Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

Damn it, Lord Sinistre was just her type. “I don’t dance,” Kassa told him. The music had other ideas. It tugged at her feet and wriggled around her elbows.

  “Really?” said Lord Sinistre. He looked pointedly down at Kassa’s high-heeled boot, which poked out from under her sweeping green gown. Her traitorous foot was tapping.

  “Well, maybe just one dance,” she said weakly. In an instant she was in Lord Sinistre’s arms, moving in perfect synchronicity with the otherworldly music, their eyes and hips locked closely together.

  Egg and Clio watched them go. “Are they all under a spell?” Clio asked. “Kassa too?”

  “I don’t know,” said Egg. “Don’t look at me. There wasn’t any music in my drawings. I didn’t come up with the minced albatross and love-in-the-mist mayonnaise thing either. I’m not doing this.”

  “Hmm.” Clio surveyed the crowd. “I wonder who is.”

  The dance was dark and inviting, a mass of beautiful people in spectacular costumes. Even the serving staff moved in time to the music.

  Only one person did not. He was an ordinary figure at the far end of the ballroom, dressed in dark grey. He moved briskly through the crowd, stopping every now and then to speak to a footman or maid, or to rearrange a platter.

  “Help me up,” Clio demanded, bouncing up and down on her toes to get a proper look.

  “Up where?” said Egg. He stared at the immaculate buffet table. “Oh, you’re not serious.”

  “Up,” said Clio. Egg gripped her uncertainly, and held on as she propelled herself upwards, her feet landing on the table. Her hem fell into the punchbowl and a purple stain spread along the underside of her dress, but Clio didn’t even notice.

  “What are you trying to see?” asked Egg.

  “Get up here,” she said in a breathy voice. “Now, Egg.”

  Egg scrambled up. “I really don’t think we’re supposed to do this.”

  Clio gripped his hand and pointed across the room. “This is your world, Egg. Your precious little dark city that you scribbled down in your spare time. So tell me who in the Underworld is that?”

  Egg stared, and then smiled. “It’s the Chamberlain. Wow, it’s really him. He looks just like I always imagined. I never could draw his face quite right.”

  “He belongs here?” Clio asked in a chilly voice. “He’s one of your fictional people that you made up in your head?”

  “Of course. He runs the place. He’s the first character I came up with, you see, because…”

  “What’s his name?”

  Egg looked at her strangely. “What’s up? You sound angry.”

  “I’m not angry, Egg. Not yet. What’s his name?”

  “He doesn’t have a name. He’s just the Chamberlain. It’s sort of ironic, you see, because…”

  Clio pushed him off the table.

  Egg landed hard. The impact of the polished floor thudded painfully through every bone in his body. “Oof,” he gasped. “What did you do that for?”

  “He has a name, Egg,” hissed Clio as she climbed down from the table. “Your precious Chamberlain’s name is Aragon Silversword.”

  Dancing, to Kassa, was as natural as breathing. She had been taught a dozen different dances by a dozen different pirates before she was even a dozen years old. When she escaped from her finishing school a week before final exams and resolved never to return to the pirating life, dancing had seemed an obvious career path to take.

  She had tapped her way into the Exotic Dancers Union, cha-cha’d her way into the exclusive Dreadnought Dollies Cabaret Institute, and undulated her way into the Unusual Bellydancer’s League, a group so exclusive that only six members were allowed at any one time. Kassa was the only one of the current six who had never been a courtesan, concubine, spy, or all three at once.

  Dancing was one of those things (Annual Staff Ball aside) that Kassa had given up in recent years. In truth, she had given it up long before she started at the Polyhedrotechnical College of Cluft. The year that she spent living above the Whet and Whistle Tavern and Grillhouse, happily singing for her supper, felt like several lifetimes ago.

  This dance, her expert feet and hips informed her, was wrong. Yes, she was in the arms of a gorgeous man with beautiful dark eyes. Yes, the music was exquisite beyond belief. Yes, she hadn’t enjoyed anything so much in ages. No, this should not be happening.

  Clio and Egg brought her out of her dance-induced daze. They were the only two in the whole ballroom not gliding around to the music. Clio marched along the edge of the dance floor, dragging Egg behind her.

  Kassa lay her cheek on Lord Sinistre’s shoulder to get a better look. Why weren’t they dancing? Couldn’t they feel the lure of the music? Her mind was overwhelmed by the trill of the flutes, the twang of the fiddles and the strange plinking of a musical instrument she did not recognise. Still, she turned her head to see where the children were heading.

  All she saw at first was a gaggle of footmen who hovered around someone who was giving the orders. As they peeled away to obey those orders, Kassa had her first glimpse of his face.

  Eyes so grey you could stab yourself with them…

  Kassa’s brain came rushing back with a vengeance. What was going on? Why was everyone dancing with dark strangers, their eyes glazed and their choreography perfect? Why was she allowing this complete stranger to press his velvet-clad groin to hers? Where was that horrible music coming from?

  And while she was asking questions, what in the wide world was Aragon Silversword doing here?

  “Let go of me,” she said, trying to extract herself from the dangerous rhythms of Lord Sinistre. “Get off!”

  She had to peel herself out of Lord Sinistre’s arms and shove him away. Then she had to shoulder a path through a web of gliding bodies. “Out of my way, move it!”

  Kassa reached the far side of the ballroom at the same time as Clio and Egg. “Where is he? Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know,” said Clio wildly. “I thought he was dead. Everyone thought he was dead!”

  “He is when I catch up with him,” Kassa snarled. She surveyed the crowd with a steady eye. Lord Sinistre’s dark eyes were fixed upon her. He glided towards her, to the rhythm of the music. Everyone else was part of the dance. There was no sign of Aragon Silversword.

  “You are not dancing,” said Lord Sinistre as he reached them, his voice low and sensuous.

  “I’m okay with that,” said Kassa. “Carry on without me.”

  “We’re looking for someone,” said Clio.

  “The Chamberlain,” said Egg. “Do you know where he is?”

  “You must dance,” Lord Sinistre reproached. “All of you must join the dance.”

  The music swelled, the beat quickened and the hypnotic, dangerous dance reached out to swallow them whole. This time, it was too powerful to resist.

  5

  Justice and Black Lace

  Dancing was for people who were not Egg.

  The music, though, the music wanted Egg to dance and he did his best to please it. It sang madly in his veins, demanding that he writhe and waltz and shimmy. He didn’t even know what a shimmy was, but he was pretty sure he was doing one. His dance partner was a girl with long dark hair, a clinging gown, spiky black eyelashes and lips so dark and promising that you would swear they were stained with blood.

  He couldn’t see Clio, or Kassa, or even Lord Sinistre. The dance floor was a melting, grooving mass of bodies and sweat and velvet. Nothing mattered but the music, nothing mattered but dancing until your feet bled and your skin wept and your head pulsed with a blinding explosion of pain…

  The music stopped.

  Someone screamed, and there was a worried buzz across the ballroom. Through the mass of shiny confused people, Egg noticed that interesting things were happening at the bandstand.

  A tall, cloaked figure held aloft the body of the fiddler. The cloak was such a pale and brilliant grey that it seemed to be almost white. He was quite out of place among the dark, sensuous co
lours of Drak. He ripped the fiddler apart.

  As each limb was torn away from the fiddler’s body, it transformed into a screeching black demon. There were nine demons in all, clawing creatures with red eyes and shrill voices. As each demon was exposed, it screamed and dissolved into a puff of smoke. Finally, the cloaked figure tossed the fiddler’s empty tunic aside and turned his cowled head towards the other minstrels. They all vanished, leaving only their instruments behind.

  Egg stared at the pale grey figure. He was real. It was all really real. “You’re the Cloak,” he mouthed. His hero, the first real superhero he had ever inked on to the page.

  The grey figure turned to Egg. His face was hidden within the shimmering shape of his otherworldly garment. “I am the Cloak who Walks in the Night,” he said in a clear, hard voice. “I am the Bringer of Order to Chaos. I am the Maker of Justice for All. This city is mine to protect. Demons and creatures of evil intent, beware. The Cloak knows you. The Cloak will find you.”

  Light flashed against the upper windows of the ballroom. If it had been a stormy night it would have been lightning, a perfectly reasonable visual effect under such circumstances, but there was no storm. The flash of light was a signal for all eyes to look up and see what needed to be seen. All eyes swung upwards.

  On the highest landing of the spiralling silver staircase, two masked figures stood in bold poses. One was a girl in a bright white catsuit, her hair a riotous shock of purple curls. The other was a male in a blue and white checked suit. He kept flickering in and out of sight. Egg felt a dull shock of recognition. Dream Girl and Invisiblo the Mystery Man. “The gang’s all here,” he muttered to himself.

  “Drak is under our protection!” called the purple-haired girl.

  “Fear not!” added the flickering, half-invisible man in blue and white. “The tyrant’s rule nears its end. We are the Heroes of Justice who shall bring the Reign of Darkness to its final conclusion!”

  Light flashed again and the two ‘heroes’ vanished, as did the Cloak.

  There was silence for a moment, as the crowd processed what they had just seen. There was a vague sound as if some of them considered applauding, then thought better of it.

  Lord Sinistre cleared his throat. He stepped up to the bandstand and nudged the ashy tunic of the demon fiddler with his boot. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat for a second time. “That was odd.”

  The crowd moved towards the food tables, tentatively at first, and then in one big rush. The waiters sprang into action, passing trays of drinks and sugary rose petals back and forth at super speed.

  “So,” said Kassa, stepping up to the empty bandstand beside Lord Sinistre. “Demons.”

  “Oh yes,” said Lord Sinistre, wiping his boot on a stray decorative banner. “We get rather a lot of them around here, I’m afraid. They can be a dreadful nuisance.” He sighed. “Too much to hope we could have one ball without someone getting demonically possessed.”

  “Are you saying you weren’t responsible for that whole demon dance mass hypnotism thing?”

  “Me?” Lord Sinistre laughed. “I can think of far better ways to ask a woman to dance. No, the demons get into everything these days. We’re rather used to it by now.”

  “Are they responsible for this?” Kassa plucked at her dress. “The costume changes my people went through as they crossed the bridge?”

  “You don’t say?” said Lord Sinistre, sounding genuinely shocked. “I thought you were all making an effort to fit in with our way of life. It must be Drak itself, I’m afraid.”

  “The city?”

  “It has a mind of its own, and some magic too. We call it the draklight—the creeping magical mind of the city. It gets ideas. It’s never actually changed people’s clothes before, but then we’ve never had visitors from outside until today. I hope you weren’t put to too much inconvenience.”

  “Nothing that a good physiotherapist can’t fix,” said Kassa, tugging at her tight corset.

  Lord Sinistre smiled. The gleam in his eyes did something to the pit of Kassa’s stomach. Her whole skin was aware of him. How’s a girl supposed to spot the demons around here?

  He extended a hand to hers. “Can I get you some wine, a little supper? Perhaps, if we find some non-demonic musicians to do the honours, we could have another dance? I hardly think the last one counts.” Slowly, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” said Kassa. There was nothing she wanted more right now than to dance with this man, which suggested that she should do anything but. “I have to look for someone.”

  Lord Sinistre sighed and kissed her hand a second time, his lips lingering a fraction longer that before. “Later,” he suggested.

  Kassa shivered, taking back custody of her hand. “Definitely later.” As she stepped down from the bandstand, she spotted Egg. “Where’s Clio?”

  Egg looked around. “I lost her in the dance.”

  “Well, find her,” Kassa snapped, walking towards the nearest door. “I’m going to look around for those so-called Heroes of Justice. Something very strange is going on around here.”

  As she left, Banjo Harper pushed his way out of the velvet-clad crowd and climbed up to the bandstand. He grinned wildly as his knees clashed three different sets of cymbals together. He raised his fiddle, cello, drum kit, flute and ukulele, preparing for the performance of his life. “Now we’ll hear some music!”

  The door Kassa chose did not lead into another set of endless dark corridors and staircases. Instead, it led unexpectedly to an outdoor courtyard. Kassa closed the door behind her and breathed in the clear, cold air.

  She hadn’t lied to Egg. She fully intended to go looking for the peculiar ‘heroes’ who had interrupted the ball and destroyed the dance-inducing demons. In a minute. Once she had caught her breath.

  Ten minutes passed.

  It wasn’t just the tightly-laced corset that was making it hard to think. There was something strange about this city — something other than demons being commonplace, and an obsessive attachment to velvet. The draklight? It was doing something to her mind, making her think differently. If only she knew what she was trying to think about…

  “Hello, Kassa.” The voice cut through the silence of the courtyard like an icicle impaling her in the stomach. He had been standing there all along, in the shadows. All this time wondering where he was, and she might have missed him if he hadn’t called attention to himself.

  Kassa’s golden eyes blazed in the darkness. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask but her pride would not allow her to speak them aloud. Her pride, in fact, thought it would be better if she never spoke to him again. “Hello, Aragon,” she managed.

  The door opened behind Kassa. Lord Sinistre stepped out, his scarlet cape swishing around his black velvet suit. “Ah, Mistress Sharpe. There you are. You really mustn’t worry about those so-called heroes. The city produces them from time to time, I’m not sure why. Rather like rats. Or demons, come to that. Best leave them to their own devices.” He extended his hand. “Your lecturer in Tavern Skills? He’s producing a sound not unlike twelve musical instruments eating each other, so it shouldn’t be long before my own personal musicians — those not possessed by demons, with any luck — throttle him with his own guitar strap and take over. When that happens, I should very much like to dance with you. A dance of the non-demonic variety, obviously.”

  Kassa turned slowly, smiling at Lord Sinistre. “I’d love to dance with you, your Lordship.” She didn’t look back at the courtyard. It was very important that she didn’t look back.

  “Ah, Chamberlain,” said Lord Sinistre, over Kassa’s shoulder. “There you are. We appear to be running out of candied bat wings, and you know they’re the Duchess of Jetside’s favourites. Could you inform the kitchens?”

  “Of course, my lord,” said Aragon Silversword.

  The evening passed in a blur of fine wine, black satin and candied bat wings. Lord Sinistre was the perfec
t host, managing to dance with every visiting female from Cluft as well as all the duchesses, countesses and baronesses of Drak. Since every woman of Drak who wasn’t a servant was actually a duchess, countess or baroness, this took some time. Somehow, in between all this, Lord Sinistre found time to discuss Vice-Chancellor Bertie’s Great Reversing Barrel with tactful interest, and to slow-dance with Kassa twelve times.

  Many hours later, as the non-demonically possessed minstrels began to droop with exhaustion, Kassa found herself alone at a table with Egg and Clio. Neither of the two young people had been tactless enough to mention the presence of Aragon Silversword, even when he appeared in the ballroom to whisper some command or question to Lord Sinistre, only to vanish back into the kitchens. Whenever he was in the ballroom, Aragon Silversword’s eyes were always on Kassa.

  Kassa found herself smacking an elegant silver pate knife back and forth between her hands in a vaguely homicidal way. She lowered it to the table slowly and let go of it. Her hands were shaking. “Come on, kids. Time to go.”

  Clio yawned. “Already?”

  “There’s no already about it.” Kassa surveyed the room. “You two leave now. Use the door over there, it leads straight outside. Don’t call attention to yourselves. Act like you’re going out to get some fresh air, or to snog in a corner somewhere. Once you’re out, head straight back over the bridge to Cluft. No looking back. I’ll grab Bertie and follow you.”

  Egg glanced around at the various other Cluft residents who were still eating, dancing and chatting with the glamorous people of Drak. “What about everyone else?”

  Kassa shrugged. “Mavis is a goddess, she should be fine. I don’t particularly like any of the rest of them.” She rolled her eyes at Egg’s shocked face. “Don’t be so stuffy. I can’t sneak them all out covertly. They’ll have to take their chances. The important thing is that a few of us are on the outside, figuring out what to do.”

  “So you don’t believe Lord Sinistre?” Clio asked. “You know, that the demon dance was down to some random demons outside his control?”