The sprites were all hiding, except for the icesprites and the mermaids who were literally in their element. Most of the gods had gone home to avoid the blattering, clattering streams of water in their faces and down their necks.
The Vice-Chancellor on the hill had rigged up a shelter from two bicycles and a torn raincoat, and was watching the scene below with keen interest.
Meanwhile, a wet figure, darkly plastered with rain, ran down towards the beach, waving black-clad arms at the ghost-ship which hovered above his head. None of the crew seemed to notice him, which was probably just as well.
Kassa Daggersharp clung to the mast of the Splashdance, thrown slightly off balance by the bronze umbrella which had been thrown up to her.
Most of the crew had sensibly gone below to wait out the rain comfortably. Daggar remained on deck, soaking wet and trying to figure out how to get his silver-laden wheelbarrow down the narrow ladder to the ship’s hold.
Aragon Silversword was climbing the rigging, ignoring the streams of rain which blattered into his face and down his neck. When he reached Kassa’s perch, he tried to look nonchalant. “I ask again,” he said calmly. “Why a rain spell?”
“Can’t you see?” she asked him, gesturing to the scene below them. “Watch carefully.”
The beach was a mudslide now, full of screeching magic animals and the occasional terrified warlock. But there was no maelstrom of raw magic, no spare glints causing havoc. “Where is it all?” asked Aragon.
“Gone,” said Kassa. “Most magic hates water, except the kind that thrives upon it. Some of the Glimmer will have gone underground, below the sand. The rest will have been washed out to sea.”
“Is that wise?” said Aragon.
“Perhaps not, but it’s better than letting it wipe out the Midden crops,” said Kassa. “The salt in the sea will eliminate some of the magic, and I’m sure Skeylles can deal with the rest.”
“Out of sight, out of mind,” Aragon said cynically.
“What do you want me to do?” she demanded, her wet hair clinging to her face, neck and bodice. “I’m not a proper witch. I only had a clue about the rain spell because I used to stay with my grandmother during the holidays, and rain was the only thing she was any good at…”
“Why did you have to do anything?” he returned. “Why bother getting involved?”
Kassa turned towards him, close enough for him to taste the salt on her skin. “Guilt?” she suggested in an intimate tone.
“Ahoy, the ship!” called a voice from below.
Kassa froze, her skin as pale as ice. “I know that voice,” she said, letting the bronze umbrella fall through her fingers to clatter on the deck below.
Aragon frowned. “It does sound familiar…”
“I need a sword,” said Kassa frantically.
“You don’t have a sword any more,” Aragon reminded her. “You have an umbrella.”
“I need your sword,” she insisted, her hand darting to the scabbard on his belt.
Aragon moved away quickly, climbing down from the mast. “I’m not giving you my sword. You might damage someone.”
“That’s the plan,” she said fiercely. “If you don’t give me a sword, I’ll just have to use my teeth. Down!” she commanded the ghost-ship, which immediately started to descend.
Reed Cooper watched the translucent galleon spiral towards him in the dim evening light. As it came close to the ground, he leaped into the darkness, his hands slamming in a vice-like grip over the edge of the ship. He began to haul himself aboard. Somehow, what with the blood rushing to his head and the drama of the moment, he had forgotten that Kassa was not going to be pleased to see him.
Sudden recall flooded into his brain as a bronze umbrella walloped him on the head, knocking him back into the muddy sand. A fierce figure in black and red skirts leaped on top of him, clawing and spitting at his eyes. “Bastard…traitor…murderer…” were three of the words he managed to recognise in the tirade that spewed forth out of Kassa Daggersharp’s mouth.
He tried to talk some sense into her, but she filled his mouth with a handful of mud and continued screaming and sobbing at him while she raked the skin from his throat. Finally Reed gave up and punched her once in the stomach, using her surprise to roll away from her.
At a reasonable distance, he spat out the mud. “Kassa, you know the way pirate law works. Why do you think he took an apprentice on? There is only one way for an apprentice to graduate, and you know what it is as well as I do!”
The rain was doing little to wash the wet sand from Kassa’s face and hair. She stepped shakily towards Reed in a trance-like state, but her lack of energy betrayed her and she sank to her knees in the swampy sand.
“It had to be one of us,” Reed Cooper continued, still spitting mud out of his mouth after every second word. “Would you have preferred to do the honours yourself?”
Kassa looked up at him, her golden eyes wide, and then she said in a faraway voice, “What kind of pirate dies of old age?” She remembered her father saying those words time and time again as she grew up.
Reed Cooper began to walk away. He paused for a moment, aware of Aragon Silversword on the deck of the Splashdance, gazing icily in his direction. “I suppose you had better try to look after her!” Reed shouted up unenthusiastically. “She won’t let me do it.” He turned away, muttering under his breath, “I don’t suppose she’ll let you, either.”
After he had disappeared over the hill, Kassa Daggersharp stood up. She wiped handfuls of wet sand from her face, hair and clothes. She trudged muddily over to the ship. Her ‘crew’ were all on deck now, and not one of them dared offer to help her as she clambered up to stand on the deck of the ghostly ship.
“What now?” asked Aragon Silversword eventually. The Glimmer had dissipated, leaving trails of horrors and destruction in its wake. The rain was beginning to ease, although such an amateur weather spell was likely to cause atmospheric trouble for weeks. Skeylles would probably never speak to Kassa again for polluting his ocean, and the terrible curse of Destiny was still in effect. They were in the hands of Lady Luck.
“I want a change of clothes, and then I want to sleep for a million years,” said Kassa Daggersharp. “After that…well, we’ll see.”
Lady Talle, Emperor of Mocklore, absently stroked a white peacock which had wandered into her Imperial Receiving Room by accident. “What do we need for a tournament?” she inquired of her urchin.
Griffin chewed his pen. “Knights, usually. And ladies, of course. A bit of pomp and ceremony. Finger food, of course.”
“There aren’t any knights any more,” Talle pointed out. “Not since Timregis…”
“True,” agreed Griffin. Chivalric companies were traditionally dissolved upon the death of their patron, and none of the temporary Emperors had managed to pull even one company of knights together. “You might want to put that on your list of things to do.”
“Hmm,” said the Lady Emperor, distracted by her own troubled thoughts. The gossip minstrels were having a field day with the Glimmer. If even a quarter of the reports were true, Mocklore was in big trouble all over again. “Maybe I have bitten off more than I can chew…”
Griffin looked up in alarm. “Oh, no. You can’t pull out now. I thought you had ambitions.”
“Maybe the Anglorachnis Ambassador was right,” Talle said frustratedly. “This is a dung-pit of an Empire. There is always going to be another Glimmer or an earthquake or a tidal wave of porridge. How can I rule over a constant disaster area?”
The urchin looked at her, very solemnly. “You wanted to rule, my Lady,” he reminded her. “Can you think of another Empire that would let you anywhere near a position of power?”
Talle looked at him from beneath veiled eyelids. “So,” she said softly. “We stage the tournament.”
“Oh, yes,” said Griffin the urchin. “We give the populace a hint of the days of chivalry and romance, only with better bathroom facilities and more glamorous costumes
. They’ll be eating out of your hand.”
Partly reassured, Talle sat up and straightened her tiara. “I like the sound of that.”
The proclamations spread throughout the land. The Lady Emperor had invited all the Lordlings, nobles and ex-knights in Mocklore to attend a spectacular tournament in the Palace gardens. This would coincide with the Royal Visit, bringing a certain air of chivalry and romance back to the Empire of Mocklore.
The news of the grand event even spread to the Skullcap forest, where a small band of outlaws were licking their wounds and swabbing the deck of their ship.
“A tournament,” mused Aragon, liking the idea.
“You dare,” said Kassa Daggersharp, brandishing her scrubbing brush dramatically and suspecting this to be a losing battle. “You just dare!”
23
A Royal Reception
Where the Street of a Thousand Travellers crossed the Street of a Thousand Merchants, the Brewer’s Pavilion stood. This was where you came for portents, poisons and pick-me-ups. Kassa Daggersharp was investing in a hex. She was also stocking up on poisons, just in case.
All witches end up buying pre-packaged spells sooner or later. Sometimes this is because they are trying to deal with something outside their speciality, or just for convenience. In Kassa’s case, she still didn’t trust herself to know what she was doing. After all, she was now in the hands of Lady Luck, so leaving things to chance was not a good plan.
“Here for the tournament, lassie?” asked Brewmistress Opia as she wrapped a sinister bundle of hazel twigs and black powder in brightly coloured tissue paper.
“That’s right,” said Kassa Daggersharp. “And I’m interested in an Advanced Enchantment, if you have any.”
“Well, we’re still waiting for the new shipment,” said the Brewmistress doubtfully. “I can let you have an Insidious Incantation or two, but they’ve been on the shelf for a while…”
“Why don’t you just let me have a Lucky Charm,” said Kassa, winking twice.
“Oh,” said the Brewmistress, returning the double wink. “A Lucky Charm, right.” And she rummaged under the counter.
Against all expectations, the royal carriage of Anglorachnis finally trundled into Dreadnought, followed by the hundred Spider Knights and the Vice-Chancellor of Cluft who wobbled precariously on his battered bicycle. The royal party had made no comment when a bruised and muddied Reed Cooper had returned to collect them, although Queen Hwenhyfar longed to ask him where he had gained that interesting black eye.
Now all that was forgotten, because the Anglorachnids had just seen the city of Dreadnought for the first time. It was full of people. They had barely encountered a dozen natives in their trip south, and were certain now that this was because everyone was in Dreadnought. Crowds of people thronged through the streets, waving flags, selling things to each other, stealing things from each other and generally having a successful market day.
Souvenirs of the Royal Visit were everywhere, and more than one street vendor poked his head into the little carriage to offer some cheap mugs or colourful tea-towels at a discount price. Many of them were actually trying to see what the royal couple looked like so they could render a better approximation on their cheap mugs and colourful tea-towels, and charge twice as much for them as ‘exclusives’.
The royal carriage made its way haltingly through the throng in the marketplace, and swept up to the front door of the Imperial Palace where the Lady Emperor was waiting to receive her guests.
Talle wore a trailing gown of gold silk trimmed with butterfly fur. Pearls literally dripped from her neckline, leaving a small trail of shiny puddles wherever she walked. She waved generously at the crowd, and some of them even stopped what they were doing to wave back at her.
The King and Queen of Anglorachnis alighted from the royal carriage. Hwenhyfar had tidied herself up at Cluft and was now garbed in a pale pink floaty high-waisted gown with blue velvet accessories and a tall, infinitely pointy hat from which wisps of silk fluttered.
The Lady Emperor was slightly taken aback. “Is she a witch?” she whispered to Griffin, the only one of her advisors who remained at her side.
“No, my Lady,” he replied in a hushed voice. “I believe it is the current fashion in Anglorachnis.”
“How odd,” replied Lady Talle in a bemused voice. Her false smile became dangerously warm as she set eyes on the King of Anglorachnis.
As hero kings go, he was quite good-looking despite the lack of height. For this formal occasion he was wearing his best leathers complete with ermine trim. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said in an expansive voice, “We are most honoured to visit your splendid country! Empire,” he added hastily.
“Do come in, I’m sure,” said Lady Talle gracefully. “Ah, the Lord of Cluft,” she added, as the little Vice-Chancellor on the bicycle drew level with the King and Queen. “How splendid. You received your invitation.”
“Invitation?” said Bertie cheerfully. “No, I just barged in. The other Lordlings coming, are they? What-ho. Where can I park my bike?”
Lady Talle smiled as politely as a snake, her eyes now fixed on Reed Cooper, who was standing behind the foreign minister. “Ah, my wandering Ambassador,” she cooed. “How nice. You must all come through to the withdrawing room for tea. We are having a garden party in the West Parlour this afternoon, and there is to be a marvellous theatrical performance for your entertainment. The tournament will commence tomorrow morning at Dawn.”
Kassa found Aragon Silversword outside the Profithood offices. “Has he come out yet?” she called as she approached.
“Not yet,” replied Aragon. “Kassa, I need a horse.”
Kassa’s lovely golden eyes narrowed visibly. “You are not going in the tourney tomorrow,” she said darkly. “I absolutely forbid it.”
“That’s nice,” he replied, “But I still need a horse, and as my esteemed liege lady and patroness, you are supposed to provide one for me.”
“Blow it out your ear,” she retorted.
Daggar emerged from the building, his silver barrow looking much less heavy, and a stunned expression fixed to his face.
“Well?” demanded Kassa urgently. “What happened? What did they do to you?”
“I’ve been made Profit-scoundrel of the Month,” said Daggar in a faint voice. “They gave me a trophy.”
“Astounding,” said Aragon.
“Yeah,” said Daggar, producing a small tin cup and turning it around thoughtfully. “Do you want to buy it?” he offered.
“Don’t you ever think about anything except money?” demanded Kassa.
Daggar shrugged sadly. “What would be the point?”
“But did you talk to him?” Kassa persisted. “What did the Profitmaster or Head Scoundrel or whatever he’s called say about the Lady Emperor?”
“Oh, that,” said Daggar. “He likes her.”
“What?” Kassa screeched. “But the Leaders of Dreadnought have never supported any of the temporary Emperors.”
“They decided this one isn’t going to be temporary,” he shrugged.
Aragon leaned forward. “If I entered the tourney, I could get close enough to kill her,” he suggested enticingly.
Kassa scoffed, turning on her heel and leading the way back towards the forest. “You think I’m going to let you anywhere near the Lady Emperor? You would just change sides again.”
“Kassa!” said Aragon as if wounded by her accusation. “I thought you knew me by now. How can you think that I, a man of honour…”
“Don’t you try that smarmy tone with me, Aragon Silversword,” Kassa snapped, increasing her stride. “I know you too well. You will betray me the first chance you get.”
“Well then,” said Aragon reasonably. “Why postpone the inevitable? Let me go, Kassa. Give me back my freedom.”
Kassa turned, and tapped him once on the chest. “No chance. I have my hand around your heart. Just try and sneak away, and see what happens.”
Aragon had
already attempted to escape three times that day, but had not been able to get very far. For some reason, which he knew had something to do with the witch mark on his chest, he could not deliberately move far from Kassa’s side without her express permission. It was beginning to grate on his nerves.
They walked the rest of the way out of the city in silence, until they came to the bit of forest by the purple trees where they had parked the ghost-ship and the other half of the crew. Only Tippett remained, tied to a tree by his long, droopy jester shoes.
“What happened?” said Kassa in shock.
“They ran off with the ship,” said Tippett piteously. “The Footcrusher lady and the big monster man. They tied me to this tree. I think my notebook fell in a puddle…”
“So that’s that,” said Aragon steadily. “No more ship.”
Kassa seemed to be looking through the trees, far beyond the secluded little valley where they all stood. She opened her mouth and sang a single, blindingly perfect note. One hand scooped a brand new hazel twig from one of her many pouches, throwing it into the patch of expanding sound.
There was a glitter, and suddenly something silver was twisted around her fingers. Kassa fastened the silver thingummy around her throat without saying anything.
Eventually, she said, “There may be more to this witching than I thought.” And then, “I will have to look into the possibilities.” And then, “I hope they weren’t flying too high when it came back to me.”
“A homing ship?” said Daggar incredulously.
“Best kind,” replied Aragon.
“Could someone untie me from this tree, please?” suggested Tippett.
Kassa smiled, an unpleasantly evil sort of smile. “Hang on, boys,” she said. “I’m in the mood to wreak havoc.”
Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles) Page 22