Singespitter bit his hand, gently but firmly. “Yah!” Egg yelled, but he got the point. He pulled himself up to the skybridge and kept walking even as the three girls giggled and called out to him. “Don’t give me that look,” he muttered to the sheep. “You would have been distracted if they were ewes.”
“Okay,” said Kassa two minutes later, sitting cross-legged on the fake grass with her white lace skirt spread out in all directions and a small china cup of tea balanced on her right knee. “The first thing you need to know is that I’m not Ladybird, or Lord Ladybird, or any other kind of lady. My name is Kassa Daggersharp and I live in a place called Mocklore. I don’t know if it’s on another continent or another world or even in another cosmos, but it’s a long way from Harmony. Got it?”
“I see,” said Quillsmith, sounding a little suspicious. “And you wouldn’t just be Ladybird setting a trap for me, would you?”
“I don’t know much about this Ladybird character,” said Kassa. “Is she the kind of person who would come up with something so subtle and devious?”
“Devious, yes. Subtle, no. All right, I’ll believe you.” He shook his head slowly. “So you’re from the outsider world.”
“It’s outside is it?” said Kassa. “Nice to have a point of reference. I was beginning to think no one would be able to direct me home.”
“I don’t know how you got here,” said Quillsmith. “I have no idea how to get you back.”
“I can worry about that later,” said Kassa, trying to ignore the little voice that immediately piped up in the back of her mind. Yes, what about that? He makes an interesting point, Daggersharp. Which way is home? “In the mean time, I need to find out exactly who you are, what this place is and what the hell’s going on. Drak is eating my world alive.”
“I know,” Quillsmith said sadly. “It started out as a story,” he added. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”
Kassa looked at him. “That sounds familiar. Go on, then. Tell me your tale.”
“I thought you knew what was going on.”
“I know a lot,” said Kassa. “I saw your little propaganda show out there, and then I saw you. Drak is the dark half and Harmony is the light half. Which is real?”
Quillsmith sighed. “I’m not sure I know anymore.” He took a deep breath. “It was Ladybird who worked out that magic could be separated. We — the Light Lords could funnel the darkness away from our city, leaving only the light. It wasn’t long before we discovered how to do it with people, too. The only trouble was finding a safe way to contain the dark energy so that it would never contaminate our perfect society. I was visited by, well, a muse I suppose. She inspired me to write about a city, equal and opposite to Harmony, a place that would feed on the darkness and enjoy it just as we enjoyed the light. The other Light Lords took my story and built the dark city — Drak — for real, constructing it out of magic and placing it on the far side of our world. It wasn’t long before it became too powerful for us to control.”
“So why isn’t Drak currently destroying your city?” Kassa asked.
“Half a year ago, a stranger appeared in Drak. The Chamberlain.”
Kassa frowned. “Aragon Silversword?”
Quillsmith nodded. “Drak was becoming dangerously powerful. And then suddenly we had evidence that another world existed, beyond our own. The Chamberlain’s world. Somewhere we could safely send Drak, far from us.”
“A convenient dumping ground,” Kassa said acidly.
“I spoke out,” Quillsmith insisted. “I refused to be a part of their sinister scheme any longer.”
“After the damage was done.”
“Well, yes.”
“Very noble of you, I’m sure.”
“I broke away from the Light Lords and began encouraging rebellion in the Outer City. It occurred to me that if we incorporated darkness back into Harmony, the danger of Drak might be neutralised. I lost my head, though, and said something in public that embarrassed the other Light Lords. They declared me a traitor and sent me here.”
“But how did Aragon get here in the first place?”
“I don’t know. If he had not, we would never have discovered the outsider world.”
“Now we’re getting to the interesting meat,” said Kassa. “What power does your world have over ours?”
“You are Lord Ladybird,” Quillsmith explained. “You may seem like different people, but your essential substance is the same. Just as every citizen of Drak has a counterpart in Harmony, so every citizen of Harmony has a counterpart in the place you call Mocklore.”
“But you made Drak that way,” argued Kassa. “You didn’t make Mocklore. Why do the same people exist in different worlds?”
Quillsmith shrugged. “Perhaps every world in the cosmos contains the same people, living different lives.”
“That’s a depressing thought. Let’s go back a few steps. The Light Lords of Harmony became the Heroes of Justice in Drak. Why?”
“We thought they might have a…calming effect on the dark powers of Drak. That was when we started broadcasting the adventures of the Heroes of Justice into the Inner City, to remind our citizens of how lucky they were.”
“Yes, I saw your little PR exercise. When did Aragon become the Cloak?”
“It was a mistake,” admitted Quillsmith. “Lord Kloakor briefly took control of his Drak counterpart, the Cloak, in order to get close to this Aragon and alter his memories so that he thought he had been the Chamberlain all his life. Because all three of them were matching counterparts, they merged together. The Chamberlain and the Cloak became the same person, and Lord Kloakor was able to control them with a thought whenever he wished to.” He smiled suddenly, looking much younger. “Our viewers were very excited by the secret identity twist when it was revealed.”
“Really trying not to be judgmental,” Kassa warned. “You’re not making it easy.”
“Sorry. Anyway, this is how we discovered that we had an influence over our counterparts in the outsider world as well as in Drak. I found the boy Egg and implanted images of Drak in his mind. I was able to reach back through time, implanting the stories in his head as far back as his childhood.”
Kassa nodded. She had expected something like this. “So you used Egg. When he drew those images and stories, he gave Drak an existence in our world. You Light Lords used that to focus your magic, transporting the whole city from your world to ours. Didn’t it occur to you that such a huge feat of magic might have dangerous repercussions?” She realised she was sounding shrill, and tried to rein her emotions in for a moment. She swallowed some tea, and then some more. It was quite nice, if a little on the cold side.
“You have to understand,” said Quillsmith. “Our whole city runs on magic. We have no fertile soil as you do, no plentiful water supply, no animals or…what are those things with feathery skin?”
“Birds.”
“They are very peculiar. We have none of those things, except for the gargoyles and demonic creatures we created for Drak. Everything we eat, drink, wear and breathe comes from magic. Harmony is the only city in our world, and it is the duty of the Light Lords to keep the Harmonians protected and happy for the rest of their lives.”
Kassa interrupted. “But all this peace and love stuff isn’t natural, is it? You drained all that negative energy out of your city to make the people think they are happy.”
Quillsmith didn’t seem to think that was a problem. “What’s the difference between being happy and only thinking you are happy?”
Kassa stared at him incredulously. “Using magic to control the emotions of your populace? No wonder you ended up in this mess.”
“I thought you were trying not to be judgmental.”
“Trying, not succeeding. You people are nuts.”
“Believe me,” said Quillsmith. “We didn’t know that Drak would feed upon your world as it has done. The transportation must have affected the dark energy reserves within Drak, allowing its essence to convert th
e chaotic energy of Mocklore into fuel. I objected to what had happened — that’s why I’m here.”
Kassa regarded him skeptically. “You ended up in prison because you tried to save my world?”
“It was too late. We drained our power reserves when we transported Drak. Our magic will return, slowly, but we need what little we have to maintain the wellbeing of Harmony, to purify the air and to continue providing food and water. By the time we have any magic to spare, it will be too late for Mocklore.”
Kassa set down her cup and saucer, trying to remain calm. “Nothing but good news today.”
A melodious female voice called out from the far side of the hill. “Quillsmith, sweetie, where are you?”
In one shocked instant, Kassa recognised the voice. It was her own.
“Hide,” said Quillsmith, gesturing towards a clump of pretty flowering shrubs.
Kassa rolled until she was certain that the shrubs concealed her from view. When she could no longer resist the temptation (about six and a half seconds later), she peeked out to get a quick look at the newcomer.
It was Kassa, a slightly taller, slimmer version of Kassa with pink hair, white skin and horribly bright white eyes, but unmistakably Kassa.
“Can you believe those idiot guards thought I was already in here?” drawled Lord Ladybird. She eyed the two used china cups. “Have you been entertaining guests?”
“I drink a lot of tea,” said Quillsmith. “There’s nothing else to do in here.”
“You should be grateful, darling. Think what passes for a prison in Drak, all those dungeony shadows and clanking chains, ugh.” Ladybird gazed around the pretty garden of illusion. A large butterfly perched for a moment on her hair before flying off again. “Charming,” she said. “This must be the nicest place in Harmony.”
“I can see why you think so,” said Quillsmith. “You can leave whenever you like. What do you want, Ladybird?”
“Oh, not much. I just came to tell you that we’ve done it. We’ve made contact! Well, I haven’t, my target is proving a little resilient, but the others have.”
“Contact?” said Quillsmith, frowning. “What contact? With whom?”
“With our counterparts in the outsider world, silly. Dreamer and Kloakor and Invisiblus have managed to make their outsider counterparts believe they are the Heroes of Justice. Since Drak has got so much more powerful, it seems to have stuck. Isn’t that lovely news?”
“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”
“We don’t all have the ability to put picture stories into people’s heads, Quillie. We have to try other methods if we’re going to transport ourselves out there.”
“You’re planning to invade?”
“Colonise, sweetie. What’s the point of letting Drak take over that nice fertile world when we could do it ourselves? We’ll do a straight swap, pop stinky old Drak back here out of harm’s way and move Harmony into a fresh new world.”
“It’s called Mocklore.”
“Whatever.”
“It’s fully populated.”
“So? They can move. Or, I know, we could zap them all back here. Make a fresh start over there with no pesky little local people to bother us.”
Quillsmith stared at her. “How much magic will this take?”
“Lots, I expect. Doesn’t matter, we can always get more.”
“From where? We were all drained by the transportation of Drak.”
“Some of us kept a little back, Quillie. Besides, have you had a look at this Mocklore place? It’s just bursting with magic. What do they need all those colours for, anyway? We’ll borrow all the power we need from them. Isn’t it a gorgeous plan?”
“She was right,” Quillsmith said bitterly. “We are nuts. Did you stop to think that this might be why our world became a wasteland of silver sand in the first place?”
Ladybird looked at him sharply. “She? Who, your little teacup friend? Have you been receiving visitors without permission, you naughty boy?”
Kassa stood up, stepping through the flowering shrubs to confront Ladybird. “I’m Kassa Daggersharp,” she said. “It’s so nice to meet me.”
Ladybird looked her double up and down. “Well,” she said. “Aren’t you a clever little mirror-creature?”
“Do you always talk like a six-year old duchess?” asked Kassa. “It’s really annoying.”
Ladybird’s white eyes gleamed. “I’d be interested to know how you got here, cutie.”
“So you can use my shortcut yourself?” said Kassa. “Sorry, you’ll have to do it the long way around. I can’t help you.”
“Oh, I think you can,” said Ladybird, stretching out a hand to touch Kassa’s face. “Let’s just see what secrets are locked up in your darling little brain, shall we?”
“She could be anywhere,” Egg complained to Singespitter.
The palace butler was surprisingly helpful, telling them that yes, Mistress Sharpe had arrived a little while ago, although no, he was terribly sorry that he didn’t know which of the seven hundred rooms of the palace she was currently located in.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t been all that helpful.
Egg promptly got himself and Singespitter lost. They stumbled into the Hall of Wardrobe, a seemingly endless room packed solid with racks and racks of Lord Sinistre’s costumes, mostly an assortment of black leather, silk and velvet formal wear, casual wear, sleepwear and fancy dress costumes.
Singespitter spat out the scroll that he held in his mouth, and stamped his hoof meaningfully on it.
“You want me to read that scroll?” said Egg.
Singespitter almost fainted with relief. He did a little sheep dance of joy while Egg unrolled the scroll and looked at it.
“Ah,” said Egg after a moment. “Blimey. That’s me, all grown up. And two Kassas.”
Singespitter nodded. He had found the scroll in the library of Drak, in the darkest corner of the least-used scroll bucket. Instead of words or pictures, it contained moving images of another world.
“It’s all white and cheerful,” said Egg. “Is this the light version of Drak?”
Singespitter shrugged. It was as good a theory as any.
“So one of those Kassas must be ours?”
The boy was bright. Who’d have guessed it?
“Hey!” yelled Egg. “Kassa just vanished. The other Kassa touched her, and she disappeared.”
Singespitter stared worriedly at the scroll. The vortex, he thought clearly.
“How do we find the vortex?” Egg asked obediently.
Contact has been made! Singespitter was always chuffed when a new human learned to hear his unspoken sentences. He baaed happily.
Kassa stood in a small room with dark red walls. She blinked and touched her cheek, where she could still feel the cool imprint of Ladybird’s touch. This was a familiar place. The furniture was gone, but the paintings still lay scattered over the broken floor-tiles. It was the vortex room in Drak. She was, in fact, standing where the vortex had been.
There was no swirling light or swirling darkness. Kassa walked slowly across the room and stared at the place where the vortex had been. There was nothing there. The portal to Harmony was closed — or, more likely, broken.
“Very, very strange,” she said aloud, staring down at herself to check that she was still in one piece. The ridiculous red lace gown was back, and the knee-high scarlet boots. It was faintly reassuring. At least there was colour in this world, even if it was so very dark and shadowy after the bright whiteness of Harmony. Of course, Drak had always been dark and shadowy, but Kassa had a feeling that she would even find the sunlight of Cluft quite dull right now.
Except, of course, there would not be any sunlight in Cluft. Drak had invaded. Darkness ruled. “Back to work,” sighed Kassa. “With a slightly better idea of what is going on behind the scenes, but no great world-saving plans coming immediately to mind.”
No plans at all, in fact. She didn’t have the faintest idea what to d
o next. Lord Sinistre was nowhere in sight, so finding him might be a good start. Also, lunch. Kassa was starving. When had she last eaten? All she had consumed in Harmony was a cup of tea, and she wasn’t even sure if that had been real. She wondered what time of day it was — she could usually rely on her own body clock to inform her whether it was lunch time, supper time or breakfast time, but the combination of her trip to Harmony and the ever-present evening of Drak had knocked her out of balance.
“I’ll ask the kitchens,” she decided in a brief flash of brilliance. “Right. Getting a plan together. On the right track. Kitchens first, find out what time it is, eat something nutritious, find Lord Sinistre, save the world. Okay.”
She strode confidently out of the vortex room and along the corridor, maintaining her confidence right up to the point where she realised she didn’t know where the kitchens were.
12
Into the Light
In downtown Drak, the Heroes of Justice stared at each other.
“What are we doing?” asked Invisiblo the Mystery Man.
“We were in that room, waiting for the warlock to return,” said Dream Girl. “Then suddenly we were here, rescuing a small boy from the top of that statue.” She stared up at the ten foot obsidian statue of a gargoyle, its wings outstretched. “What was a small boy doing up there in the first place?”
“We were talking,” the Cloak said intently. “We were talking about ourselves in very loud voices.” If only Drak was as peaceful and orderly as Harmony. “And we were staring straight at this wall, as if…”
“As if we had an audience,” Invisiblo completed.
“What do we do now?” said Dream Girl. “Should we go back and wait for that warlock?”
“Spies and warlocks,” said the Cloak. “That is not the way we do things.”
“If only we could remember the way we do things,” said Dream Girl.
“We must bring an end to the tyrant’s reign of darkness,” said Invisiblo the Mystery Man.
“Let’s do that,” said the Cloak.
Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles) Page 72
