Confessions of a Dork Lord

by Mike Johnston

  I had a lot of questions and not much in the way of answers, but I knew one thing for certain: There was only one Dark Lord. If Wormfinger wanted to gather up his followers and claim the throne, he’d need to get rid of me first.

  SADDERDAY

  The sound of Wormfinger’s voice jolted me from my sleep. I must have nodded off after his thugs set us down in front of the throne room. I was completely unable to move, so that made napping pretty easy. Waking up was a bit more painful. Wormfinger was practically yelling in my ear. The guy was babbling on about the scepter and how we needed to find it. I thought that last part was kind of funny, considering the fact that HE was my top suspect, but no one else was laughing. In fact, the warlocks who’d caught us looked downright serious.

  One of them said, “Time to answer some questions.” Then he mumbled, “Frozentum reversalis incanta,” and waved his hand three times, and the spell released us. We were unfrozen, and they shoved us toward the throne room.

  Inside, torches blazed and fire spewed from the outstretched maws of a dozen or so stone gargoyles. And Dad’s throne of black and broken glass? It flashed like a shooting star, winking red and yellow in the darkness. Too bad Wormfinger sat atop it in his ratty warlock robe. He looked ridiculous. A mouse would’ve been more imposing. Heck, the empty throne would have been scarier. All that broken glass was set high above the rest of the chamber, ready to come tumbling down on everyone.

  “Impressed by your own throne?” asked Storey. “I’ve seen better.”

  I shrugged. She was just trying to rattle my cage. This IS the most fearsome throne in the land. The goblin queen has a throne of spiderwebs, which is a bad idea in general. She’s always getting stuck on the thing. And the other grim thrones are equally silly. The frost giants’ is just big. And the ogres’ is essentially nonexistent. Those guys have yet to master any form of carpentry. Their throne is just a stump of wood. No one’s impressed by it.

  As the grim folk gazed at the Dark Lord’s throne, there was awe splashed across every face. The castle was still under lockdown. Half the grim world was held hostage in it. They’d camped out in the courtyard and every level of the castle, but they must have come back to the throne room when they heard I’d returned. They packed the chamber. The goblin queen and the ogre chieftain were there, and Garandash too. I saw Professors Irae and Blackwood, Bob and Rats, and that goblin girl who’d briefly been turned to stone on my first tour.

  I wasn’t sure why Wormfinger had brought us here. But I guessed it had something to do with that fake army and all the commotion I’d caused in the courtyard yesterday. I really didn’t want to rehash the past, so I spoke up before Wormfinger could open his mouth.

  “Wormfinger, I went out looking for the scepter, but I didn’t find it.” I heard a few gasps, but that was what I anticipated. See, I’d done a bit of thinking while I was frozen in place, and I’d come up with a plan. Everyone in the grim world was watching me. If I wanted to gather that legion of followers, this was my moment. So I had to play it carefully. Every word mattered, and the crowd’s reaction was everything.

  “The scepter isn’t out there in the world,” I said, and again everyone gasped. “It’s not in the frost giants’ castle. I checked.” A few grimmies hooted. “And I don’t think the faire folk slipped in and nipped it either.” I heard some cheers. The grim folk were hanging on my every word. “I know the goblin queen didn’t take it,” I said, and all the goblins shrieked in agreement.

  “The ogre chieftain didn’t swipe it,” I cried, and the ogres all pounded the floor. They were with me too.

  “And the orcs don’t have it,” I yelled, and the orcs all screamed in unison.

  “I’ve seen the Dark Lord and Dark Lady. I know my future. And I also know where to find the scepter. I think the thief is in this very room.” I was careful not to name Wormfinger. I’d already made one false accusation, so I decided to be a bit more cautious this time around.

  The grim folk were hungry for the truth. The ogres pounded the floor, the warlocks pulled on their beards, and the orcs all tugged at their teeth. Everyone wanted to see the scepter. And if I didn’t come up with it, the ogres would probably smash everything in the room. The columns shook, and one or two torches fell from the walls, threatening to set aflame anything that wasn’t already on fire.

  I figured Wormfinger had the scepter on him but had cloaked it with an enchantment of some kind. I hoped I could use one of the spells from the pocket guide, Minor Vanishings and How to Dismiss Them, to reveal where he’d hidden it.

  But with half the grim world watching me, I lost my nerve and forgot the spell words. I tried to sneak a peek at the book, but there was too much smoke in the room for me to read it. I couldn’t cast the spell. This was supposed to be the next step in Operation Dark Lord. My time to prove myself. And if I didn’t, I’d end up an utter fool, a Dork Lord and nothing else.

  I was going to retreat, to give up, but then my mom’s words echoed in my head.

  “You’ll be your own kind of Dark Lord, just like every other grim and terrible ruler.”

  And Dad had said I didn’t need books or words or any silly finger wiggling. I could cast the enchantment all by myself. And I still had time to do it. The crowd was on my side. I could salvage everything if I could just cast this spell!

  I cleared my head, brushed the tears from my watering eyes, and went about my casting. I didn’t say the words or twist my wrists. I just imagined that scepter appearing. And guess what?

  It didn’t appear. Not at all.

  Everyone, from the biggest ogre to the littlest goblin, chuckled. My eyes were opening and closing, and I was obviously trying to cast some spell. A hoot rang out from the audience, someone yelling, “Dork Lord!” I was losing the crowd, and I knew it. It was now or never. Cast the spell or end up a fool and failure, a true Dork Lord.

  I shook off the insult. My dad and all his accomplishments flashed through my head. I remembered how he’d found his magic at the very moment when it seemed like things had all gone wrong for him. I’d suffered for a reason, I told myself. I’d been the Dork Lord, but that was all in the past. Dad’s story reassured me. I put my focus into the spell. I tried once more to make the scepter appear. I opened one eye, stole a peek, but still nothing.

  Then a hand tapped on my shoulder. It was Storey, and she whispered something about “having faith in me” and how I had better cast this spell and do it quickly. The two of us were obviously in this together and she was DEFINITELY going to lose her ranking if I blew this one. So I closed my eyes and tried to picture the scepter.

  That’s when I heard a voice. It was Storey again, only this time her voice was soft and encouraging. She whispered, “Wick, you can do this!”

  I’d never cast a spell before (at least, not successfully). I didn’t really know what it was like to complete one. I’d never felt the magic course through my body, but something stirred inside me. A shock of electricity bolted through my fingers. I was alive and powerful. My chest tingled. For a second, I thought Storey might have stabbed me through the heart, but she hadn’t.

  I was fine. I had, however, just cast a spell.

  The scepter and its case were right where we’d left them! The disappearance was all just an illusion, and I’d dispelled it.

  When the grim folk saw the symbol of my father’s magic, the ogres stopped smashing things, the orcs forgot about their aching teeth, and the warlocks put aside their grooming. They all cheered and hooted. A great wave of relief spread across the room. My family’s power was safe, intact, and just where it should be.

  I finally got that round of applause I was looking for. I had used magic and impressed the grim folk with my incredible skill! They were overjoyed. Maybe they thought someone HAD stolen the scepter and I’d brought it back with a powerful, super-high-level, totally-beyond-my-ability spell. Who knows, but they all clapped, and for once in m
y life, for the only time I could recall, I felt good about myself.

  I have to say—it was strange. I half expected my pants to fall off or the whole throne room to collapse. Maybe the world was about to end. But it didn’t. The grim folk weren’t laughing or pointing at me or threatening to have me torn to shreds. They were actually applauding! I had to look around just to make sure they weren’t clapping for some other grimmie, that there wasn’t some high-level warlock standing behind my back.

  It was a great moment. And I really wanted to enjoy it, but I still had a problem: I didn’t know who’d made the scepter disappear or why they’d done it. Nothing was solved. I’d expected the scepter to appear at Wormfinger’s side, but it hadn’t. And my cryptogeometry professor had looked just as surprised as me when the staff materialized atop the cart.

  Then an awful odor entered my nose. Someone in the audience was nervous. In fact, someone was so nervous they’d let loose a terrible fart! Their stomach was gurgling like the Lake of Sulfur. It had to be the thief. He knew he was in trouble.

  That was when I remembered the Fart Revealer. Though mostly useless, that spell was about to become the most important piece of magic in the Known World. But time was running short. In a moment, those vapors would drift away and there would no longer be an odor to reveal. I had maybe five seconds at most. So I counted them down.

  Five.

  I started to say the spell words, but I caught myself and stopped.

  Four.

  I started again. The Dark Lord’s son didn’t need a spell book. I concentrated on the gas, but Storey kept nudging me, urging me to get it done, so it was kind of hard to focus.

  Three.

  I told Storey to lay off. What was left of those fumes was just about to soar away, so I closed my eyes and gave the spell every bit of focus I had left in me.

  Two.

  I thought I heard my dad’s voice, ghostlike and distant. “Believe in yourself,” he said. And I did.

  One.

  A yelp sprang from somewhere in the crowd, and I ran up onto the podium so I could get a good look at who’d made the cry. Standing among the other young warlocks, RATS WORMFINGER glowed in a bright and sparkling cloud of green gas. My spell had worked! Rats had pounded the drum, sounded the tuba, and made enough gas that even my lame and nearly overdue incantation had caught him in the act.

  That was when I finally understood what was going on. When I saw Wormfinger in the archive, he wasn’t pulling those high-level spell books for himself. The books were for his son. The old warlock WAS helping Rats learn high-level magic. That’s how he cast the spell that sped up time in my history class. It was also how he made the scepter disappear. Wormfinger must have taught Rats all sorts of high-level spell knowledge. He just didn’t know WHAT his son was doing with those enchantments. The old warlock’s face made that plain enough. He’d been just as surprised as I was when the scepter appeared, and even more surprised when his son glowed green. He hadn’t known a thing. Man, that guy really was a knucklehead. This wasn’t some plan to take over the kingdom, not at all. It was just some silly bullying. Rats was messing with me, and I’d fallen for it. I’d fled the castle, and when I left, everyone must have thought I was guilty of something. I had run just like the frost giants, and I’d nearly gotten myself killed—twice! And it was all because of a prank.

  Rats had pushed me to the edge, which was exactly what Garandash had done to my father. And just like my dad, I’d found my magic when I needed it most. In fact, Rats had actually done me a favor. He’d forced me to discover my inner strength. I’d cast my first two spells. And I was finally on my way to becoming the Dark Lord.

  The little warlock was another matter. Rats’s prank had backfired. BIG TIME. No one was laughing, though a few goblins were pinching their noses.

  Wormfinger made his son apologize for casting the spell that had made the scepter vanish, but Rats wasn’t very convincing. He mumbled, and I don’t think anyone heard him.

  And if they did, they weren’t impressed. Before Rats could finish his apology, the witches and warlocks stepped in. Rats had broken the rules. He’d used magic that was way above his age level, and that kind of thing could not go unpunished. Garandash pushed his way through the crowd, Irae at his side. I guessed she was his attack dog, the meanest witch in the coven. I learned once more why it was best not to upset Professor Irae. I remembered all that stuff about her name and it meaning “day of wrath” or something like that. Well, Rats Wormfinger was about to have his day.

  Garandash gave the signal, and Professor Irae raised her hands and chanted something terrible, words so awful they made the air stink. The torches guttered, and the room went black. Dark magic filled the air, its power surrounding all of us, sending a chill up my spine. The hairs on my neck went upright, and my skin prickled. Something grim and terrible had happened. Then the torches flickered back to life, revealing that Rats was gone. I thought she’d vaporized him. Gone forever! Then some grimmie shrieked.

  On the ground where Rats had stood, there was a tiny beetle. But it wasn’t just any beetle. It was a dung beetle.

  A lot of insect parts are used in spells, so I know a thing or two about these little guys. This kind of beetle does only one thing. It rolls around balls of dung. To be nice, Professor Irae had given him a big ball of it so he could start rolling right away.

  “Anyone who breaks the witch and warlock code will be justly punished,” Garandash announced. “Rats will remain a dung beetle for the rest of the school term. Please try not to step on him.”

  I’d broken a few rules too, but no one seemed to care. And I wasn’t going to bring it up.

  I thought this might be a good time to end things. I was just about to send everyone home when the throne room doors exploded in a torrent of searing flame. Hal burst through the opening with Gorey and the ogres, Angry and About to Clobber You, riding atop his back.

  I was surprised to see the dragon and even more surprised that he was awake. Not sure what Gorey did to rouse Hal, but it had definitely angered him. Hal filled the throne room with a great plume of flame, and for a moment all I saw was red. The air was alive with fire and cinders. By the time it cleared, Hal had landed at the base of the throne. The ogres leapt from the dragon’s back. They wore armor and bore fierce clubs. These weren’t the jolly ogres who gave me a lift to the frost giants’ castle. They beat their clubs against the floor, and a ripple of force hit my feet. I jumped.

  Gorey bounded from the dragon’s back and hollered, “Just what in the grim world is going on here?” Then he huffed a bit and looked around the throne room. He had put on a quite a show. The goblin queen took a step back, and even the ogre chieftain dropped his club. Garandash swatted at his beard, trying to keep all those hairs from going up in flames. The leaders of the grim folk retreated, but I advanced. I knew I could put his fears to rest.

  “Hold on, Gorey!” I cried. “Everything’s okay!”

  Gorey saw the confidence in my eyes, and I think he actually smiled. He was proud to see me take charge. He raised a hand and the ogres lowered their clubs and Hal gave his flame a rest.

  We all took a deep breath. Then I explained everything to the general. Well, almost everything. I changed a few details, and I left out some of my blunders. In truth, I pretty much lied.

  “I just needed to check with One Eye to make certain the frost giants weren’t the culprits,” I said, and Gorey kind of nodded. I don’t know if he bought it, but I went on. “After that, we flew back to the castle, had a nice ride. We watched the sunset. Oh yeah, I also fooled the orc army and slipped into the castle unseen.” It was mostly true. “And I cast a couple spells, found the scepter and the guy who made it vanish. So . . . everything’s in order.”

  Gorey looked to the leaders of the grim folk. I guess he just wanted to make certain I’d spoken the truth. The goblin queen gave a slight nod, and the ogre chi
eftain beat his club. Not sure what that meant, but I think he agreed. Even Garandash gave his own reluctant confirmation. He said, “Yes, that one did it.” Then he pointed to me. Everyone was on the same page. So Gorey calmed down a bit. He was happy to see the case solved, and he didn’t even threaten to have anyone flogged or dipped in dragon dung.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  MOANDAY

  Early this morning, a knock on the tower door interrupted the feast Gorey and I had just sat down to enjoy. Oggy and his parents stood in the open doorway. His mom bared her moldy fangs while his dad tapped inch-long claws on the door frame. Oggy was pretty much drowning in his own sweat. He’d twice defied his parents, and they didn’t look very happy about it. In fact, they looked flat-out furious. His mom blamed me for her son’s actions. And I think she wanted Gorey to administer some kind of punishment to the two of us. She said, “We expect these grimmies to be—”

  “Mom,” Oggy cut her short. “Before you say anything else. You need to know that it was my idea to wake the dragon. I helped rescue Wick from the frost giants, and I brought him back to the castle so he could find the scepter. We did it to save the grim folk!”

  Oggy made it sound like he’d practically saved the day, which was a bit of an exaggeration. But my friend was in trouble and clearly trying to turn things around, so I didn’t stand in his way.

  I looked to Gorey for a little support. The general was Oggy’s mom’s commander, so I assumed she respected him or at least had some sort of grudging admiration for the old orc. But Gorey didn’t say a word, so I nudged him. Twice.