“You don’t want your destinies,” cackled the cackle. “Yet you are willing to accept a single one, wholeheartedly?”
“If that’s what it takes,” agreed Kassa.
“Well,” harumphed the voice, no longer a cackle. “If you want to talk about Destiny, you’d better go to her. I don’t want you. Stop bothering me.”
The grey fog abruptly dissipated, revealing a lush green garden stretching as far as the eye could see.
“Destiny,” muttered Kassa. “Let’s get this over with.”
A sharp voice interrupted her. “Would it be too much to ask where we are?”
Aragon and the others were with her again, with Tippett’s familiar grip once more attached to Kassa’s leg. She looked down at him, and he blushed and let go.
“Can we leave yet?” asked Zelora impatiently.
“We only just got here,” said Daggar, feeling contrary.
“I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” Zelora retorted crossly.
A laughing voice filled the air with birdsong and music.
“Destiny?” called Kassa, feeling silly.
“Of course,” sang the voice. None of the others seemed to have heard it. They were all looking at Kassa as if she was mad. A glimmering, greenish ghost of a woman appeared before her eyes, and the others didn’t see that either. “A choice,” said the ghost woman. “You’re here to choose.”
“If I have to,” agreed Kassa. “I never wanted to be a witch, although I do see the usefulness of it now. And I tried piracy to please my father, but I don’t think I’m cut out for that line of work.”
The green ghost giggled with bell-like mockery. “So which one will you select?” she sang, her ghoulish green hair whipping around her pale face fetchingly.
“Neither, if you please, my lady,” said Kassa politely, “I don’t think I’m cut out for either of them.”
The green ghost roared now, angry and terrifying. “Refuse both my lovely destinies, will you? Ungrateful creature, I leave you in the hands of Lady Luck!” Kassa went pale. It was the most deadly of curses to be uttered by any deity.
The others had also heard the final words of Destiny, and they reacted suitably to this new threat.
“What have you done?” said Aragon Silversword hoarsely.
“Killed us all, I expect,” Kassa replied.
20
Sleeping with the Fishies
Queen Hwenhyfar watched in amazement as Reed Cooper and Vice-Chancellor Bertie mounted strange wheeled contraptions and took off towards the southern horizon, which was currently silver-green with unhealthy yellow blotches.
The wind from the south had brought the occasional gust of what Bertie had called ‘progressional random hex-readings’, and what Reed Cooper called ‘those bastard glints’. In any case, the post-box was now an orange mulberry bush, a large section of street had been replaced with gingerbread and there was a bewildered-looking dragon where the Cluft Town Hall used to be.
Factions had immediately developed between the students, half of them insisting that the dragon be named the school’s new mascot, and the other half remaining fiercely loyal to the current mascot, a marsupial mouse named Gerald.
The Vice-Chancellor and Reed Cooper were furiously bicycling towards the source of all this mad, wild magic. As Hwenhyfar watched them go, she wished fiercely that she was the sort of girl who could throw on a pair of trousers and join in their merry adventure. But she was a queen and a rather wet one at that, so she stayed where she was.
Reed Cooper had not ridden a bicycle since his student days, but he was beginning to get the hang of it again. He had discovered that it was like eating pickled herring; you never forget how, but you wouldn’t necessarily care to repeat the experience.
“Lady Luck,” said Kassa in a stunned sort of voice. “I suppose it could be worse.”
“How could it be worse?” demanded Daggar, so upset that he didn’t even bother to call her ‘chief’. “I s’pose we haven’t actually offended her yet—that’s something to look forward to, then.”
“Does all this mean that you are no longer either a pirate or a witch?” asked Aragon, thinking of the allegiance-mark burned into his chest. If she renounced both her witchblood and her natural flair for piracy, Kassa’s brand might become null and void.
“I don’t know what it means, Aragon,” she said snappishly. “I just said what it occurred to me to say at the time.”
“Well, do us all a favour next time, and let me do the talking.”
They were back on board the Splashdance, although none of them remembered getting there. The ghost-ship floated in a grey void, with nothing to see in any direction but greenish grey fog. All they could recall was the dreadful curse visited on them, specifically Kassa, by Destiny: “I leave you in the hands of Lady Luck.”
“What are we going to do now?” asked Zelora Footcrusher angrily.
“I suppose we had better stop the Glimmer,” said Kassa with a sigh.
They all turned to look at her, but only Aragon voiced their opinions on the matter. “What?”
“We caused it,” she said reasonably.
“That’s no reason to make it our business!” he returned.
She looked sidelong at him. “You’re really quite a nasty person, aren’t you, Aragon?”
“The nastiest,” he growled. “What is your problem, woman? First you annoy the new Emperor to the point of near-assassination, then you provoke Destiny herself to throw you a deadly card, and now you want to go up against a tidal wave of raw magic?”
“I suppose it is practically suicidal,” she considered, thinking the matter over. “My daddy would be so proud of me.”
“Well, now,” said Lady Luck, reclining in her soft office chair. She yawned contentedly and smiled her smooth, selfish smile. “A whole shipful of reprobates to deal with as I please. What shall I do with them?” She threw a pair of jade dice and her face lit up delightedly as the dice tumbled and clattered to a conclusion. “Snake-eyes,” she said brightly, as if surprised.
“Down there,” said Kassa, peering through grey-green fog.
Leaning over the edge of the ship, Daggar could just make out the multi-coloured glitters and minor explosions which marked the beach where the Glimmer was still wreaking havoc. “But that’s where we started from!” he wailed.
“We have to get this curse taken off us as soon as possible, correct?” said Kassa in a business-like tone.
“The curse which would not have occurred had we stayed where we were,” said Aragon mildly.
“If you say anything else, Aragon, I will probably kill you,” said Kassa. “That is who we want to visit.” She stabbed a finger downwards to where a small man stood waist-deep in the sea, turning stray glints and zaps of wild magic into rather unimaginative fish.
“We don’t want to visit him if he’s another god,” said Daggar immediately.
Kassa rolled her golden eyes tiredly. “Would you rather wait around to see what Lady Luck throws at us?”
As if she had been heard, a freak gust of wind caught a collection of glints and hurled them upwards. They tore through the ghost-ship like hot raisins through butter. The figurehead, which had previously been a wooden representation of a rosy-cheeked mermaid, was transformed into a rather surprised baby mammoth.
Several glints burst through the rigging, leaving trails of fluffy animals, rotten fruit and burnt custard in their wake. Daggar’s silver wheelbarrow began dancing a merry jig as several glints ganged up on it. Daggar whimpered slightly and hung onto his sack for fear that the contents might be transformed into something cheap and worthless, like acorns.
Kassa tried to fend off the glints with her cast-iron poker, but it was suddenly transformed into a ruby-studded bronze umbrella which flapped frantically like an energetic butterfly stuck in strawberry jam.
The holes in the deck, the weight-change caused by the unfortunate arrival of the baby mammoth and the fact that the mast was now a small collect
ion of rare tropical beetles had a drastic effect on the flying ability of the ghost-ship. “We’re sinking!” screamed Daggar.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Kassa, half a minute before it became obvious that they really were sinking. The grey-green fog was above them, and they were plummeting towards the Cellar Sea at a worrying turn of speed.
Aragon Silversword was duelling with a moustached, sabre-wielding cactus which had once been his left boot. Braided Bones was wrestling with the deck itself, which bucked and reared like a flock of winged piglets. Zelora Footcrusher was surrounded by a nasty collection of hissing, spitting coils of rope. The anchor had already given her a nasty bite on the ankle.
Tippett the jester-poet had wedged himself between what remained of the mast and Singespitter the sheep. He was scribbling verse for all he was worth, his eyes fixed on the wild-haired, wild-eyed woman who was fending off a flock of rabid flying mice (previously the steering-manual for the Splashdance) with her flapping bronze umbrella.
Daggar yelled with something very like pain as two glints punctured his treasure sack, transforming its fabric into a shower of white rice. As the rice exploded and scattered around them all, so too did the pieces of silver. Daggar went down on his knees, scrabbling wildly, but most of the silver was lost overboard. Even the silver wheelbarrow fell through the cracks and was gone. Those glittering pieces which were not immediately transformed into winged creatures fell in a wide scatter across the Cellar Sea.
Aragon pierced the moustached cactus through the heart just as it turned into a large watermelon, trapping his arm up to the shoulder.
Zelora Footcrusher let out a yell of epic proportions as a glint brushed over her hair, turning it into something utterly repulsive.
Braided Bones bellowed as the thrashing deck finally booted him over the side, and into the sea with a large splash. A moment later, the Splashdance itself crashed into the water, sending a wave of spray over everyone.
Tippett made a shrill, unhappy sound as the last remaining glint turned his humorous hat into a pile of newborn kittens. They plopped into his lap, crumpling his poetry and attempting to claw milk out of his legs.
Kassa Daggersharp ignored all of this. She threw herself into the bow of the ship and screamed at the top of her voice, “SKEYLLES!” Too many moments passed without reply. Then, in desperation as she realised how much water was spurting up through the holes the glints had made in the side of her ship, Kassa seized hold of the ragged rigging with one hand and sang the single, clear note which would transform the ghost of the Splashdance back into a small glittery thing she could wear around her neck.
They all plunged into the icy brine with a colossal splash, most of them yelling curses at Kassa until their heads went under the water and they could curse her no longer.
Furiously bicycling along the only road in Mocklore, Reed Cooper kept his eyes on the sparkling, horrible horizon. There were just too many colours in the sky, and he could not help thinking that this Glimmer seemed much bigger than the last one.
“I suppose you’re much too young to remember the first Glimmer, young man,” said Vice-Chancellor Bertie in the cheerful, hearty voice of a professor who is out bicycling on a jolly adventure when he knows he should be marking exam papers.
Reed laughed hollowly at this. “Remember it? Of course I remember it. I was fourteen years old, and I was there when she caused the whole damn thing.”
“Ah,” said Bertie, slowing down his furious bicycling pace. “A witness. Splendid. May I quote you?”
“If you like,” said Reed Cooper tiredly. “Do you think we could stop for a bit?”
“Certainly, certainly,” said the Vice-Chancellor, bringing his elderly bicycle to a screeching halt and producing some promising-looking packages from the basket that dangled from his handlebars. “Cream tea?”
Reed Cooper accepted a squelchy chocolate eclair while Vice-Chancellor Bertie set some grass on fire to heat the kettle he had brought with him. “Now then, my boy,” he said, producing a wax tablet and a wickedly sharp writing implement. “Why don’t you begin at the beginning? You said it involved a girl?”
“Doesn’t it always?” said Reed Cooper sardonically, but he told the story anyway.
Daggar awoke to find himself not actually drowning, but lying comfortably on a marble-tiled floor. He rolled over, spitting out seaweed, to see them all gathered around him, including a rather soggy Braided Bones.
“Could someone get my arm out of this watermelon?” requested Aragon, for he was still sunk up to his shoulder in the giant fruit, the tip of his sword showing through the other side.
Kassa examined the problem from all angles, and couldn’t help laughing maniacally for a few minutes before attempting to break into the watermelon with her bronze umbrella. “Watch out for my arm,” said Aragon crossly.
“I’m aiming for it as best I can,” Kassa retorted.
Zelora Footcrusher, thoroughly miserable, had just realised that the repulsive things which her hair had been transformed into were undeniably long, hissy and fork-tongued. She was doing her absolute best not to shudder uncontrollably.
Tippett was moaning over his pages of poetry which had been thoroughly wetted, clawed and otherwise completely ruined.
It was quite a while before anyone thought to ask where they were, and when they did, it was Daggar. “Chief?” he said shakily, “Where the hell are we?” He had seen the skeletons lining the wall, not just fish skeletons but humans as well, and some in-between bones which could only belong to mermaids, or even scarier sea monsters.
Kassa was still busy trying to prise Aragon’s arm out of the giant watermelon. “Haven’t you worked it out yet?” was all she had time to say. “And don’t call me Chief.”
A huge, booming voice filled the marble-tiled hall. “Who Disturbs My Bone-Tiled Hall?”
Daggar realised to his horror that the tiles really were bone, highly polished and neatly segmented, but bone nonetheless.
“I should think it would be obvious who we were,” said Kassa, not looking up as she scooped out a chunk of watermelon and tossed it aside. “Greetings, O Skeylles, Fishy Judge of the Underwater.”
Daggar nearly swallowed his tongue.
A figure appeared in the huge, arched doorway. He was rather thin and insignificant-looking, despite his booming voice. “You Again, Kassa,” he boomed sadly.
“Well, you could look pleased to see me,” said Kassa in a mock-hurt voice. “Boys, meet my godfather. Literally godfather, I might add, although you’d worked that out for yourselves.”
“You never cease to astound me,” said Aragon dryly, wincing as Kassa hacked another chunk of watermelon away, narrowly missing his elbow.
“We Are Rather Busy At The Moment, You Know,” said Skeylles, patron god of Skullcap, snatch-theft and most large bodies of water which were not actually puddles. “There Is A Glimmer On At The Moment. I Don’t Have Time To Sit Around And Serve Tea To Visitors.”
“I’ll tell you a story,” Kassa said enticingly.
Skeylles, the Fishy Judge, paused for barely a moment. “I Suppose One Less God Will Hardly Make A Difference To The Relief Effort,” he said quickly.
“If I tell you a really good story,” wheedled Kassa to the Lord of the Fishes, “Will you help us with Lady Luck?”
Skeylles laughed and boomed. “I Thought The Story Was A Bribe To Keep Me From Throwing You All Out. If You Want Me To Tangle With Milady, You’re Going To Have To Do Better Than That.”
“Deals later, story first,” said Kassa.
The thin, unassuming figure of the Fishy Judge settled himself comfortably on his throne of kraken bone. “I Suppose It Would Be Too Much To Ask You To Do Something About This Glimmer?” he grumbled. “I Assume That This One Was Your Doing As Well.”
“As well?” said Aragon sharply, shaking his arm free of the last globs of watermelon.
“As well?” hissed Zelora Footcrusher.
“Go on, Chief,” said Daggar
with a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you tell them all about it?”
Kassa sighed a deep sigh. “Oh, well. I suppose it had better be that story, then.”
“Oh, Good,” said Skeylles comfortably, leaning back with a smug expression on his face. “I Like That Story.”
“Don’t all glare at me,” said Kassa crossly. “What did you expect, ‘Once upon a time?’ It wasn’t my fault then, either.”
“Just tell the story, Kassa,” said Aragon dangerously.
21
Telling Tales
“There was a god,” said Kassa, beginning the story at the beginning, as was the custom. “He wasn’t a particularly bad god, but there was nothing very virtuous about him, either. He enjoyed a drink or two. More than two, to be honest.”
“Binx,” guessed Daggar immediately. The patron god of Dreadnought was rarely to be seen, but his especial patronage of strong drink, bad acting, people falling into gutters and other people selling crunchy things in a bag meant that his reputation almost always preceded him. Sometimes it completely surrounded him, pretending to be a pink elephant, but that was his own business.
“Who’s telling this story?” snapped Kassa irritably. “Anyway, sometimes this god was a little worse for the drink, and when this happened he would lie in his favourite gutter and look up at the stars…”
“It’s a story about a boy and a girl,” said Reed, shamefaced. “You see, there was this Pirate King who had a daughter. Like most pirates, he didn’t think much of her chances of succeeding him as King, so he brought in an urchin boy to raise as a pirate, just as he would have raised his daughter if she had been a boy. But the pirate king’s wife was also a pirate, and she believed that girls could be pirate kings just as well as boys could, so she taught piracy to the daughter in secret…”
“When do we get to the Glimmer?” interrupted Vice-Chancellor Bertie, who was not an impatient man, but much preferred stories which featured his pet subject.
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