“Whose bright idea was it to put prisoners there?” grumbled Bronkx. “No wonder they escaped.”
“I think Footcrusher wanted them close byyyy!” the voice echoed.
The gnome went pale. “They were Footcrusher’s prisoners and you let them escape? Are you crazy?”
“Sorrrryyyyyy,” came the voice. “Send out an alerrrrrt to all the other guardddds.”
“You mean Simon?”
“Whatevvveeerrrr,” said the voice.
Bronkx stepped down from his chair. “Flaming idiots,” he muttered, moving his chair until it was under the other stone tube. “Hey, Simon!”
“Whhaaaat,” came a different voice.
“Keep an eye out for some escaped prisoners will ya?”
“I’m busssyyyyy,” came the voice.
Bronkx climbed down again and sat on his chair. “Bleeding Hidden Army types. Who has to do all the work? Me, that’s who.” He tapped one of the stone controls on his table.
On the stairs, Aragon realised that behind him, the door had suddenly turned into a wall. He thought about this. The Brayne. The secret of the Hidden Army’s relocating caves lay just below him. Aragon liked other people’s secrets.
Aragon waited for a while, until a loud, growling noise came from below. The gnome was snoring.
Very quietly, Aragon stepped into the control cave. He leaned over the table, which was covered with moving diagrams and blinking runes. It would be impossible to know what they meant without proper instruction. He started looking for the manual.
* * *
Freshly bathed, swathed in an elegant white mouse-fur coat and wearing diamond rings on her toes, Lady Talle prepared to step into her carriage to follow Reed Cooper. Not that she didn’t trust him, she just didn’t trust him.
“Running away already, your Imperialness?” came a mocking voice.
Lady Talle turned, angry at the insolent tone. “How dare you…” She stopped.
Standing before her was a delegation. The most influential people of Dreadnought, except only herself, were gathered together with identical expressions of displeasure on their faces.
“On the other hand,” said Lady Talle, her tone rapidly becoming inviting and relaxed. “How nice to meet you, gentlemen. Why don’t you come inside for a quick café au lait?”
* * *
Aragon tossed the manual aside and tapped at the pebbles on the surface of the table, bringing up a diagram of Zelora Footcrusher’s quarters. Simultaneously, he called up an image of where Kassa was. Even though he had known vaguely where she should have been, it had taken a while to locate her because she appeared to be walking through an area of solid rock. It wasn’t so hard—after all, if a gnome could operate this damn fool system…
* * *
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” snapped Zelora, standing up. “You’re quite obviously not going to tell me anything.”
Daggar’s eyes had wandered to the gargoyle, so he was the first to notice when the stone shelf it was resting on vanished into a stone alcove that suddenly wasn’t there anymore. “Ey!” he blurted out.
Zelora whirled around just in time to see the gargoyle vanish. She looked accusingly at Daggar who held up his hands hastily, protesting his innocence.
“I didn’t do it! I wouldn’t even know how!”
* * *
Kassa screamed as the floor beneath her exploded. She was pushed rapidly towards the ceiling which opened up to let her through. Fifty levels of tunnels or more later, she had completely run out of scream, and still the floor was spinning up through the centre of the mountain.
Behind her and around her, caves and tunnels changed shape. The whole cave complex was being turned upside down and inside out. It was pure chaos.
Finally Kassa was propelled out of the top of the mountain, tumbling out on to the silvery grass. “Bwlargh!” she said dizzily. As she leaned over to look inside the hole in the mountain, she saw something small and dark shooting up towards her.
The gargoyle burst out of the hole in the mountain, and all the layers of stone closed behind it as it flew towards the sky. Kassa stretched out her fingertips to catch it, but missed completely. It bounced on the grass, and lay still.
Before Kassa could get her breath back, a set of moving stone steps appeared out of the centre of the mountain, and Aragon Silversword arrived in a much more dignified manner.
“You’re full of surprises,” Kassa managed in a raspy voice, still sore from all the terrified screaming. She fished around for the gargoyle and held on to it tightly. “Where’s Daggar?”
Aragon smiled, advancing on her. “Why would I care?”
“Shouldn’t we rescue him?”
He kept advancing on her, his hand firmly curled around a small Hidden Army executive crossbow.
Kassa’s head was still spinning crazily. She fought to get control over her thoughts. And then she remembered that he was a traitor. “Stay back,” she insisted.
“Give me the gargoyle, my lady,” he said warningly.
“I’ll throw it over the cliff first,” she threatened.
“You think I have forgotten that he is a friend of yours? Give it to me.”
Alive was better than dead. Kassa handed the gargoyle over. “What do you want with it?”
“I have a customer. For both of you. Now turn around.”
He tied her wrists tightly with the length of rope she had been using for a belt, and made her walk ahead of him. She did so, stumbling over the sharp rocks, trailing vines and hibernating furry animals which lay in her path. “There are a lot of hazards in the Skullcaps,” she said hesitantly. “Especially at night.”
“Oh, I know,” said Aragon Silversword. “Firebrands and icesprites, trolls and trapdoors.” He lowered his voice. “I even hear that some of the Profithood take their holidays here so they can play with the bandits.”
“You were there when we were captured,” realised Kassa. He must have been trailing them since Dreadnought.
“I have always been with you, my lady. Shadowing your every step. Those moving caves are quite ingenious. I’ll have to sell their secret to someone someday.”
She glared at her feet as she stumbled along. “I don’t like you, Silversword.”
“I know that,” he replied. “But I won’t hold it against you.”
A few feet in front of them, a tree burst into flames. Light flooded everywhere, flashing gold and silver in their eyes. A throbbing beat seemed to be all around them. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boo-boo-boom…
And then a male figure, swathed in orange flame, appeared before them. Heat resonated off him, and he swayed his burning hips crazily to the sound of the beat. He was wearing dark glasses.
They were surrounded by dancing flames. Some were jitterbugging, some were shimmying and some were doing the lambada.
“And this would be…” Aragon invited Kassa to explain.
“Firebrands,” she said tiredly. “I hope you weren’t in a hurry to get anywhere.”
* * *
It was dark now. The mountain had stopped shaking. They were trapped in a small cave formed from a corner of Zelora’s quarters and some spare boulders. There was no door. No way out. Very soon, there would be no fresh air to breathe.
“All right,” said Daggar in the darkness. “I’m willing to believe that this is all Kassa’s fault.”
Zelora’s breath was a hiss. “If we get out of this, I’m going to cut you into pieces small enough to feed to my pet termites!”
There was a long pause. And then, in the dark, Daggar grinned hopefully. “Do I sense that it’s time to be charming again?”
8. Playing with Fire
There were seven in the delegation.
First came Leonardes of Skullcap, large and imposing in his black ceremonial robes edged with thin gold coins. As Chief Scoundrel in the Profithood, he had precedence over all the other representatives. Plus he was bigger than most of them put together. He had single-handedly scared off at
least a third of the pretender Emperors since Timregis, mostly by threats of heavy fines for tax evasion. Since there was no Dreadnought Lordling, the only people in the city who charged taxes were the Profithood themselves, and the Profithood took a very dim view of people who tried to avoid giving them money.
Standing next to Leonardes was the Captain of the Dreadnought Blackguards, looking as if he would rather be somewhere else.
Then there was the Red Admiral, a short, squat man with a large hat shaped like Pride of the Navy, the Imperial ship. The Navy only consisted of twelve men and a ship’s parrot, all of whom held the title of Admiral, but Talle still needed their support. After all, they were the ones who had sunk Bigbeard Daggersharp’s ship, and as far as she could tell, none of the profits had made their way to the Imperial coffers yet. Those Admirals were sneaky bastards.
Tamb Lint was the spokesman for the merchants and marketeers of Dreadnought. He had greasy hair and tended to start his sentences with “Geetchor horanges, cheap an’ luvverly, gettem while they’re hot…” Nevertheless, it was important not to underestimate him. With a single gesture, he could bring the city to an economic standstill.
Then there was the Chief Mummer, a small thin man with white face-paint and a rubber chicken, who was very highly regarded by all the entertainers, news-minstrels and creators of humorous hieroglyphs. If Talle didn’t get this group on her side, she would be lampooned and sneered at throughout the Empire. She wanted positive propaganda, and for that she would have to be very enticing.
Present also was the Ambassador of Anglorachnis, the city just beyond the borders of the Mocklore Empire. He looked puffed up and important, but that was just because he was wearing purple. Ambassadors always wore purple. If Talle wanted to be taken at all seriously, his report would be crucial.
The seventh member of the party was elusive. He kept to the shadows, even in the bright chamber in which the Lady Emperor received her guests. He was so non-descript that Talle kept forgetting he was there. This could only be the Hidden Executive Leader of the Hidden Army of Mercenaries, which didn’t exist, of course, but whom she might need the services of in the future…should she want anyone conquered, besieged or just generally frightened to death.
“May I ask the reason for this intrusion?” said the Lady Emperor asked, reverting to a voice of high and haughty royalty in a desperate bid to seize control of the meeting.
“We wished to pay our respects to the new Emperor of Mocklore,” said Leonardes in his rich, dangerous voice. The thick fingers twisted and stretched as he spoke.
“I do not notice you behaving with particular respect,” Lady Talle replied.
“Let’s speak frankly,” said the Anglorachnis Ambassador. “Mocklore is crumbling. This little Empire has become a colossal joke to everyone. No one cares who rules it anymore, especially those who live here. It is time that there was a stable Emperor. One likely to last more than a few months.”
“And I need your support to do so,” completed Talle in a chilly tone.
“Did we say that?” inquired Leonardes.
Talle shot a glare at the Anglorachnis Ambassdor which was cold enough to wither an indestructible artichoke. “What is your interest in these matters, Ambassador? I would think Anglorachnis might prefer Mocklore to be in chaos.”
“To make it easier for us to invade?” said the Ambassador with amusement. “My Lady, your people are all either bandits, merchants or minstrels. Your crops are pathetic, it rains too much, and you have regular natural disasters. In the last moon alone, Mocklore was subjected to three earthquakes, a rain of lemmings, a wave of talking letterboxes and an exploding mountain which sprayed warm porridge all over the Midden Plains. And I hardly need mention the damage caused by that hideous Glimmer incident nearly a decade ago. You can keep your little island empire, we don’t want it.”
“So what do you want?’ said Lady Talle suddenly. “What is your price for supporting me?”
“Are you offering to bribe us, your Imperial Highness?” suggested Leonardes of Skullcap. He sounded amused. “How much are you offering?”
“I have nothing,” Lady Talle spat. “You must know that there is no money in the Imperial coffers. The rapid succession of failed Emperors have bled Mocklore dry. And until I prove myself to the Lordlings, I can expect no tribute from the city-states.” She laughed hollowly. “I doubt if any of them are even aware that there is a new Emperor. And why would they care, if they did know?” She regarded them all, her voice immaculately calm. “After all, one Emperor is much the same as another. The only difference, gentlemen, is that I intend to stay. I will not be beaten by this damn Empire!”
There was a pause, and then Leonardes of Skullcap began to applaud, slowly. “Fine speech,” he said with a quarter of a smile.
The Chief Mummer stepped forward and made a few shadow puppet gestures with his hands.
“He says that you can’t buy the support of the Lordlings,” translated the Captain of the Blackguards. “They all have more wealth than they know what to do with. You have to be more cunning to get their attention.”
“So what do I do?” hissed Talle, finally admitting that she needed their advice.
“You enlist our support, my Lady Emperor,” said Leonardes. “The Profit-scoundrels will support you unconditionally…provided that we are awarded ten per cent of any ill-gotten gains of which the treasury seizes control.”
“Like pirate’s treasure,” Talle said coldly. “For instance.”
Leonardes shrugged his massive shoulders, and smiled.
“We need new ships for the navy every year,” said the Red Admiral firmly. “We will handle the recruiting of crews and captains ourselves, but we must have new ships. That is our price.”
Lady Talle laughed. “What would you do with all those ships?”
“I would capture pirates, my Lady Emperor,” said the Red Admiral without smiling. “And the navy would naturally take ten per cent of any treasure they provide for the Imperial treasury.”
“Geetchor fresh honions,” said Tamb Lint in his greasy voice. “H’and while you’re h’at it, improve the h’economy. “No one’s buying h’anything but the bare h’essentials to survive. The merchants are getting desperate. Some of ’em have started biting people, even.”
“Reinstate the Blackguards,” said the Captain of the Blackguards in a firm, dull voice. “I want paid jobs for real soldiers and guardsmen.”
Lady Talle was bewildered. “But there are Blackguards everywhere. There are four guarding this chamber!”
The Captain shook his head very slowly.
“Then who…” demanded Lady Talle hoarsely.
The Chief Mummer stepped forward and made some more hand puppet signals.
“He wants his actors back,” translated the Red Admiral. “There hasn’t been a decent play in Dreadnought for more than three years, because the mummers get paid more to stand outside the Palace pretending to be tough.” He made a face. “It was one of Timregis’ last mad ideas, and no one got around to rescinding it.”
“Are you telling me that for three years this city has been protected by mummers?” demanded Lady Talle shrilly.
“They’re very good at it,” said the Captain of the Blackguards dismally. “Most of ’em have fencing training, and a good ear for dialogue. But it’s not the same. And to top it all off, there’s all those ex-guards out there trying to scrape a living as minstrels. It’s embarrassing, really.”
Lady Talle sat back on her feathered cushions, trying to take it all in. “So I must send my current guards away to be mummers, and pull in all the second-rate minstrels to be guards. I must increase my navy so that they and the Profithood can be paid their percentages.” She glared at the puffed-up purple Ambassador of Anglorachnis. “And what do you want, my lord? An amethyst carriage and six purple horses to match?”
“A state visit,” said the Ambassador calmly. “An all-expenses-paid holiday for my Royal Family to see the best of Mocklore. And I
want them impressed. Otherwise my pension is in jeopardy.”
“And what will you all give me in return?” said Lady Talle faintly. “How can you repay me for these momentous tasks?”
“Oh, we’ll help you accomplish them, my Lady Emperor,” Leonardes assured her. “We are your liegemen now.”
Leonardes smiled. They were all smiling. Lady Talle was not sure if she liked that.
The golden doors of the chamber swung open. “We have someone for you to meet, my Lady Emperor,” announced the Chief Mummer suddenly in the voice of a circus ringleader. “A gesture of goodwill, if you will.”
A very small man stepped into the chamber. When he removed his hat and bowed floridly, Lady Talle realised that he was not a very small man at all, but a mere boy.
“And this is supposed to solve my problems?” she demanded disdainfully. “He looks like a professional urchin.”
“That is what Kassa Daggersharp thought, my Lady Emperor,” said Griffin, son of Camelot. And he bowed again.
* * *
The prince of firebrands jiggled to the pounding beat. Jiga boom, jiga boom, jiga boom boom boom!
There were other, smaller firebrands around him, dancing and swaying and turning somersaults in the air. They were all moving to the beat which steadily grew louder. The music was all around them.
“I am Ferdee Firehazard Fiero, come dance with me, lady, don’t say no,” sang the prince of firebrands, swivelling his hips.
Kassa got the feeling that he was talking to her. “Nice to meet you, Ferdee Flame, but I’m all tied up, can’t play your game,” she replied.
“You’ve met these people before,” Aragon noted darkly.
“On occasion,” she whispered back.
Ferdee seemed pleased with Kassa’s response. “Hey, come to the halls of Fiero, if you entertain us we might let you go,” he offered.
The firebrands were all around them now. Escaping wouldn’t be easy. Ferdee leaned forward, almost scorching Kassa’s hair, and said in a leering voice. “So, what dooo you doooo?”
“I sing,” she replied confidently. “And I dance.”
The Mocklore Omnibus (Mocklore Chronicles #1 & #2) Page 8