Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  “Indeed?” murmured Zelora, not quite displeased.

  Meanwhile, Reed prepared to die. The Hidden Army decided on the nearest cliff, a looming precipice which overlooked the point where the swamp met the river. The plan was that the river would neatly wash his body away.

  Reed could not fault their logic.

  To add insult to injury, the mercenaries had turned their Hidden ability up full blast, so Reed could not see any of them except for the scruffy nephew of Bigbeard. Daggar was smirking openly. “This will make Kassa’s week,” he said as they reached the cliff.

  Reed could not see those who seized hold of him, and he could barely feel their hands as they heaved him off the cliff. In midair, rushing towards the bottomless swamp and the vicious river, he didn’t feel anything.

  The swampweeds welcomed him, dragging him beneath the mud and water, his body clamped tight in their meaty jaws.

  Kassa haggled with an icesprite merchant.

  “It’ll cost you a goose, final offer,” said the sprite.

  Aragon followed close behind Kassa, speaking quietly but urgently to her. “Kassa, where is the gargoyle?”

  She ignored him, speaking to the merchant. “I don’t have a goose. I do have a chicken.”

  The merchant eyed her doubtfully. “You have a chicken? I don’t see a chicken.”

  Kassa pulled a live, squawking chicken out of her bodice. The merchant was suitably impressed.

  Aragon leaned closer. “They’re obsessed with this market. They want us to barter everything we have. If the gargoyle is on your person, we’ll lose it!” He couldn’t see where she could possibly be concealing the gargoyle on her person, but he had thought the same about the chicken.

  Kassa smiled mysteriously. “What makes you think the gargoyle is on my person?”

  “All right,” said the sprite-merchant after a moment. “One chicken and that ring on your little finger.” He reached out for it, his white fingers tapering longer than they should have.

  Kassa snatched her hand away. “Not my jewellery. I’m not bartering my jewellery away.”

  A hush descended over the ice market. All of the icesprites were looking accusingly at her, particularly those holding silver axes. After a pause, the lady sprite-merchant at the next stall brought out a tray and uncovered it, revealing a display of the most exquisite silvercraft. Finger-rings, toe-rings, lobe-rings, bracelets, necklaces and circlets sparkled mercilessly with perfect garnets, pearls, and sister-of-moonstone.

  “On the other hand,” said Kassa quickly, slipping off the ring from her littlest finger.

  “Sold,” said the sprite-merchant triumphantly, and the whole market applauded. “Would you like to try on your purchases, pretty lady?”

  Kassa disappeared behind a screen of opaque glass, and Aragon found himself tugged by one arm. A little icesprite insisted he start shopping as well. Another one timidly pawed the iced firebrand sword which he held.Aragon slapped the sprite away. “I’m keeping that,” he growled.

  The icesprites fell into a dangerous silence. The silver axes gleamed again. And then a sprite stepped forward, unsheathing a rapier which looked as if it was made of glass.

  “Transparent silver-steel,” murmured the sprites knowledgeably.

  Very slowly, Aragon took the sword. It was perfectly balanced. The ‘glass’ of the blade felt like good steel. Quality steel. He knew that he could fight better with this rapier than he had ever fought before. He wanted it. Badly.

  They accepted the sword of the firebrands and the silver chain around his neck in exchange.

  Kassa emerged from the changing cubicle. Aragon was so engrossed with his new purchase that he didn’t notice her until he caught a glimpse out of the corner of one eye. And then he stared openly.

  The dress could have been floor-length or thigh-length for all he knew, because it was made of transparent gauze which was invisible unless folded or pleated. There were only two pleats in this dress. The gauze was adorned with hovering clasps, and the entire effect was that of a dozen silver butterflies perching absently on a naked body. The sacred bauble was nestled comfortably in this new bodice, which it approved of because it could now see out.

  “What do you think?” Kassa inquired, looking straight at Aragon with her large golden eyes.

  “You’ll get cold,” he replied.

  Kassa smiled contentedly and shimmered into a coat of fur-lined dragon-scales. “Fireproof, too,” she said approvingly as she fastened her new silver belt. The dragon-scale coat fitted snugly to her body, with a plunging neckline and a swinging silver hem.

  Eventually they had nothing left of their prior possessions, and Kassa was dripping with icesprite jewellery. She had also bartered her many concealed weapons for other, better concealed weapons. Aragon, scorning the icesprite fashions which Kassa had embraced wholeheartedly, eventually found a human-type outfit in grey and black which he agreed to trade his own clothes for.

  They had spent their coins on icesprite food and novelties such as a solid ice candle snuffer. Kassa had also bought some silver needles and embroidery thread in various different shades of white. When Aragon had bought a crossbow which shot icebolts, Kassa eyed him warily but said nothing.

  “Is all spent?” demanded the ice-queen, brandishing her large silver axe. “Have you nothing left to barter, swap or trade?”

  “Nothing,” replied Kassa and Aragon, ready to be let go.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” said Aragon impatiently.

  The ice-queen smiled, revealing pearly white gums. “Good. Prepare the execution!”

  It was dark in the swamp. Reed peered through the mud at his hosts. Two of the large, vegetable-shaped swampweeds waded through the muck, leading the way downwards. Through the mud they went, down into a giant cavern full of swamp creatures. The riverwumps ogled the newcomer with their big, runny eyes, and gnashed their gums expectantly. The marshgrugs wriggled and griggled along the walls of the cavern, hissing in an unfriendly manner.

  Reed didn’t question the fact that he could suddenly breathe swamp muck. In some perverse way he had expected it.

  A swampweed in the corner was cooking, burbling away to itself as it added a few marshgrugs to the steaming cauldron. Reed was nudged into a sitting position on the floor of the cavern, and a lady riverwump with long nostril-lashes and a large amount of marshgrug goo painted on her gums brought Reed a hollowed-out swamp seed filled with the chef’s soup.

  Reed choked down a few mouthfuls for the sake of politeness. It tasted of mud, with a hint of fennel.

  By now, the swamp creatures seemed to have accepted him as one of them. He wasn’t sure that he liked this idea, considering they had no qualms about cooking each other, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  The swampweeds crowded around in a circle now, looking adoringly up at a larger swampweed who wore strings of hollowed-out swamp seeds and petrified marshgrugs around its neck. And then this High Priest of swampweeds, gathering in all of its mighty power, proceeded to raise the dead.

  Kassa and Aragon lay side by side on a block of ice. The ice-queen stood over them, her silver axe gleaming. “Thank you for your contribution to our economy,” she said sweetly, and the axe fell.

  The sacred bauble of Chiantrio shot out in front of Kassa’s throat, and it deflecting the blow. The axe glanced harmlessly aside. “Don’t you know anything?” said Kassa in a voice colder than the ice around them. “You can’t kill a pirate on dry land.”

  She didn’t have a sword, or a knife. She only had a silver brooch with a long spiked pin. But it was enough. All right, Summer Songstrel, she said in her head. If you’re my guardian sprite, make yourself useful. I need fire.

  Do it yourself, came the reply of her guardian sprite.

  Kassa burst into flames.

  The icesprites flew back, terrified. The ice-queen did not move, but her eyes were frightened. Kassa sat up slowly and moved towards the frozen waterfall. Aragon followed her.
It seemed like the thing to do. The ice began to thaw. Kassa scraped handfuls away with her burning sleeves. Aragon jabbed at the ice with his sword, and they broke their way through.

  The waterfall flowed silently around them, extinguishing Kassa’s flames. Behind the falling water the rocks froze again, sealing off the doorway. “Where are you?” Kassa demanded.

  Summer Songstrel, the guardian sprite, was perched on an icy rock, dangling her feet in the air.

  “Have you been in my head the whole time?” Kassa demanded.

  “It’s such a nice roomy place to visit,” Summer smiled. “I suggest you start running, ladybird. They’ll come after you.” She vanished.

  Kassa frowned. “What are you looking so smug about?”

  “I thought you said you weren’t a witch,” said Aragon Silversword.

  “I’m not,” she retorted.

  “Good,” he said, drawing his icesprite sword. “Then you won’t mind telling me where the gargoyle is.”

  Kassa said nothing, glaring at his chest.

  Aragon moved forwards, the water lapping silently around his legs. His foot hit something under the water. He rolled his eyes and scooped the gargoyle out from its resting place. “Stupid,” he said.

  “I was being attacked at the time,” said Kassa defensively. “I didn’t have the leisure to hide it somewhere sophisticated. What do you want it for, anyway? I’m trying to protect it because the man it turns into every full moon is the same man who taught me how to carve toys and throw kitchen knives when I was a kid. What’s your motive?”

  “I told you,” Aragon grated. “I have a buyer. For both of you.” He levelled his new sword at her neck. “Get moving.”

  The sprites approached the wall cautiously. “Go after them!” commanded the ice-queen, brandishing her shiny silver axe in a menacing manner.

  It was then that the gaudy golden carriage drawn by four mutated mountain goats plunged through the ice-wall. A small jester with spectacles and a large humorous hat climbed out. “Excuse me,” he said politely. “I’m writing a ballad, you see. I believe you were recently visited by pirates. Could I ask you a few questions?”

  “That depends,” said the ice-queen, her silver eyebrows glittering. “Are any of you interested in…shopping?”

  The Lordling poked his head out the window eagerly. “Did you say shopping? Do you have any humorous hats?”

  Communication with the dead appeared to be the main source of entertainment for the creatures of the swamp. Reed was surrounded by phantoms of swampweeds, riverwumps and marshgrugs, as well as other swamp creatures long extinct. They seemed to be settling in for the evening.

  And then there was a ghost who was not a creature of the swamp. It was a large man, a pirate with one baleful golden eye and a huge, thick black beard. He advanced on Reed, holding a ghostly facsimile of the sword strapped to Reed’s back.

  Something to say to me, Reed Cooper?” boomed Vicious Bigbeard Daggersharp, deceased. “Something to say?”

  Reed could not think of anything to say. The best he could manage was a spluttered, “But you’re dead!”

  “So are you, matey,” retorted the Pirate King. “Or had you forgotten yer at the bottom of a swampy river? Can’t have a pirate dying in fresh water. Get out of there, boy!”

  Reed was suddenly aware that he was choking. Choking on swamp muck.

  “And another thing,” muttered the pirate ghost as he started to fade. “Don’t come around apologising when yer do finally kick the bucket. Last thing I want is you whingeing around me for eternity. Now I’m going back to the Underworld and my rum…”

  Reed surfaced in the river that struggled through the swamp. The water tasted foul, but it was better than dying. He breathed in the swampy air and trod water for a few moments.

  Glancing back, he had a nasty feeling that some clumps of mud in a distant corner of the swamp were waving goodbye.

  Reed Cooper washed the swamp muck out of his mouth with the foul river water and then began swimming towards Dreadnought.

  Aragon and Kassa were clambering up a steep ravine. Kassa’s climb was made more difficult by the fact that her wrists were once more tied together, this time with invisible gauze.

  “Be careful,” Aragon snapped as she nearly fell.

  “This isn’t easy,” she snarled in return.

  “Said by a woman who can set fire to herself?”

  “That wasn’t me, it was that guardian sprite of mine,” Kassa insisted. “And all she did was set fire to my coat. The dragon scales protected me from the flame. That’s what dragon scales do.” But it sounded unbelievable, even to her.

  Aragon said nothing, careful of his footing on a ledge of firm dirt.

  Slightly above him, Kassa missed a step and slid wildly. She screamed as she fell, a scream that was cut off with a gasp when Aragon’s arm lashed out and grabbed hold of her sharply. She slammed against him, breathing hard. And then she looked up into his eyes. “I could thank you, but you wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  “True,” he said coldly.

  She regarded him speculatively. They were dangerously close to each other. “Are you going to fall in love with me, Aragon Silversword?”

  “I wasn’t planning to.”

  “It’s good to have these things clear from the start,” she said approvingly. Then she kicked him in the crossbow, tearing the gauze which bound her wrists against a sharp rock as she did so.

  The icebolt released and drilled crazily into the wall of the ravine. The crossbow went spiralling out over the long drop.

  Aragon grabbed for his sword and slapped her with his other hand. Kassa stuck the long pin of her brooch into his upper arm. Aragon shoved her firmly against the wall of the ravine with his sword at her throat. She kicked him in the shins. He pressed the sword more firmly. A tiny smear of blood touched the transparent blade. Kassa tried to move away, but slid off the dirt ledge, falling backwards.

  Aragon grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her to safety again. They glared at each other.

  From above, they heard a discreet cough. Daggar’s head appeared, peering curiously down at them with a wide grin on his unshaven face. “Are we interrupting something?”

  The head of Zelora Footcrusher appeared beside him. “I have an army behind me. We will pull you to safety if you will relinquish the gargoyle to me.”

  “Never!” screamed Kassa.

  “Perhaps we can come to some arrangement,” retorted Aragon, who carried the gargoyle in a sling over one shoulder.

  The gargoyle was pulled up first. While Zelora examined it, Singespitter and another executive mercenary lowered ropes for Kassa and Aragon. Once they reached the top of the cliff, the mercenaries tied them up securely.

  “Why?” Kassa demanded. “Why is everyone after the bloody gargoyle? He’s just some old pirate. What possible interest could you have in Braided Bones, Zelora Footcrusher?”

  Zelora’s eyes did not change. She deliberately did not look at Daggar. “He is my husband,” she said.

  11

  Wise Fruitcakes

  A blonde woman with a low neckline, a tall golden crown and a poutingly seductive smile beckoned enticingly at Reed Cooper. He examined the poster critically, reading it twice.

  Some kind of festival was going on. Banners and garlands hung crookedly from every building. Small tribes of urchins were being trained to wave little flags on sticks and shout “Yay.”

  And then there were the posters. Most of them had pictures of Talle on them…or rather pictures of luscious blondes with crowns balanced on their perfect hair. The artists were being fairly free about details, mainly because none of them had actually seen the Lady Emperor. They had their orders from the Palace, however: make it sexy, make it glamorous.

  The posters had slogans on them, for those citizens who could read. A popular one was “Our Lady Emperor needs U!” Others proclaimed, “The Best Emperor Yet!” The poster which had caught Reed’s eye portrayed Lady Talle at her most
beguiling, and announced, “Welcome to the Lady’s Empire.”

  The posters all had a little note saying that the Lady Emperor’s image had been used with the permission of Master Griffin, PR urchin. Reed had no idea what a prurchin was, but he didn’t think he liked it.

  No one was exactly sure where the Grand Hidden Mountain was, least of all the deputy leader in charge of K division. But Zelora and her prisoners had been summoned by the Hidden Executive Leader himself, so they didn’t have much of a choice.

  There was a door in the K division mountain complex which led directly to the Hidden Leader’s abode. This was the good news. The bad news was that the innards of the mountain were still suffering from Aragon Silversword’s handiwork, and the Hidden door was nowhere to be found.

  Zelora decided to take the initiative. She called forth the carpet trainer and had him provide transportation for herself, Daggar, Kassa, Aragon, the gargoyle and a few sentries including Singespitter. It was a well known fact that flying carpets knew where everything was.

  The carpets were a bit skittish and needed to be placated with a good rub down and a handful of chocolate dustballs before anyone could even think about riding them.

  The Hidden Army were the only ones who had managed to capture some of the flying carpets from the highest peaks of the Skullcaps, where the wild creatures roamed. It was supposedly death to approach a wild carpet, but the Hidden Army had managed to break and tame some fine specimens.

  There were three carpets. Zelora, Daggar and the stone gargoyle rode on the first. Kassa and the carpet trainer rode on the second. Aragon, who was not considered at all trustworthy, was bound by the wrists and strapped to the third carpet, guarded by Singespitter and another sentry named Brut.

  “To the Grand Hidden Mountain,” commanded the trainer, and the carpets rose into the sky, spiralling dizzily.

  Kassa gripped the edge of her carpet firmly as the ground raced past below her. Behind, she could hear the sounds of Singespitter being violently ill from the turbulence.