Confessions of a Dork Lord

by Mike Johnston

  So I went back to giving orders. I told the ogres to place the stone soldiers in ranks, just like a real legion of invaders. Gorey had taught me a lot about war, so I knew to put the infantry up front and the archers in the back. I tried to make it all look convincing. But it was still an army of faire folk who were picking their noses, scratching their ears, or trying to relieve themselves in one way or another.

  All in all, it was a pretty embarrassing sight, but I didn’t think that would matter. We placed the “army” at the eastern face of the Grimhold. When the sun crept above the horizon, its rays would shine on the backs of the stone soldiers. For the most part, those statues would just look like a bunch of black shapes. I guessed the orcs would mistake those hunks of stone and iron for a full-blown invasion. Let’s face it, those guys aren’t exactly geniuses to start with. And if the Roaming Rash was still at large, most of them would be scratching their armpits instead of looking at the lake.

  Oggy napped while the ogres finished up the work. As they set the last statue in place, I got the feeling we were a kind of team or maybe just a bunch of friends helping one another out. We’d achieved something. I felt like a leader. I’d given orders, and at least half the folks had listened to me. It was a start. Storey hadn’t paid me an ounce of attention, but that wasn’t exactly a surprise. She was seated on a rock, her head stuffed in that journal, a tiny candle stuck between her knees. Maybe it was the dark or the fact that we hadn’t slept, but I was finally able to sneak up on the goblin and take a peek at her book. She’d claimed it was filled with military business. But I didn’t see anything like THAT. As she flicked through the book, brilliant landscapes illuminated every page, each one inked in beautiful, intricate detail. One was of a snowy forest, another the frost giants’ castle, the next a rendering of One Eye and his mountainous throne. I saw a drawing of our ice cell and a gorgeous sunset. Her secret was out. Storey was an artist!

  “Now I’m going to have to kill you, Wick,” Storey said as she slammed shut her sketchbook and turned on me. “Not a word about this to anyone. Not one peep! You hear me?”

  “Hey,” I said. “What’s the problem? I mean, they’re actually kind of nice . . . your drawings. I didn’t know you had so much talent. No one in the Grimhold draws. I painted my dad once, but it was pretty bad. We don’t even have an art professor in Nightshadows. They’ve looked. There’s just no one available. But you’ve got real—”

  “Stop it!” she said.

  “Stop what?” I asked.

  “Stop talking about it. If anyone ever found out about this, it would be the end of my career in the Katsirluki,” she said. There was rage in her voice and her hands were shaking.

  “Maybe you should be an artist or something,” I said. “You’ve always got your head buried in that sketchbook.”

  “Are you serious? I’ve been training in the Katsirluki since I was two years old, Wick! It’s all Mother has ever wanted—for me to be first soldier of the order!”

  “Thought you were third?”

  Storey narrowed her eyes. “I’m working my way to the top—okay? I was hoping this little mission would bump me up a notch, but it’ll probably just send me to the bottom of the ranks. So yeah, I might as well say it. I want to draw the world instead of slicing it in half. Yes, I want to be an artist. And you want to be the great and terrible ruler of the grim folk—woo-hoo! Good for you. My life’s been planned out for me as well. You want your job, but I could care less about mine.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Shut it!” she said. Then she turned to my stone army and arched an eyebrow. She clearly wanted to change the subject, so she shook her head and furrowed her brow. “You know what?” she said. “This is your dumbest idea yet.”

  “Wait until the sun rises,” I replied. I refused to let her spoil my mood. “I’m going to slip into the castle and find that scepter. And you know what? I’m going to fix your problem as well.”

  “Good luck with that,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  I understood her doubts. I’d been wrong about a lot of things lately, but I knew this plan would work. My luck was about to change.

  THORNSDAY

  The sunrise was gorgeous. That orange ball crept above the Gurgling Lake of Sulfur, lazy as a dragon, its half circle illuminating the horizon. Outlined by those long, low rays, a conquering army rose at the Grimhold’s doorstep. Their swords poked at the sky, and one or two of the invaders looked like they were about to relieve themselves. I hoped the orc sentries would miss that last part. It might not have been the most intimidating army, but it WAS an army, and they were almost at the castle doors. The orcs’ eyes went wide.

  I saw it from the rocks below the castle wall. We’d rowed across the lake and beached Storey’s little boat alongside the castle moat. The ogres hadn’t come with us. First off, they wouldn’t fit in the boat. Second, they’d done their work and were fast asleep in the forest. This final part would be up to Oggy and me, and that goblin Gorey hired to protect me. As we climbed from the boat, a mighty bell rang out from the Grimhold.

  It was the exact sound I’d waited for since we put the stone army in place. The orcs had hit the alarm. No one was allowed to ring that bell unless the castle was under complete and total attack. Once the bell chimed, it was war. I’d ordered the ogres to ring it when Bob and Rats pulled that prank on me. So I knew exactly what would happen when that earth-shattering toll echoed across the lake. I even stopped to give Storey my best I-said-it-would-work look. She scowled at me, but then she nodded a little.

  My plan WAS working! The orcs gathered on the castle walls. Their captains cried out orders. The guards cranked up the Fountains of Flame and opened the lava moat.

  That last part was the one I’d waited for. See, the lava comes from the Fountains of Flame. That molten rock runs down a stone channel, through a door, and out into the castle moat. But the lava moves slowly. It creeps along like an ogre lost in the woods. This was the essence of my plan. While the lava oozed out of the fountains and rolled toward the moat, I would slip through the open hatch, just ahead of the searing, incredibly dangerous lava flow, and enter the castle.

  “You want me to duck through the door where all the lava comes rolling out?” Storey asked. She made it sound like a question, but she was just repeating my own words in a mocking tone. That kind of stuff really gets on my nerves, so I told her she could stay behind if she was TOO scared.

  Man, that got her moving.

  Oggy was moving too, but he had a different motivation. He was a big guy and worried it might take him a while to squeeze through that door. He didn’t want to get caught in the hatch when the molten rock arrived. Incineration by lava is apparently an unpleasant way to die, so he bolted and so did I.

  Every orc had his eyes on the “faire folk army” or was trying to fend off the Roaming Rash. I saw them scratching at the middle of their backs or the insides of their ears. None of them saw us or even paid the three of us any attention. And the moat was empty, so we walked right up to the open hatch.

  Unfortunately, the lava was almost at the door. At that point, any rational grimmie would have seen that molten rock, stopped, and come up with a different plan. There was probably another way into the castle. But I had put a lot of WORK into this little scheme. And I wasn’t going to give up just because our lives were on the line.

  I mean, actually, that’s a really good reason to give up, but again, I DID NOT give up. My parents had told me I had the strength to be the next Dark Lord, and I believed them. Heck, for once in my life, I believed in myself! We could do this!

  I pushed Storey through the hole. Oggy put two hands on the opening. We both held our breath. I imagined my best friend burnt alive, turned to lava-food or flame-supper. Oggy told me this was no time for Ken-things. He’d already climbed through the hole, which was bigger than it looked. He might not have been much of a soldier, b
ut he DID want to live. Oggy also had that pixie in his pocket, and he didn’t want the little guy to get fried. So he’d slipped into the castle. I was the one who was dawdling. I dove for the lava hatch, but the burning, searing, flesh-consuming molten rock hit the door just when I did.

  I should have been burned to death, turned to ash, food-for-the-gods, or whatever.

  But Storey intervened. Her sword was apparently not just long but also magical, a gift from the goblin queen. That blade could cut straight through iron, and that’s exactly what it did. She sliced the hinges right off the hatch, lifted that big iron square, and threw it down on the lava. Storey had just made a raft.

  Unfortunately, it was moving in the wrong direction. In a second it would be gone, out of the castle and into the moat. But I understood what she’d done. I leapt through the lava hatch, up onto the raft, hit it briefly, jumped off, and landed on Oggy. We crashed down in a pile of half orc and warlock. He seemed okay with it. Oggy was just happy I was alive, and I hadn’t even crushed the pixie in his pocket, though I had woken the little guy from a nap. He knocked me on the head.

  Aside from the tiny lump the pixie left on my forehead, I was happy to be back inside the Grimhold. But I had to thank Storey for saving my life, which pretty much squashed any joy I had left.

  “Thanks for . . . you know,” I said.

  “For what?” she asked, face blank, like she had NO IDEA what I was talking about.

  “You know, the whole thing,” I said.

  “The whole what?” she asked, head shaking, goblin eyes wide with confusion.

  “For the raft and saving my life and all that,” I said at last, spelling it all out. I’d thought we’d bonded last night. We’d talked about her art, and I’d gotten to know the REAL Storey. I’d hoped she’d give up on the whole warrior thing—but boy, was I wrong.

  She waited until I was done, then she nodded her head, but slowly—as if some realization had at last dawned on her. As if saving me had been some pesky little thing she’d already forgotten about. But I knew it was all an act. She wanted to prove she’d actually done her job for once. I just wished she hadn’t made me thank her for it. If I ever saved someone’s life, I decided I’d be a lot nicer about it.

  I was about to say something when I heard a howl from the wall. Up until then, the guards had their eyes on the faire folk “army.” But some orcs had finally figured out that the soldiers were nothing but a bunch of lousy statues. We needed to hide.

  FIREDAY

  After narrowly escaping the sleep-of-fire, we slipped into the machine room beneath the courtyard to avoid the guards. It wasn’t the most comfortable spot to spend the night, but I’d slept on ice for the past few weeks, so anything that wasn’t frozen felt like a feather bed.

  I slept like a newborn grimmie and woke with a feeling of purpose. We’d slipped into the castle unnoticed. I couldn’t help but feel a hint of triumph, the spirit-of-the-dragon or something like that. I’d told Storey my plan would work, and I was right. So I decided to make my way back to Gorey’s place. It was time for the general to join our team. I’d learned that a grim ruler needed allies, henchmen, servants, and people who just generally did what they were told. Gorey had a lot of those.

  Unfortunately, his tower was at the far side of the courtyard, and we were in the machine rooms beneath the drawbridge. The Grimhold’s thirteen caverns could take us to the tower, but we’d need to be careful if we wanted to keep out of sight. I still didn’t want to run into any of the grimmies, not until we’d busted Wormfinger.

  So whenever we reached a bridge, I bribed the trolls with false promises. I made them swear not to tell anyone that we’d passed this way. In return, I pledged to one day make them lords of my kingdom or something like that, but since I forgot to write down their names, I don’t really see that happening.

  I avoided the dark alley of the witches and warlocks and the grottoes where the goblins hid in their shimmering caverns. I steered clear of the ogres’ caves and the leasable lairs we provided for visiting dragons. I was looking for a special stair, a secret one that only Gorey and I knew about. It led straight to the general’s tower, but it was pretty well hidden. I hadn’t used it (I’d never really had a reason to before), so I wasn’t exactly sure how to find it.

  We spent most of the day searching for the steps. I’m generally averse to hard work, so it was a chore—“the-toil-of-beggars”—and definitely not something the son of the Dark Lord ought to be doing. So I asked Storey to lend a hand.

  “I think it’s part of your job,” I said.

  She once more narrowed those giant goblin eyes, which really didn’t make them any smaller. “I work for Gorey,” she said. “I’m a soldier, not a tour guide.”

  I WAS a tour guide. I tried to come up with a witty reply, but it’s pretty hard to defend anything as lame as my job. So I let it go. Storey sat down, lit her candle, and opened her sketchbook again. I shrugged and went back to work. Oggy and I overturned colossal tombstones and pushed aside mushrooms as tall as men. I dodged beetles the size of boulders and boulders the size of . . . well, beetles. It was dark down there, so who knows.

  I was yawning when I stumbled onto a stack of skulls, four giant mushrooms, and a pile of dirty laundry. It looked like another dead end, but once I slipped behind the clothes, I found a pleasant surprise: the stair.

  We climbed the steps and slipped unseen into the general’s tower. We passed the table where Gorey and I ate our eel soup, my room and the feather-covered bed where I slept.

  “Nice feathers, Mr. Dark Lord—must be REALLY comfy, kinda like a princess’s bed,” Storey said.

  “Those feathers?” I asked. “Nope. Not mine. Gorey must have murdered a flock of geese or something, probably made a big mess.”

  “Sure,” she said. “And they all just happened to land on your bed.”

  “It’s not mine—”

  “Your name’s written on it.”

  I’d forgotten about that. Gorey painted my name on the bed when I was REALLY young.

  “I haven’t used that bed since I was a toddler,” I said, chuckling. “But yeah, that would be funny. Dark Lord sleeps on a bed of feathers! Fat chance. No, I’ve got a massive bed hewn from lava stone and bewitched with great and terrible spells.”

  “Sure,” she said, nodding, white teeth glistening in that broad smile of hers.

  I ushered her toward the stair that led up to Gorey’s chamber before she had a chance to see the dog’s bowl with my name on it. I knew I’d never live that one down.

  We climbed to the top of the spire, straight up to Gorey’s room. I knocked, but there was no answer. Oggy tapped my shoulder. About an inch above my head, a note was nailed to the door.

  Wick,

  I went out to check on you. So if you get back first, send the orcs to find me. Hope you’re well. If you’ve caused any trouble I’ll have your toes seared off by fire ants or your head dipped in orc dung.

  Best Regards,

  Gorey

  The letter sounded rather touching to my ear, but both Storey and Oggy shivered when they read it. I HAD caused some trouble, quite a bit of it, when I broke into the castle. And Storey had promised to keep me OUT of trouble, so that last line must have worried the goblin. She cried out in kennings, spouting what sounded like “holy-cursed-sword-mother-battle-barf.” Not sure what she meant by that.

  Gorey was gone, which explained why it had been so easy to break into the castle. The general and most of his army weren’t even there. I was once more on my own, but I was still confident.

  “Everything’ll be fine if we catch the thief and set things right.” I thought a little pep talk would boost Storey’s mood, but I couldn’t tell if it worked. Her face never changed.

  Oggy tapped my shoulder again. The letter had a postscript.

  PS. I left Wormfinger in cha
rge of the castle.

  Ouch. The guy who’d stolen the scepter was in command, and the only orc with the power to stop him had gone out to check on me! This changed everything. With Wormfinger in charge, it would make busting him a lot more difficult. I tried to weigh my options. I could go to Garandash and try to explain things, but he didn’t like me very much. The high warlock might not believe me.

  I asked Storey if she had any “military advice.” She rubbed her chin and pretended like she was thinking about it, but I’m guessing it was all just an act. She was probably worried about her ranking or what punishment she’d suffer if we failed. Oggy had dozed off, which probably explained why Wormfinger’s thugs were able to sneak up on us.

  All of a sudden, three angry warlocks were storming the hall, hands raised, mouths whispering a spell. Before Storey could unsheathe her sword, they cast Bland’s Spell of Immobilization on us. It was powerful magic, MG-45 (I think), and it froze us in place. We were statues, just like the ones in the lake. They’d even caught me in an embarrassing pose. I was scratching my head and looked pretty dumbfounded. Storey had just dropped her jaw and was reaching for her sword. Oggy was still asleep, so his eyes were shut. He had no idea what was happening, which wasn’t a first for Oggy.

  We were busted. And I couldn’t help but feel like I was back in my ice cell. I’d failed yet again. Just when I thought my luck had changed, things had gone wrong. I was beginning to lose all that confidence I’d gained from my parents’ visit. Even after everything we’d accomplished, I’d still let them down and wasted the effort my friends had put into helping me. Oggy had defied his parents. The ogres had worked nonstop all night. We’d risked our lives in the lava moat. And it was all for nothing. We were discovered, and I still hadn’t found the thief.

  I was completely at the mercy of Wormfinger. I didn’t know what he’d do with us. That last thought left a lump in my throat. Would Wormfinger take me out just so HE could attempt to claim the dark throne? Was he that ruthless? And would the grim folk accept him as their ruler if he walked through that wall of flame? I didn’t know. If the elves made it past Hadrian’s Hedge, anything was possible. The grim folk were a divided people, so maybe they would be willing to overlook the fact that a failed warlock turned cryptogeometry professor had replaced the Dark Lord’s son and rightful heir.