Dark Lord, School's Out

by Jamie Thomson

  Contents

  The Story So Far

  Part One: A New World

  Prologue

  Meanwhile, Back on Earth …

  Rock Candy of Doom

  The DarkPhone

  My Friend’s a Huge Monster from Another World, No Really, He Is …

  Snot, Potbellies, and Green Skin

  An Unexpected Visit

  Moving Home

  The Moon Queen

  Part Two: New Friends, New Enemies

  Home Help

  The Nanny of Doom

  The Birthday Party

  The Paladin, Rufino

  In the Court of the Moon Queen

  The Conversation

  Part Three: Triumph and Despair

  Under Attack

  To Battle!

  Envy and Jealousy

  Vengeance of the White Witch

  Part Four: Into the Unknown!

  The Voyage

  Foletto the Skirrit King

  Home Is Where the Heart Is … On Your Pink Underpants

  The White Tower

  The Chambers of Correction

  The Lair of the White Witch

  The Dark Reliquary

  Part Five: Metamorphosis

  A Dark Puberty

  Return of the Dark Lord

  In the Court of the Dark Lord

  Darklands: The Game

  When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Going

  Bad Judgment Day

  The Dungeons of Doom

  The Fall. Again.

  Back to School

  Acknowledgments

  The Author

  Also by Jamie Thomson

  I dedicate this book to my friend Soo—No, wait, what am I saying? My friend? Pah! No, I dedicate this book to the most brilliant mind of the century, to wit, myself: Dirk Lloyd

  The Story So Far

  Dark Lord: The Early Years told the story of how an evil Dark Lord was cast out of his realm and banished to modern-day earth, where he found himself trapped in the body of a teenage boy. Although he tried to tell everyone he was to be called “Dark Lord,” the humans thought he said “Dirk Lloyd” and that name stuck. Dirk was forced to go to school (School! Noooooo!) where he made some friends: Christopher, Sooz, and Sal.

  At first, Dirk planned to conquer our world, but soon he realized Orcs and Goblins were no match for tanks, jets, and nukes. Instead, he turned his evil genius to the task of getting back home. He tried a kind of magic spell but things went badly wrong, and the school sports pavilion burned down instead. That nearly finished the Dark Lord, but with the aid of Foletto the Skirrit King, he had the pavilion rebuilt.

  Then his archenemy, Hasdruban the Wizard, sent the “White Beast” to kill Dirk, but he managed to outwit it. Dirk needed to get back to the Darklands so he planned another great spell, but instead of sending him back, it sent his friend Sooz instead …

  Part One: A New World

  Prologue

  Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhh!” Her fall seemed to go on forever through an endless gulf of space. Then, suddenly—

  Ker-splat!!!

  Sooz lay on her back, exhausted, winded, staring up at a strange reddish sky … The last thing she remembered was Dirk’s voice, hypnotically mumbling strange words as the moon’s shadow crept across the face of the sun. And then … then a burning ruby agony and a feeling of falling, falling, as if in a dream.

  She coughed and turned her head. She was lying in a kind of dirty-water-colored plain that stretched off into the distance. Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. The grass was the wrong shade of green. It was too dark and the sky had a reddish tinge to it. And … and … there were two moons! Two! One was a pale white, the other a diseased-looking red. How could that be?

  A faint breeze blew up, ruffling her dyed black hair. Her nose wrinkled. The breeze had a strange tang to it, a scent she’d never smelled before. It was like a cross between the sea and cinnamon—a not unpleasant smell in fact, but strange, and because of that, rather disturbing.

  This was all Dirk’s fault. That weird, funny kid who’d turned up at school claiming to be a Dark Lord exiled from his own lands, which he called the Darklands. She and her friend Christopher hadn’t really believed him, but they had played along—even helping Dirk try to get back to his homeland. The first time, they’d just ended up burning down the school sports pavilion (and she’d gotten blamed for it!). Then they’d tried again, with some kind of spell, but this time … What had happened this time?

  Sooz sat up. Whatever the smell was, it wasn’t the smell of her land. It was the smell of a strange land, a foreign land, a land unknown. It was the smell of the Darklands …

  How on earth was she going to get home?

  Meanwhile, Back on Earth …

  August Souls-of-the-Doomed 4

  Ten thousand curses on the heads of fluffy little bunny rabbits! I cannot believe what has happened! The Ceremony of the Eclipse of the Gates of the World was supposed to send me back home, but it failed and Sooz has been exiled to the Darklands instead of me! How I fear for the safety of my little Child of the Night. No, wait … What I mean is that I hope my useful servant, Sooz, has not been damaged. That would be inconvenient.

  August Souls-of-the-Doomed 5

  Sooz has been reported missing. Her mom is very upset, as are quite a few people at school, in fact. I never knew Sooz was that popular.

  The police interviewed me about it. They asked me all sorts of questions about Sooz, such as when I saw her last, what was she wearing (as if I could remember that—Goth stuff, what else?!), and other such petty questions that vex the minds of these puny humans. Anyway, as I am such an honest and upstanding citizen I told them the actual truth—that I had cast a mighty spell, and that it had gone wrong, resulting in Sooz being transported to another plane because she was wearing my Great Ring of Power and she was now in a place called the Darklands, which is very dangerous, full of Orcs and Goblins and ravening Eagle Riders and fanatical paladins. They didn’t believe me of course. Anyway, apparently, now I have to see those feebleminded child psychos, Wings and Randle, again. What a bore!

  I have kept a newspaper clipping about Sooz. She would be pleased to see her photo in the paper. Or perhaps “stoked.” Yes, that’s the word she would use. Stoked. How I miss her.

  Dirk sat in his room, staring glumly out of the window at a cloudy summer sky, brow furrowed in angry thought. Next to him sat a young boy with bright blue eyes and corn-yellow hair, also staring at the darkening sky. The boy seemed to radiate a kind of innocent beauty. Dirk did not. It was as if an angel and a devil were sitting next to each other in quiet friendship.

  Dirk heaved a sad sigh, full of frustration and despair.

  “So, what are we going to do?” said the young boy.

  “I don’t know, Chris, I don’t know,” said Dirk in frustrated tones. He sighed again. “I can’t think of anything. There is no way to get there without the Ring, and that’s the end of it.”

  “But she could be in real danger. I mean really serious stuff. Not like getting an uber-detention for burning down the school pavilion or something, but real stuff, like getting chopped up by Orcs or … or … It’s just so awful I can’t bear thinking about it!” said Chris.

  “If only I could just talk to her, then I could help, tell her what to do, tell her how to handle things in that dread land,” Dirk said. “There are great opportunities there, if you know how to take advantage of them.”

  Chris lifted up his cell phone and gazed at it. “If only we could just call her. I’ve tried, but it just says, ‘That person’s phone has been turned off or is unavailable.’”

  “Ha, well, it would, wouldn’t it? She’s not going to get
a signal in the Darklands! Well, not that kind of signal anyway.”

  Dirk’s eyes narrowed and he began to stare at Chris’s phone. A maniacal gleam appeared in his eyes. Always a bad sign, Chris thought to himself, the maniacal gleam. It meant Dirk was coming up with another crazy scheme.

  “Not that kind of signal …,” Dirk muttered to himself. “Yes, of course!” Dirk yelled, and he leaped to his feet, snatching Chris’s phone.

  “All I have to do is modify this device—I’m sure I can get it to transmit the right kind of signal—or more accurately, open a magical doorway between the planes through which sound can travel. We can’t travel ourselves, but sound can! Much easier.”

  “That’s great, but why does it have to be my phone? Why don’t you get your own?” said Chris, half-pleased they might be able to help Sooz, half-worried about Dirk’s plans for his phone.

  “Bah, I’m not getting a phone. Your parents—jailers, more like—would use it to track me constantly, as would the High Council of the White Shields, those witless lackeys of my archenemy, that old fool, Hasdruban, the White Wizard!”

  “I don’t think the local council works for the White Wizard, Dirk. Dark forces, yeah, according to Dad, but not the White Wizard. I mean, you’re just being paranoid. And my mom certainly doesn’t—she’s a minister for goodness’ sake!” Chris replied.

  “All the more reason why she would be working for the White Wizard! Anyway, even if what you say is true, why take the risk? I’m a Dark Lord—I’m supposed to be paranoid. How do you think I’ve survived for this long?” said Dirk.

  “Yeah, well, whatever, Dirk,” said Chris. “The thing is, will I get my phone back?”

  “That depends. If my plan works, probably not, no,” said Dirk.

  “Why, what are you going to do?” said Chris, worried.

  “I’m going to reengineer it. Magically enhance it. I’m going to turn it into a DarkPhone.”

  “A DarkPhone? What’s that?” said Chris, even more worried.

  “Well, you know, an evil phone. A kind of Undead phone. But first of all I need a little sliver of bone, taken from the skeleton of someone bad, like a murderer or a thief, someone like that. Preferably someone who was hanged for their crimes. Even better, hanged at midnight at a crossroads on Halloween or May Day or something,” said Dirk, as he removed the SIM card from Chris’s phone.

  “Riiiight … And where do you think we’re going to find that?” said Chris, shaking his head.

  “I’m not sure, but we must at least try,” said Dirk, throwing the SIM card into the trash can.

  “Hey, what are you doing?!” protested Chris loudly.

  “You won’t be needing that anymore, Christopher,” said Dirk as he pocketed the phone. “From now on, this phone will run on magic. Necromantic magic. Well, as soon as we can find that piece of bone.”

  Christopher stared at Dirk in irritation. Dirk just grinned back at him. Chris gave an involuntary shudder. He’d known Dirk for some time now, but that grin still sent a shiver down his spine.

  Christopher didn’t really want to encourage any more of Dirk’s crazy plans, but on the other hand he was ready to do whatever it took to bring his friend Sooz back. “Wait a minute …,” he said.

  Dirk raised an eyebrow. “Don’t imagine for a moment that I shall be returning your phone. It’s been requisitioned for the war effort.”

  “No, no, I just had an idea.”

  “Really? What?” said Dirk.

  “Swamp people,” replied Chris.

  “Swamp … what?” said Dirk, confused. “Has it come to this, that you now resort to hurling insults at me? It is I that should be handing out the insults, not you!”

  “No, no. Swamp people. The remains of human sacrifices. Ritually sacrificed and then thrown into peat swamps thousands of years ago. Their bodies are amazingly preserved by the peaty mud. And they were sacrificed by being strangled and then having their throats cut. Really gruesome!” said Chris excitedly.

  Dirk’s face lit up at the thought of it. “That is perfect! Absolutely perfect! You are a genius, Christopher, a genius. Well, obviously not compared to me, but pretty good all the same. For a human child. Anyway, where can we find one of these?”

  “There’s one in the museum at Fetbury. Fetbury Man they call him,” said Chris.

  “Fetbury? Where’s that?” asked Dirk. “And what a stupid name. You humans have such stupid names for places, you really do. Why can’t you call it Deadbury or something? You know, where the dead are buried—and rise again to serve their evil necromantic masters—hopefully me. Mwah, ha, ha!”

  “Deadbury. Right, okay. Well, Deadbury’s not far. We could get a bus or a train there, no problem,” said Chris.

  “Excellent, we shall go this afternoon,” said Dirk.

  “We can’t—Mom’s church festival is later, and we have to go to that,” said Chris.

  “Nooooooo!” wailed Dirk.

  Rock Candy of Doom

  By the Nine Netherworlds, they’re covered in slime and mud like the filth of a thousand years!” said Dirk.

  “What, swamp people you mean?” said Christopher.

  “No, these vile human children! Look at them,” said Dirk, gesturing imperiously with one hand.

  Before them, in a large sandbox, several kids played. They were indeed dirty, faces smeared with chocolate, hair matted with pink cotton candy, clothes stained with soda—and worse.

  Dirk and Christopher were standing behind a make-shift booth selling homemade jams, jellies, and juices. All made by Chris’s mom, the Reverend Purejoie. Several other booths were scattered around the play area, selling similar goods. It was the church festival.

  “Bah, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—they’re like an unruly tribe of Goblins, all of them!” said Dirk. “Actually, Goblins would be easier to control—an execution or two, and they’d soon be standing at attention!”

  “You can’t execute children!” said Chris.

  “Why not?”

  Chris just looked at him. Dirk raised his eyes and sighed. “No, I suppose not; a pity.”

  “Anyway,” said Chris. “What if they could? You’d be first, probably!”

  “Ha! Good point. Now, as the Mouth of Dirk and my closest counselor, what do you think our plan should be for the assault on the Dead and Buried Museum?”

  “Assault? Come on Dirk, we can’t attack the place! Anyway, who would do it, you and me? Armed with what? Pencils and notebooks?”

  Dirk narrowed his eyes. Sarcasm? Was he being mocked? He was about to admonish Christopher when he noticed something big in the sky. A large balloon, floating serenely by, with a big basket full of humans hanging below it. He gazed up, fascinated, Christopher’s disrespectful remark forgotten.

  “What makes those float, Christopher?” he said.

  “What?” said Chris, following Dirk’s gaze upward. “Oh, hot air balloons. Helium gas, I think.”

  “Helium, huh?” said Dirk. “Interesting. Think of it, a few hundred of those, say, with a crew of Goblins—proper Goblins, not these puny human children. They could drop stuff—you know, like darts and bombs and stones. Make short work of Hasdruban’s Paladins, wouldn’t they! There are so many things I could do with earth technology, if I could only get home!”

  “They’re not easy to make though,” said Chris.

  “True, but a lot easier than one of your jet planes or tanks or whatever,” said Dirk.

  Just then, their neighbor, a kindly old lady called Mrs. Morris, walked past with a tray.

  “Rock candy, delicious rock candy,” she said.

  “Rock candy! I love rock candy,” said Chris, all plans to build Goblin-crewed hot air balloons or to raid the archaeological museum in Fetbury forgotten. “Do you want some, Dirk?”

  Dirk frowned. “Rock candy? Why would I want to eat rock? Oh, wait, I get it! We use the rock candy as projectiles to smash a window in the museum and break in that way. Or better yet, as ammunition for o
ur Goblin battle balloons! You are clever at times Chris, you really are.”

  Chris laughed, “No, no, you nitwit, they’re not made of rock, they’re just called that, they’re—”

  Dirk suddenly interrupted him. “Did you just call me a nitwit? What is this ‘nitwit’?” he said forcefully, not sure whether to be angry or not.

  Chris blinked. The last thing he needed was one of Dirk’s tantrums.

  “Umm … Er, a nitwit is like … It’s like, er …”

  Dirk narrowed his eyes once more. Chris was getting really disrespectful these days. If only he could cast one of his spells—that would set him right! Nothing too harsh, mind, but still, something to remind him who was boss. Maybe the Malediction of Unmoving Obesity. If only it worked on this plane …

  Chris continued with a rush, an idea popping into his mind, “It’s an old title from history, like Sir Nitwit. A title for foreign ambassadors when they visited from England in the old days!”

  Dirk blinked, almost convinced.

  Chris went on. “Yeah, like a court title. Henry VIII used it on the French ambassador. No, really, he did, I read it in our history book. I thought you’d like the title. Sir Nitwit, seeing as you’re from a foreign land …”

  Dirk nodded, buying it.

  “. . . And deserving of respect,” said Dirk, finishing Christopher’s sentence. Christopher nodded enthusi-astically. Dirk continued. “Okay. Sir Nitwit. Hmm, sounds good. Well, Christopher, purchase your rock candy then. Let’s see what they taste like! Crunchy, I would expect, ha, ha!”

  Chris turned away, a look of relief on his face. Moments later, they were both munching on rock candy.

  “Delicious!” said Dirk. “Now, back to the business of rescuing Sooz, to wit: how to get into the museum.”

  “Can’t you use the Sinister Hand?” said Chris.

  Dirk made a face. “I could, but it’s not a spell that you can use too often. There are risks. And I’ve already used it more than I should.” Dirk recalled the last time he’d used the spell to detach his hand and send it wandering off on its own—to steal some report cards to give that tyrant, Principal Grousammer, a nasty surprise!