Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  Kait and Aimee were fussing over Chas, who had made it back despite a gashed leg. Stamp was brewing tea. They all looked nervous as I walked in. So much for my bath.

  “Are you still pissed off?” Chas asked, wincing as Kait yanked hard on his bandages to tighten them.

  “Yep.” I kicked off my shoes and opened one of my cabin trunks, pulling out some nice sensible DV clothes: trews and a linen shirt. I’d leave the heels and satin to Benedetta and the others. “I have more to worry about than missing the second act of Orthandro, though. Claddius went and got himself murdered.”

  “That’s horrible,” exclaimed Aimee.

  “Bad day for mysterious deaths.” I pulled on my trews under the green satin dress and then pulled the silly garment over my head, tossing it in a far corner of the room before I shrugged into the shirt. Aimee automatically went to the corner, picked up the dress and smoothed it out before folding it over the back of a chair. Cruelty to clothes is never tolerated in her presence. I looked at Chas. He seemed edgy. So did Kait, which was odd. “What’s up with you?”

  “The man who died in the theatre today,” said Chas. “He was my target.”

  “I figured that. Someone must have really wanted him dead to send two assassins after him. Who was he?”

  “Arch-duke Harry, Lord Rynehart’s cousin. It’s not just that.” Chas looked like he had swallowed a live newt, all wriggly and uncomfortable. “Claddius was on my list too,” he blurted out.

  “What?”

  “I had until the end of the week, so I was putting it off, kind of hoping you’d be out of town before… well, before I did it.”

  The others moved slowly and casually, positioning themselves between us in case I tried to strangle him. “Why are you telling me this?” I said wildly. “Why do you think I want to know?”

  “I need your help, Delta. Someone’s killing my targets before I get to them. I have to find out who it is.”

  “What am I supposed to do when I find this other assassin? Shake him by the hand and thank him for killing my boss before my friend had to do it?”

  “You’re good at finding stuff out, DV,” Chas said earnestly. “Someone knows way too much about me, and is stealing my kills. I want to hire you to find out who it is.”

  Aimee and Stamp both shook their head warningly at him, but too late.

  “Suddenly everyone wants to employ Delta Void!” I yelled. “Who said I was for sale, you cold-blooded killer?”

  Stamp reached me first, shaking me firmly by the shoulders. “Deev, calm down. You’re being a bitch, which is definitely not your colour.” He pushed me into the couch, which had no immediate effect except that my feet stopped hurting. Strangely, it helped.

  “I’ve had a really bad day,” I mumbled at no one in particular.

  “I know,” said Stamp. “I’ll bring you a cup of tea and we can all figure out who is stalking Chas, okay?”

  It sounded reasonable. “Lots of sugar,” I told him.

  Chas sat in the armchair opposite. He looked guilty and nervous at the same time, like an eight-year-old boy who is painfully aware that his big sister will crucify him when she finds out he has shredded her favourite party dress.

  I sighed. “You’re only talking about two victims, right? It could be coincidence. I’m sure Claddius had more than one person who wanted him dead. Maybe the Arch-duke did too.”

  “Two in one day could be coincidence,” Chas agreed, but he didn’t sound convinced.

  “Okay, we’ll assume foul play.” It suddenly occurred to me that there was a bright side in all this. If someone was killing Chas’s victims before he got to them, then the Silver Warlock was less of a suspect. He had no motive to hassle Chas, or to kill Arch-duke Harry. Maybe I could sign that contract with a clear conscience after all. It then occurred to me that I wasn’t a very nice person for thinking such a thing. Claddius was dead and I was hoping that the murderer would turn out to be the least inconvenient option for me?

  Maybe it was time to stop giving Chas a hard time. “So who knows about your targets ahead of time? Do you have a booking manager?”

  Kait coughed and put up her hand. “That would be me. Sorry.”

  Stamp was prepared for this. He closed my hand around a cup of hot, sweet peppermint tea. The aroma was wonderful.

  I took a few deep breaths. “I thought you were a banker. You have my life savings!”

  Kait looked a bit embarrassed. “It’s not a real bank, that’s my cover. I keep your life savings in a box under my bed. There’s not much after I take the rent out every month.”

  I wondered why I wasn’t screaming at her. “This is very good tea, Stamp.”

  “Hand-dried by very calm monks,” he grinned.

  “Assassination isn’t illegal,” I said to Kait. “Why the big secret?”

  “People don’t like it to be known that they are hiring assassins. They’re always worried that their third cousin’s great-aunt will spot them going in. My business tripled the week after I took down the Assassins for Hire sign.”

  “How nice for you.”

  “I didn’t mean to lie to you, Delta. I just never tell people when I first meet them. By the time we were friends it seemed too late.”

  I glared at Stamp. “You knew, obviously. Do you work for her, too?”

  “I’m an independent cat burglar, thank you very much,” he said haughtily. “Mind you, she’s a wicked fence.”

  “No one ever told me any of this,” said Aimee huffily.

  At least I wasn’t the only one. I took a deep swallow of the tea. It really was very good. “Okay, let’s work through this. Could anyone have found out who Chas was due to kill this week?”

  “Our office was broken into last week,” Kait admitted. “It happens all the time. Paid-up members of the Profithood know it’s not a real bank, but there’s always some amateur who thinks they can pull off a smash and grab. They usually give up and go home when they see that the vault is empty.”

  Chas glared at Kait. “So anyone could have read my file?”

  “Why would they want to?” Kait shot back. “There is no earthly reason why someone would figure out who an assassin was due to kill and get in first. Why bother?”

  “I have a better question,” I said firmly. “Who’s your next victim?”

  Chas and Kait glanced at one another. “Prince Rorey,” said Chas.

  “Big week for you,” I noted.

  Stamp clapped his hands in delight. “Royalty! Bags I come.”

  –§–§–§–§–§–

  We forced Chas to stay at home, since his wounded leg would slow us down. Stamp and I headed for Lord Rynehart’s palace, which (due to the space restrictions in Skullcap) is a semi-detached house in Lordling Street.

  I wore Helene, a slinky almond-eyed burglar in a black jumpsuit. She was Stamp’s favourite, but I didn’t let them play together often. Stamp wore a fur-lined cape and a pearl-encrusted doublet over white hose and cavalier boots, an outfit that had taken him forty minutes to assemble. If Prince Rorey was already dead, it was his fault.

  We crawled across a succession of roof gardens, finally arriving at the one that had to belong to the palace—little golden crowns had been stamped on everything from the water features to the potted shrubs.

  I switched back to DV as soon as I no longer needed Helene for the roof-climbing. She’s athletic, but only speaks in a language no one has ever heard of, which makes communication difficult.

  “I didn’t think we had any princes left in Skullcap,” I hissed to Stamp as we concealed ourselves behind an orange tree carved into the shape of two swans mating. “Didn’t Lord Rynehart’s children all die in freak accidents?”

  “The legitimate ones had the freak accidents,” Stamp whispered back. “Rynehart had to resort to illegitimate offspring after that. Prince Rorey and Princess Ranessa were officially inducted into the First Family of Skullcap last year.”

  “How do you always know this stuff?”

/>   “I’m a cat burglar, ducks. We’re all into royal gossip and tea. That’s how we find out where the best diamonds hang out. Ooh, speaking of royal gossip…”

  I peered over the top of the orange tree. A pale, flabby young man lay in a deckchair, snoring. It could only be Prince Rorey. He wore an over-sized coronet, multi-coloured boxer shorts, and a gormless expression.

  “Should we warn him?” Stamp whispered.

  “Warn him about what? That our friend Chas is going to kill him sometime this week if a mysterious stranger doesn’t get in first?”

  “Good point. Why are we here, then?”

  “You want this day to start making sense now? So far I’ve been mauled by shop assistants, chased out of a theatre for being in league with an assassin who didn’t kill anyone, and…” I broke off, thinking furiously.

  “What’s up?”

  “How did she know he was an assassin?”

  “Who, pet?”

  “Her.”

  The redheaded girl who had screamed and pointed at us in the theatre was here, on the rooftop. She stepped out from behind a fake waterfall, wearing a black leather dress that looked like a handbag with armholes. She wore a tiara, and held a nasty-looking length of razor wire in her gloved hands.

  “That’s Princess Ranessa,” whispered Stamp. “Maybe she’s pruning roses.”

  “Or not,” I said as the princess reached Prince Rorey’s deckchair. “Get her!”

  Stamp was faster than me, and reached her before she looped the wire fully around the prince’s neck. A moment later I crashed into both Stamp and the princess, my momentum knocking all three of us into a miniature ornamental lake.

  Prince Rorey woke up with a jolt. “I say, what’s going on?”

  “Your sister tried to kill you,” announced Stamp.

  While he pinned the struggling princess to the ground, I extracted the razor wire and handed it to Prince Rorey.

  “Oh, that,” said Rorey. “She’s always trying to kill me. Not very good at it, are you, lovey?” He chuckled. “I even heard she hired an assassin to bump me off, can you imagine?”

  I leaned over and secured Princess Ranessa into a firm headlock. “Did you kill Arch-duke Harry and my manager Claddius?” I demanded.

  “Of course,” she grunted, still struggling.

  “Why would you kill Cousin Harry, old girl?” asked Rorey in astonishment.

  “Practice,” snarled the princess. “I knew Daddy would never let me inherit Skullcap as long as he had a male heir, so I moved into a different profession. After the Assassins turned down my application, I hired an accredited assassin to kill you, then broke into the office and found out who else he was due to kill this week. Beating him to his victims should be impressive enough to make the Board of Assassins reconsider my application.”

  “Assassins have a Board?” said Stamp in surprise. “Why don’t cat burglars have a Board? All we have is a book club.”

  “So no one hired you,” I said, staring at the princess. “No one paid you to kill those men.”

  “So what?” said Ranessa. “I’m not doing it for the money. I have pots of money. It’s all about professional pride.” She looked pleased with herself.

  “You’re not a professional,” I said. “If no one hired you to do it, you’re an amateur. What you did was not assassination. It was murder.”

  This was an important legal distinction. Unlike assassination, murder is a crime in Mocklore. Princess Ranessa stared blankly at me.

  The expression on Prince Rorey’s face was beatific. “My dear fellow,” he said to Stamp. “You wouldn’t mind dashing off and fetching a high-ranking constable, would you? I’ll have a chat to Daddy. I rather think he’ll be interested in what my darling little sister has confessed to.”

  –§–§–§–§–§–

  It took hours to sort everything out. I sent Stamp home, since he was likely to be recognised around the Palace thanks to his many wine-pilfering expeditions. I stayed to explain everything to his Lordship as well as to various constables, and finally to the major chief constable himself. Princess Ranessa’s daddy was quite happy to put his troublesome daughter in the hands of the judicial system, and he made a point of mentioning she would have to pay for the lawyers herself.

  I had to agree to appear in court as both Delta Void and Kally Pierced-Eyebrow, but I got off pretty lightly since none of the constables could prove I had ever worked for Claddius. Lord Rynehart even hinted that he might hire me next time he had a situation that required discretion.

  It was late when I got home. From outside I could see lights flickering in my attic room, which suggested a welcome committee lying in wait. I was fine with that as long as they didn’t expect me to cook.

  Orange sparkly lights twinkled beside me and the Silver Warlock appeared. “Have you thought about my offer?” he asked.

  Flavia was right. He was a bit of a looker, for an old guy. I decided not to think about that. “Everyone wants to hire Delta Void,” I said aloud.

  –§–§–§–§–§–

  When I finally made it to the attic, Aimee was putting the finishing touches on a fearsome chocolate cake, Kait was ladling pasta into bowls, Stamp was fussing over table arrangements and Chas was opening yet another bottle of Lord Rynehart’s finest.

  “Did Princess Ranessa pay in full for the assassination of her brother?” I asked Kait.

  “That’s confidential,” she said primly. “And no, just a deposit.”

  I helped her carry the dishes to the table. “You’ll have to write that one off. Her daddy reduced her pocket money for being a horrid little psychopath, and she has to sell all her tiaras to raise her own legal fees.” I handed Kait a medium-sized pouch that had a promising clink to it. “His Lordship would like the matter of Prince Rorey’s impending assassination to go away.”

  “Fair enough,” said Kait, taking the money. “We can always be bought off, can’t we, Chas?”

  “Trademark of the profession,” he agreed.

  We sat down to dinner, eating mostly in silence. Aimee broke first. “Are you going to forgive Chas or not?”

  I looked to my left. Chas was looking anxious. I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “We’re fine,” I told him.

  “Really?” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “As long as you refrain from killing people I know, we’re fine.”

  “I can’t guarantee that, Delta.”

  “I know. Let’s deal with that when we come to it.”

  He flashed that gorgeous smile of his at me. I threw a piece of bread at him. Everyone relaxed.

  “I was thinking,” said Kait. “Are you going freelance now Claddius is gone? I could always add you to my books. I’ve had quite a few requests for m– for odd-job agents.”

  I grinned at her. “Thanks, but no need. I’ve signed a ten year contract.”

  “One job?” said Aimee in alarm. “Only one job for the next ten years? Delta, are you crazy?”

  “It’s random work,” I reassured her. “For the same person, that’s all. A maximum of six missions a year, and my rent is paid all year round.”

  “Score,” said Kait the landlady.

  “So who’s the new employer?” asked Stamp. “Is he cute?”

  “Pass,” I said hastily.

  “Must be cute,” giggled Aimee.

  “Spill it, pet,” said Stamp. “Who has the wit and brain to shackle himself Delta Void on a permanent basis, and is he hiring cat burglars?”

  “Can you trust him?” Chas added.

  “You know me. I don’t trust anyone. I even half-suspected him of murdering Claddius just to get me to work for him. Is that a suspicious mind at work or what?”

  “Who, who, who?” demanded Stamp.

  I gave in. “The Silver Warlock.”

  Aimee squealed loudly. “I’ve seen his portrait, he’s a fox!”

  “He’s practically royalty,” said Stamp excitedly. “Does he have a wine cellar?”

&n
bsp; During the hubbub, Kait and Chas exchanged a look that only I saw.

  –§–§–§–§–§–

  Some time later, while Aimee served up the cake and Stamp squabbled with Kait about whether her new cake forks were made from real silver, I collared Chas. “What do you know about my employer?”

  “You don’t want to know, and I can’t tell you.”

  “What if I demand it as the favour you owe me for inviting me to the theatre and making us leave before the big duet between Orthandro and his split personality?”

  “Delta, I can’t tell you,” he said pointedly. “Assassins are honour-bound not to reveal the names of their clients.”

  Everything went grey. I fell back against the arm of the couch. “The Silver Warlock hired you to kill Claddius?”

  “I didn’t say that, DV. You didn’t hear it from me.”

  My mouth opened and closed a few times. I’d spent the whole day freaking out about being friends with a killer. Now, as of half an hour ago, I was employed by one. For ten years.

  “Aimee,” I called faintly from the couch. “Can I have a really big piece of that chocolate cake?”

  “With whipped cream,” Chas advised.

  Tomorrow. I’d think about it tomorrow. In the mean time, there was cake.

  Delta Void and the Clockwork Man

  No one has the right to be that good looking. I mean, seriously. We’re talking long, golden limbs, a good strong chin, sky-blue eyes and a stomach you could do press-ups on. I circled him slowly, looking for flaws and not finding any, impressed as all hell. “Are you sure he’s made of clockwork?”

  Rynehart, Lordling of Skullcap, looked as pleased as if he had built the thing himself. “That’s right. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  I peered into the unmoving blue eyes of the clockwork man. “Can it talk?”