Christopher frowned. ‘What have you done?’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Hah, hah, the boy is mine!’ sniggered the Headmaster of Doom.
‘Return him to me!’ said Chris, redoubling his efforts, forcing Grousammer back for a moment. And then Grousammer smiled.
‘Sunset!’ was all he said.
The sun began to sink behind the hills. Darkness spread across the land like a pool of blood and out of the darkness came the vampires – great vampire lords dressed in silken robes and velvet cloaks, bejewelled and armoured. The Lords of Sunless Keep, the great citadel of the dead. Soon Christopher and Rufino were surrounded by an army of the dead, though Christopher’s aura kept them at bay. The vampires stalked and crept, glared and hissed, they beseeched and pleaded, threatened and cajoled – anything to get Chris to close down his aura or Rufino to come near enough for them to seize him and drink his blood.
But they could not lure him out or get closer than a few yards. For now… How long could Chris keep them at bay, especially whilst fighting a duel with the Dark Lord? Christopher was visibly tiring.
Grousammer said, ‘This is going nowhere – time for you and me to have a chat, boy! Truce?’
Christopher paused. ‘Truce,’ he said.
‘I have what I want – the boy Dirk. You are surrounded. But I will give you this, if you leave now,’ said Grousammer, gesturing behind him with his cane. The Black Hag and Skabber dragged a figure out of the crowd and threw him down at Chris’s feet.
Hasdruban! The old man rose unsteadily to his feet, adjusting his shattered glasses, smoothing down his once pure white robes – now splattered with blood and grime – and smoothing out his long white beard.
‘I’m so sorry, my dear boy,’ he said, ‘but they were just too strong for me!’
‘Take him and leave. It’s the best you can get from a bad situation,’ said the Headmaster of Doom.
Christopher and Rufino exchanged looks.
Rufino whispered, ‘Take it, your Holiness. Night has fallen, we are exposed! We’ll come back for Dirk later.’
Christopher looked over at Grousammer and nodded. ‘Agreed,’ he said.
‘Wise choice, my boy. Now get off the grass!’ said Grousammer, pointing back the way they’d come with his cane before turning away and sniggering a ‘tee, hee, hee’. The Black Hag turned away too, cackling. Skabber, though, he saluted Rufino whilst no one was looking.
Rufino acknowledged him with a nod.
Christopher meanwhile put an arm around Hasdruban. ‘It’s all right, we’re going to take you home now.’
‘Really, back home? Oh, how lovely,’ said Hasdruban. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to a nice cup of camomile tea!’
Together, the three of them set off back to the White Tower, ghouls, zombies and vampires following along behind hissing and snarling, trying to get closer, but held at bay by Chris’s holy aura – just. Slowly, ever so slowly, as Chris got more and more tired, his aura was shrinking and the dead were closing in.
Ghouls drew near, no more than a yard or two away, almost within reach. They snarled and growled, baring their teeth, raging at Rufino and Chris. Pale, wan and terrified, they continued on. Some vampire lords batted aside the ghouls, who whimpered and skulked back into the night. They closed in as near as they could get. The lords were so close that Chris and Rufino could smell them – they smelt of tomb incense and graves.
‘Soon you will be ours and then we will feed!’ said one.
‘No, we’ll draw it out, have a banquet, slowly drain them over days!’ said another.
‘Their blood will feed our children!’ hissed one.
‘Perhaps we’ll bring Christopher back as a ghoul!’ said a tall vampire queen.
‘Rufino! Do you remember me?’ said another.
Rufino looked over at him in surprise. ‘Stefan of the Isles!’ said Rufino.
‘Yes, Rufino, it is I! I too was a Paladin once, but look at me now!’ he said, preening, as he stood there in armour of burnished black, wearing a feathered helm and a red velvet robe. ‘I am immortal! Join us, and you too could be immortal.’
Rufino shook his head. ‘Your body is immortal but your soul burns in hell! I will never join you.’
‘Hah, what makes you think you’ll have a choice?’ screeched Stefan. ‘They call me Stefan of the Viles now, and you too shall be renamed!’ He leapt forward with fangs bared. But as soon as he connected with Christopher’s aura Stefan’s skin began to smoke and burn, and he had to lurch back into the darkness, howling.
After a few more nightmare hours and just when it seemed Chris would drop with fatigue and they’d fall to the ravening horde, they finally reached the Borderlands and the well-lit watch towers of the Commonwealth, manned by elvish archers whose eyes could see in the dark and whose arrows were deadly, enchanted to slay the dead once and for all. The vampires and their ghoulish minions weren’t ready to assault the Commonwealth directly, and they knew it.
Not yet, anyway!
‘Farewell, old friend, I’m sure we’ll meet again,’ called Stefan of the Viles from out of the darkness as the undead horde turned back to the night.
* * *
4 See books one and two (Dark Lord: The Teenage Years, and Dark Lord: A Fiend in Need) for plenty of examples of the Sinister Hand!
Dirk had been guiding the Sinister Hand, laughing to himself as he terrified the life out of Grousammer with his fake beard. What a genius I am, he thought.
Suddenly, all the air was knocked out of him and he was heading up into the sky! A scaled arm and taloned hand held him close. It was ferociously strong; Dirk could hardly move. He looked up…
‘Gargon! What are you doing? Surely… not you… A traitor?’ said an astonished Dirk. Gargon was a seven-foot tall, winged, taloned and scaled…well, thing. But he wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. And he was supposed to be Dirk’s chief lieutenant.
‘Sorry, Master – but Headmaster has my Lady!’ said Gargon as he began to swoop down to the entrance to the tower – the Gates of Doom.
‘Grousammer has Sooz? How?’ said Dirk.
‘He tortured code to Inner Sanctum out of Hasdruban – sent winged vampire lords in bat form to steal her from White Tower!’ grunted Gargon as he landed.
‘What? How did he know she was there?’ said Dirk.
Gargon gripped Dirk as tightly as he could as he strode down the stairs of the tower to the lower levels. He also handed Dirk his disembodied arm, which Dirk proceeded to reattach. It began to seal itself back in place, leaving a nasty-looking lurid scar.
‘Hasdruban have magical shell that can hear everything in his sanctum, no matter where shell is. Headmaster of Doom confiscate it, Headmaster hear everything,’ said Gargon in a voice like gravel in a blender.
Dirk slapped his head to his forehead. ‘No, no! How could I have been so stupid?’
Gargon descended into the darkness below the tower. ‘You could not know, why blame yourself?’
‘I should have anticipated something like this. Anyway, where are you taking me?’ said Dirk.
‘Gargon going to throw you into Black Pit of a Thousand Lines.’
‘What? The pit of what? Why?’ said Dirk.
‘Orders from Headmaster who release me from pit and say Gargon must do as he says or he will give Sooz 666 of the best. Moon Queen not survive that.’
‘What about me? Will I survive being thrown into this pit?’ said Dirk nervously.
‘Oh, you survive in pit, sure. Me and Agrash, we survive. Whether Headmaster let you live after – that another matter!’
‘What – you’d give me up to be killed?’ said Dirk, aghast. ‘You, my loyal lieutenant, Keeper of the Tower, captain of my Legions of Dread!’
‘I am sorry, your Imperial Dirkness, I really am. Normally Gargon would be loyal, Master. But it simple. I love Lady Sooz, she is like little sister to me. You come second. And that that! What can I say?’
Dirk blinked up at him. Well
, you can’t argue with that, can you? he thought to himself as Gargon tossed him unceremoniously down into the depths of the Black Pit of a Thousand Lines as if he were nothing more than a discarded old boot.
Dirk landed in a pile of old stinking clothes – Orc and Goblin stuff, by the smell of them. Yuk! He got to his feet. Nearby was a little desk. And on the desk was a sheaf of papers. The top sheet read:
DIRK LLOYD
Your punishment for being continuously naughty ever since you came to school:
1: Imprisonment in the Black Pit of a Thousand Lines
2: Writing out 1,000 times:
‘I recognise that Grousammer is the true Dark Lord and not me, and I am deeply sorry for all my past misdemeanours, especially for shaving off the headmaster’s beard.’
Dirk shook his head. ‘Grousammer is actually mad!’ he said out loud but there was no one there to hear him.
He was alone, completely alone. At least it was dark, though that was a small comfort. But whatever way you looked at it, he’d been defeated and betrayed – outwitted by his enemy and stabbed in the back by his most loyal friend.
Dirk’s shoulders slumped and his chin fell forward on to his chest.
All was lost.
Dirk woke with a start.
‘Hello down there?’ squeaked a voice from above.
Dirk wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked up. ‘Who’s there?’ he said.
‘It’s me, Agrash, your Imperial Dirkness!’
‘Agrash! Good to hear your squeaky little Goblin voice. Have you come to get me out of here?’ shouted Dirk from below.
‘I’m afraid not, your Supremeness – I’ve only just got out of there myself!’
‘What’s up, then?’ Dirk could see something hurtling down towards him, something small.
He stepped back. A small globule of snot landed just where he’d been standing. Dirk grimaced in disgust. Agrash was one of the most intelligent Goblins out there, which is why Dirk had promoted him, but he had a serious drawback – his long, warty nose continuously dripped snot.
‘You’ve got a visitor, your Dark Majesty! Just getting ready to lower her down,’ said Agrash.
‘A visitor? What do you mean?’ said Dirk.
‘Right, she’s on her way!’ said Agrash. ‘Ummm…good luck, sir!’
Dirk frowned up as an open cage was lowered down towards him. Inside was a tall, pale woman, her handsome features crisp and even, her skin like ivory, with black eyes, and ruby-red lips. Long black hair hung down to her waist – lustrous, shining, beautiful. She wore a bat-winged cloak, a velvet corset, a long skirt of deepest red and black leather boots.
Tiny fangs protruded over her ruby-red lips.
A vampire, and a queen too, judging by the pale silver tiara she wore on her head, thought Dirk.
Wait a minute…she looked like… No, it couldn’t be!
‘Hello, Dirkikins,’ said the vampire in a rich, low voice – she sounded amused, sophisticated, confident.
Dirk’s jaw dropped. ‘Who… What’s your name?’
‘Don’t you know, dear? Don’t you recognise me?’
‘WHAT’S YOUR NAME?’ shouted Dirk.
‘Why, it’s Oksana, of course,’ she said with a smile, revealing teeth that gleamed whiter than white, and were sharp as a shark’s.
‘Mother? How…after all this time… It’s been thousands of years… How is this possible?’
‘Oh, I conquered death a long time ago, you know that, dear!’ said Oksana – the vampire queen, and Dirk’s real mother.
‘But…but I saw you die! I saw Father plunge the stake in your heart. I saw him slaughter all the vampires – my cousins, my uncles, all of them!’
‘Bah, that old fool! What did he know?’ said Oksana.
‘Wait, are you saying you weren’t destroyed? How can that be?’ said Dirk.
Oksana paused, putting a silk-gloved hand up to her chin. ‘Well…umm…technically yes, I was…err…destroyed,’ she said, waving the hand away. Dirk noticed many ruby-encrusted rings of gold on her fingers. ‘Actually, it was this new Dark Lord. He found my old bones, brought me back to life with a terrible spell.’
‘What, this absurd Headmaster of Doom? Grousammer? I struggled for millennia to find a spell that could do that. Nothing worked! How did he…?’
‘Never mind all that, my little darling. Never mind!’ said Oksana, stepping forward and cradling Dirk’s face in her hands. ‘Let’s just savour this reunion! We’re back together again after all these years, my sweet little Dark Lordling.’
Dirk gazed up into her eyes. Could it really be the Dread Queen of the Night, the Dark Mistress of the Underworld, his mother, Oksana the Pale? Her eyes were like pools of liquid velvet, black as black could be, offering him the comforting warmth of the shadows, where he could be unseen, unheard, bathed in deep, dark silence, safe in his mother’s dark love.
Tears welled up in Dirk’s eyes. It had been so long, so long!
‘Mummy,’ he whispered as he gave himself up to her warm, dark embrace.
‘So, my sweet little Dark Lordling,’ she said, ‘here’s the deal.’
‘Yes, Mother,’ said Dirk, ‘I’m listening.’
‘If you accept him as your ruler, Grousammer will give you a post in his new regime!’ she said.
‘But, Mum…he took my throne! He stole everything from me,’ said Dirk, ‘I can’t serve him, he’s a…he’s a teacher!’
‘Now, now, Dirk, you know perfectly well you’re not really bad enough to be the Evil One any more, don’t you? Someone has to do it, and that someone has to be this Dark Headmaster.’
‘Grousammer? Really?’
‘Yes, dear – Grousammer. Trust me, Mummy knows best.’
‘But why, why does he want me?’ said Dirk.
‘Well, he needs your experience, your knowledge. He’ll make you his new Head Boy and together you can conquer the Darklands. With your evil genius and his power, you’ll be unstoppable, and finally, after all these years, you and he will rule over everybody! It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it, my dark darling?’
Dirk blinked. It was true, it was what he’d wanted for thousands of years. Though he’d have preferred it if it was just him. Still…at least he’d be with his mum.
‘And then, after that, well…’ continued Oksana.
‘After that, what?’ said Dirk.
‘Well, then…then it’s earth…’ she said silkily.
‘What do you mean, earth?’ said Dirk, warily.
‘The headmaster and you will lead the Clans of the Undead to invade earth!’ she said. ‘With the human technology that Grousammer can teach us, a horde of Darkland Orcs and a vast army of the undead – well, we’d conquer earth, just like you dreamed of when you first arrived there!’
‘But…but…vampires? And zombies? In Sussex? That’d be awful!’ said Dirk.
‘Mummy has to eat, dear, hasn’t she?’
‘But…but…’ stammered Dirk.
‘You wouldn’t want Mummy to starve, now, would you…?’
‘Oh, no…no, of course not. It’s just…earth… all those people!’ said Dirk, confused.
‘I know! Yummity yum,’ said his mother.
Dirk shook his head. ‘I…I’m just not sure.’
‘Now come on, dear, you don’t want us to fall out now, after all these years.’
‘Well… I guess. If you say so, Mummy,’ said Dirk.
‘Excellent, that’s settled then. We’ll have you out of this nasty little pit in a jiffy, and you’ll be the new Head Boy with a nice new hat and everything.’
Dirk grimaced at the thought of it. Still, it had to be better than this pit!
Dirk was sitting on a couch by a table laid out for tea in his mother’s rooms in the Iron Tower. She’d summoned him for a ‘chat’. He could guess what it was about. Dirk was supposed to swear allegiance to the headmaster and then he’d be made Head Boy, but he was dragging his feet. If he accepted the job, he’d be ad
mitting that Grousammer was the real Dark Lord and Dirk was just his minion. He couldn’t bring himself to do that.
Dirk stared at the floor. How could his mum want him to be Head Boy? He was the rightful Dark Lord, he should be fighting back against Grousammer, with her supporting him. Why wasn’t she on his side? His thoughts were interrupted by a small scraping sound. He looked up.
And there was his mother, Oksana the Pale, sitting in front of him. She stared at Dirk like a boa staring at a puppy. Dirk gazed back, wide-eyed. He still couldn’t quite believe it. His mother, still alive after all these years? And why was she staring at him like that? That was the look she usually reserved for…well, dinner. Not him, her favourite ‘little darkling’.
Almost as if she’d read his thoughts, Oksana smiled at him (revealing vampire fangs) and leant forward to pick up a black, red-trimmed tea pot.
‘How would you like your tea, dear?’ she said.
‘Can’t you remember, Mum?’ said Dirk.
A flicker of irritation passed across her face. ‘Don’t ask silly questions, my little darkling,’ she said.
‘Well, it has been a while, I suppose,’ said Dirk. ‘I’ll have it as I always do – black and bitter, like my heart!’
‘Oh, very good dear, how lovely for you!’
She poured the tea into his mug – a white mug, of all things…except that around the rim, little dribbles of red had been painted on, so it looked like it was overflowing with blood. Dirk frowned. This tea business… Trouble was, he couldn’t remember having tea before he fell to earth. He wasn’t sure that it even existed in the Darklands before all this. No wonder his mother couldn’t remember how he took his tea because there was no such thing back in the day. And where did she get this tea from, for a start?
‘Anyway,’ said Oksana, stepping over to sit next to Dirk. ‘I wanted to have a little chat, my darkling boy.’
She put an arm around his shoulders. He nestled in, slightly uncomfortably. It wasn’t like a hug from Mrs Purejoie, thank evilness, and it was his real mum, but still. Hugs… Not really for him. He looked up at her pale, ruby-lipped face, framed by long lustrous black hair that shone in the moonlight from the tower windows. Actually, it felt pretty good, he had to admit – a dark embrace, somewhere to hide in the shadowed peace of her arms.
The Headmaster of Doom Page 7
