From the four corners of the massive dais that the Throne sat upon, the carved eyes suddenly flicked open and out of them came beams of light that bathed her in a silvery glow. The Ring too began to radiate its dark light. The effect was as if she sat on a throne of silvery shadow skulls, her face glowing with dark power, her eyes dark orbs of awful majesty. Gargon and Agrash sank to one knee before her, heads bowed.
This is going to be fun, thought Sooz.
The Moon Queen
That door lead to Dark Library, that one to Dark Lord’s—I mean your—Inner Sanctum, and that leads to Storeroom,” said Gargon.
Sooz was standing behind the Throne, looking at three doors set into the back wall of the Great Hall of Gloom, each with Dirk’s Seal carved on the front where the handle would normally be.
“Just pass Great Ring over the Seal and door will open, my Lady,” said Gargon.
Agrash had gone—Sooz had sent him off to organize Our Lady of the Dark’s Royal Guard and get them settled into the reopened Goblin Warrens.
In the meantime, Gargon was showing her around the important places in the Tower.
She walked up to the door of the Inner Sanctum and waved her hand in front of the Seal. With a grating shudder, the door swung open. A thrill of anticipation shivered down her spine as she walked into the chamber beyond, into Dirk’s Inner Sanctum, his Unholy of Unholies, his private room. What secrets would she uncover here?
Gargon hesitated. “Are you coming in?” said Sooz. He paused for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, Gargon not allowed in. No one allowed into Inner Sanctum except Dark Lord or Mistress.”
Sooz nodded. That made sense. She would keep it that way—this would be her place now, her sanctum. Everyone needed some space for me-time, after all!
“Wait for me, Gargon. I won’t be long,” she said as she entered the room, closing the door behind her.
She stepped into a relatively small room, compared to others in the Tower, this time decked out in shiny ebony black, filigreed with Moonsilver and trimmed with blood-red crimson.
The floor glowed as she walked on it and the veins of Moonsilver in the ebony walls reflected this light, bathing the place in a silvery radiance. Taking up the length of one wall was a long workbench cluttered with various flasks, books, instruments, bottles, and potions. Underneath it were lots of shelves, piled up with other things—tools, scrolls, ingredients, herbs, jars of unsavory-looking pickled creatures or yucky slimy things.
In one corner of the room stood a massive four-poster bed, hung with heavy black drapes and blood-red glyphs of some kind. In another corner, a massive suit of armor rested on a stand, obviously designed for some kind of … well, huge monster really, with cloven hooves and goat legs, though the rest of it looked like it was made for a human. Except maybe the helmet. That didn’t look human. Sooz shuddered. Is that what Dirk looked like in Dark Lord mode? It was hard to imagine the mousy-haired boy she knew as Dirk looking like that.
Then she noticed a bronze statue in another corner. She walked over to it. Her brow furrowed in irritation at the sight of it. It was of a curvaceous woman, with pale skin, bright red rubies for eyes, and long, lustrous black hair. She wore a rather revealing bodice, leather pants, and long black boots. A great cape was flung over one shoulder. Oh, Dirk, she thought to herself, this is just tacky. How could you? She turned away, feeling anger and disappointment. Or was it jealousy?
“Argh—boys!” she hissed under her breath, and went over to investigate the bed.
The sheets were of black silk, with Dirk’s Seal emblazoned on them, outlined in fine red thread. She would at least sleep well!
On a bedside table, carved to resemble a chained, captive Elf holding the tabletop over its head, another book rested, as if recently read. As she reached over to pick it up, a little silvery ball, like a miniature moon, popped up to hang in the air over the book. It began to radiate a soft glow, enough to read by. She smiled at that. How cool! She tried to read the cover of the book but it was written in strange glyphs she didn’t understand, as were the pages inside. She put the book down.
Along the wall beside the bed was a wardrobe. As she walked up to it, the doors seemed to dissolve away. She stepped back—the doors re-formed as if out of thin air. She stepped forward and the doors disappeared, stepped back—and so on. She got bored with that pretty quickly, and moved in for a closer look. It seemed like the wardrobe was hung with row upon row of great black cloaks. She reached for one—a hand popped out, holding the cloak out to her! She stared at it in horror. Gingerly, she took the cloak. The disembodied hand retracted into the wardrobe with a click. The cloak was large, heavy, and covered in strange symbols. She tried to wear it, but it was too big, too bulky. She tried to hang it back up but the hand snapped out again, snatched it out of her hand, and hung it up for her.
The rest of the wardrobe was much the same, mostly cloaks, and not much else.
“Well, that’s no good. I can’t wear any of those. Aren’t there any dresses?” said Sooz to herself, as she stood before the wardrobe, arms folded. Suddenly, two disembodied hands flew out of the wardrobe, fistfuls of dresses in each hand. Sooz was impressed, to say the least, and she spent the next hour or so picking an outfit from the magic wardrobe.
In the end, she chose a dress with several layers of flowing black silk, trimmed with black lace, with strands of Moonsilver woven through the thread. The wardrobe had provided her with a tiara of Moonsilver too, with a large, glittering black onyx set into it. A black veil covered her face, and she wore tall chunky boots of black leather, inlaid with a thin tracery of Moonsilver as well. They were seriously Goth boots!
When she walked, the Moonsilver in her hair and clothes glowed, so that wherever she went, she radiated moonlight.
The newly attired Sooz put her AngelBile bag on her back, hidden under her cape, and swept out of the Inner Sanctum into the Great Hall of Gloom. Gargon turned to meet her—and his massive jaw dropped in wonder. For a moment, the fanged, horned, bewinged demon-thing was speechless.
Then he said, “You have become Queen! A great Queen, a Dark Queen—no, wait, Gargon knows, you have become the Moon Queen!” he said, bowing.
“The Moon Queen. Hmm, I like it, Gargon, I like it,” she said.
Later, Sooz, Gargon, and Agrash helped themselves to a mighty dinner from the Iron Tower Storeroom, another room that could only be opened with the Ring. Inside was an almost limitless supply of magically preserved food. Afterward, Sooz began to feel very tired. Exhausted, in fact. So much had happened. She retired to bed, an experience she found to be a two-edged sword. Her room was Goth all right, and the silk sheets were great, but it was also pretty scary. Soon, though, her thoughts drifted to other things, to her mom, and what she’d be doing now. She’d probably be worried sick. If only she could tell her she was okay. More than okay, in fact. Little Sooz from Whiteshields was a queen and everything. How proud her mom would be! She smiled at that.
But then she thought of her own room, and she began to cry. How she missed Mom and all the safe, warm things of home. After all, she wasn’t really a queen. She was just a girl who wanted to go home. She promised herself that she’d never be mean to Mom again, just so long as she could see her one last time.
Her last thought before she fell into a deep, dark slumber was of Dirk. Where was he? Would he come and rescue her?
Part Two: New Friends, New Enemies
Home Help
Dirk swept open the door of the Purejoies’ home and walked in. Another pointless day at school out of the way he was thinking to himself when he noticed Mrs. Purejoie with someone else, someone he didn’t recognize, someone … odd. Clearly, they had been waiting for him.
She looked like that character in that sickeningly sappy movie Mrs. Purejoie forced him and Christopher to watch once. What was it called? Oh yes, Mary Poppins. Except that everything she wore was white.
Her hair was completely white, and hung straight down around her sh
oulders and face like curtains. She had pale, flawlessly pure alabaster skin, no eyebrows, pale lips almost the same shade as her skin, and light gray eyes.
“Hello, dear, a visitor has come to see you! She’s your new nanny. Her name’s Miss Deary. Dumpsy Deary,” said Mrs. Purejoie, in almost hypnotic tones.
“Bah! Such an absurd name, it must be false!” said Dirk.
“Now, now, dear, be nice, be a good boy. Please don’t start all that business again,” said Mrs. Purejoie, a look of resigned patience on her face.
“Oh come on, Purejoie! It’s obviously not her real name! Look at her! I’ll bet she’s not even from this plane, by the Nine Netherworlds!” said Dirk in exasperation.
At the sound of the phrase “the Nine Netherworlds,” the strange white woman pointed at Dirk weirdly, and her eyes widened with interest. Dirk frowned. What a strange creature she was! She reminded him of someone … but he couldn’t quite think who.
Mrs. Purejoie turned to the nanny and said, “I’m so sorry. He’s a good boy really. Just a little … er … eccentric.”
Miss Deary just inclined her head, and smiled. Her teeth were whiter than her pale, albino skin—so white they gleamed. Behind them, a wet tongue flickered red, but no sound or speech came out.
Dirk sighed and raised his eyes. “Yes, indeed,” he said, “the geniuses on this plane are always labeled as eccentric.”
“Of course they are, dear,” said Mrs. Purejoie, “I’m sure Miss Deary will be able to help you with that.”
“Wait a minute, I’m twelve years old, why do I need a nanny?” said Dirk, suspiciously.
“I can’t remember why, dear. Perhaps it’s something to do with your … eccentric problems. She’s highly trained and comes well recommended,” said Mrs. Purejoie.
“What, don’t tell me, by those idiots Wings and Randle, I suppose?” said Dirk.
“No, no, by … umm, actually, I can’t remember that either, but highly recommended by someone, I’m sure. Just right for boys like you, in fact,” said Mrs. Purejoie vaguely.
Miss Deary just nodded again, saying nothing. She began to stare at Dirk avidly.
Dirk felt like he was being put on the spot, and as a sly, scheming Dark Lord type he really didn’t like that! He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and stared back at the strange white lady. Her stare was … predatory! Definitely predatory. He glanced over at Mrs. Purejoie. She was looking at them both with an idiotic grin on her face. It all seemed fine to her, obviously. But not to Dirk. Something was wrong, very wrong. It was almost as if Mrs. Purejoie had been hit by some kind of spell. He narrowed his eyes. For now, he’d better play along until he could find out what was going on.
“Well, what shall I call you then? Dumpsy? Miss Deary? Or maybe Dumpy?”
Miss Deary just smiled at him. Dirk’s brow furrowed. “Or perhaps Old Whiteface? Frumpsy Sneery then?” Dirk added.
But neither Mrs. Purejoie nor the nanny said a word. How unutterably strange, thought Dirk to himself. The whole thing just wasn’t right.
He hurried away to his room and shut the door, glad to have some time to himself. He sat at his little desk by the window, and opened it. With a loud caw, Dave the Black Storm Crow flew in to rest on the perch Dirk had made by the window, a piece of wood fixed to a bracket on the wall. He’d carved skulls and other necromantic symbols into the wood and then painted it black.
“So, Dave, my pet, what do you make of this Dumpsy Deary character?” said Dirk, his chin in his hands.
The crow gave a croak of disdainful contempt.
“Yeah, you’re right there, my little Black Pet of Doom! It’s as obvious as an Orc at a tea party, isn’t it! She’s no nanny!” said Dirk, half to himself, half to the crow.
Just then there was a knock on the door. Could it be her already?
“Who dares enter the dark domain of the Great Dirk?” he said imperiously.
“It’s just me, Christopher,” said Christopher as he walked in. “I wanted to ask how things were going with my phone.”
“Ah, the DarkPhone,” said Dirk. “Let’s see!” With that he yanked open the drawer of his desk and pulled out Chris’s phone.
“Ugh,” said Chris, “it looks horrible!”
“Excellent,” said Dirk. “Look how beautiful it is!”
The phone had indeed mutated. The edges were ridged with what looked like little human leg or arm bones and there was a tiny bone skull at each corner. The rest of it was covered in some kind of yellowed ancient parchment—or more accurately, old and stretched skin … The front, where messages appeared, seemed to be wreathed in black shadow, like a kind of impenetrable darkness.
“So much for my phone,” said Chris.
“Indeed. Now it is truly a DarkPhone,” said Dirk, holding it in his hands and stroking it affectionately.
Chris looked on, slightly disgusted. “Anyway,” he said, “is it ready yet—you know, to call Sooz?”
“No, not yet; it is still charging. See,” he said, pointing to a tiny glass tube on one side of the phone. It looked like it was slowly filling up with blood. “We can send and receive here on earth, but it’ll only be able to call the Darklands when it is on full power.”
As if to underscore his words, glowing red runic letters appeared in the shadowy darkness of the phone’s screen. They formed the words “Incoming Call.”
And then the little skulls at the four corners began to sound off.
“Mwah, ha, ha. Mwah, ha, ha,” they went. Chris stared at the phone in horror. Dirk stared at it in delight. “Mwah, ha, ha,” went the phone, the villainous laughter getting louder and louder.
“Cool ring tone, don’t you think?” said Dirk. More words appeared on the dark screen. “Nutters,” it read.
“It’s for you,” said Dirk, handing the phone to Chris.
Pete Nutley was his real name. Of course, they all called him Nutters. Chris gazed at the phone in Dirk’s hand with horror.
Then the ring tone abruptly changed. In a deep, evil Dark Lord’s voice, the little skulls said, “Answer your phone or you will be destroyed! Answer it now, human, or die!”
Chris grabbed the phone. Gingerly, he pressed a little knob of bone and put the phone to his ear. And then gave a howl—little arms came out from below the four skulls and grabbed onto his ear, holding the phone in place.
“Hands free! See?” said Dirk happily.
Then a voice came out of the phone, thankfully quite a normal voice: “Hi, Chris, it’s Nutters, how’s it going?”
“Er … All right … Umm … Pete,” said a disturbed Chris.
“You okay? You never call me Pete,” said Nutters.
“Yeah, yeah, I am—it’s just … the phone grabbed my ear!” stuttered Chris.
“What … ?” said Nutters.
“Look, can I call you back? But … not on this phone. In fact, don’t call me on this phone again, okay? Never again. NEVER!!!” howled Chris.
“Yeah, all right, all right, keep your shirt on,” said Nutters.
“I’ll get a new phone and call you then. Got to go, sorry, Nutters, sorry,” said Chris.
“Okay, okay. Later, Chris.”
With that, the call ended. The little arms holding the phone up to his ear retracted and the screen went as black as night once more. Chris handed it back to Dirk, who was staring at it with dark delight.
“Now that’s a phone,” said Dirk, putting it back in the drawer. “But for now, we must let it charge up further.”
“Sooner the better—I’m so worried about her!” said Chris.
“So am I, Christopher, so am I. But for now, there is nothing we can do. Anyway, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you. Have you met the nanny?”
“Nanny? What nanny?” said Chris.
“You haven’t been told about her then? That is odd,” said Dirk. “Very odd.”
“No, Mom never mentioned it or anything!” said Chris.
“Yes, well, it’s true. We have one now
. Though I think more accurately, I have one,” said Dirk. “You know, because of my … umm … my superior intellect and abilities.”
“Your mental problems, you mean? Oh I see! Perhaps it isn’t a nanny so much as a psychiatric nurse, maybe?” said Chris without thinking.
“Mental problems! That’s typical of you humans, typical. You find someone with an intellect way beyond your own feeble capacities and what do you do? Honor them? Give them the respect they deserve? Put them in charge of bioweapons research or something useful like that? No, they label you insane and put you in a home with some kid called Christopher! Bah!”
Chris raised his eyes. “All right, Dirk, sorry, sorry. I don’t think you’re crazy, of course. But they do.”
Dirk seemed mollified by that. “Well, anyway,” he said, “she’s not a nurse or some kind of psychiatrist. I think she is far more dangerous. I think Hasdruban has sent her here to kill me!”
Chris chuckled at that. “Yeah, sure Dirk, the nanny is from another world and she’s trying to murder you. Riiiight.”
“Well, what about her name?” said Dirk.
“Her name? What is it—Annabel Lecter? No wait, something more obvious—Dark Lord Slayer? Dirk Killer? Mrs. Dirk-Lloyd-Must-Die?”
“No, it’s Dumpsy Deary. Miss Dumpsy Deary. What could be a more obvious giveaway than that?”
The Nanny of Doom
Dirk was woken by a cry of “Ha!” It was Miss Deary. She’d just swept open the curtains, bathing the room in bright autumn sunlight that was shining directly onto his face.
Then her pale brow furrowed in confusion. Dirk looked at her.
“You fool, Frumpsy!” he said. “Did you really think that bright sunlight would burn my flesh?” Dirk shook his head contemptuously.
Miss Deary just glared at him and stormed out of the room.
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