Dirk folded his arms. ‘Bah, worthless humans!’ he said, but that only made them laugh even more.
Dirk put his hands on his hips and glared at them. He was about to launch into a Dark Lord tirade but decided to try a different tack. So he said, ‘Come on, guys, this is serious! My life is in danger here, real danger!’
That had the desired effect and shut them up.
‘You’re right,’ said Sooz. ‘I’m sorry, Dirk. Carry on with the plan.’
Dirk inclined his head, a silent thank you.
‘All you have to do is keep watch, I’ll do the rest,’ said Dirk, just as the door to the headmaster’s study opened, and out stepped Dr Hasdruban, white suit, cane, hat – the works. He was off to lunch.
‘Quick,’ hissed Dirk. ‘Chris, you go to the end of the corridor, Sooz outside the study door! When you spot him coming back, Chris, signal Sooz. All she has to do is give me a shout, and I’ll be out of there like a hat out of hell! Though really, I should only be a few minutes, anyway.’
‘That’s a bat out of…’ began Sooz. ‘Oh, never mind, let’s go!’
Sooz and Chris nodded and headed off to their respective posts, although neither looked particularly happy about it. Dirk stepped up to the study door, made sure no one was around, and tried the door handle. It was unlocked. Why wouldn’t it be?
Dirk stepped inside.
Hasdruban’s study had been redecorated since he’d taken over from Grousammer. The walls were white, of course, and he’d had a big new desk put in, of heavy, burnished oak. Behind it was a large, managerial office chair, more like a throne than anything else. In front of the desk was another much smaller chair. It looked like it was bolted to the floor, as well. Newly installed too. Visitors would sit there, ready to be intimidated by the headmaster on his great throne. Standard practice for megalomaniacal overlords. And Dirk should know…
On the walls were various photos of Hasdruban, some obviously faked, as they showed him getting diplomas and awards. There was even one of him meeting the Prime Minister. Dirk smiled wryly at that. Hasdruban was so full of himself, he even photoshopped stuff to make himself look big! Puffed up old fool.
Dirk stepped smartly up to a filing cabinet, slid it open, wiped the goblin axe clean, and put it inside. Best not to put it in a desk drawer, as Hasdruban might find it before the police did. Dirk turned to go. He knew he should leave immediately but…but Dirk was Dirk, and there was a throne nearby. His arch-enemy’s throne.
He stepped over and sat in the great white office throne.
He looked down at the desk. Hasdruban had some kind of magazine open. What was he reading…? An article, it seemed. About the founder of Whiteshields town, a certain Sir Ratum Swinefield. There was a great bronze statue of him in the Whiteshields memorial gardens. Apparently the marble plinth that the statue rested on was hollow and his bones were buried inside. Why was Hasdruban reading about that?
Dirk shrugged. Probably nothing. Anyway, he’d better get on. But first…
‘Detention, Lloyd!’ said Dirk in his best Hasdruban voice. ‘And you too, Purejoie, and also you, Susan Black!’
As he said this he pointed around the room imperiously as if handing out punishments willy-nilly at school assembly.
‘And you, and you, in fact that whole class! No, wait, the whole school! The whole school is in detention, including the teachers! Eternal Detention for all!’
He began to laugh at his own joke, giggling like a madman. But then he noticed something odd. Something just under the desktop.
A button.
Dirk examined it closely. How odd. An alarm? Or something else? Dirk, curiosity piqued, reached for the button but at the last second he paused. What if it was an alarm, and brought teachers running? Or worse, even? Still, if it was, he’d have time to make a run for it….
Dirk couldn’t help himself, he had to know. He hit the button.
Suddenly, the chair on the other side of the desk disappeared from view with a loud clanking sound! Dirk looked over – the chair was fixed to a trap door that had opened over a pit below.
Dirk burst out laughing – a pit trap? How ‘old skool’ could you get? But then his laughter died, for at the bottom of the pit were several nasty-looking sharpened wooden stakes. Whoever fell down that pit would be impaled horribly. Death was certain. Dirk frowned. So this was what Hasdruban had planned for him, was it? He had to see the headmaster next week, because of Skinrash’s hopeless homework effort – assuming he survived the Black Hag, that was! He’d have come in here, sat down…and then… that would’ve have been the end of Dirk!
‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ said Dirk out loud. He hit the button and the trap door and the chair came back up again with a loud click. Then, as quick as he could, he set about rewiring the electrics so that instead of opening the trap door, it would short out and give Hasdruban sitting on the office throne a bit of an electric shock. Not enough to kill him, there wasn’t the power to do that, but enough to give him a nasty shock! Either way, it would be fun, just to see his face.
He was halfway through the job when Sooz hissed at him from outside.
‘What are you doing in there, Dirk? It’s nearly two o’clock!’
‘I need more time,’ said Dirk.
‘There is no more time! We have to go to lessons – now!’ said Sooz.
‘Just a few more minutes,’ said Dirk.
‘Come on, get out…wait, here comes old Battleaxe, we’ve got to go, sorry, Dirk!’
‘OK, go, go, I’m almost there.’
But Sooz didn’t hear him. She’d been shooed off to class by Mrs Batelakes, the English teacher.
After a few more minutes, Dirk was finished.
The thought of what would happen when Hasdruban pressed the button was so darkly delicious it deserved a ‘Mwah, hah, hah’ but that would be too noisy, so he contented himself with an evil cackle: ‘Heh, heh, heh.’
Without warning, the study door swept open and Hasdruban walked in! It was all that Dirk could do to drop down out of sight into the well of the desk. He just managed it without being seen.
Hasdruban walked around the desk and sat down. His feet shot forward, almost kicking Dirk, where he was huddled in the corner of the desk well. But it was a big desk, and Dirk was small enough to avoid Hasdruban’s legs and feet. He stared at Hasdruban’s shoes in fascination. Finely crafted white leather brogues. With pale grey laces.
Hasdruban crossed his feet. Dirk could hear paper rustling. And humming. A song Dirk recognised, a centuries-old war song from the Darklands, sung by the Paladins of the Whiteshields, about how many Orcs they would kill in battle, and how they’d burn down the Iron Tower. Then they’d kill the Dark Lord and mount his great horns over the barracks’ door as a trophy.
What was it called? Oh yes, ‘The Dark Lord’s Demise’. The Paladins would often sing the chorus over and over again at the end. ‘Reprise the Demise’, they called it, like a kind of ritual drinking song.
Bah, fanciful nonsense, thought Dirk to himself. And was that all Hasdruban thought about, his destruction? He was obsessed, completely obsessed!
Dirk began to stare at Hasdruban’s shoelaces. It would be so easy to undo them, then tie them together. Dirk put a hand to his mouth, stifling the naughty schoolboy giggle that was trying to burst up out of him. Imagine it! Hasdruban trying to get up and falling over… But when he did imagine it, he could see Hasdruban lying on the floor, staring straight at Dirk hiding under his desk…that soon put paid to his giggles. Hasdruban still had his sword cane with him, after all.
Suddenly the telephone rang. The headmaster jerked in his chair, startled by the ringing.
‘I hate telephones,’ he muttered under his breath, before picking it up and saying, ‘Hasdruban the White… I mean, the headmaster! This is the headmaster speaking.’
A few seconds passed.
‘What do you mean, there’s a fire in the music room? Who is this?’ said Hasdruban.
Dirk
could hear the faint, tinny sound of a raised voice on the other end of the phone.
‘All right, all right – I don’t know who you are, young lady, but if this is a schoolgirl prank, I will find you, and you will be punished!’ said Hasdruban.
Dirk smiled. Sooz on the phone, for sure. She was ace!
Hasdruban slammed the phone down, leaped to his feet and hurried out of his office.
Dirk sighed with relief. He eased his way out, opened the door and peeked into the corridor. The coast was clear…quickly he hurried off to class. He was going to be late, and would probably get in trouble for it (again) but it was worth it!
Dirk’s heart soared. He really felt as if he’d turned the tables on Hasdruban for once, what with the axe planted and his nasty little pit trap set up to backfire on him! As he approached old Battleaxe’s class room, he just couldn’t help himself and he had to pause, put his fingers together and let out a loud,
‘MWAH, HAH, HAH!’
The door to English class opened and out leaned old Battleaxe, Mrs Batelakes.
‘Ah, there you are, Dirk. Now stop that, and get in here, you naughty boy!’
November 29th, 2013 Rip-out-their-hearts 29th
Curses, foiled again! We fired off some anonymous letters and emails to the police, but it seems Hasdruban found the goblin axe almost straight away and he handed it in. Then they got the emails and letters! Now it really looks like a set-up.
Which it was of course, but still, it is frustrating!
The next day, Dirk, Sooz and Chris went to school as normal. As they walked through the main door, they could see the headmaster up ahead, leaning against the wall in a manner that Dirk could only describe as ‘sarcastic nonchalance’.
He nodded at the three of them as if he knew exactly what they’d been up to.
‘Good morning, children,’ said the headmaster with a smile of purest insincerity.
‘Good morning,’ said the three kids together, the very model of dutiful schoolchildren, smiling back at him. Only their eyes betrayed their true feelings.
‘In there please, Dirk,’ said Hasdruban, pointing at the Reception offices. ‘The police want to talk to you.’
Dirk frowned. ‘The police? What lies have you been telling them this time?’
‘Me! Not a thing. It’s nothing to do with me,’ said the headmaster.
‘Yeah, right!’ said Sooz. ‘You expect us to believe that?’
‘I find an axe in my study. I hand it in. The police are investigating. They need no prompting from me to work out the likely culprit, oh no!’ said Hasdruban.
Dirk narrowed his eyes. ‘Oh, really?’ he said.
The headmaster leaned forward and hissed aggressively, ‘Yes, really! You think I’d call them in? To do what? Lock you up? Expel you? Bah – they’re next to useless, with their rights and rules and rehabilitations. I don’t want you locked up, you spawn of hell, I want you dead!’
Dirk stared up at the headmaster defiantly, a cutting retort ready on his lips, but Sooz got in there before him.
‘You’re mad, and bad and we won’t let you, never, ever!’ said Sooz, stamping her foot.
Dirk smiled at that. Hasdruban leaned back, folding his arms. ‘See what you’ve become, Dark One? A pitiful wretch hiding behind the skirts of a little schoolgirl. Hah!’
The door to Reception opened and out leaned a policeman, quite a high-ranking one at that, by the look of him.
‘Dirk Lloyd?’ he said. ‘I’d like a word please, if you’ll come this way.’
Dirk looked the policeman over. ‘Yes, insignificant human, I think I can allow you to interview me,’ he said, knowing full well he didn’t have much choice, but still, he had to hold up appearances and everything. The policeman put his arms behind his back, and rocked on his heels, frowning. It was the sort of response he’d been expecting. He’d read Dirk’s file, after all. But still, to be actually addressed like that by a kid was rather unnerving.
Before he stepped away, Dirk whispered to the headmaster. ‘A schoolgirl, true, but also the Moon Queen, Wielder of the Great Ring, the Dark Lady, and Queen of the Darklands – and don’t you forget it!’
Hasdruban frowned. He looked over at Sooz. She smiled back him. ‘Put out that fire in the music room all right, did you, sir?’ she said.
‘Bah,’ hissed the headmaster, turning away, ‘To the Nine Hells with the lot of you!’
With that he walked away.
‘Come on now, young fellow,’ said the policeman, beckoning Dirk over. ‘We’ve got a few questions we need to ask you, won’t take long.’
Dirk followed the policeman into a back room where they normally processed new admissions. His foster father, Dr Purejoie, was there, along with another police officer.
‘Hi, Dirk,’ said Dr Purejoie. ‘Now, I’m sure this is just a formality, but the police need to… check some stuff. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ said Dirk, not in the least bit intimidated. He was a Dark Lord, after all.
‘Sit down, Dirk,’ said the first policeman, pointing at a chair. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Hughes, this is Constable Handwinkle…’
Dirk couldn’t help himself, and he sniggered.
Constable Handwinkle glared at him.
Detective Inspector Hughes raised his eyes. ‘Why don’t you just change your name, Handwinkle, eh? This happens nearly every time, it’s pointless!’ he said.
Constable Handwinkle shrugged. ‘Never!’ she said under her breath. ‘We’ve been Handwinkles for hundreds of years.’
‘Well then,’ said DI Hughes, ‘just learn to put up with it. Anyway, enough of that. Now, Dirk, we need to talk about…well, a kind of axe that was found in the headmaster’s study. Why did you put it there?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Dirk. ‘It wasn’t me.’
Everyone stared at him for a moment. Dirk folded his arms.
‘Come on now,’ said the Detective Inspector. ‘We have a report from your therapists that you’d cut yourself and tried to blame the headmaster, and then – well, a weird-looking weapon from Lord of the Rings or something appears in the headmaster’s study.We have social work reports, fostering reports and much else, all about you, Dirk, and your behaviour. Don’t tell me it’s a coincidence!’
‘Yeah,’ said the other police officer. ‘We’ve got you bang to rights, kid, just tell us what we want to know and we’ll go easy on you!’
‘Hah, what a pitiful attempt to intimidate me, Blandstinkle – pathetic!’
Constable Handwinkle looked like she was going to lose her temper, but DI Hughes put a hand on her shoulder, calming her down.
Classic good Orc, bad Orc routine, thought Dirk to himself. Fools! Didn’t they know who he was?
‘Let’s all keep this calm, shall we? Although, she’s right, isn’t she, Dirk? I mean, you only have to look at the evidence!’ said DI Hughes.
‘The evidence?’retorted Dirk. ‘What evidence? It’s drivel, all rumour and gossip! You have no proof of any of this, have you? Not one bit!’ said Dirk imperiously. ‘You think you can threaten me? ME, the Great Dirk! Bah, you fools – I’ve been through far worse than you can possibly imagine; your petty accusations are nothing to me!’
The three adults stared at him, completely thrown off balance.
‘Told you,’ said Dr Purejoie.
Detective Inspector Hughes glanced over at Dr Jack, and then back at Dirk.
‘Well then,’ he said. ‘You won’t mind if we fingerprint you then?’ – expecting Dirk to panic a bit at that, but of course he didn’t.
‘Not at all,’ said Dirk, uncrossing his arms. ‘Not at all.’ But inside he was thinking furiously. Had he made sure the Goblin axe was fingerprint free? Actually, he had, he’d wiped it clean – of course he had! He was fastidious about that sort of thing, as every great villainous mastermind should be.
‘Fingerprint away,’ he said, putting out his hand.
They brought out a fingerprinting kit,
put each of Dirk’s fingers of his right hand into the ink, and pressed them on to a piece of paper. Inspector Hughes stared at Dirk as he sprinkled dust over the ink to dry it off. Dirk gave him a grin. The Inspector’s jaw dropped.
‘That grin… It’s like…like…’ started Inspector Hughes.
‘The Fetbury Filleter…’ finished the other police officer.
‘What, the notorious serial killer?’ said Dr Jack.
‘The very same,’ said the Detective Inspector, staring at Dirk in horror.
Dirk, however, hadn’t really noticed the exchange. He was staring in fascination at the fingerprints. His fingerprints. None of the others had noticed, and it looked like they weren’t going to, distracted by his grin as they were. Detective Inspector Hughes folded the prints away. Anyway, why would they give them more than a cursory examination? Forensic experts would be examining them in detail later. So they had missed what Dirk had seen.
His prints came out like this…
‘Well, I suppose that’s that, for now,’ said Inspector Hughes. ‘Thank you for your… cooperation. You may go.’
‘OK, Dirk, off to class with you,’ said Dr Jack.
Dirk rose up and headed for the door. He began to think about what would happen when they checked his prints against any they found on the Goblin axe. For a start, if they found any, they’d probably be Hasdruban’s. But when they looked at his…
They’d be confused, to say the least. Either Dirk was some kind of mutant freak or some kind of supervillain genius. Or maybe they’d blame Inspector Hughes! As Dirk stepped out of the door, he began to laugh out loud.
‘MWAH, HAH, HAH!’
Inside the admissions room, the three adults exchanged worried glances.
It was early evening, on a cold November’s night. A damp mist filled the air, chilling the bones of any mortal foolish enough to venture out. In Whiteshields Memorial Gardens stood the statue of one of the great Victorian philanthropists of that age, the founding father of Whiteshields town, Sir Ratum Swinefield. The bronze figure of Sir Ratum, dressed in classical Greek clothing, holding an architect’s set square in one hand, and a large white shield in the other, was pitted with verdigris and covered in bird…stuff.
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