Poisoned thorns in his shoes, a crossbow bolt trap in his closet, perhaps something like the Curse of the Runes of Death. Though that was probably too sophisticated for a human boy. Still, a deadly scorpion under his bedclothes, a giant constrictor snake—that kind of thing was entirely possible. But he found nothing. For a while he lay on his bed staring at the white ceiling, so much like the dirty white sky in his dream. He mused and plotted for a while before drifting off to sleep once more, this time dreamlessly.
The Guardians
“Christopher, this is Dirk, the boy who’s come to stay for a while,” said Mrs. Purejoie. Christopher didn’t look like he was very happy with the situation. That was only to be expected, Dirk thought, but he would soon come around. All that was required from him was total obedience to the will of Dirk. Shouldn’t be too hard to arrange.
“I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted. Try and be nice, Christopher!” said Mrs. Purejoie.
With that she shut the door and left them together in Christopher’s room. There was an uncomfortable silence. Dirk looked the boy over. He looked like a typical human child—in other words a brainless moron, only good for menial tasks, or possibly as a sacrifice to some dark and bloody demon lord or mighty god of evil, in return for power and wealth. In that sense, he might be useful.
He had sandy-colored hair, blue eyes, and an almost angelic innocence about him. Except that he wasn’t so innocent, was he? This was definitely the boy who had crept into his room last night and spied on him. Dirk would have to do something about that. And any innocence he still had left would be crushed out of him after a few lessons in the realities of life, Dirk thought to himself.
The silence continued. It seemed Christopher was trying to ignore him. This puzzled Dirk. He wasn’t used to being ignored. On the other hand, he could wait. He had the infinite patience of a Dark Lord, after all.
After a while, Christopher said, “Why’d you choose my mom and dad for parents?”
“I didn’t choose them,” said Dirk.
“What? What do you mean?” said Christopher.
“They have imprisoned me against my will. I don’t want to be here,” said Dirk.
“I don’t want you here either!” said Chris waspishly.
Well, of course, who would want a Dark Lord in their home, thought Dirk before saying, “Bah! I won’t be here for very long, anyway. As soon as I have regained my powers, I will be returning home to my own world, the Darklands, which lie beyond time and space.”
“Yeah, well, don’t hang around on my account,” said Chris sharply, before the corners of his mouth began to twitch into a smile. He couldn’t help himself. Beyond time and space, indeed. Hilarious!
After another short silence, Christopher said, “What was your name again?”
“You may call me Master,” said Dirk.
Christopher looked as if he was about to lose his temper, but then he burst out laughing.
“They said you were sort of funny!” said Chris, still laughing.
Dirk was confused. Why was he laughing? Surely he couldn’t be laughing at him? That would be tantamount to suicide! Didn’t he realize that? But no, of course he didn’t. Dirk was just another boy to him. Hmm, he’d have to be careful here. Obviously, Christopher was a rival, and in that sense Dirk had to either destroy him or dominate him. But without any of his powers, doing either of those was going to be a challenge.
“Who are ‘they’?” said Dirk.
“You know,” said Christopher. “‘Them.’”
“Ah,” said Dirk. “You mean the High Council of the White Shields, those do-gooding so-called Paladins of Righteousness, may they all wither and die!”
Christopher started laughing again. “Yeah, them!”
“Fear not, Christopher, I shall destroy them all in good time!” said Dirk.
“Yeah, destroy them all!” said Christopher, deepening his voice and holding his hand over his mouth to make a sound as if some kind of mechanical device was helping him breathe. Then he started laughing again, pointing to a picture on the wall. The picture showed a black-helmeted, black-visored, black-robed figure holding a sword made of some kind of glowing magical force. Underneath were the words “Star Wars.”
Dirk was intrigued. The figure looked very much like one of his lieutenants, the one known as the Black Slayer, second only to Gargon in the hierarchy of his armies. He’d had to keep an eye on the Black Slayer. Gargon was blindly loyal, but the Slayer was ambitious and had delusions of grandeur. He couldn’t be fully trusted. But there were subtle differences between this figure and the Black Slayer. The helmet was wrong, the colors and patterns a little different and various other details weren’t quite right. Still, the coincidence was remarkable! Was this some kind of message from Hasdruban the Pure, perhaps?
“Who is that?” he asked Christopher.
“Darth Vader of course, who else?” replied Christopher.
“Darth? What kind of name is that? Actually, he looks like the Black Slayer, Lieutenant of the Iron Tower of Despair, and Commander of the Legion of Merciless Mayhem. He was one of my soldiers, you know. One of my lackeys.”
Christopher’s face lit up with amusement. “Ha! If only he was—how cool would that be! Imagine going to school, and having Darth Vader as your personal bodyguard. Amazing!”
Dirk said, “Oh no, I wouldn’t use the Black Slayer as a bodyguard. He isn’t trustworthy enough. Now Gargon, yes, but …”
Christopher wasn’t listening. He was playing out an imaginary scenario in his mind.
He spoke excitedly, “I can see it now! Watch this. This is Grousammer—that’s our principal by the way.”
Christopher stood up, and hunched his neck, putting on a bizarre expression of arrogant command. “Purejoie! Your homework is late—no excuses, detention!”
Then he became Christopher again. “I think not, Mousehammer! Meet my bodyguard, Darth Vader!”
Christopher put on the deep, dark voice with the breathing difficulties and said, “Your powers are weak, old man! The ability to give out detention is insignificant next to the power of the Force!”
He fell onto his bed, laughing hysterically. Dirk was obviously missing something, but he really liked the line “your powers are weak, old man,” and he resolved to use it at some stage in the future.
Christopher noticed that Dirk wasn’t laughing. Of course, he couldn’t know that Dirk didn’t laugh very often, and when he did, it was a maniacal laugh of villainous evil.
“Haven’t you seen Star Wars?” he asked.
“No, what is it?” said Dirk.
Christopher stared at him with an expression of amazement on his face.
“It’s a movie. You know—Star Wars. There’ve been loads of them,” said Christopher.
“Movie? What do you mean, ‘movie’?” said Dirk.
Christopher stared at him again. Dirk raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, never mind,” said Christopher, shaking his head.
Suddenly a strange sound filled the air. A little block of glass and metal on the table was flashing and giving off an annoying musical trill that grated on Dirk’s ears. Christopher picked it up, flipped the lid, and began talking into the box. Dirk was amazed—a communication device of some type, perhaps? What was equally amazing was that these humans had so many of them they could afford to give one to a mere man-child!
He listened to what Christopher was saying, but it was quite hard to follow, as if it was coded in places, “Hi … Yeah, awright … Call of Honor or Battlecraft? … Okay … The foster kid? Yeah, tonight … He’s kind of funny, actually, but still, you know … we’ll see how it goes …”
He glanced over at Dirk with a half smile on his face. It was a curious smile. What was it humans used to describe such things? Ah, yes, almost a friendly smile. People didn’t normally smile at a Dark Lord. Most unusual!
“Oh, totally whacked in the head, but kind of cool in a weird kind of way … Yeah … Sure, see you tomorrow then
… Bye.” Christopher flipped the lid shut.
“That was my friend, Nutters—we’ve got a shared Battlecraft account, but we’re thinking of giving the new Call of Honor game a try. What do you think?”
“Nutters?” said Dirk, confused.
“Yeah, his last name’s Nutley. Pete Nutley, so of course we call him Nutters. Or Nuts,” said Christopher.
“Of course,” agreed Dirk, though he had no idea why they would do that. It seemed vaguely Orcish somehow.
Dirk continued, “And battle craft? A battle craft account? Do they teach the art of war at your school, then?”
That could be a worry. If these humans were trained in warfare from an early age, they would be even harder to defeat and conquer.
“The art of war!” laughed Christopher. “Ha, I wish they did! No, it’s a game. You know—a computer game.”
“Ah, a game. I see. And what is a com-pew-tar?” said Dirk.
Christopher gave him that perplexed look again. There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Purejoie came in.
“How are we getting along, boys?” she asked.
“Well, he’s a little … you know … But might not be as bad as I thought, Mom,” said Christopher and he sort of made a face as if to say, “I’ll give him a chance, just this once.”
Mrs. Purejoie looked surprisingly pleased, as if that wasn’t the answer she’d expected. There was a moment’s silence. Dirk realized he was supposed to say something. It was time to be diplomatic.
He said, “Christopher is doing well. He has the makings of an excellent lackey. I am thinking of making him Lord High Overseer of the Armies of Darkness.” Yes, that should do the trick, thought Dirk—when you don’t have a stick at hand, a carrot will have to do.
Mrs. Purejoie looked a little shocked at this, but Christopher said, “Lord High Overseer! Cool!” and he started laughing again. This wasn’t quite the reaction Dirk had in mind, but it would suffice for now.
Mrs. Purejoie seemed rather puzzled, but she shrugged and said, “Well, at least you’re getting along, I suppose. Anyway, time for supper, boys.”
They went downstairs to what they called the “dining room.” A portly looking human male was sitting at the table, red-haired with a ginger beard and pale blue eyes. He stood up and introduced himself. “Hello, Dirk, I’m Dr. Purejoie. You can call me Jack.”
“Or Dr. Jack, as we call him around here,” said Mrs. Purejoie. They all smiled at each other in a sickening display of familial love.
Inwardly, Dirk groaned. They seemed altogether far too well-adjusted for his tastes. Oh well, it was only a matter of time before he either escaped back to his own world or subjugated this one.
“So, Dirk, how was your day?” asked Dr. Jack.
“I woke in the prison you humans call the ‘hospital’ to find that my powers of domination and destruction had been taken away from me, probably by some kind of warding, and that I had been given over to those psychotic fools, Wings and Randle. Then the commander of the Social Services Legion lashed me into her Chariot of Combustion and drove me here, where I was given over again, this time to my Guardians, the Pure Ones, who are tasked with my imprisonment.”
There was a long moment of total silence, broken by Christopher, who started to giggle uncontrollably despite trying not to.
“This isn’t a prison, dear, really it isn’t,” said Mrs. Purejoie gently. “It’s a home. You are welcome here, and we hope you’ll be happy. We want you to be happy. Whatever it was that happened to you before … It won’t happen again. You’re safe.”
Safe? Dirk thought to himself. Who were they kidding? It was only a matter of time before the torture began, he was sure of it.
Later on, after supper, Dirk spotted a piece of wood with sixty-four black and white squares painted on it. Curious carved wooden objects sat on the wooden board. On closer inspection, Dirk recognized knights and men-at-arms; a familiar sight, similar to the armies of Hasdruban.
“What is this?” asked Dirk imperiously. (Actually, he nearly always asked things imperiously.)
“It’s a chess set,” said Dr. Jack. “Do you want to play a game, Dirk?”
“I do not know how to play,” said Dirk.
“I’ll teach you, if you like,” said Dr. Jack.
“It’ll be bedtime soon, though,” said Mrs. Purejoie.
“Oh, it won’t take long, my love,” said Dr. Jack. “He’s only twelve, after all. But I won’t be too hard on him—just show him the ropes. He might like it.”
Dirk and Dr. Jack sat down facing each other, and the doctor explained the rules. Dirk was intrigued. He could see the possibilities of the game. It was well designed, with a kind of strategic purity he could appreciate.
“Okay, then. Got it?” said Dr. Jack.
Dirk nodded.
“White or black?” said Dr. Jack.
“Oh, black of course,” said Dirk.
Six minutes later Dirk said, “Checkmate. You were right, Dr. Jack. That didn’t take long at all, did it?”
Dr. Jack opened his mouth, and then shut it. He was speechless.
Both Mrs. Purejoie and Christopher seemed a little stunned as well. Dirk swelled with pride. He tried his evil maniacal laugh of victory, “Mwah, ha, ha!” but it didn’t come out right. The Purejoies laughed good-naturedly at his attempt, which was a little irritating. They were supposed to quail in terror, but his powers of intimidation weren’t what they used to be.
“Curses,” he said. “You know the most annoying thing? ‘Mwah, ha, ha!’ really loses its impact when you’ve got a girly Elf voice.”
“Well, time for beddy-byes, boys!” said Mrs. Purejoie.
Dirk put his hands over his face and groaned. Beddy-byes—how insufferably sappy, he thought.
After a tedious time of tooth brushing (at least it didn’t take as long as it used to, as he didn’t have to scrape and polish his fangs and tusks) and getting into “pajamas,” he and Christopher were put to bed in their rooms—or cells as Dirk thought of them.
Dirk lay in bed staring at the hideously white ceiling. Then he noticed that one of the shelves in his cell had been lined with books. He got up and looked through them. Most seemed insufferably tedious. Then he found an encyclopedia. Aha! It was filled with facts and figures about this world, which would undoubtedly be useful. He was sitting in bed with the first volume propped up on his lap eagerly soaking up information when Mrs. Purejoie came in and said, “Good night, sweetie,” turned off the light, and shut the door.
He gritted his teeth with suppressed anger. How annoying! Especially as he’d lost his night vision. He got up and opened one of the sickly curtains and pulled up a chair by the window. There was just enough light from one of the magic street lanterns for him to read by. Dirk sat up reading late into the night, hungry for knowledge, until he was so tired that he fell asleep.
Once again the nightmare came—yellow eyes staring at him from the whiteness, hunting for him, seeking him out, eager to quench its thirst with his blood.
And then brightness flooded his little cell and he woke with a start, blinking painfully, the shreds of his dream washed away in the morning light. Mrs. Purejoie was sweeping back the curtains, letting in the full light of dawn. He hated the dawn. And the sooner he could get around to dyeing the curtains a nice, deep black, the better.
“Wake up, Dirk. Up you go. It’s your first day at your new school, sweetheart!”
There were so many things wrong with what she’d said, Dirk didn’t know where to start. Lack of respect, lack of the proper honorifics, insultingly calling him a boy—and then, to top it all off, cloying, sentimental niceness! “Sweetheart” indeed! He would show her how sweet his heart was by ripping her heart out and eating it in front of her dying eyes!
He began to prepare the Claw of Ripping Death, but then he remembered … He was trapped here on this plane, in the body of a human boy and all his powers had been stripped away from him. He slumped back in despair. And horror of horrors, h
e was going to have to go to school. School! A school of the dark arts might perhaps be acceptable, but surely not a school for human children! Never!
“Nooooooo!” he cried out loud without thinking.
“Now, now,” said Mrs. Purejoie. “School isn’t all that bad. You’re going to make lots of new friends, and learn all sorts of interesting things.”
Derek Smythe was blind. That day he was walking through the Savemart parking lot with his guide dog, Buster. Suddenly, the dog started to sniff the ground frantically. Derek nearly tripped over him!
Buster growled. That was unusual—Buster was one of the most placid Labradors you were ever likely to meet.
“It’s the black, slimy oil slick, that’s what he’s sniffing!” he heard a voice nearby saying to him.
“The what?” said Derek.
Suddenly Buster began growling and barking louder than he’d ever heard before. And off he went, pulling Derek along with him. The next thing he heard was the voice again …
“Whoa, boy, down, whoa … Oooow! My leg, my leg, the dog bit my leg! Help! Help!”
Part Two:
Settling In
The School of Indoctrination
“You’ll be starting seventh grade.”
“That’s what you think. It will not be long before you find that this year has been redesignated as ‘Year One,’ or Year of our Dark Lord: One, and so forth onward into the never-ending future of my Reign of Iron and Shadows!”
Dirk had been dropped off at school a short while ago, and taken to see the principal, Mr. Grousammer, who was going to register him at the school and talk him through what was expected of him. Or so Purejoie the Guardian had said. So far it’d been a boring litany of bureaucracy, rules, and what punishments he could expect if he broke them. He was glad it was almost over.
Mr. Grousammer simply raised his eyes and sighed, stroking his straggly beard like a caricature of an evil villain.
Dark Lord Page 4