Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  “Any clues as to what was going on last night?” he asked.

  Clio held up the last parchment sketch she had been looking at, the one of Dream Girl and Invisiblo in a passionate clinch.

  Sean’s eyebrows lifted almost off his face. “Interesting.”

  She thrust the whole folio into his arms. “You’d better look at these. Apparently we were possessed by Egg’s fictional characters last night.”

  “Okay.” Sean leafed through the pages, moving past the Dream Girl pictures to the ones of Invisiblo the Mystery Man. “He kind of looks like me.”

  “I know. Egg drew most of these months ago, before he met either of us.”

  “Weird.”

  “Uh-huh.” Clio wasn’t sure if she wanted to have a conversation this serious with Sean McHagrty. “Last night wasn’t the first time, was it? It happened on the night of the ball, as well. Something took over our bodies.”

  “That explains a lot,” said Sean. “I had two dates that evening, with these sisters? Normally I can swing that kind of thing without a problem, but that night I totally lost track of an hour and they ended up finding out about each other. I couldn’t figure out how it happened.”

  Clio was still shaking her head at him when Egg returned with two large ice cream cones. One was pink and the other was green. He held them both out to Clio. “I didn’t get them from the Seaweed Room. The green one’s peppermint.”

  Clio took the pink one. “Thanks. Sean was just leaving.”

  “Oh, nice,” said Sean. “What have you got against me?”

  “I believe in romance,” she said coldly. “Boys like you make me think I’m wasting my time.”

  “You think I’m not looking for romance?”

  Clio scoffed. “Is that what you call it?”

  “Listen,” said Sean seriously. “If I found the right girl, I’d stay with her forever. She’d never get rid of me.”

  “How comforting.”

  “At least I’m actively looking for love, Miss Cynical. I’m not sitting around waiting for things to turn out like an epic romance, I’m out there examining all the possibilities. Maybe that makes me more of a romantic than you.” With that, Sean sauntered away. “Let me know if you find a way to write a happy ending to this superhero thing,” he said over his shoulder to Egg.

  “Will do,” said Egg.

  Clio glared at Sean’s departing back. “I hate him and I can’t figure out why.”

  “True love?” suggested Egg.

  She brandished her ice cream at him. “I don’t want to mash this into your hair, but I will if I have to…”

  “Eat up, we’ve got a Philosophy of Magic lecture in fifteen minutes.”

  Clio licked her ice cream. “I don’t fancy sitting through a lecture. Can’t we skip it?”

  “Not unless we want Kassa to yell at us. Down side of knowing your teacher.”

  “We don’t even know if she came back from Drak last night. I haven’t seen her around today, have you?”

  “Worried that she might have caught up with your Uncle Aragon?”

  “There’s that. Also, I forgot to do the tutorial readings. If she’s been locked up for murder, I won’t bother.”

  The Cloak made no response to the taunt. Lord Sinistre prowled around him. “That piece of metal you feel around your throat is a Compelling Collar. A very handy device. As long as you wear it, you belong to me. You must obey my every command. My first command is that you remain exactly where you are. My second command is for you to show me whom you truly are, under that fascinating garment of yours.”

  The Cloak’s hands went reluctantly to his hood. The garment itself was pinned to him by the metal collar, but he was able to brush the hood back. Kassa Daggersharp was revealed.

  Lord Sinistre laughed, a truly maniacal laugh. “Oh, Mistress Sharpe. You have outdone yourself. I am glad it’s you. I was dreading there would be someone dull under that rag of yours.”

  “It’s on loan,” she snapped back. “I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

  “On the contrary,” he said. “You are the one that I want. I have some very specific plans for you.”

  She glared at him. “Oh, that’s right. You’re the hero and I’m the villain. I suppose you’re going to make a public example of me?”

  Lord Sinistre smiled. Even now, his smile made part of her feel melty around the knees. Kassa was furious with herself. How dare she be attracted to the man under these circumstances? What kind of woman was she?

  “Oh, no,” said Lord Sinistre. “You were right all along, Kassa Daggersharp. You’re the hero and I’m the villain. That’s why I want to marry you.”

  Most people faced with such an overwhelming enchantment would simply give in to its power. Then again, most people weren’t bespelled by their girlfriend on a semi-regular basis. Aragon at least had some experience in dealing with magic compulsions. That, and a fierce determination to beat Kassa Daggersharp at her own game.

  He opened his eyes.

  The ceiling came into focus. Aragon stared at it for a while, just to make sure it was going to stay there. Then he turned his gaze to the window. Nothing there but Kassa’s homemade curtains and scattered belongings.

  “No hallucinations this time,” he said aloud. “That’s what I call progress.” At least, that was what he had intended to say, but it came out as a muffled slurry sound. So, no talking for a while. He could cope with not talking. All he had to do was get out of this bed, and find his way back to Drak before Kassa did something that everybody was going to regret.

  The spell was still in force, and Aragon’s bones felt like they were filled with molten lead. Even his head was too heavy to lift. He gritted his teeth and attempted to roll. Nothing happened. He tensed every muscle in his body, relaxed them all and tried again. His body rocked slightly.

  Ten minutes later, Aragon had managed to rotate his body closer to the edge of the mattress. One more roll would do it. He fought another wave of sleepiness and rolled triumphantly out of Kassa’s bed.

  Crash! His jaw shuddered as his whole body hit the wooden floor hard. Grabbing on to the side of the bed, he dragged himself up, exhausted from the effort as well as the sleeping spell. Now his only problem was finding his boots. And possibly his trousers. Also, figuring out how to stand up and walk.

  It was going to be a long haul.

  Kassa opened her mouth, waiting for a witty comeback to emerge. It didn’t. She shut her mouth again. “Um, what? Huh? What?”

  “You heard me,” said Lord Sinistre.

  “I heard you, but apparently my brain didn’t believe you. Say it again.”

  “I want to marry you. Is that so hard to believe?”

  She choked a little, which had nothing to do with the metal collar that was clamped around her throat. “I think that’s my first marriage proposal from someone who wasn’t drunk or insane. No, my mistake. You are insane.”

  “Why?” said Lord Sinistre. “You like me, don’t you?”

  “No!”

  “You are attracted, though? Tell me the truth.”

  “Far more attracted than I should be,” said Kassa. “Did I just say that out loud?”

  “Of course,” said Lord Sinistre, sounding pleased. “I told you to tell the truth. The Compelling Collar made you obey me.”

  “This is your idea of romance?” said Kassa. “What kind of man captures a woman against her will and then asks her to marry him?”

  “A man who very much wants the answer to be yes,” said Lord Sinistre. “Shall I tell you why?”

  Kassa tried to move her feet. “You may as well. Apparently I’m not going anywhere.”

  “It’s the city,” said Lord Sinistre. He sounded disconnected, as if he was not necessarily the one choosing what words he was going to speak. “Drak is a hungry place. The draklight feeds on cheerful thoughts and bright impulses, leaving only morbidity and black velvet shadows behind.”

  Kassa stared at him. “Is that why it’s so da
rk around here?”

  “Of course,” said Lord Sinistre in that melodious voice of his. “Even the flame from a candle becomes dim as the city feeds. It can’t grow big and strong without finding something to feed on. Something more powerful than a candle.”

  “I don’t want this city of yours to grow up big and strong,” said Kassa. “If it gets any bigger, Cluft will be swallowed whole, then all of Mocklore.”

  “Mocklore,” said Lord Sinistre, as if the word was a delicious dish on a menu of delicacies. “Such a colourful world out there, sunlight and daisies. Do you have any idea what it is like to have been alone for so long, surrounded by nothing but wasteland, and then suddenly to have a feast surrounding our city as far as the eye can see? We won’t swallow Mocklore whole, Mistress Sharpe. We will savour every mouthful, relish every bite.”

  “That’s comforting,” said Kassa. “You make me feel much better about the whole thing. What does this have to do with marriage? Nothing so far has encouraged me to make that kind of commitment.”

  Lord Sinistre smiled. It was a pleasant smile, nothing nasty about it. “You are a hero in your own land, Kassa. Oh, yes, I know who you really are. Kassa Daggersharp, the brave and feisty pirate lass who saved Mocklore from the Glimmer.” He sounded regretful. “If only I had been here then. I would have liked to see all those bright colours disappearing under the weight of our shadows. You, Kassa, are the ultimate agent of Chaos and Light. Drak is the ultimate expression of Order and Darkness. By making you my Lady, by feeding your bright and heroic spirit into my city until you are nothing but a sulking creature in black satin, I will make Drak strong for generations. Certainly strong enough to overthrow this energetic little island Empire of yours.”

  It wasn’t often that Kassa was left speechless, even temporarily. “The ultimate agent of Chaos and Light?” she said finally. “Are you sure? I know girls who are much messier than I am. Not to mention nicer. You call me a heroine, but I haven’t done much to deserve it.”

  Lord Sinistre laughed. It was a little less devastatingly sexy than before. Please, tell me I’m getting over my bad-boy-in-velvet phase, Kassa thought desperately. I can’t take the embarrassment much longer.

  “I see you more clearly than you see yourself,” said Lord Sinistre. “You are a heroine and you will become the Dark Lady of Drak. Already my city works its will on you. Soon, the heroine will become the villainess and the city will be sated. These things are inevitable.”

  “Do you actually hear the words you are saying?” demanded Kassa. “Please tell me Egg isn’t responsible for these monologues. You sound like something out of a cheap adventure ballad, lacking only the rhyming couplets at the end of each speech.”

  “Still so brave,” said Lord Sinistre. “So rebellious. Where does this strength come from, this unflinching confidence? No one is going to rescue you, Kassa. There will be no last minute reprieve.”

  For a moment, Kassa was chilled. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming here, it was true. Aragon was trapped in her bedroom with the lethargy spell. It might occur to Egg and Clio that she was still in Drak, but they were only kids, what could they do against Lord Sinistre?

  Reality kicked in before Kassa could become truly worried. She might not be the person Lord Sinistre thought she was, but she was still Kassa bloody Daggersharp.

  He had commanded her by the Compelling Collar to remain exactly where she was and to tell him the truth. He had said nothing about keeping her limbs inert. Kassa kicked, her black-booted leg shooting up in front of her body. She wasn’t as limber as she used to be, but she still managed to catch Lord Sinistre under the chin, knocking him to the ground. She glared down at his surprised face.

  “Newsflash, creep-fiend. I’m not the girl who gets rescued. I’m the other girl. The one who does the rescuing, and the head-kicking, and the saving the day. Why the hell are you laughing?”

  Lord Sinistre lay on his back, nursing his bruised face and chuckling up at her. “You are magnificent. The stronger you are, the more delicious a victory it will be when my city crushes that extraordinary spirit out of you.”

  “I’m tired of hearing about your vampire city and what it’s going to do to me,” Kassa said, breathing hard. She was still unable to put one foot in front of the other to escape her current predicament, which was starting to bother her a little. “What are you going to do to me?”

  Lord Sinistre’s eyes gleamed menacingly. “I can’t even begin to tell you.”

  “Try.”

  Somewhere, there was a sound of breaking glass. Kassa smiled broadly. “Waited too long, Sinistre. Too much poncing around and posturing. You should have just cut my head off or thrown me into your stupid portal, or whatever it was you wanted to do. You see, there is one person who rescues me from time to time. You didn’t take him into account.”

  “A single shout will bring a hundred sword-wielding guards into this room,” warned Lord Sinistre.

  “It’s a small room,” said Kassa. “Are you sure they’ll all fit?”

  Something bashed into the door, a heavy thump that shook the hinges and surrounding walls. Lord Sinistre opened his mouth to shout for help.

  “I’ll do it for you, if you like,” said Kassa. “My friend will still get here first.”

  There was a second thump, mightier and more threatening than the first.

  “What is that?” demanded Lord Sinistre.

  “I can’t lie to you while I’m wearing this collar,” said Kassa. “It’s something nasty, and it’s not going to be very pleased with you when it gets in here. Speaking of the collar, unfasten it now and we might be convinced to go easy on you, me and my friend.”

  “I’m not that stupid,” Lord Sinistre growled. “You are in my power, Mistress Daggersharp. Let your friend try to rescue you when you can’t move a step.”

  “Fine,” said Kassa. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She screamed, a throaty howl.

  The door exploded. Woodchips spun out in all directions. A black flying creature burst through the flying splinters, breathing a cloud of flame. Lord Sinistre fell back towards the portal, only preventing himself from falling in by grabbing hold of a chair.

  Kassa dropped to her knees. “Collar, collar!”

  Singespitter — the demonic Drak version of Singespitter — circled the room twice, flapping his wings and hissing. He swooped down at Kassa, his fangs closing down on the back of her neck.

  The Compelling Collar hit the polished floorboards with a tinny little sound.

  “Right,” said Kassa. She advanced on Lord Sinistre, her eyes flashing like hard, angry pieces of amber. “What was it you were saying about marriage?”

  “Well,” said Lord Sinistre faintly, backing up against the wall. “I wouldn’t want to pressure you into a commitment you don’t feel ready for.”

  “Right,” said Kassa. She looked around the room. “I don’t see any sign of these guards of yours. Still, it’s a big palace. Lots of stairs and corridors, that sort of thing. And it’s nearly lunchtime, most of them are probably off having a smoke or a sandwich.”

  “Possibly,” said Lord Sinistre.

  “Mind you, I’m sure Singespitter and I will have to fight our way out of here once the cavalry do arrive to save your miserable neck. Not actual cavalry, we hope. Horses would do terrible things to your carpets.”

  Singespitter smiled. Really, demonic sheep should never smile. It wasn’t pretty. A puff of purple smoke emerged from his flared nostrils.

  “I needn’t tell anyone about all this,” said Lord Sinistre, quickly.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” said Kassa. “Who says the pretty ones can’t be smart, too?”

  Sounds approached — running feet, swishing swords, shouts along the lines of ‘We’re coming, my lordship!’ and ‘Stand together, men, we don’t know what we’re facing!’

  “Ah,” said Kassa.

  “My guards are very good,” said Lord Sinistre. “Your creature might fare well against them, b
ut what about you? You don’t even have a sword.”

  “You’re right,” said Kassa. Slowly, she lifted the pale grey hood over her hair, becoming the Cloak again. “Luckily for me, I’m really good at taking swords off other people.”

  9

  How Drak Won the War

  “I’m worried,” said Egg. “Kassa’s never this late to class.”

  “Maybe she found Uncle Aragon last night,” said Clio. “Maybe she’s busy burying him in a shallow grave.”

  The two of them sat in the back row of the Second Lecture Hall. The clock on the back wall showed that Mistress Sharpe was eight and a half minutes late. There were perhaps half as many students here as had been at the first lecture, but this was normal for the second week of semester. Egg’s last Perspectives of the Profithood seminar had only had three students present of the original thirty. Everyone was slacking off, and the presence of the mysterious Drak had been added to the list of regular excuses, along with the ‘I was drinking lots of multi-coloured beers last night and now I can’t get out of bed’ excuse and the ‘My roommate was drinking lots of multi-coloured beers last night and now the carpet is multi-coloured and do you know where the cleaners keep the soap and buckets?’ excuse.

  The door at the back of the lecture hall opened. The students were busy chattering about how long they should bother to wait before they declared the lecturer an official no-show and made themselves scarce. Egg and Clio were the only ones who heard the door open, and they did not dare to turn around.

  A white sheep flew into the lecture hall. It was large, fluffy, and had a pair of broad purple wings. It sailed down the banks of seats, circled twice and then landed very smoothly on the lectern. For once, there was silence as the students stared at the sheep, then turned around to look toward the back of the lecture hall.

  Mistress Sharpe made her entrance, limping down the wide steps. She only wore one boot. Her other foot was tightly bandaged with torn white cotton. Her toenails were scarlet. Her bright green skirts were shredded down one side, as were several layers of petticoat, which explained where the makeshift bandage had come from. Blood was spattered here and there on the fabric. The sleeves of her chemise were both ripped. Her leather bodice had several dents in it. Two battered swords hung from her sturdy leather belt, one on each side. They did not look as if they had originally belonged to her, although they certainly did now. A bright grey cloak was also tucked into the belt, draping down to the floor.