Eternal Detention

by Jamie Thomson

  ‘Umm, sorry, I was just consigning other drivers to a fiery death…errr… I mean, the flamethrower… No! I mean…oh, what’s the use?’ said Dirk.

  Miss Cloy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Sounds like you need therapy, young man,’ she said.

  Hah, you have no idea! replied Dirk in his mind. No point in saying it out loud – she would never understand. Well, unless he took her to the Darklands. Heh! Yeah, that would be fun! He stared at Miss Cloy, grinning as he imagined her meeting Rak Rak the Nightgaunt, with Dirk as the Dark Lord sitting on the Throne of Skulls, Agrash with his snot-tap nose, and Skabber and a horde of orcs kneeling before him.

  ‘Stop staring at me. And stop smiling like that, it’s really creepy!’ said Miss Cloy, clearly rather disturbed.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Dirk, with a chuckle. He turned away to watch the road.

  After a short drive, during which Miss Cloy drove rather faster than she should have, Dirk found himself sitting in the waiting room of Dr Wings and Professor Randle’s office. Miss Cloy checked her watch. They were early. She got up.

  ‘Back in a moment, Dirk,’ she said, and left the room. Dirk contemplated making a run for it, but decided against it. They’d only bring him back again another time. The door to Wings and Randle’s office opened and out stepped… Mr Grousammer, the old headmaster! His face was craggy and drawn-looking, his suit a little shabby, the tie askew. The oddest thing were his cheeks and chin. Quite thoroughly clean-shaven, but rather red and raw, as if he were suffering from some kind of rash.

  Grousammer paused and stared at Dirk. And stared. His eyes flicked to Dirk’s left arm, and widened in horror.

  Dirk gave him one of his famous grins. The old headmaster raised an enfeebled hand as if in warding, gave a plaintive cry of distress and ran out of the room as fast as he could.

  ‘Wow, wasn’t expecting that,’ said Dirk to himself. Then he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Quickly he shifted position so he could listen.

  ‘Extraordinary case,’ Dr Wings was saying. ‘He still insists some kind of disembodied arm – a child’s arm at that – came into his room and shaved his beard off! Astonishing tale! I’ve never heard anything like it.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Professor Randle. ‘And now he shaves obsessively three times a day, just to make sure there is nothing there for anyone else to shave off, the poor fellow.’

  ‘Indeed – looks painful too!’ said Wings.

  ‘Whatever it is, it also cost him his job – and he’s convinced that Dirk Lloyd kid had something to do with it,’ said Randle.

  ‘Impossible, of course, but I can see why he’d think that,’ said Wings.

  ‘I know, that one’s even more astonishing than Grousammer! He’s up next, by the way.’

  ‘What, the Lecter kid?’ said Wings.

  ‘Yes, Damien,’ said Randle.

  ‘Right, call him in, Randle, call him in,’ said Wings.

  ‘What? You’re not the boss of me, you call him in!’ quipped Randle.

  ‘Oh, I’m not the boss, eh? Who is then – wait, let me guess, someone called Randle, I suppose?’

  ‘Don’t start, Wings, or by heaven, I’ll…’ said Randle, his voice rising.

  ‘What, what, you’ll what?’ said Wings, getting to his feet noisily.

  Dirk raised his eyes. By the Dark Gods, what a pair of psycho fools they were! Better put a stop to this, or he’d be here for ever, he thought, so he barged into the room, with a breezy, ‘Hello, gentlemen, I’m here!’

  Dr Wings was on his feet, jaw jutting out, one hand pointing aggressively at Randle, who was behind his desk, flicking rude signs with both hands at Wings. They both froze.

  ‘Ah, Dirk, come in, come in,’ said Wings, sitting back down as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Yes, yes, sit down, sit down,’ said Randle pointing at the couch in the middle of the room, between their desks.

  ‘Wine gum?’ said Wings, offering a bag of sweets to Dirk. Dirk took a black one, and began to chew.

  There followed a tedious hour-long interrogation which went along these lines:

  Wings: ‘Do you still think your mother was a Vampire Queen from another world and your father a Wizard?’

  Dirk: ‘Yes.’

  Randle: ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  Dirk: ‘No.’

  Wings: ‘What were you doing in the woods with your friends?’

  Dirk: ‘Hiding out with the Winged Demon of Sussex that’s been in the news, of course!’

  Randle: ‘What? Come on, you expect us to believe that?’

  Dirk: ‘No.’

  Wings: ‘Are you from another world?’

  Dirk: ‘Maybe.’

  Randle: ‘What is it like, that world?’

  Dirk: ‘Some trees have wine gums as fruit!’

  Wings: ‘Really? That sounds great!’

  Dirk: ‘Hah, hah!’

  Randle: ‘No, Wings, you idiot, he’s making it up.’

  Wings: ‘What? I knew that! I knew that, of course I knew that, I was trying to humour him, draw him out, and now you’ve ruined it, Randle!’

  Randle: ‘Oh, so now it’s my fault is it?’

  Dirk: ‘Hah, hah, hah, this is fun!’

  And so it went on. Eventually, they had to let him go. Dirk had to sit in the waiting room, while Miss Cloy went in to talk to Wings and Randle. Naturally, Dirk sneaked over and put his ear to the keyhole.

  ‘A most fascinating case,’ said Wings.

  ‘Indeed, going to require a lot of work, a lot!’ said Randle.

  Dirk raised his eyes. Oh, the horror!

  ‘So,’ said Wings, ‘next session same time next week, Miss Cloy?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I’m not available then, but we’ve arranged for you to do a home visit, you can do the session in his room.’

  ‘Good, his room is good – familiar place, home ground, maybe he’ll open up a bit,’ said Randle.

  Dirk groaned aloud at the thought. Too loud! Everything went silent inside the office. Dirk quickly backed off from the door – just as Miss Cloy swept it open. She glared at Dirk suspiciously. Dirk gave her the Shrug of Feigned Innocence.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  Back home at last, Dirk summoned Dave to his desk. He unravelled the message and the bottle attached to the Crow’s leg. Excitedly, he read it.

  GREETINGS, YOUR IMPERIAL DIRKNESS!

  It is wonderful to hear from you, my Lord. Dave will be most useful – we should be able to communicate regularly now. I have sent you a special bottle – a spirit bottle I found in the Dark Library. In it I have put my cousin, the Goblin Skinrash. He will tell you all our news. How is our Queen Sooz? Tell her we miss her very much!

  Your Lickspittingly,

  Agrash Snotripper

  ‘Bah,’ said Dirk. ‘They seem more concerned about Sooz than me!’ Although he had to admit, she had done a good job over there and they did love her for it. Well, a good job if you’re into peace and harmony, that is. I mean, who likes that sort of thing? And he was the original Dark Lord, the one and only, as it were, didn’t that count for anything?

  Anyway, enough of thinking like that. Things to do!

  He took the Spirit Bottle (a one-use magical bottle which creatures – people, even – could be stored inside to reappear later, full size) and carefully flipped the enchanted seal off the top. Out burst a column of thin, wispy green smoke, pouring out like hose water. It began to coalesce in the air, forming itself into a recognisable shape – a little Goblin! This one was pretty ugly (to be fair, most Goblins were pretty ugly). Its nose wasn’t as long as Agrash’s, but it was still fairly prodigious and its green skin was covered with blotchy brown patches, like oversized moles. Hairy moles. Yuk!

  The Goblin came together with a gloopy sucking sound. It was wearing a dirty leather jerkin – reassuringly marked, however, with Dirk’s symbol, the Great Seal of the Dark Lord – and stained woollen trousers. He had a rusty old Goblin axe, etched with Da
rklands glyphs, hanging from his belt. He had a leather sack slung over one bony, hairy-moled shoulder. Incongruously, he was wearing a fine pair of blue and white polished leather boots, with bright gold laces.

  ‘Ughh…that was weird,’ he said in rough, but slightly squeaky tones. He looked up at Dirk. ‘Ah, your Imperial Darkness, greetings from your Iron Tower,’ he added.

  ‘Greetings, minion!’ said Dirk. ‘It is good to see a friendly face around here for once!’

  ‘Thanks, your Throbtasticness,’ said the Goblin. ‘I’m Agrash’s cousin, and me name’s Skinrash. Honour to meet yer!’

  Skinrash extended a blotchy, hairy, green hand for Dirk to shake. Dirk simply raised an eyebrow.

  Skinrash looked puzzled. Dirk nodded at the floor.

  ‘Oh yeah, course! There’s me thinkin’ you was just an ’ooman kid for a mo!’ said Skinrash, as he sank to one knee. ‘Skinrash, Goblin minion, at yer service, O my master!’

  ‘That’s better!’ said Dirk. ‘Rise, Skinrash, and report.’

  Skinrash got up, wiped his nose, and said, ‘Well, your Darkness, Agrash and Skabber are lookin’ after fings well enough. With you and the White Wizard – may his hair turn black – bein’ away, not much is going on. Everyone’s kind of gettin’ on wiv stuff, like living and that…’

  ‘Are you suggesting that the Darklands would be better off without us?’ said Dirk, slightly annoyed.

  ‘Wot! Nah, never, your Supremeness, never, ‘course not! Better off wivout old Whitey, sure, but not you, Master, not you!’

  ‘All right, Skinrash, go on,’ said a mollified Dirk, rather enjoying this. It was a bit like old times. After all, Skinrash wasn’t to know that Dirk wasn’t anything like the old Dark Lord. He was much nicer, for a start. Well, less nasty, certainly.

  ‘Umm… Commonwealth geezers are quiet, a few patrols, but nothing bad. More Orcs come to the tower, Goblinz too. Got a bigger army now. Soozville’s still going – some o’ them hoomanz moved back in, so they’re trading and that. Getting on all right, in fact.’

  Dirk folded his arms uncomfortably. Sooz had done well but Dirk couldn’t help himself when he thought about her work in the Darklands – it just irritated him. Peace and harmony? Bah!

  ‘Enough of that,’ said Dirk. ‘Have you got any information that is of use to me here, on Earth?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Skinrash. ‘Agrash gave me stuff to give you!’ The goblin reached into his sack and brought out two large white crystals. ‘It’s a couple of…anafema cysts or somfink,’ said the Goblin.

  ‘Aha, two Anathema Crystals! Excellent,’ said Dirk, taking them from Skinrash’s hands. (The Anathema Crystal, when shattered, propelled nearby people from the Darklands to Earth and turned Dark Lords into human children whilst also sucking out all of their Essence of Evil. That was how Sooz and Chris had ‘saved’ Dirk the last time – by using a Crystal that had sent the Dark Lord, Chris, Sooz, Gargon and Rufino tumbling through the abyss between the worlds and back down to Earth, where Dirk had changed back into his schoolboy form.)

  Dirk held one of them up to the light and examined it closely.

  Skinrash said, ‘Agrash tol’ me to say that these two are the only ones left. He looked up stuff in the Dark Library, but he’s not sure if they’ll work proper here. Like, will it magic up people all the way back to the Darklands? Dunno. But still, he reckons it may help.’

  ‘Better here in my hands than sitting in the Iron Tower, that’s for sure. Anything else of use?’ said Dirk.

  ‘Well, there’s these,’ said Skinrash, handing Dirk a leather drawstring purse full of gold coins.

  ‘Good! I’m sure I can find a use for them,’ said Dirk, pocketing it swiftly. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Well, no, just me, your Coolness. I can be your loyal bodyguard and that, plus I can read and write too, just like me cousin!’

  ‘A nice thought, Skinrash, but the trouble is, I can’t really take you round with me, it’d freak out the locals too much. Especially if I took you to school!’

  ‘Skool? What – magic skool? Gladiator skool?’ said Skinrash.

  ‘No, no, much worse than that, Skinrash, much worse than you can possibly imagine!’ said Dirk.

  Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Quick, in here!’ said Dirk, bundling Skinrash into his clothes cupboard. ‘Don’t make a sound – and no one, absolutely no one, must lay their eyes on you, ever, got it?’

  ‘Yes, your Hugeness,’ said a worried-looking Skinrash, as Dirk shut the cupboard door on him.

  ‘Who is it?’ said Dirk. The door opened a little, and Dr Jack Purejoie put his head round the door.

  ‘Dinner’s ready, Dirk,’ he said.

  ‘Right, I’ll be down…’ Just then, a loud sneeze sounded from the cupboard, followed by a muffled ‘Eurrgh!’

  ‘What was that?’ said Jack, eyebrow raised.

  ‘Xbox game, that’s all – I’ll be down in a moment,’ said Dirk, pushing the door shut, forcing Dr Purejoie to pull his head back rather smartly, with a ‘Whoa, steady there!’ Dr Jack was kind of used to this sort of behaviour from Dirk by now, so he didn’t take it too badly. ‘Just don’t be too long or it’ll get cold,’ he added, as he retreated down the stairs.

  As soon as he was gone, Dirk yanked the cupboard door open. ‘Cretinous Goblin, I told you to be… Oh no, what have you done!’

  Skinrash had sneezed all over Dirk’s Grim Reaper dressing gown…covering it in lumpy green snot and stinky Goblin spit.

  ‘Sorry, your Dark Majesty, sorry,’ said a shame-faced Skinrash.

  November 22nd, 2013 Rip-out-their-hearts 22nd

  I shall use a Crystal as soon as I can. Perhaps we can all go back to the Darklands, where I can leave Rufino and Gargon, and use the second Crystal to return to Earth and deal with Hasdruban. Then again, why not stay in the Darklands? Hmm, Sooz might consider it, but would Chris? But I can hardly leave Skinrash on Earth, can I? Skinrash… What am I going to do with a Goblin? Keep him in the cupboard? What do I feed him? And where…argh, I can’t even begin to imagine this…where is he going to go to the toilet? Do I have to sneak him into the bathroom? Or…even worse, put a bucket in the cupboard? Who’s going to empty it?

  November 22nd, 2013 Rip-out-their-hearts 22nd

  Hah, hah, the blundering fools! I told them this band business wouldn’t work. At this rate, they’ll be discovered in no time at all. And then what? They’ll put Gargon in a lab to experiment on, and Rufino into an asylum for nutters who think they’re Paladins from another dimension.

  Dirk struggled on through the streets of Whiteshields, pulling an old cello case behind him that he’d found at the back of the Purejoies’ garage and strapped to a wheeled luggage rack. He was huffing and puffing along as the cello case was much heavier than it should have been.

  ‘Are we there yet, your Enormity?’ squeaked a muffled voice from inside the cello case.

  ‘No, be silent, Goblin of little wit!’ hissed Dirk, glancing over worriedly at the young couple walking by on the other side of the road. Fortunately, they were too wrapped up in each other to notice the talking cello case.

  Dirk was transporting Skinrash to the Forest of Demons, where Gargon, Rufino, Sooz and Chris were hanging out doing stupid band stuff. He hoped to use one of the Anathema Crystals to take them all back to the Darklands. Well, Gargon, Rufino, and Skinrash, at any rate – he’d have to discuss who else with Sooz and Chris. He’d considered using a Crystal on the headmaster and the Witch if he could but he wasn’t really sure if it was worth it. Hasdruban had probably used some other method of travelling between the planes, so it was possible he’d just come back again by other means, assuming the Crystal even worked in the first place. Dirk really needed to deal with Hasdruban, but at this stage there wasn’t much he could do, so for now, he would see if he could get Gargon, Rufino and Skinrash away from Earth before they were discovered.

  He came to the bridge that led out of town and headed out on a coun
try path. He had to cross a couple of fields to reach the wood. Up ahead, he could see someone out for a walk coming towards him – a tall, thin fellow with a dog. They nodded a greeting as they came together – still, the walker gave him an odd look. What was a kid doing dragging a cello along a country footpath? His dog dashed up to the case and begin sniffing madly.

  ‘Open-air school concert in the woods,’ said Dirk breezily.

  ‘Uh huh.’ The walker nodded.

  The dog began barking at the cello case, even trying to bite it, growling and worrying at it.

  ‘Boo! Get back here!’ said the walker, yanking the dog onward by its lead. The dog looked up at its master plaintively, as if to say, ‘But there’s a Goblin in there, I tell you, a Goblin!!!!’ As they walked away, the dog looked back and whined.

  Dirk hurried on quickly, glancing back nervously, shaking his head. School concert? In November? And why was he dragging it by hand – didn’t make sense. And dogs were trouble! Still, the walker didn’t seem bothered, so he hurried on.

  Finally Dirk reached the edge of the forest. ‘Not long, now,’ he said to Skinrash.

  ‘Toptastic, for it’s gettin’ stinky hot in here, your Mightiness!’ said Skinrash.

  I bet it is, thought Dirk to himself. Last night, Skinrash had unleashed the most hideous fart ever. It’d made Dirk think about putting together some kind of Goblin Gas unit. Feed ’em up with the right stuff – curry and beans? – and they’d be deadly! He’d had to sneak Skinrash to the toilet, but he couldn’t really do it safely until the early hours, so he’d had to endure a salvo of stinking horror. If Skinrash had farted inside that cello case – well, being gassed to death by his own noxious emissions was a distinct possibility.

  Dirk looked around – he was deep enough in the forest not to be seen from the road, but sometimes people took walks through the woods. There was no one around. It looked like he could let Skinrash out so he could walk the rest of the way. He was leaning over to open the case, when he caught a flash of brightest white against the autumnal yellows and reds of the forest.