“There’s something to be said for basic black,” Kassa muttered to herself.
A flicker of doubt crossed the Dark One’s face. “What did you say?”
“I said it’s a good start,” she assured him, and then looked hard at Vervain. “Are you responsible for this?”
“All my own work,” grinned the sprite proudly.
“Fabulous.” Kassa moved aside so the Dark One could take his place on the black throne. “How are you feeling now?”
“Oh, much more confident,” he assured her. “Wait until Amorata and the others see me in this!”
Kassa smiled. “That leads to my next question. I need a quest so I can get back to the real world for a few minutes, and I wondered if you wanted me to find you a consort.” It was too much to hope that she might land anywhere near her crew, but it was worth a try. What were they doing now? What was Aragon doing now? Did he even miss her, or was he relishing his freedom?
The Dark One looked intrigued. “You want to get me a consort? Whatever for?”
“Well, if you had someone to rule the Underworld jointly with, you could take time off now and then. Holidays and such.”
“Interesting idea,” mused the Dark One. “I don’t see why not.”
“Right,” said Kassa. “Come on, Vervain. Let’s get out into the real world.”
“Just as long as she’s not dead,” said the Dark One, preening his lapels in the mirror which had been propped up against his throne. “I can’t abide dead people. No offence.”
“None taken,” said Kassa Daggersharp evenly. “Where do I start looking?”
“How would I know? Perhaps the library? Apparently it knows everything.”
The library was hidden away on one of the uninhabited levels of the Underworld. Kassa waded through stacks of cardboard boxes and knee-high cobwebs spun by dead (and obviously confused) spiders. Eventually, she came to the shelves themselves. They lined the back wall of library, which went on…
Forever. There was no horizon in either direction, just a single wall of scrolls and papyrus stretching into infinity. Twice. Kassa stared, already exhausted by the magnitude of her task. “I don’t suppose there’s an index?” she said aloud.
A large scroll bucket whizzed out of nowhere, catching her a mighty whack across the temple. Knocked out by the blow, Kassa crumpled into a heap.
A few minutes later, she blearily opened her eyes to find a little grey face staring anxiously into her own. Kassa barely restrained a scream. “Who are you?”
“Library imp,” said the creature sorrowfully. “Categoriser and organiser. Guardian of the tomes of knowledge, reader of the sacred texts. Holder of…”
Sensing that there wasn’t going to be a pause, Kassa interrupted. “What hit me?” She regretted the question almost as soon as it came out.
“Index of Destiny,” the library imp informed her. “Reference guide to all otherworldly knowledge. Composed by…”
“I get the picture! Can you find me any references to non-dead beings entering the Underworld?”
“There are ninety-eight thousand, two hundred and seventy-three texts which may be appropriate,” droned the imp. “For cross referencing, please enter additional data. This can be implemented by…”
“I need information relevant to the here and now,” said Kassa desperately.
“There is no time reference in the Underworld…”
“Here and now meaning, of course, the reign of the Dark One as king of the underworld! There was a pause.
“There are two thousand, three hundred and sixty…”
“Any texts directly related to the Dark One himself? Or me, Kassa Daggersharp.” She spelled her name carefully for him.
Another pause.
A dusty scroll appeared in Kassa’s lap. “Please enjoy your reading convenience. For further queries…”
“Thank you!” Kassa sang out.
The grey library imp vanished.
Kassa turned her attention to the scroll in her hands. The Prophecies of Svelte, as dictated to the Sage of the Wandering Desert in the year of the Sculpted Concubine. She couldn’t resist a shiver at the sight of her own birth year. Surely it must be coincidence…
She unrolled the heavy book and began to read.
Four hours later, a headache started to form behind her eyes, but she continued to mechanically turn the pages.
Kassa burst into the throne room for the third time that day (not that daytime really mattered in the Underworld). The Dark One flinched. Vervain hid behind the new pot plants he had brought in to ‘brighten up’ the place.
“Look at this,” said Kassa, brandishing the scroll. “There’s a whole prophecy devoted to it! It explains everything, the earthquakes in the Underworld, the yellow dust everywhere.”
The Dark One frowned. “Prophecies are not usually very helpful.”
She waved the scroll. “It even has pictures! Apparently there some kind of unnatural time-distorting substance has been brought into the mortal world, and it is polluting the cosmos.” She licked her finger and ran it over the back of the throne, staining her skin yellow with dust. “This is it. It’s coming at us from the past, present and future. And if I don’t fulfil my quest, it will tear the Underworld apart!”
“Good riddance,” said the Dark One, seeming to cheer up at the thought.
Kassa glared at him. “I’m not sold on this place either, but can you imagine what will happen if it is destroyed?”
Suddenly considering the implications, the Dark One was aghast. “I could be struck off! If I let the dead invade the mortal world, there’s no telling what all the other gods will do to me. They never liked me! I’ll never, ever get my vote back!”
Kassa took a deep breath. “So I can go on my quest?”
He sighed heavily. “Yes, yes I suppose so. As long as you come right back. Does this suspiciously convenient prophecy tell you what to do?”
She nodded. “I have to find you a consort.”
“Oh, not that again,” the Dark One said dismissively. “I’ve totally gone off that idea now. I couldn’t possibly share a bathroom. I was thinking, maybe a pet of some kind. Possibly a canary, or a kitty cat. Maybe even a snark.”
Kassa stared him down, her hands firmly on her hips. “The book says a consort. I’m supposed to travel to Wordern’s mansion in the clouds and bring back one of his daughters for you. Somehow, that’s the one event which will prevent the Underworld from being destroyed.”
“I remember them,” sniffed the Dark One. “Lots of little girls in braids riding horses and singing. Horrible.”
“I imagine they’ve grown up by now,” Kassa assured him. “My quest is all here in muffled and obscure prophetic prose. Easy as sewing on a button.”
“You won’t even have to visit the mortal world to do it!” said the Dark One, clapping his hands.
“Oh,” said Kassa. “Won’t I?”
“Of course not. Quite unnecessary. Splendid, splendid.”
“Indeed,” said Dame Veekie Crosslet. She emerged from the shadows, resplendent in her pale grey ensemble of beads and feathers. “Well done. I’m sure you will choose to devote some time to your witch studies before undertaking such a venture.”
“Not now,” said Kassa impatiently. “No time. Maybe after the quest.” She turned back to the Dark One, not catching the gleam which briefly appeared in Dame Veekie’s grey eyes. “Do you know the way to Wordern’s mansion?”
“Of course,” the Dark One assured her. “I’ll show you which door to take just as soon as you compliment me on my new suit.” He leaned back on his throne, smiling confidently.
Kassa had been trying not to notice the garish combination of lavender and yellow pin-striped jacket over a blue-sequined shirt and flared green trousers. She smiled weakly, trying to muster a vague sort of enthusiasm. “I bet you’re so glad to be out of all that tasteful black!” she managed.
13: A Party of Paradoxes
Zibria glittered. It spark
led and shone. The Zibria of the past was gilded from head to foot. Bathed in sunlight, the gilded towers and temples were blindingly bright. Momentarily distracted from her mission, Sparrow stood and stared. So this was Zibria twenty-three years ago—a Zibria before decay set in.
She headed through the big gates and into the city. The streets were still not paved with gold, but enough drips of gilt and golden paint had fallen from the higher buildings to give that impression. The combination of bright white marble and pure gold was dazzling.
Sparrow had lost sight of the gold-liveried guards and their prisoner, but she had a fair idea where they were going. Anyway, she had to make a detour. There was no way she was heading into that Palace without buying herself some armour to replace that which the Sultan had confiscated.
It took her a while to find a blacksmith who would accept coins with a female (and unfamiliar) Emperor stamped on them, but Sparrow eventually found a sucker who didn’t even look at the silver she handed over. She had to wait an hour or so for him to make some alterations to the pieces he had in the shop, but it was worth it to be properly kitted out in breast-plate and leather strapping again. She felt much more like herself.
Sparrow hoisted her new sword into the sheath on her back and led Singespitter up the Palace steps. “We can go in through the Labyrinth,” she said to the sheep as they moved along the path around to the little entrance plaza.
“You mean the sewers,” corrected an almost familiar voice.
Sparrow’s head snapped around. She frowned. The dark, dashingly handsome Cutlass Cooper was standing behind her, posing dramatically in his black leather. She couldn’t think why he might have followed her.
“Forgotten something?” inquired Tione, who stood beside Cooper, her arms folded over her spangled costume.
Sparrow shrugged. “I would have come back for you eventually. Probably. How did it go?”
“Mother and baby doing fine,” said Tione, still sounding angry. “No thanks to you. What made you run off like that? We only caught up at all because you’ve been leaving a trail of dandelions wherever you go.”
Sparrow looked down at her boots, which were surrounded by bright yellow dandelion-like objects. She made a conscious decision to ignore them. “Daggar has been kidnapped. As he holds the only chance we have of getting back to our own time, I thought I should rescue him. I will infiltrate the Palace through the Labyrinth.”
“Sewers,” said Cutlass Cooper again.
Sparrow frowned at him. “What is this ‘sewers’ you keep saying?”
Cutlass gestured along the path, and they all stepped through into the plaza. “It used to be a Labyrinth centuries ago, but now it’s just used to process the Palace sewage. Which time did you say you were from?”
Sparrow looked, and her heart sank into her shoes. The mouth to the Labyrinth, which must have been restored to its former glory at some stage between now and her own time, was currently dripping with foul-smelling ooze.
“You’re right, though,” continued Cutlass relentlessly. “It’s the only way to infiltrate the Palace. I’ve done it once or twice myself, before I signed up with Bigbeard. That’s the good thing about pirating,” he added. “No sewers.”
Sparrow looked down at her new shiny leather boots, the ones she had bought to match her armour. “Oh, Daggar,” she muttered, “I am going to kill you for this.”
“Um,” said Daggar as his captors cuffed him to the wall of the dungeon. “Not that I’m complaining, or doubting your ability to do your jobs, but is there a particular reason why you attacked me, kidnapped me and brought me here?”
One of the guards, with gravy stains soiling his otherwise pristine gold uniform, smiled nastily. This told Daggar two things: firstly, that this wasn’t the sort of guard who would sympathise with his plight and instantly release him, and secondly that the state of dental hygiene would be much improved in the next twenty-three years.
“You’re gonna be a snack,” the other guard, an evil-looking skinhead, said with some relish. “Human sacrifice, isn’t that what they said?”
“Yeah,” said the gravy-stained guard. “That’s what they said. Def’nitely. Human sacrifice.” He leered.
Daggar winced as the last of the metal cuffs was clamped around his limbs. “Oh, joy,” he squeaked.
Several unpleasant hours later, Sparrow and her ‘rescue team’ had discovered what in later years would be the lair of the Minestaurus. Tione had fainted twice from the smell, and Cutlass Cooper had taken to carrying her, not seeming to worry about the slime which covered his ornate black boots. Tione protested weakly about this particularly chauvinist action, but seemed to be enjoying it.
Singespitter the sheep had stayed outside. Not even an attractive blonde woman with a sword would Singespitter get his fleecy feet covered in effluent.
“This is it,” said Sparrow now, stumbling into the cave. “There is a secret staircase which leads to the Palace.” She felt the wall thoughtfully. “Somewhere around…here.”
With a rumble, the cave wall slid outwards.
Tione struggled out of Cutlass’s arms. “Let’s go!” she said quickly. “The sooner the better.”
They ran up the stairs two at a time, and the cave wall closed behind them.
The laboratory would not exist for many years. Instead, the secret stairway led to a nursery. Three little boys were napping in cribs of various sizes within a giant red playpen. Sparrow ran her hand along the wooden bars thoughtfully. “Rodrigo, Xerzes and…Marmaduc,” she said to herself, looking down the thin, sallow little boy who was snoring peacefully beside his brothers. “Perhaps I should put a pillow over his face now and solve all our problems.”
“Not all of them,” said Tione. “What do we do now?”
Sparrow looked up. “This is your territory. Where do you think they will be keeping our profit-scoundrel?”
Tione bit her lip. “I think that sewers or no sewers, the dungeon is likely to be in the same place as it was in twenty years time.”
“Twenty-three,” said Sparrow. “But who’s counting?”
Tione turned to lead the way, but Cutlass Cooper stopped her by placing a slinky leather-gloved hand on her arm. “Are you really from the future?”
“You’d better believe it,” said Tione. Their eyes met again, locking together in a powerful gaze.
Sparrow thrust them apart, giving the concubine an extra shake for good measure. “Come, we have no time for this. Work to do!”
As soon as the grubby gold-clad guards had left the cell, Daggar started working on his cuffs. He had only got as far as prising the tiny pickpin out of his left sleeve when he heard the sound of a fight outside the cell doors. “What took you so long?” he yelled above the noise.
Sparrow shouldered her way into the cell. “We had to deliver a baby.”
“We?” questioned Tione, sliding past Sparrow and heading for the prisoner.
Daggar smiled up at Sparrow. “You really smell terrible,” he said.
She looked at him thoughtfully and smacked him over the forehead.
“Hey!” he protested.
Cutlass Cooper stood by the cell door, watching for incoming guards. Sparrow and Tione worked together on Daggar’s cuffs, Tione with a beaded pin she had pulled out of her beaded bodice and Sparrow with the pickpin she snatched from Daggar’s sleeve before he had a chance to tell her about it.
“So,” said Daggar, managing a smile as he ignored the rough handling of his rescuers. “How’s Black Nell?”
“She had a little girl,” said Tione, freeing his left wrist with a click. “They’re going to call her…”
“Kassa,” Daggar completed. “I guessed.”
Tione shrugged her sequins, setting to work on the left ankle-cuff. “The baby’s hair is this funny dark red colour, but I think it will probably grow out blonde.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Daggar.
Cutlass backed into the cell, sword at the ready. “Are you finished?”
he asked urgently. “Someone’s coming.”
A fearsome shadow fell against the dim light coming from the doorway. A horrific apparition rounded the corner into the cell, and immediately found a pirate’s sword held to its throat. “Ah, there you are,” the creature said to the still-imprisoned Daggar, seemingly unfazed by this violent attention.
Tione’s scream was hastily swallowed. “It’s you,” she gasped in relief.
“Have we met?” asked the Minestaurus, stepping aside from the blade of Cutlass’s sword and making a small half bow. I’m sorry about all this. It’s my birthday, and the parents thought I might like a human sacrifice. I hadn’t told them that I went vegetarian two years ago. Anyway, I’m Prince Magnus. Let’s get you out of these shackles, and you can all join the party.”
“Party,” said Daggar faintly as Tione releaded the last cuff. “Cucumber sandwiches. Just what I need.”
“Prince Magnus?” queried Sparrow with a frown.
The old Sultan of Zibria was mildly embarrassed to meet his new guests, who had been allowed the use of the Palace bathhouse before being presented to him. “Sorry about the mix-up,” he said effusively. “It’s so hard to know what to give an eighteen year-old monster for his birthday.”
“So Magnus is your son,” said Sparrow. “And heir?”
“Well,” said the Sultan with a vague smile and a twitch of his tapering grey beard. “Not actually the heir. The Zibrians won’t accept a monster as their Sultan, obviously. Anyway, my clever Queen managed to break the curse and produce some nice human babies, so that’s all right.”
Queen Polynesie smiled prettily and curtseyed.
Sparrow’s mouth set in a flat line and she hooked her arm through that of the Minestaurus, dragging him to one side. “Magnus, this is all wrong,” she hissed. “You should be the next Sultan, not that little psychopath in the nursery!”
Magnus the Minestaurus smiled politely at her. “Was it the debutante ball last autumn? I’m afraid I simply can’t recall where we might have met…”
Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles) Page 40