Another small fireball crashed nearby. Egg held the leather umbrella so that it covered Aragon as well as himself. “You’ve met my ghost, then.”
Aragon looked around in surprise. “Ghost?”
“She used to visit our room,” said Egg. “I thought maybe she was a former student.”
“Not exactly,” said Aragon.
“Did she tell you what she was looking for? She would never tell me.”
“She doesn’t know,” said Aragon. “It doesn’t matter. She’s very close to finding it. Kassa wants me, I suppose.”
“Doesn’t she always?” said Egg. Then, blushing, he added, “I mean…”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Aragon Silversword, ignoring the umbrella and striding back towards the Axgaard encampment. “I know what you meant.”
16
The Essence of Romance
Clio was lost. She had only wanted to get away from everyone for a few minutes to clear her head, but now she had forgotten which corridor was which. She was stranded in a maze of leather and had lost all sense of direction. It was with some relief that she heard someone coming, although it turned out to be Lord Sinistre.
“Are you all right?” Clio couldn’t help asking.
Lord Sinistre stared at her. His beautiful face was pale and hollow-looking, with dark shadows around each eye. “How do you stand it?” he asked.
“Stand what?”
“This dreadful normality. You were in my beloved Drak; you felt the exquisite power of the draklight.”
“I didn’t like it much,” Clio admitted.
“You don’t know what you were missing.” His skin was clammy, glistening in the dim light of the corridor. “And now what am I? Without my city, without my draklight? I’m not a Lord. No one is even treating me like a villain any more. I’m not important enough to be considered a threat.”
He was too close to her. “I’m not overly comfortable around you right now, if that makes you feel better,” said Clio. What she wanted to do was back away from him and flee down the corridor.
“Really?” said Lord Sinistre. He rummaged through his pockets. “I don’t have the doomed blade of Dathazarrr any more, but I have my spyglass and my Compelling Collar and my various unnameable torture instruments…” He stared at a nasty-looking narrow blade. “Actually, I think this is a cuticle-slice.”
He really was quite pathetic. “Do you want us to tie to you a chair again?” Clio sighed. “Would that make you happy?”
“Ah,” Lord Sinistre said. “At least then I would know which side I was on.”
“Can’t you just be on our side?”
Sinistre moved in an instant, pinning Clio to the wall with one arm. He held the cuticle-slice to her throat. “Are you suggesting that I become a…” he choked on the word, “…hero?”
“I don’t think we’re heroes really,” said Clio, trying not to think about the proximity of the blade. “We’re defending the place where we live, trying to survive. You live here too, now. With the draklight gone, you’re just like us. Why shouldn’t you help us save Mocklore?”
“I don’t know,” breathed Lord Sinistre, his eyes gleaming. “Who would be the villain?”
“There aren’t any,” said Clio. “I mean, maybe the Light Lords, but we haven’t seen them for ages. They probably died when their world did. The main threat is the storm and I don’t think it can tell the difference between heroes or villains.”
“And which am I again?”
Clio winced as the wicked blade of the cuticle-slice pressed harder against her throat. “Not sure,” she whispered. “What do you think?”
“Let her go!” shouted an outraged voice. It was Sean McHagrty. So that was going to be helpful.
“It’s okay,” Clio insisted, not wanting him to scare Lord Sinistre.
Sean stopped a few feet from them, taking in the sharp instrument that Lord Sinistre was holding to her throat. “How is this okay?”
Clio thought about it. “Good point. Get off me!”
Lord Sinistre backed away, lowering the cuticle-slice. “You think I’m a villain.”
“Not a very good one,” admitted Clio, rubbing her throat.
“At this stage, I’ll take what I can get.” Lord Sinistre paused, as if about to laugh maniacally, then seemed to think better of it. He ran off down the corridor.
Clio breathed out, shivering. “Yikes.” That had been close, and yet she had never felt entirely in danger. He was such a bad villain.
“You all right?” Sean asked.
“You don’t have to play the hero, you know. It doesn’t impress me.”
“Why do you always assume I’m trying to impress you?”
“Because I’m female and I have a pulse.”
“Oh, very nice. I’m not this sex-mad caricature you seem to think I am.”
Clio started counting off on her fingers. “Lemissa, Nannandra, Beanka, Chantelle, Meridia, Sallix…”
“You’re keeping score?”
“Those are just the girls in my immediate acquaintance whose hearts you happen to have broken. Recently.”
“It’s not my fault they got their hearts involved. I never asked them to.” Sean gave her a sidelong look. “So you don’t want to give me a chance to do the same to you?”
Clio shot a scornful look at him. “I don’t like you enough to give you that chance. This isn’t banter, in case you were wondering. It’s disdain.”
“Charming. Do you give Egg this much of a hard time?”
“He doesn’t deserve it as much as you do. Anyway, Egg and I are friends.”
“Who says that’s not what I want?”
Clio laughed. “You want to be friends with me?”
“Why not?”
“Why?”
“I’m jealous.”
“Of me and Egg?”
“You two are so easy with each other, you have fun. I’ve never had a friend like that.”
“Never?”
Sean shrugged again, looking more uncomfortable. “I’m not good at making friends. I’m good at chatting up girls.”
“That sounds like a chat up line in itself.”
“I know. Can’t help it. I was born to flirt.”
“If we’re going to be friends and you accept that we won’t be anything else, that means no more flirting.”
Sean sounded baffled. “Never?”
“Never ever.”
“But you flirt with Egg all the time.”
Good point, Clio. Work that one out. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is. Can you do it, McHagrty?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried not to flirt with someone.”
“Try now.” She gestured down the corridor. “Is this the way back to the others?”
“Yep. It’s a bit of a walk.”
“Fine.”
They walked along the corridor in silence for a minute or two. Sean broke first. “Look, I can’t do this. I have to tell you how cute you look in those braids.”
Clio tore the spiked leather thong out of one of her braids and unplaited it violently.
“Hey, don’t do that. The Axgaard ladies will get cranky.” He picked up the spiked leather thong and leaned in, quickly rebraiding it.
Clio waited for him to make a move, to try to smooch her or flirt, but instead he seemed genuinely interested in repairing the braid. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing the mess you just made.”
“You know how to braid hair?”
“Hey, I have a sister. And lots of girlfriends.” He worked in silence for a few moments, then tied off the braid with the spiky leather. “It doesn’t quite match the other one.”
“It’ll do,” she said.
“Are we friends yet?”
“You’re not planning to kiss me, are you?”
“Not unless we get possessed by superhero demon creatures from another world again. Been there, done that, bought the limited ed
ition souvenir tunic.”
“I think we can be friends, then.”
“Excellent.”
“Most of our people are sheltering in the cellars under Cluft,” Vice-Chancellor Bertie told Kassa when Egg and a dripping-wet Aragon returned to the dining tent, which had been turned into a conference room. “We lost the Third Lecture Theatre and a large chunk of the square of student residence, but luckily there doesn’t seem to have been anyone inside at the time.”
“Is the library all right?” Singespitter asked.
Mavis smiled approvingly at him, a student with the right priorities. “All the scrolls are safe.”
“Does Drak have cellars?” Svenhilda asked.
“Dungeons,” said Kassa.
“And an underground zoo,” contributed Aragon, joining the table. “Plenty of places to shelter.”
“Clio said that Lord Sinistre is reacting badly to the loss of the draklight,” Kassa told him. “He attacked her in the corridor.”
Aragon glanced over to the far side of the tent, where Clio and Sean sat at one of the other tables in quiet conversation. “He didn’t hurt her?”
“She says not. But will all the people of Drak have a similar reaction?”
“I don’t know.” He sat on the bench opposite her. “Some of the courtiers, maybe. The so-called nobles. I imagine the servants will just get on with things. They usually do.” A brief look of worry crossed over his face. “I hope they’re all right.”
“Worrying about your staff?” she asked, teasing a little.
He gave her a rueful look. “I feel responsible for them.”
“I know the feeling.”
Their eyes met, briefly. Kassa looked away first. “Mavis, don’t you think it’s time you told us what you know about all this?”
From where Egg stood, Clio and Sean were talking quite intently about something. He hesitated to interrupt them until Clio caught his eye and waved him over.
“Well,” Sean was saying. “My uncle is the great inventor Imago Void who lives in a giant castle in the ruins of the ancient witch-city of Shadowe. He designed the Clockwork Comet which still appears in the sky every thirteen and a half years.”
Clio smiled sadly. “Well…”
“You shouldn’t play this game with her,” Egg told Sean.
“My father was convicted of High Treason against Emperor Timregis and was executed by the Imperial Champion, his own brother,” said Clio, before Egg could stop her.
Sean didn’t look fazed in the least. “My dad was the Captain of the Dreadnought Blackguards when old Emperor Timregis died. After a few replacement Emperors kicked the bucket, the leaders of Dreadnought forced my dad to take the throne. He lasted two months before being assassinated. My mother was left with six kids and no husband. Then, several Emperors later, the leaders of Dreadnought grabbed my eldest brother Tam, and forced him to take the throne. He was only twenty-two. He survived for three weeks. Then our dog died.” He took a sip of foamy beer from a tankard.
Clio stared at him, tears welling up in her wide blue eyes. “My mother died in a house fire when I was a baby. I don’t even know what she looked like.”
Egg let his head hit the table. “Clio, you have to stop playing this game. It is the opposite of fun.”
“I know,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Sorry. Shall we talk about something else?”
Vice-Chancellor Bertie had taken over half of the conference table with various tools and bits of broken wood, as he attempted to repair the Great Reversing Barrel.
Everyone else was looking at Mavis.
“Is this the end of it?” Kassa asked first. “Are we safe once the storm has ended?”
Mavis pulled some crumpled knitting out of her handbag and started to click her needles. “When is anyone ever safe in Mocklore? I don’t see why the storm shouldn’t be the last of it, assuming it ever ends.”
“There will be a lot of damage to clean up,” said Svenhilda grimly.
“That’s nothing new,” said Kassa. “I’m hoping we don’t have any more surprises coming to us.” She looked sideways at Mavis. “You said one of our gods might know something?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mavis. “The cause of this whole disaster is much closer to home than you might imagine.”
“But the Light Lords of Harmony created Drak, caused all the trouble. What have our gods got to do with anything?”
“Did you never stop to wonder who created Harmony?”
“Oh,” said Kassa. “It seemed like a real place. Creepy, but real. It had a history.”
“Anyone can write history,” said Mavis. “I imagine the people of Drak thought they had a history.”
“Not a very good one,” said Aragon. It was the first thing he had said for a while. “Lord Sinistre never could remember what his father looked like.”
“I had better start at the beginning,” said Mavis. “Some time ago, Raglah the Golden and myself had a debate about human needs. He insisted that a mortal society could run on magic, that if there was enough magic then such things as agriculture, industry and even biological reproduction were unnecessary.” She looked a little embarrassed. “That was when Amorata got involved.”
“I imagine she took it quite personally, the idea that humans didn’t need to mate,” agreed Kassa.
“It was an argument, nothing more,” Mavis said crossly. “But that silly little lust-goddess created Harmony to prove Raglah wrong.”
“Did it prove him wrong?” asked Baron Svenhilda.
“He claimed not,” said Mavis. “Everyone else took one look at the society of Harmony and shuddered, but Raglah thought it was perfectly functional. The debate went on…”
“And so did Harmony,” said Kassa.
“They were sentient,” said Mavis. “We couldn’t just obliterate them. Well, Lady Luck wanted to, but she was out-voted. We chose the most impartial of us to guard the Harmony gem and make sure it was permanently contained.”
“But then Aragon Silversword mysteriously appeared inside Harmony’s own little fake city and inadvertently showed them that there was a way out,” said Kassa. “We still don’t know how that happened, assuming everyone is being truthful about it.”
“Yes,” said Aragon, giving her a hard look. “Assuming that.”
“Who was supposed to be looking after the gem?” asked Kassa. “No, don’t tell me. I think I can guess which of the gods is considered an impartial judge. Your ladyship, I don’t suppose there’s any seawater around here?”
Svenhilda blinked at the unusual request. “There might be some sea salt in the kitchen tents.”
“That’ll do,” said Kassa, sweeping away from the table.
“Hmmph?” said Vice-Chancellor Bertie. “Where’s she gone, then?”
“To visit her godfather,” Aragon said in unison with Singespitter, in the same weary tone. They stared at each other in surprise.
The sea salt was the good stuff, white and crusty. Kassa stood in a small ante-tent, crumbling it between her fingers. Slowly she walked in a circle, scattering the salt to trace the shape on the leather floor. When it was completed to her satisfaction, she sat in the centre to wait.
Skeylles the Fishy Judge, Lord of the Underwater, one of the ten remaining deities of Mocklore, had been named Kassa’s godfather when she was eight days old. She didn’t have the faintest idea why. Neither of her parents had bothered to enlighten her either before or after their deaths, and Skeylles himself had been silent on the matter. Of course he was the god of the ocean and Kassa’s parents had both been pirates who sailed the seventeen seas, but that seemed a fairly tenuous connection. There was a story there, and if ever Kassa had a spare five minutes in her life she planned to track it down.
Meanwhile, a godfather who was an actual god came in quite handy at times, particularly when Kassa was in danger of drowning. He sent great birthday presents, too. The live kraken she had received for her sixth birthday was the best. She called it Fido, and kept it as a pet for y
ears, even after it completely outgrew the bathtub and had to be dragged behind her father’s ship on a leash.
Skeylles had also provided damage control after the catastrophic Second Glimmer rampaged across Mocklore, and he had taken a direct interest when the very dangerous goddess Lady Luck developed a serious grudge against his god-daughter. Still, he wasn’t the kind of deity who tolerated being summoned very often. All Kassa could do was hope that he was in a good mood.
There were soft footsteps on the leather floor of the corridor outside. Aragon Silversword stood at the door flap, looking in at her. “Any luck?”
“Not yet.”
“You should be careful, you know. Lord Sinistre is still running around the tents threatening people.”
Kassa tapped her belt, where a few small herb-daggers hung. “I can look after myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” said Aragon. He opened his hand, revealing a wicked blade. “I thought you might like this one back.”
“I can’t break the circle,” she said.
“I can wait.” Aragon dropped to the floor outside the circle of salt, resting the knife easily on his knee.
“Strange to think of you playing Chamberlain,” she said after a moment. “How long were you in Drak?”
“Hard to say,” said Aragon. “It’s difficult to count the moon-cycles when the moon is always full, but a friend of mine reckoned it at about half a year. I fell into the routine easily enough. Being a Lordling’s Chamberlain isn’t that different to being an Emperor’s Champion. Or a pirate queen’s lieutenant, come to that. I seem to suit being second-in-command.”
“So,” said Kassa. “Where were you the rest of the time?” She met his gaze this time. Golden eyes looked into grey.
“I was in Drak.”
“For a half a year. You’ve been gone three.”
“I can’t explain how that happened.” He looked at her. “Do you actually think that I left you? That I woke up one morning and walked out?”
“Are you saying you didn’t?”
His eyes were disturbingly calm. “I suppose I am.”
Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles) Page 79
