‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ said Dirk. ‘I know you asked me to, but I just can’t work for Grousammer, it’s…’
Oksana interrupted him, hugged him closer, and whispered in his ear. ‘Shhh, dear, shhh… Look, I found this…’
Dirk glanced down and he saw in her hand what looked like a human arm bone.
‘My baby rattle!’ said Dirk in astonishment. ‘Where did you find it?’ he added as he snatched it from her.
‘The Night Nursery, back in Sunless Keep,’ said Oksana, ‘in an old toy cupboard.’
The rattle was an ancient piece of yellowed bone with some black feathers hanging off one end and a silver chain ending in tiny little bells on the other. It looked like a fairly nondescript knick-knack (albeit made of bone) but to Dirk it was rich with memory.
‘I used to pretend it was my staff of spells,’ said Dirk, ‘and wave it at…that nurse we had for a while, what was she called?’ Dirk looked up at his mother, his eyes filling with tears from that long-forgotten time of sheltering darkness.
‘Ummm…’ said his mother, seemingly perplexed by the question.
‘The Blood Nurse, that was it,’ said Dirk, smiling at the memory. It hurt his brain a bit to recall it – after all, it was thousands of years ago, not to mention he could only have been about one or two. But he was a Dark Lord. His memory was not like an ordinary human’s and the rattle had triggered a rush of forgotten images. He remembered his cot, also made from bone that had been varnished black. He remembered the mobile that had hung over it – little enchanted severed heads on silver chains that gave deep, sonorous chimes when they bumped together. They used to talk too, complaining about each other and exchanging insults. But mostly, they recited dark nursery rhymes like ‘Four and Twenty Storm Crows Baked in a Pie’, ‘Bah, Bah, Black Creep,’ ‘Lumpty Grumpty Sat on a Wall’, ‘London Bridge is Falling Down, Because We Burned It to the Ground’, or ‘Sticks and Stones – We’ll Break Their Bones’, and other such fondly remembered rhymes.
Dirk smiled again, and held the old bone rattle to his breast.
‘Now, my little Dark Lordling, about that Head Boy business…’ cooed Oksana.
‘Yes, Mummy, of course,’ said Dirk compliantly, nestling further into her arms and burying his face in her moonlit hair.
Dirk stood on the right hand side of the Throne of Skulls, wearing a special hat that only prefects wore – a black boater, made of straw. It had Grousammer’s seal on it – a grinning skull wearing a mortarboard with two crossed canes below and a motto in Latin – Timor liberabit vos (dread will make you free). He wore a black leather-armoured blazer (a battle blazer), a ridiculous pair of dark grey shorts and stupid schoolboy socks. He had a dark grey cape of office and a steel ruler sword at his side.
He was the Head Boy, chief amongst all the pupils of the School of Evil, as Grousammer had renamed his kingdom.
And he felt like a total idiot.
A bell rang, exactly like they did in schools back home on earth.
Dirk knew what that meant. He stepped forward and shouted into the PA system that Grousammer had installed in the tower.
‘Attention, pupil minions, class time is over! Regiments…errrr, I mean forms 3a and 3b through to the upper fifth Goblin artillery class shall gather immediately in the Great Hall for assembly. Anyone late will get extra Black Tongue homework!’
His words echoed throughout the Iron Tower.
Goblins and Orcs began to file into the Great Hall of Gloom. Behind came the Headmaster of Doom, swishing his cane as he paced into the hall.
‘You, Orc boy! Stop running in the corridor!’ he bellowed. ‘And you, you horrible little Goblin! Stop that!’
The Orcs and Goblins began to form up in front of the throne. Previously, they’d been organised into companies and regiments, now they were organised into forms and houses. Dirk shook his head – the whole thing was insane! He’d much rather just leave all this behind and go and live with his mum in the Deadlands, in Sunless Keep where he had been born. But Grousammer still had Sooz locked up and he couldn’t really abandon her. Could he? He sighed. No, he couldn’t. And Mum was enjoying it too much here, anyway.
He sighed again – he’d been doing a lot of that recently.
Well, maybe they could turn the whole world into one big school. Sure, he wouldn’t be the headmaster, but at least he’d be the Head Boy, and he could see his mum, the school Night Nurse, every day. Or every night. And if he did well and earned Grousammer’s trust, maybe he could get Sooz released.
Grousammer paced up to the throne and sat down. It groaned in welcome. He turned to Dirk. ‘I found this, boy. What are you going to do about it?’ he said, handing Dirk a book.
The book was called Skirrits: An Anthropological Study.
‘What about it, Headmaster?’ said Dirk, confused.
‘You checked it out of the Dark Library,’ said the Headmaster of Doom.
‘Yeah, so?’ said Dirk.
‘Five hundred years ago! It’s seriously overdue, boy. Do you have any idea of the size of the fine?’
‘I…umm…’ sputtered Dirk, caught off guard.
‘Oh, never mind,’ said the Headmaster, snatching it back. ‘You’ll just have to do extra homework for me until you’ve paid it off!’
Dirk stared up at him. ‘You can’t be serious!’ he said.
‘Oh, you don’t think I’m serious, do you?’ Grousammer said. He gestured, waving someone forward. The Black Hag stepped up, dragging someone behind her – someone in chains.
‘Sooz!’ said Dirk. She was chained and gagged, so she couldn’t run or speak. She stared at Dirk, trying to say something, but to no avail. Instead she just glared at him.
Why would she be angry with me? thought Dirk. Wait a minute… Oh yeah…
The Black Hag cackled, and traced an envenomed talon down Sooz’s cheek.
Dirk’s eyes widened in horror – one cut from that claw and Sooz would die in seconds! ‘All right, all right, please, sir, I’m sorry, sir, I’ll pay the fine, I’m sorry my library book was so overdue!’ said Dirk desperately.
‘OK, then, just a little reminder of who’s holding the cane, here,’ said the Headmaster, waving the Black Hag away. ‘Take her back to the Borstal Wing, and let’s get on with the assembly.’
The Borstal Wing. That was what Grousammer called the old Dungeons of Doom. Ridiculous, thought Dirk.
The Headmaster of Doom stood up.
‘Now, listen, Goblin boys and girls. I have an announcement. There is to be a new curriculum, and a whole new exam system!’
There was a collective groan from the assembled pupils.
‘Quiet!’ shrieked Grousammer, slapping his cane into his other hand.
Everyone went as silent as the grave, immediately – well, except that the graves weren’t so silent around here any more… You could have heard a pin drop. Dirk had to admit, this part of Grousammer’s new regime was impressive. Harsh discipline. It was better obedience than Dirk could ever achieve when he had been the Dark Lord.
Grousammer went on. ‘There will be a new GCSE – or Goblin Certificate of Sinister Education. Subjects will include Elf Slaying, Castle Siege, Massacre Training, Earth Technology 101, Baking Hobbit Pie and Ruler Sharpening, to name but a few. For those most advanced pupils of the Six-Six-Sixth Form there will be Evil Levels – we’ll call them E-Levels. After that, there will be a higher education degree system with grades such as First Degree Murder, Second Degree Murder and so on.’
The assembled Orcs and Goblins stared up at Grousammer, confusion and fear written all over their faces.
‘Now, as to the appointment of prefects, monitors and sneaks – advancement will be based on the demerit system. You get extra demerits for bullying, informing on your fellow pupils and lying – to each other, but never to a teacher! Those with the most demerits can expect fast and rapid promotion. Clear?’
The Orcs and Goblins shuffled and muttered and looked…baffled.
‘CLE
AR?’ bellowed Grousammer.
‘Yes, sir, Headmaster, sir!’ shouted the assembly in a cacophony of Goblin squeals and Orcish roars that made Dirk wince.
‘Good. And remember the purpose of the new curriculum is to train you all to assimilate the Commonwealth into our school. And then… we’ll invade a whole new world! Where you will all be prefects and monitors and the humans will be your year-one pipsqueak squirts to bully and give detentions to as much as you like. We will unleash the zomboy apocalypse on earth!’
‘The zombIE apocalypse, zombIE,’ muttered Dirk to himself.
The assembly of Orcs and Goblins continued to stare, nonplussed. What was he talking about? Zomboy apocalypse? Year-one pipsqueak squirts?
Dirk moved alongside and hissed at them, ‘Cheer, you fools, cheer!’
The Black Hag, Skabber Stormfart, Gargon and Agrash were all doing the same – walking through the assembled ranks and encouraging them to cheer. No one wanted an angry headmaster!
Grousammer began to swish his cane with irritation. Finally the Orcs and Goblins got it and the hall erupted in a great cheer.
‘Hurrah for the Headmaster of Doom! Hurrah!’ they howled, each one of them terrified of getting six of the best. Or worse – such as a thousand lines when you didn’t even know how to write in the first place.
Later, once the assembly had been dismissed and Dirk was left with a little free time, he made his way over to another new innovation that had been set up in the tower – the ruck shop. It sold sweets for the pupils of the School of Evil. Dirk, curious, examined the wares. Laid out were various ‘delicacies’ – Black Sherbet, Acid Drops (made with actual acid), Trouble-Gum, Iron Bars, Chocolate by Death, Goodstoppers, Helly Babies, Whine Gums, and so on.
Dirk shook his head. A sweet shop in the Iron Tower of Despair? Everything he’d ever created had been turned into some kind of school-of-horrors freak show!
‘Greetings, Master!’ said a squeaky voice from the back of the shop. ‘Do you want to buy something?’
‘Agrash? What are you doing there?’ said Dirk.
‘Well,’ said Agrash, ‘the headmaster let me out of the pit after I did my lines…’
‘What were you in for – sending Dave to me with that message?’ said Dirk.
‘Yes, your Awesomeness. But he seems to have forgiven me for now. Well, as long as I do as I’m told, like taking your mum to meet you.’
‘So, this is your reward, working at this… what do you call it?’
‘The ruck shop. The Dark Headmaster said I couldn’t be trusted and I wasn’t up to doing anything more than running a sweet shop. So I took him at his word. He actually approved!’
‘Good for you, Agrash.’
As they talked, Dirk’s mum approached the shop.
‘Good evening, dear,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to buy you a sweetie?’
Dirk looked up at her. ‘I’d love some Goodstoppers, Mum!’ he said.
She smiled down at him. ‘Of course, my dark little Lordling,’ she said and she turned to order some from Agrash.
Dirk frowned up at her back. This was all very well, but he was getting a little uncomfortable about the way things were going with his mother. OK, he was trapped in the body of a thirteen-year-old boy, but he wasn’t actually a thirteen-year-old boy, and she shouldn’t really be talking to him as if he were. It had been nice at first, but now…well, it felt a bit cloying, like having two Mrs Purejoies, even if one was an Anglican Reverend and the other an ancient and powerful vampire queen and Dread Mistress of the Underworld.
Oksana bought a bag of Goodstoppers and handed them to Dirk.
‘Here you are, my sweet little ball of hate,’ she said cooingly.
By the Nine Hells, it was exactly the same feeling he had when Mrs Purejoie wanted to give him hugs, thought Dirk. Which was quite often, for some reason. Perhaps if Mrs Purejoie could see into his heart, she wouldn’t have been so affectionate. Mind you, if his real mum could see into his black and bitter heart she’d probably give him extra hugs! Anyway, he’d better have a word with Oksana – it couldn’t go on like this.
‘Mum, listen. I’m not really a kid any more. This body is a curse that Hasdruban laid on me. You know, I used to be as tall as the headmaster, I had big horns, and hooves and talons… It’s still me, inside this body.’
‘You’ll always be a sweet little monster to me!’ she said, tweaking his cheek.
‘Hey! Still me inside – the Dark Lord. Thousands of years old. I built this tower, fought battles with vast armies, burnt cities, cast great spells that covered the sky in gloom. They called me the Evil One – I was feared by everyone, loved by none. I’m not your little kid any more, Mother.’
‘Well, that was then, dear, but all that’s gone, along with the essence. Now you’re just a boy with… How shall I put it? A chequered past.’
‘A chequered past! Hah, that’s one way to put it, I guess. A past that goes all the way back to my dad murdering my mother, all those years ago!’ said Dirk.
‘Well…it was so long ago, let’s not dwell on it,’ she said.
‘But I’ve been trying to get revenge ever since, Mum, ever since!’ said Dirk.
‘Why, dear, is your father still alive?’
‘Still alive? How could he possibly still be alive?’ said Dirk.
‘Well, vampires can live forever, can’t they?’ said Oksana, looking a little flustered.
‘What? Dad wasn’t a vampire!’ said Dirk, astonished.
‘Oh, ahh…’ said Oksana. ‘Umm…it’s so long ago, remind me again…’
Dirk narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘You know…you enchanted him, trapped him in Sunless Keep…’
‘Oh yes, of course, I remember now,’ said Oksana. ‘Handsome fella…called… Oh, what was it now?’
Dirk folded his arms. ‘Gamulus the Good.’
‘Good? He was good? Really?’ said Oksana.
‘Yeah, he was the first White Wizard. You trapped him, married him. But then he escaped…’
‘Of course, yes, of course, now I remember… How silly of me!’ said Oksana shiftily.
Dirk went on. ‘And returned with an army of Paladins, staked everyone to death and carried me off and tried to bring me up as his do-gooding patsy… I can’t believe you’ve forgotten!’
‘Well, it really was a long, long, time ago,’ said Oksana. ‘Anyway, no time to chat,’ she said, ‘must get on. Enjoy your sweets, my dark little Lordling.’
Oksana turned and walked away. Dirk frowned. Something wasn’t right, not right at all. He put a hand to his chin. He’d been so happy to be reunited with his mother, perhaps he’d lost sight of the things he really believed in. Dirk looked over at Agrash speculatively, and stared in fascination as a globule of snot grew at the end of his nose…and plopped, to land with a splash on a tray of acid drops. Dirk blinked.
‘Errr…here you are, Agrash,’ he said, handing him the bag of Goodstoppers. ‘I don’t think I want them after all.’
‘Oh! Oh, well, OK, then, your Dirkness,’ said Agrash.
Dirk turned away, deep in thought. After a few minutes he said, ‘Agrash?’
‘Yes, Master?’
‘It’s time we got Sooz out of jail, don’t you think?’ said Dirk.
Dirk and Agrash walked down the stairs towards the dungeons beneath the tower. Dirk was dressed in his full Head Boy outfit; Agrash carried a big tray full of ruck shop sweets.
Where once a big sign had said:
THE DUNGEONS OF DOOM
it now read:
THE BORSTAL WING
For the retraining of the excluded,
the suspended and the expelled
Dirk shook his head. What a mess Grousammer had made of his wonderful tower. The Borstal Wing? Pah! The Dungeons of Doom – what was wrong with that? No mucking about, everyone knew where they stood with the Dungeons of Doom. They were dungeons. Where you’d probably meet your Doom. Simple.
Anyway, whatever. The sooner the
y were out of here the better. Dirk would get Sooz out of jail, see her to safety and then see whether he could persuade his mum to come with him. If she really was his mum… He was beginning to have his doubts.
At the bottom of the long, dark stairwell, they came to a dimly lit foyer where two Orc prefects guarded the entrance to the cells and torture chambers beyond, their caps askew on their heads, and their shorts stained with food and grime.
‘Greetings,’ said Dirk. ‘The headmaster wants to see the schoolghoul called Susan Black – the so-called Moon Queen.’
‘Yeah?’ said one of the Orcs. ‘Have you got one of ’em report cards wiv his signature on?’
‘I’m the Head Boy, I don’t need a pass,’ said Dirk with all the authority he could muster.
The Orcs blinked at him. He was the Head Boy. And he used to be the Dark Lord. And he sounded like he knew what he was doing. They looked at each other.
Agrash stepped forward with the tray covered in sweets. ‘’Ere you go, boys,’ he squeaked, ‘have a break!’
‘Cor, fantastic,’ said one of the Orcs.
‘Helly Babies! I love ’em,’ said the other, and they both started stuffing their faces, chomping and chewing, making horrible slurpy sounds as they did so. Orcs. What could you expect?
‘Keys,’ said Dirk, ‘where are they?’
‘Wha…?’ said one of the Orcs, his mouth full of Goodstoppers. ‘Oh, yeth, over there, onna wall…’
Agrash kept the Orcs fed, whilst Dirk picked up the keys and walked into the Borstal Wing. It was lit poorly by torches on the wall, and it was dark and dirty. Cells lined the corridor. Most were empty these days, as Grousammer preferred to use the Black Pit and some short, sharp strokes of the cane as punishment, but once the Dungeons of Doom had been bustling with prisoners.
The Headmaster of Doom Page 8
