Dark Lord

by Jamie Thomson

  Dirk raised an eyebrow. Hercules? What’s wrong with that? he thought to himself.

  Sooz continued, “And there’s stuff about you in there—he thinks you’re going to grow up to be a super-villain, you know, like Dr. Doom or something.”

  “Excellent!” said Dirk. “Maybe he isn’t quite as much of a fool as we think he is. Little does he know I am already leagues ahead of Dr. Doom both in power and intellect! Although he does have a better suit of armor.”

  Dirk was about to launch into his trademark villain’s laugh, when Sooz, recognizing what was coming, waved him into silence, saying, “But there’s more. I read something about the school board wanting the receipts on the fireproofing that Grousammer should have done on the pavilion. Seemed a little odd to me. What do you think?”

  Dirk was about to admonish her for interrupting a Dark Lord, when her words began to sink in.

  “Of course!” said Dirk. “The pavilion wasn’t fireproofed. That explains why it went up so quickly. And it was Grousammer’s job to get it done. With money from the school budget, no doubt! Ha—I bet the wily old cur kept the fireproofing money for himself. It makes perfect sense—a classic cheap little greedy scheme to make a few extra gold pieces, typical of a second-rate tyrant like him. You wouldn’t catch me coming up with something so petty! Oh no, by the Nether Gods.”

  “Shut up!” hissed Sooz suddenly.

  Dirk scowled—that was the second time she’d interrupted him.

  “Look, my mom!” She pointed down the road where a car was coming around the corner. “She’s back from the store—you’d better go. I’ve been grounded, and I’m not supposed to see any of my friends for a week. Especially you.” With that she shooed him away with her hands.

  Dirk frowned in irritation. If only he could simply have Sooz’s mom imprisoned by Orcs for being an inconvenient parent.

  Sooz hurriedly retreated indoors. “I’ll be back to school next week. See you then, Dirk.”

  “Don’t worry, Nightwalker, I am going to sort things out tonight. And with the information you have given me, Grousammer won’t be asking any questions about it either!”

  Sooz gave him a big smile at that, and then shut the door. Dirk hurried away.

  He headed straight home, rushed indoors, and burst into Chris’s room without even knocking. Chris looked up from the book he was reading in surprise. Dirk’s face was lit up with a kind of unholy glee.

  “Christopher! It’s all real. I am the Dark Lord!” said Dirk excitedly.

  Chris looked at him, bemused. “What are you talking about?” he said. “And you ought to knock before bursting in like that.”

  “Bah, a superior being like me need not follow the petty rules of your world. Listen, I burned my Cloak, and it opened a window onto my world. A window I could not pass through, unfortunately, but a window through which I could see into the Darklands. I saw Gargon, and my Iron Tower. Hasdruban’s swine had … Well, anyway, I saw it!”

  Chris stared at him, half horrified that Dirk might have cracked up completely, and half overjoyed that the old Dirk might be back.

  Dirk ranted on. “The important thing is that if a window can be opened, then so can a door. But in the meantime, I want my friend Sooz back … Er, what I mean is that she is far too useful to be taken out of my service. It is time to come up with a plan to reinstate her, and get her name cleared. We shall call the plan the Wrath of the Goths.”

  “Are you going to tell them the truth, then? That it was you and not her?” asked Chris hopefully.

  “What? No, of course not. I am the Great Dirk—I am never ‘caught,’ I never admit defeat, and I never ‘take the rap’!” declaimed Dirk.

  “I see,” said Christopher icily. “So how are you going to get her off without turning yourself in? Or is your ‘plan’ just to let Sooz take the blame, let her be punished instead of you?”

  “By the Nine Netherworlds, no. Of course not. We’re going to rescue her, Christopher. Save her. Turn the tables—get her off the hook, as you mortals say. They cannot defeat me. And they will not crush my people either.”

  Christopher had to grin at that. “So what’s next?”

  “I am going to rebuild the pavilion, exactly as it was,” said Dirk.

  Christopher just stared at him for a moment. “Riiighht … ,” he said.

  Dirk looked over at him. “You don’t believe me, eh? Well, wait and see. I’ll see you later—don’t wait up for me!” With that he spun on his heel and ran for the door.

  Mike Acheson, the parking attendant, sat staring at the black oil slick that nestled near the pavement of what he called “The Cursed Parking Spot of Doom.” No one ever parked there, or hardly ever. And if they did, something bad always happened. It was weird.

  He could have sworn the oil slick had moved somehow. Maybe even gotten bigger. He stared at it some more. It fascinated him, as if it was calling to him, even mocking him.

  He’d tried cleaning up the slick with a cloth. But the cloth dissolved in his hands. He’d tried hosing it away with water. No effect. He tried scooping it up with a shovel and putting it in a bucket but the stuff just slid off everything he tried to pick it up with. He’d tried setting it on fire. It wouldn’t burn. Except your skin. It really burned if it touched your skin. Vile stuff whatever it was. Maybe he should get someone else in—Environmental Protection Agency or something. But that would be silly. It’s just engine oil right? That’s all. Engine oil.

  The Rebirth

  The next morning, Dirk rose extra early—he wanted to get the best view at the ball field. And he was rewarded. As the teachers and children arrived at school, they couldn’t help but notice the new pavilion. And soon they all came streaming over to gawk in staggered amazement at the extraordinary sight before their eyes.

  For there it was. The Players Pavilion. Standing there. Virtually identical to the old pavilion, down to the same patterns of weathering on the old wooden walls and on the doors. Even the posters and photographs of old sports teams, coaches, and stars that people had thought burned up in the fire were back on the walls inside. And the equipment—bats, balls, pads, and the like. It was as if the pavilion had never burned down at all.

  The crowd began to grow in size. There were a few gasps of amazement and shock, but mostly the gathering of children and teachers stood in awed silence. They simply could not believe what they were seeing. Soon cell phones came out and phone calls were made. It wasn’t long before most of the children’s parents were also on the scene.

  Dirk overheard one of the teachers—old Grotty Grout the social studies teacher—say, “I thought there’d been a fire. Was I dreaming?”

  The teacher beside him, Mrs. Batelakes, just turned to him and shrugged. “That’s what I thought too—but perhaps we got the wrong story or something.”

  “Can it be real?” asked Grout.

  “Well, yes. It appears to be, doesn’t it? I guess someone made a mistake, and the place never burned down at all,” ventured Battleaxe, running her hands through her hair as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Which was pretty much the case.

  “I guess you’re right—but I could have sworn I saw lots of smoke. Burned out ruins even. How peculiar. I mean, it looks just the same as the old one. Most odd,” said Grout.

  Dirk grinned triumphantly at this exchange and he gave vent to a great “Mwah, ha, ha!,” with his fingers cradled together like a comic-book supervillain. The teachers turned to look at him. At the sight of Dirk laughing his evil laugh their eyes narrowed in suspicion. Dirk could almost hear them thinking, “Could this strange little boy have something to do with this? Surely not!” That made him feel even more triumphant. What a glorious day this was turning out to be!

  Still grinning from ear to ear, he wandered off in search of Christopher and Sooz. He found them nearby, staring up at the new pavilion, their jaws agape.

  “Is it the old pavilion somehow brought back from the past? Or regenerated? Or an exact copy?” Sooz w
as saying. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” said Chris, “but it’s very strange.”

  Dirk nudged his friends, trying to get their attention. They didn’t even notice. Dirk snapped his fingers in front of both their faces—finally they turned to look at him, amazed wonder in their eyes.

  Dirk grinned. “It’s not quite an exact replica of the old pavilion—look up there, right at the top where the clock is. See? Just under it,” Dirk said, pointing upward.

  They squinted for a closer look. They could just make out a small plaque with a strange pattern on it.

  “It’s my seal. The Seal of the Dark Lord—same as the one on my Ring!” said Dirk with pride. “I’ve left it there as a mark to show that I rebuilt the pavilion!”

  “You … you did this?” said Sooz in amazement. A hand went up to her forehead. “Of course, who else could it be?” she added.

  “Yes, it was me. I did it for you, Sooz—you’re off the hook now, don’t you see? How can they blame you for something that a court of law would have to say never happened? She burned down the pavilion, did she? But there it is, bold as brass, and very, very unburned! Brilliant, eh?”

  “But … but … how?” said Christopher.

  “Skirrits,” said Dirk happily, as if that explained everything.

  “Skirrits?” said Sooz in a puzzled tone.

  “Yes, Skirrits. Little interdimensional beings that travel between the worlds. Something like Goblins or Spriggans or something, but more … well, intelligent, I guess. I …”

  Dirk thought for a moment. Oh, why not embellish things a bit? Puff himself up?

  “I summoned the King of the Skirrits to me with a mighty spell, and, in return for certain … er, pledges … I commanded him to rebuild the pavilion for me. So he sent forth one thousand and one Skirrits to earth, and they rebuilt the pavilion. Overnight. With magic and stuff.” Dirk said this very casually as if this sort of thing was an everyday event for him. Which of course it was, in a way. Or used to be.

  “Wow,” said Sooz. “And you did all this for me?”

  “Well, yes,” said Dirk. “I got you into trouble, and now I’ve got you out of trouble.”

  Sooz smiled joyfully and jumped up and down on the spot, clapping her hands together with glee.

  Dirk smiled at her indulgently, pleased in his heart to see her so happy. Which was an odd feeling for him, but he just couldn’t help himself. Then Sooz rushed over to give Dirk another big hug.

  “By the Nether Gods, desist!” said Dirk, embarrassed by such a show. Then, to make matters worse, she kissed him on the cheek.

  Dirk flushed bright red, feeling flustered and embarrassed, unsure as to what to do, so he just sort of sputtered for a bit. “Er … ah … I … umm …” That kind of thing. Which made Sooz giggle. But it made Christopher scowl.

  “Right, so you expect us to believe you summoned a bunch of creatures from another world and they built a new Players Pavilion for you?” he said angrily.

  “Well, yes,” said Dirk, actually relieved to have something to do other than deal with the kiss. “That’s what happened. I mean—look, there’s the proof,” he continued, waving at the pavilion like a Roman emperor waving at a triumphal arch he’d just built to celebrate his victories.

  Chris frowned. He had to admit Dirk had a point. Still, he wasn’t buying it.

  “Yeah, but Skirrits? Magical beings from another world? More like construction workers or something,” Chris said forcefully.

  “Workers—construction or otherwise—what, overnight? And how would I pay these workers, anyway?” said Dirk, laughing.

  “I don’t know,” said Chris angrily. “But there has to be some rational explanation that doesn’t involve little magic Goblins from another dimension!”

  Just then, Principal Grousammer, who had been gaping up at the pavilion in astonishment along with everybody else, noticed them chatting. He strode over rapidly and scowled at them.

  “Susan Black! What is the meaning of this?” he snapped. “I was there—I saw the blasted thing go up in flames; I felt the heat on my face. What’s going on? What have you done …”

  Before Grousammer could go on any further, Dirk interrupted him and said, “Best not to ask too many questions, sir. All you need to know is that this one has been fireproofed. Properly.”

  At those words Grousammer’s face went pale, as white as chalk. He stared at Dirk in horror, pulling at his beard manically.

  “How … how … ,” he stuttered.

  “How do I know about the fireproofing, eh, Principal Grousammer? Well, I don’t think you really want to know, do you? Let’s just say we should both keep things to ourselves, hmm? Let sleeping dogs lie and all that?”

  Grousammer blinked at Dirk in shocked surprise for a moment. Then he took a few steps back, as if trying to get away. His face was a mask of disbelief.

  “Well, umm. Well, no matter then,” he stuttered. “Er, all’s well that end’s well, and that sort of thing … ,” he said.

  “So, I can come back to school?” said Sooz, grinning. “Why yes, of course, Miss Black. Everything’s fine, just as if nothing had ever happened,” said the principal before turning tail and striding off as fast as he could.

  Sooz and Christopher giggled. Dirk smiled. Petty tyrants like Grousammer always crumbled when the going got tough. There was nothing they could do to Sooz now. And Grousammer wasn’t going to ask any questions, that was for sure!

  June Misery 7

  I have drawn a picture of the Skirrits

  rebuilding the pavilion for me. Interesting

  little creatures, and very useful. Though

  I am slightly concerned about the price

  of their aid. One day it will come back to

  haunt me, I’m sure of it. I wonder what

  the Skirrit King will ask for?

  A Night Visit

  It was late, very late. Christopher had gotten up to go to the bathroom and was on his way back to his bedroom when he heard a whimpering sound coming from Dirk’s room. It was something he’d never heard from Dirk before, so he decided to investigate. He crept silently into Dirk’s room. Dirk was lying in bed, asleep. But he was making strange moaning noises, as if he was terrified. He began to toss and turn, thrashing around, and his face was as white as the sheets covering him. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. It was obvious he was having some kind of really horrible nightmare.

  Suddenly he sat up with a cry of terror and his eyes flew open.

  “Oh, hello, Christopher,” he said, as if he wasn’t at all surprised to see him sitting by his bed at one o’clock in the morning.

  “I’ve been having these terrible nightmares. Ever since I fell into your curious little world,” he continued, wiping the sweat from his face.

  “I get nightmares sometimes too,” said Chris. “Most people do, it’s quite normal for humans, you know.”

  “Well, yes,” said Dirk. “At first I thought that’s all it was—a nightmare of some kind. But the Skirrit King set me right on that. As a traveler between the many Planes of Existence, he is often aware of others who also travel through different dimensions. He told me that Hasdruban—may the Curse of the Withered Plums shrivel up his parts—had wrought another great spell, and sent something after me.”

  Chris raised an eyebrow. The whole Skirrit thing was something he still wasn’t really sure about, something he couldn’t really believe. Not to mention the fact that Dirk had really gotten Sooz into trouble. Okay, he’d saved her, but still … And Christopher couldn’t help feeling, well, a little jealous. Sooz had forgiven Dirk for it all so quickly. In fact, she seemed to like Dirk more than ever.

  Christopher tried to speak, but Dirk interrupted him. “That meddling Wizard sent the White Beast of Retribution across the planes to finish me off. This isn’t some dream I’ve been having—it is real! The Beast has been pursuing me psychically—in my mind, in my dreams, I mean—ever since I came here. And once it’s found
me in the Land of Dreams it will be able to find my body in the real world. And then it will eat my Black Heart, for its only purpose is to consume my Evil Essence, thus destroying me forever!”

  Christopher squinted. Dirk was telling one of his stories again. This time more bizarre and outlandish than ever. And it was starting to get to him. Half of him believed it, the other half wanted to run out of the room screaming at the top of his lungs.

  Dirk went on. “You know the White Lynx of Wendle they’ve been talking about in the papers? Well, it isn’t a lynx. It’s the White Beast of Retribution, a creature that sometimes appears in the real world, and the rest of the time inhabits the world of dreams, the world of the mind. Here, look! I drew it from memory,” said Dirk. He reached under his pillow and handed a drawing to Chris.

  Chris looked at the drawing in horror. It was terrifying! “Look, Dirk,” he began, but Dirk wasn’t listening. He went on, oblivious.

  “I think I know how to defeat it, Chris, but I need your help. The only way it will ever cease to hunt is after it has eaten of the Evil Essence of its target. So that’s what we have to do, you see!”

  “Wait a minute, are you saying that the only way to defeat this thing is to be eaten by it? That doesn’t sound good,” said Chris, finally able to get a word in.

  “Well, of course, yes, you’re right,” replied Dirk. “But there is something I’d forgotten. You know the cursed parking rumor that went around school, about the spot in the Savemart parking lot that’s always empty with the black oil slick no one can get rid of? Well, that’s where I landed when I fell to earth. I was coughing pretty badly at the time—I remember I coughed up a blob of black mucus. That’s what people think of as the black oil slick. It’s not surprising they can’t get rid of it—it is after all a blob of the Evil Essence of a Dark Lord. Not that easy to remove, I can tell you!”

  “Right, I see,” said Chris, though privately he thought this was really way out there, even more than Dirk’s usual crazy Dark Lord stuff.

  “So what we do,” Dirk continued, “is that we go out and call the White Beast. I can make myself known to it, let it find me in my dreams, and then it will come to the parking lot, where we’ll be waiting for it. Once it finds the black mucus, it won’t be able to control itself and it’ll have to lap up the black stuff. It’ll have to! That’s what it exists for. It must, because the black stuff is pure Essence of Evil, more powerful and alluring to the White Beast than the actual me, clothed as my Essence is in this puny human child’s body. And once it’s done that, it’ll phase back to its own plane, its mission accomplished—or so it will think, and we’ll have gotten rid of it once and for all.”