Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  By the light of invisible campfires, the cave which contained Zelora Footcrusher and her prisoners slowly slid across the mountain.

  “I feel sick,” said Daggar helpfully.

  Zelora ignored him, turning the gargoyle around in her hands. “So, Braided Bones,” she murmured. “This is what you have been doing all these years.”

  Kassa was surprised. “You know who he is?”

  Zelora ignored her as well. “Thank you, Agent Camelot. Your work is faultless.”

  Griffin looked pleased. “That’s me. Urchin for hire. I do spying, political intrigue, publicity management and juggling at children’s parties.” He produced a small white card and handed it to her. “Recommend me to your friends.”

  “I told you not to go picking up stray kids,” Daggar accused Kassa.

  “When?” she challenged.

  “I presume you found out all the necessary information about the gargoyle from these two,” Zelora said to Griffin.

  The urchin tried to look modest, digging the ground with his toe. “Well, I did delve a little.”

  “Good. Singespitter, take these two into the cave next door. If Agent Camelot doesn’t have everything I want, I may wish to interrogate them.”

  “What if we don’t want to go into the next cave?” protested Daggar as he and Kassa were pulled to their feet.

  Zelora snarled, showing her teeth nastily. “Would you like me to demonstrate why I am called Footcrusher?”

  Daggar smiled weakly. “I could say that I liked a woman with spirit, but you’d probably hit me, so I’ll just go into the cave next door with Mangebiter, shall I?”

  “That’s Singespitter,” corrected Singespitter in a tone which entirely failed to sound mean enough.

  The K Division caves continued, rumbling slowly across the face of the mountain. Kassa could smell salt. She sniffed heartily at the air. “We’re near the sea.”

  “I know,” said Daggar glumly. The rock he was tied to was dangerously near the edge of the cave. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Please don’t.”

  The caves hiccupped violently, and stopped moving.

  Daggar looked very green. “I wonder what they’re going to do with us,” he said dismally.

  “They’ll probably eat us.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Do you think they’re after the treasure too?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I would say that you were more worried about the treasure than about us.”

  “Oh, I’m very worried about us,” he assured her. “But if I don’t prove myself profitable to the Profithood soon, I’m going to have a crack team of my dear colleagues hunting me down with murderous intent. Then is the time to be worrying about us. Well, me anyway.” He peered out over the edge, and saw something which surprised him. “Speaking of traitors, lords and ladies…”

  “Were we talking about traitors?” said Kassa tiredly

  “We will be in a minute,” Daggar predicted.

  It was then that Aragon Silversword climbed into the cave. He stood silently for a moment, waiting for one of them to say something. They didn’t. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t suppose that either of you would care to be rescued?”

  7

  The Earth Moves for Everyone

  Fredgic the court warlock approached the Lordling’s room cautiously. “Lord? Lord Rorey, are you there?”

  A large figure leaped out in front of him. “Hahhaargh! Shiver your timbers, me blighties, hmm, and yo ho ho with rum balls and cream! Haharrggh!” Under the bright scarlet scarves, large purple trousers, four eye patches and two black hats, Fredgic could just recognise his Lordling.

  “Hmmm,” Lordling Rorey said thoughtfully, pausing to admire himself in the mirror. “Not bad, eh, Fruitcup?”

  “Very flattering, Lord,” said Fredgic, sniffling politely into a handkerchief.

  “Hmm, all ready to start training my pirates,” said the Lordling happily. “Where are they, then?”

  “I have located a pirate crew, Lord,” said Fredgic hastily. “But they appear to be travelling on dry land.”

  “Hmm, what a good idea,” said the Lordling. “All the better to capture them, eh, Fructose? Are they in my dungeon yet?”

  “You don’t have a dungeon, Lord, you have a small wine cellar,” corrected Fredgic.

  “Hmm, better not put them in there, wot? The bounders will drink all my best claret. Just send them up to me, will you?”

  “They are quite close by, in the Skullcap mountains,” said Fredgic, hoping to gently dissuade the Lordling from ordering him to do anything about it.

  Lordling Rorey peered at him. “Hmm, well, you had better go and fetch them, by Jellied Eels! They might escape.”

  “Perhaps one of your other retainers might be more suitable for this task, my Lord?” suggested Fredgic weakly.

  “Hmm, but it’s Cook’s day off, don’t you know?”

  A tiny figure crept out of the shadows. It was a very small jester with spectacles and a large humorous hat. “If I might be so bold, Lord?” he squeaked. “I would very much like to accompany anyone going on such a mission. I have aspirations, you see, to be an epic-minstrel and to write songs about famous people who do mighty deeds, like yourself, Lord.”

  Lordling Rorey looked stunned. “Hmm, that’s it, by gad! This is even better than the time I thought about putting a piece of bread inside two pieces of cheese for a comfortable snack. I shall go to capture the pirates myself! Marvellous, wot? You can come to write songs about me, jester, and you, Froogleberry, you can get my best golden carriage.”

  “We will be climbing mountains, Lord, perhaps a carriage is not quite suitable,” said Fredgic weakly.

  “Hmm, hitch it up to some mountain goats, then. Do I have to think of everything?”

  “How many guards and warriors in the retinue, lord?” asked Fredgic hopefully, dimly aware that there was less than six in the whole city, and none were officially on the Lordling’s payroll.

  “Hmm, I don’t want any of those fellows, use your brains, man! I want mummers, by gad. And jugglers, and people wearing humorous hats such as this little chap. Well done, little chap. What’s your name?”

  “Tippett, my Lord,” said the little jester.

  “Hmm,” said Lordling Rorey. “Pack a suitcase, Tippett. Well, get moving, Fridgepick. We’re going to capture some pirates!”

  Mildly resentful that the Lordling had got the jester’s name right first time, Fredgic went to arrange for a carriage. With mountain goats.

  “So you want to turn pirate?” Kassa inquired.

  “I didn’t get much of a chance last time,” said Aragon Silversword. And he smiled.

  Kassa turned her head towards Daggar. “What do you think?”

  “Why not?” said Daggar.

  “I didn’t think you trusted me,” said Aragon.

  “I don’t,” said Daggar. “But if she looks any further, we might end up with some real heroes in this crew, know what I mean? Anyway, right now I’m on the side of anyone who will untie me before that Footcrusher woman comes back.”

  Kassa thought for a moment, and then smiled generously at Aragon. “You may release us.”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Aragon Silversword. “I may have a more practical solution.”

  One of the blondest ladies-in-waiting tripped as she scurried through the door, the bubbles on her tray spilling all over Reed Cooper.

  “Fetch more,” commanded the unruffled Lady Emperor. The lady-in-waiting scuttled away again, blushing horribly.

  Lady Talle was in her bath, and it was no ordinary bath. For a start, it was the size of an average town square. Once, in the time of earlier Emperors, this colossal sunken pool had been lined with solid gold. At some stage during the last few reigns, however, the gold had been stripped away and neatly replaced by half a million false marble tiles.

  No one was quite sure how this had been achieved without anyone noticing anything su
spicious, but a Profithood declaration of sheer audacity had been awarded to the unknown culprit.

  The glittering soap bubbles which were protecting the Lady Emperor’s semblance of modesty were being continuously replenished from the gardens, where they grew in abundance.

  Reed scowled. After a pirate’s life of danger and excitement, guarding the Imperial bath chamber lacked a certain something. Another lady-in-waiting squeezed past him, clutching a selection of fizzy drinks. Reed stopped scowling and began glaring openly.

  The sacred bauble of Chiantrio was tied to a length of ribbon, and the Lady Emperor was amusing herself by batting it back and forth. “Something wrong, my precious pirate?” she cooed.

  “I am a man of action!” exploded Reed. “I know Mistress Daggersharp, we practically grew up together. I should be the one to hunt her down.”

  “You are protecting my safety, Cooper,” purred the Lady Emperor dangerously. “Is there any task more worthwhile?”

  Reed leaned over the edge of the bath, thrusting his fists angrily against the delicate tiles. “You—can’t—trust—Silversword,” he grated.

  “Oh?” said the Lady Emperor. “But I can trust you, of course.” She seemed amused at the idea.

  With a barely perceptible burble, the sacred bauble tugged impatiently at its ribbon. Lady Talle turned her attention to it. “Follow Aragon Silversword,” she whispered. With a shrill “Yipppeeee,” the bauble snapped its ribbon and went careering through the window, making a bauble-sized hole in the glass.

  Lady Talle reclined again, floating lazily amongst the bubbles. “I suggest you follow it, Reed. The bauble will find Silversword instantly. Could you?”

  In one swift moment, Reed Cooper vaulted out of the window, leaving a pirate-sized hole in the glass.

  Lady Talle sank further in the bubbles, enjoying the cool breeze upon the back of her neck.

  After a thorough briefing by her hired spy, Zelora Footcrusher ordered Singespitter to bring her the stupid-looking pirate. The prisoners were still tied to their individual rocks, glaring at each other.

  “You,” said Singespitter in a nearly menacing voice, advancing on Daggar. Surprisingly strong, he lifted the profit-scoundrel to his feet and dragged him away.

  “Oy!” protested Daggar. “Yer could untie me from the rock first!”

  When Daggar’s muffled protests could no longer be heard, Aragon lowered himself back into the cave and released Kassa.

  “Daggar won’t like being a decoy,” she warned him.

  “He’ll live. Probably.”

  She looked around. “Which way did they go?”

  “Didn’t you notice? You were in here at the time.”

  “I wasn’t looking,” she admitted. “Maybe we should split up. You take the tunnel on the left and I’ll take the one on the right. One of us should find where they took the gargoyle.”

  “A remarkably sane plan,” said Aragon. “You surprise me.”

  “So,” said Daggar, settling himself comfortably on Zelora’s sandstone cushions. “The Hidden Army, eh? I never met an executive mercenary before.” He grinned. It was a grin that had softened a thousand hearts, opened a thousand purses and won a thousand hot meals from sympathetic farmer’s wives. It had absolutely no effect on Zelora Footcrusher.

  “I am the deputy leader responsible for K Division,” she said in a clipped voice. “I am answerable only to the Hidden Leader.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Almost nothing. But let’s talk about you.”

  He smiled hopefully, attempting to gaze into her eyes. “What would you like to know?”

  “I want to know all about you,” said Zelora. “And the gargoyle.”

  “Ey,” he said offhandedly. “It’s Kassa’s gargoyle really. I were never formally introduced.”

  Zelora stood up. “Perhaps I should be speaking to her, then.”

  “I still know lots about it!” Daggar added hastily, remembering the role he had to play. “Ask me anything.”

  Zelora sat down again. “I want to know how you found the gargoyle, and what you know about where it has been for the last ten years.”

  Daggar was surprised. “He hasn’t been a gargoyle that long!”

  Zelora leaned forward. “Who hasn’t?”

  “You know,” he said teasingly.

  “Do I?”

  “Sure, or you wouldn’t be so keen to track him down.” Daggar knotted his fingers together and stretched them behind his head. “Y’know, when yer eyes lose that nasty red glow of bloodlust, yer really quite easy on the eye.”

  Zelora frowned. “Is this some kind of attempt at charm?”

  Daggar’s grin widened. “Most women appreciate it.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  All the tunnels were beginning to look the same. Kassa banged an angry fist against the blank wall beside her. “I hate the dark!”

  “So why don’t you shed some light on the subject, ladybird?” suggested a vaguely familiar voice.

  A faint glow lit up the tunnel, and Kassa saw the buxom blonde sprite from the forest.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked snappishly.

  “I’m trying to help,” said the sprite. “You’re going the wrong way.”

  “What’s it to you? You don’t know anything, you’re just a dream figment.”

  The sprite leaned against a wall. “Sleeping, are you?”

  Kassa tried not to think about that. “Do I know you?”

  “That depends,” said the sprite. “Do you remember your christening?”

  “I wasn’t christened, I was witched,” said Kassa crossly. “All my female relations got together and put a variety of interesting curses on me while submerging me in a cauldron full of unspeakable things.”

  “You do remember!” said the sprite happily.

  “Of course not, I was a baby. I saw the crystal ball recording later.”

  “I was there!” insisted the sprite. “At the witching. I was the invisible one, third from the left, who was whispering advice in your mother’s ear.”

  “I remember her swatting the air at some point,” said Kassa doubtfully. “What has all this got to do with me?”

  “It’s simple,” said the sprite. “I was your mother’s guardian sprite, and when she ran away with that overgrown pirate, I got in terrible trouble for not looking after her properly. So now I’m your guardian sprite.” She beamed at Kassa.

  “Great,” said Kassa. “I get a second-rate sprite. So now you’ve come to tell me that I’m going the wrong way, and you want to offer me directions.”

  “Absolutely,” said the sprite.

  Kassa waited. “Well?” she said finally.

  “Wouldn’t you rather reminisce?”

  “No! I have a job to do.”

  The sprite made a face and pointed to a blank wall. “That way.”

  “But there isn’t a tunnel that way,” Kassa protested.

  “There is, you know. It’s about a quarter of a mile in that direction. There’s just a lot of rock in the way.”

  Kassa put her hands on her hips, because she felt like it. “Look, sprite…”

  “Summer Songstrel, at your service,” the sprite said with vicious sweetness. “Since you ask.”

  “How am I supposed to reach the tunnel through a quarter of a mile of rock?”

  “Can’t you even do that much? Some songwitch.”

  “I am not a songwitch,” Kassa said flatly. “I am not a witch of any kind.”

  “You know, I’m almost starting to believe you,” said Summer Songstrel sadly. She sighed and waved her hands around for a while. The wall opened up, revealing a new tunnel. “Don’t say I never do anything for you,” she chided, and then vanished.

  “Thank you,” said Kassa to the empty air. And then she stepped cautiously into the sprite’s tunnel, almost expecting that to vanish too.

  The tunnel led downwards, along and downwards again. Aragon had counted eight hundred and eighty-thr
ee steps. From below, he saw a glimmer of light and heard a slow, bored voice.

  “I’m sing-ing in the Brayne, not dan-cing in the Brayne, what a ve-ry dull feel-ing, I’m onnnnnn du-ty again…”

  Aragon peered downwards to where the light was coming from. A gnome-like little man was sitting at a huge table made out of stone. Buttons and levers and strange flickering screens covered the surface of the table, all formed out of stones and pebbles and bits of bark.

  A hollow, scratchy voice came out of one of the two stone tubes that hung down from the ceiling. “Hellooooo Bronkx. Helllllooooooo, Bronkx.”

  Grumbling, the gnome climbed up on his chair and shouted at the tube. “I’m busy! Go away!”

  “Aww, come onnnnnn, Bronkx. It’s importannnt.”

  “Whaddaya want?”

  “Some pri-isonerrrrs escaaaaped from one of the entrannnnnce cavernnnnns.”

  “Whose bright idea was it to put prisoners there?” grumbled Bronkx. “No wonder they escaped.”

  “I think Footcrusher wanted them close byyyy!” the voice echoed.

  The gnome went pale. “They were Footcrusher’s prisoners and you let them escape? Are you crazy?”

  “Sorrrryyyyyy,” came the voice. “Send out an alerrrrrt to all the other guardddds.”

  “You mean Simon?”

  “Whatevvveeerrrr,” said the voice.

  Bronkx stepped down from his chair. “Flaming idiots,” he muttered, moving his chair until it was under the other stone tube. “Hey, Simon!”

  “Whhaaaat,” came a different voice.

  “Keep an eye out for some escaped prisoners will ya?”

  “I’m busssyyyyy,” came the voice.

  Bronkx climbed down again and sat on his chair. “Bleeding Hidden Army types. Who has to do all the work? Me, that’s who.” He tapped one of the stone controls on his table.

  On the stairs, Aragon realised that behind him, the door had suddenly turned into a wall. He thought about this. The Brayne. The secret of the Hidden Army’s relocating caves lay just below him. Aragon liked other people’s secrets.