The Mammoth Book of New Comic Fantasy Read online

  MIKE ASHLEY is an author and editor of over seventy books, including many Mammoth titles. He worked for over thirty years in local government but is now a full-time writer and researcher specializing in ancient history, historical fiction and fantasy, crime and science fiction. He lives in Kent, England, with his wife and over 20,000 books.

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  THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF

  New Comic Fantasy

  FOURTH ALL-NEW COLLECTION

  Edited by Mike Ashley

  Constable & Robinson Ltd

  55–56 Russell Square

  London WC1B 4HP

  www.constablerobinson.com

  First published in the UK by Robinson,

  an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd 2005

  First Carroll & Graf edition 2005

  Collection and editorial material

  copyright © Mike Ashley 2005

  All rights reserved. No part of this publiçation may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the publisher.

  ISBN 1-84529-157-3

  eISBN 978-1-47211-213-2

  Printed and bound in the EU

  Illustration by Julek Heller; Cover design by joerobert.co.uk

  CONTENTS

  Copyright and Acknowledgments

  THE WONDERS TO BEHOLD

  Mike Ashley

  FORBIDDEN BRIDES OF THE FACELESS SLAVES IN THE NAMELESS HOUSE OF THE NIGHT OF DREAD DESIRE

  Neil Gaiman

  THE BLUE MAGNOLIA

  Tony Ballantyne

  COLQUITT’S HIGH-ENERGY TROUSERS

  Steven Pirie

  A DRAMA OF DRAGONS

  Craig Shaw Gardner

  PEST CONTROL

  Adam Roberts

  WRONG PLANET

  Tom Holt

  RETURN OF THE WARRIOR

  Laird Long

  CHRISTMAS GAMES

  David Langford

  STEPHEN SKARRIDGE’S CHRISTMAS

  Frank R. Stockton

  SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE

  Robert Loy

  THE KALUZA-KLEIN CAPER

  Damien Broderick

  SHOES

  Robert Sheckley

  THE DAY WE PLAYED MARS

  Maurice Richardson

  FOWL PLAY

  Steve Redwood

  THE DEATHS OF ROBIN HOOD

  Rhys Hughes

  BAD TIMING

  Molly Brown

  SWEET, SAVAGE SORCERER

  Esther Friesner

  THE POWER AND THE GORY

  James Bibby

  THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF MR CORPUSTY

  Anthony Armstrong

  THE GREAT WISH SYNDICATE

  John Kendrick Bangs

  FRACTAL PAISLEYS

  Paul Di Filippo

  ALMOST HEAVEN

  Tom Gerencer

  A RUDE AWAKENING

  Gail-Nina Anderson

  SPOILED ROTTEN

  Grey Rollins

  THE BIRTH OF A.I.

  Cynthia Ward

  STAKES AND ADDERS

  Marilyn Todd

  THE SEA SERPENT SYNDICATE

  Everard Jack Appleton

  YO HO HOKA!

  Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson

  THE MIRRORS OF MOGGROPPLE

  John Morressy

  I MARRIED A ROBOT

  Ron Goulart

  MRS WILSON AND THE BLACK ARTS OF MRS BEELZEBUB FROM NUMBER SIX

  Steven Pirie

  SOONER OR LATER OR NEVER NEVER

  Gary Jennings

  Notes on contributors

  COPYRIGHT AND

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  All of the stories are copyright in the name of the individual authors or their estates as follows. Every effort has been made to trace holders of copyright. In the event of any inadvertent transgression of copyright please contact the editor via the publisher.

  “A Rude Awakening” © 2005 by Gail-Nina Anderson. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Yo Ho Hoka!” © 1955 by Fantasy House, Inc. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, March 1955. Reprinted by permission of The Chris Lotts Agency, New York, and David W. Wixon on behalf of the respective authors’ estates.

  “The Sea Serpent Syndicate” by Everard Jack Appleton. First published in The Royal Magazine, April 1905. Copyright expired.

  “The Strange Affair of Mr Corpusty” © 1932 by George A.A. Willis. Reprinted from The Prince Who Hiccupped and Other Tales (Benn, 1932) by permission of the author’s estate.

  “The Blue Magnolia” © 2000 by Tony Ballantyne. First published in The Third Alternative #22 (January 2000). Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “The Great Wish Syndicate” by John Kendrick Bangs, first published in Jack and the Check Book (New York: Harper, 1911). Copyright expired.

  “The Power and the Gory” © 2005 by James Bibby. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “The Kaluza-Klein Caper” © 2005 by Damien Broderick. Originally published in a different form as part of the novel Striped Holes (New York: Avon Books, 1988). Printed by permission of the author.

  “Bad Timing” © 1991 by Molly Brown. First published in Interzone, December 1991. Reprinted by permission of the auth
or.

  “Fractal Paisleys” © 1992 by Paul Di Filippo. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, May 1992. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Sweet, Savage Sorcerer” © 1989 by Esther Friesner. First published in Amazing Stories, January 1990. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Nameless House of the Night of Dread Desire” © 2004 by Neil Gaiman. First published in Gothic! edited by Deborah Noyes (Cambridge, MS: Candlewick Press, 2004). Reprinted by permission of the author and Candlewick Press.

  “A Drama of Dragons” © 1980 by Craig Shaw Gardner. First published in Dragons of Light edited by Orson Scott Card (New York: Ace Books, 1980). Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Almost Heaven” © 2004 by Tom Gerencer. First published as “Almost (But Not Quite) Heaven” in Realms of Fantasy, October 2004. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “I Married a Robot” © 1999 by Ron Goulart. First published in Analog Science Fiction and Fact, November 1999. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Wrong Planet” © 2005 by Tom Holt. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “The Deaths of Robin Hood” © 2002 by Rhys Hughes. A slightly different version was published as “Robin Hood’s New Mother” in Stories from a Lost Anthology (Leyburn: Tartarus Press, 2002). Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Sooner or Later or Never Never” © 1972 by Gary Jennings. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, May 1972. Reprinted by permission of McIntosh and Otis, Inc., on behalf of the author’s estate.

  “Christmas Games” © 1993 by David Langford. First published in Christmas Forever edited by David Hartwell (New York: Tor Books, 1993). Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Return of the Warrior” © 2005 by Laird Long. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Sing a Song of Sixpence” © 1999 by Robert Loy. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, June 1999. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “The Mirrors of Moggropple” © 1982 and 1989 by John Morressy. First published as two separate stories in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, “The Crystal of Caracodissa” (September 1982) and “Mirror, Mirror, Off the Wall” (August 1988). Reprinted by permission of the author’s estate.

  “Colquitt’s High-Energy Trousers” © 2003 by Steven Pirie. First published in Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine #7 (June/July 2003). Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Mrs Wilson and the Black Arts of Mrs Beelzebub from Number Six” © 2005 by Steven Pirie. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Fowl Play” © 2005 by Steve Redwood. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “The Day We Played Mars” © 1949 by Maurice Richardson. First published by Lilliput, March 1949. Reprinted by permission of David Higham Associates as agent for the author’s estate.

  “Pest Control” © 2005 by Adam Roberts. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Spoiled Rotten” © 1993 by Grey Rollins. First published in Analog Science Fiction and Fact, April 1993. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Shoes” © 2001 by Robert Sheckley. First published in Fantasy & Science Fiction, February 2002. Reprinted by permission of the author’s estate.

  “Stephen Skarridge’s Christmas” by Frank R. Stockton. First published in Scribner’s Monthly, January 1872. Copyright expired.

  “Stakes and Adders” © 2005 by Marilyn Todd. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “The Birth of A.I.” © 1998 by Cynthia Ward. First published as “The Birth of Artificial Intelligence” in XOddity #3 (May 1998). Reprinted by permission of the author.

  THE WONDERS TO BEHOLD

  Mike Ashley

  It was a dark and stormy night. Deep in the forest, just within earshot of the Walderslade bypass, a young, virile but careworn man sat hunched over a pile of manuscripts.

  “Now, what have we here?” he muttered to himself as the winds battered against his window and the trees formed eerie tracery against the scudding clouds. He began to leaf through the stories in front of him, recalling their pleasures.

  “Ah, yes, the intelligent alien banana turned detective, the teddy-bear pirates, the computerized shoes, the high-energy trousers that threaten the universe, the Neighbourhood Watch and the forces of Beelzebub, the missionary who underestimates an aboriginal ritual, the talking moose head . . .”

  Hang on, hang on. What’s all this?

  “Ssshh – don’t interrupt.”

  What are you doing?

  “Go away. You’ll spoil everything.”

  You’re not doing another of your Introductions, are you?

  “Of course not. This is the story of a forgotten genius and his great works.”

  Forgotten genius! What’s this: “young . . . virile!”

  “Be quiet. You’ll ruin it.”

  Look, we had all this out last time. No one reads Introductions. I bet they’re already halfway through the book. They can find out what everything’s about themselves.

  “No, no, I must reveal what wonders lie before them. All the hard work that went into the book. That there are eight brand new stories and some very rare reprints. And about the politically incorrect bits . . .”

  Ah, that sounds good. I must look out for those.

  “. . . and the significance of the title.”

  Why, what have you called it this time? The Enormous Book of Strenuously Comic Fantasy? The Huge Book of Rib-tickling Fantastica?

  “No I haven’t. It’s now become a standard title.”

  A what?

  “Look, never mind. Go away and let me explain everything properly.”

  You don’t need to explain everything. It spoils the magic.

  “That’s true, I don’t want to spoil the magic. But there’s still so much I want to say.”

  Why not save it for those story blurbs you write?

  “No, no, I’m not doing story notes here, because I want the stories to flow together. I’ve arranged them so that they’re kind-of connected.”

  Really?

  “Well, sort of.”

  That’s good. So there’s even less of your ramblings.

  “No. I’ve done a note on contributors at the back of the book.”

  Good, say what you want there. Now can we get on with it?

  “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  At last. Take it away, Neil. Get this show on the road.

  Mike Ashley

  February 2005

  FORBIDDEN BRIDES OF THE FACELESS SLAVES IN THE NAMELESS HOUSE OF THE NIGHT OF DREAD DESIRE

  Neil Gaiman

  I

  Somewhere in the night, someone was writing.

  II

  Her feet scrunched the gravel as she ran, wildly, up the tree-lined drive, Her heart was pounding in her chest, her lungs felt as if they were bursting, heaving breath after breath of the cold night air. Her eyes fixed on the house ahead, the single light in the topmost room drawing her toward it like a moth to a candle flame. Above her, and away in the deep forest behind the house, night-things whooped and skrarked. From the road behind her, she heard something scream, briefly – a small animal, that had been the victim of some beast of prey, she hoped, but could not be certain.

  She ran as if the legions of hell were close on her heels, and spared not even a glance behind her until she reached the porch of the old mansion. In the moon’s pale light the white pillars seemed skeletal, like the bones of great beast. She clung to the wooden doorframe, gulping air, staring back down the long driveway, as if she were waiting for something, and then she rapped on the door – timorously at first, and then harder. The rapping echoed through the h
ouse. She imagined, from the echo that came back to her that, far away, someone was knocking on another door. muffled and dead.

  “Please!” she called. “If there’s someone here – anyone – please let me in. I beseech you. I implore you.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

  The flickering light in the topmost room faded and vanished, to reappear in successive descending windows. One person, then, with a candle. The light vanished into the depths of the house. She tried to catch her breath. It seemed like an age passed before she heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and spied a chink of candle-light through a crack in the ill-fitting doorframe.

  “Hello?” she said.

  The voice, when it spoke, was dry as old bone – a desiccated voice, redolent of crackling parchment and musty grave-hangings. “Who calls?” it said, “Who knocks? Who calls, on this night of all nights?”

  The voice gave her no comfort. She looked out at the night that enveloped the house, then pulled herself straight, tossed her raven locks, and said, in a voice that, she hoped, betrayed no fear, “’Tis I, Amelia Earnshawe, recently orphaned and now on my way to take up a position as a governess to the two small children – a boy, and a girl – of Lord Falconmere, whose cruel glances I found, during our interview in his London residence, both repellent and fascinating, but whose aquiline face haunts my dreams.”

  “And what do you do here, then, at this house, on this night of all nights? Falconmere Castle lies a good twenty leagues on from here, on the other side of the moors.”

  “The coachman – an ill-natured fellow, and a mute, or so he pretended to be, for he formed no words, but made his wishes known only by grunts and gobblings – reined in his team a mile or so back down the road, or so I judge, and then he shewed me by gestures that he would go no further, and that I was to alight. When I did refuse to do so, he pushed me roughly from the carriage to the cold earth, then, whipping the poor horses into a frenzy, he clattered off the way he had come, taking my several bags and my trunk with him. I called after him, but he did not return, and it seemed to me that a deeper darkness stirred in the forest gloom behind me. I saw the light in your window and I . . . I . . .” She was able to keep up her pretence of bravery no longer, and she began to sob.

  “Your father,” came the voice from the other side of the door. “Would he have been the Honourable Hubert Earnshawe?”