged behind Daggar, who was peering anxiously up through the trapdoor. “What is happening?” she hissed.

  “It’s a six-foot grey woman with feathers in her hair,” reported Daggar. “She just turned Aragon into a statue.”

  “Get up there!” Sparrow ordered. “Are you a man or a mouse?’

  “Do I seriously have to answer that question?” he replied loftily.

  Sparrow jabbed him lightly with her elbow. “Move it!”

  Daggar scrambled up on deck, with Sparrow hard on his heels. “Um,” he said. “Everything all right, Kassa?”

  Kassa ignored him, too busy shouting at Dame Veekie. “I never said I wasn’t going to finish my initiation, I just had better things to do at the time! Like escaping from the Underworld, in case you’ve forgotten, and having my li
fe restored and why did you do that to Aragon?”

  “Incentive?” suggested Dame Veekie, unsmiling.

  “You shouldn’t even be here in this time period,” Kassa continued. “I won’t escape from the Underworld or the OtherRealm initiation for another week or more!”

  “Time has no meaning in the Underworld,” said Dame Veekie. “And this island contains many gateways to the OtherRealm. You will complete your initiation here. Or pay the consequences.”

  “What consequences?” interrupted Daggar, unwisely. Suddenly he doubled over, hair sprouting wildly from his clothes and face. His body shrunk in on itself, changing. A moment later, a small bear was making snuffly noises around the deck, looking confused.

  Sparrow’s narrow green eyes bored into Dame Veekie. “Stand aside, Mistress Daggersharp, while I carve this overgrown dustdevil into bite-size chunks.”

  “Will you stop metamorphosing my friends?” Kassa demanded of Dame Veekie. “Look, if I do the initiation right now, will you put everything back as it was?”

  “Well,” said Dame Veekie. “That all depends. On how well you complete your initiation.”

  “All right, I’m ready!” Kassa exclaimed. “Let’s go.”

  “You may take a companion,” Dame Veekie told her.

  Kassa looked in dismay from the statue that was Aragon Silversword to the snuffling bear which had been Daggar. Her eye fell on Sparrow, the only human crew member left.

  Sparrow sheathed her sword. “I will accompany you.”

  “But you don’t even know me,” Kassa protested.

  “On the contrary,” said Sparrow the mercenary. “I have known you since your birth. Besides, I have reasons of my own to visit the OtherRealm.” She lifted a boot, and several stalks unfolded from between the boards of the deck to reveal bright yellow blooms.

  The solid grey sky rumbled.

  With a dramatic flourish, Dame Veekie produced a full-length mirror out of thin air. “Step inside. Witch-to-be.”

  Kassa eyed the mirror suspiciously. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you would prefer to go first?” she suggested half-heartedly to Sparrow.

  “I was planning to guard your back,” replied Sparrow. “Besides, this is your quest. I’m the sidekick.”