That had been the day before. This morning, Dirk had actually been summoned by Christopher, the Holy One, for a ‘strategy meeting’ with Sooz, Rufino and Rosapina.
Summoned by Christopher? It’s usually me who does the summoning, he thought to himself. But still, here he was in the White Tower, and Chris was now the White Wizard. Or the Holy One, as the do-gooding dupes of the Commonwealth called him. It was Chris’s domain, technically.
Dirk sighed. It was nearly time for the meeting, but right now he was staring out of the window. He was feeling rather sad. Next to him, Dave the Storm Crow, echoing his master’s mood, also stared out of the window forlornly. A tear welled up in Dirk’s eye just as there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ said Dirk.
Sooz opened the door and walked in. Dirk looked up at her, his lower lip wobbling.
‘Dirk! What’s wrong?’ said Sooz, stepping up to him and putting an arm around his shoulders. This was the second time in as many days that she’d seen Dirk almost cry. This was unheard of!
‘It’s Mum,’ said Dirk.
‘But she was fake, she wasn’t your mum. It was a mean trick by nasty old Grousammer,’ said Sooz.
‘I know, but don’t you see? It means my mum, my real mum, really is dead. Proper dead and buried. For a moment there I believed she’d come back, but it was all make believe.’
‘Oh, I see. Poor Dirk,’ said Sooz.
‘It’s like I’m having to mourn her all over again,’ he muttered.
‘Ah, there, there, Dirk,’ said Sooz solicitously, and she kissed him on the top of his head.
‘Hey, do you mind!’ said Dirk, shrugging her arm off. ‘It’s not that bad!’
‘All right, all right, keep your hair on,’ said Sooz, folding her arms and looking rather peeved.
‘Keep my hair…on?’ said Dirk, patting the top of his head. ‘What do you mean, is it falling off or something? Did you curse it with a vampire’s kiss?’
‘No, of course not! Oh never mind, you annoying…you little…you annoying boy!’ said Sooz.
‘Eh?’ said a bemused Dirk.
‘Oh, never mind, let’s go. We’ve got a meeting, haven’t we?’ said Sooz, and off she marched, her big Goth boots stomping along.
What have I done now? thought Dirk to himself as he followed her out.
Moments later, he was walking into Christopher’s room. Rufino, Rosapina and Chris were waiting for him. As soon as Dirk crossed the threshold, Christopher stood up angrily and pointed a finger at Dirk.
‘You lied to me!’ said Chris. ‘My mother was never kidnapped!
‘And your point is?’ said Dirk.
‘Well…umm…you’re a lying liar!’ said Chris,
‘Uh-huh. And?’ said Dirk.
Chris shook his head. ‘Oh, what’s the use? You’ll never understand,’ he said.
‘It’s beyond his limited understanding. He only thinks of himself and his schemes,’ said Sooz waspishly.
‘Hey, I was only trying to help!’ said Dirk.
‘Help yourself get back on your throne, more like!’ said Sooz.
Dirk stared at Sooz, for once lost for words. By the Nine Hells, it seemed he’d managed to make all his friends angry with him, thought Dirk. What’s the matter with them? Or was it him? No…no, of course not, it couldn’t be him, could it?
‘We don’t have time for this. Come, sit,’ said Rosapina, following the exchange with wide eyes. ‘We must discuss strategy.’
Sooz and Dirk sat down.
‘So, to summarise,’ began Rosapina, ‘we are at war with the Darklands. Again. They have allied with the Clans of the Undead. They are massing on the Borderlands, with Orcs, Goblins, ghouls, zombies and vampires. We can expect a night assault very soon and we can expect that assault to be augmented with earth technology. Is there anyway we can get any earth weapons ourselves?’
‘Not really,’ said Dirk. ‘Grousammer has had much longer than us to prepare and in any case, he has sealed off the planes, so we cannot get to earth even if we wanted to – only a Storm Crow can.’
‘Is there anything you could teach us in the meantime?’ said Rosapina.
Dirk blinked. ‘Actually, yes. I’ve learned about gunpowder and ballistics and stuff. Except… well, we probably haven’t got enough time.’
‘You are wasting what time there is,’ said Chris, his face back to the serene peace usually associated with the Holy One. As long as he wasn’t angry at Dirk, that was.
‘What do you mean?’ said Dirk.
‘War is evil. Violence is wrong. We must make peace,’ said Christopher.
‘We’ve tried that, several times, your Holiness,’ said Rosapina. ‘Every proposal has been rejected. We even offered to cede them the Borderlands if they’d send the dead home and make peace.’
‘Grousammer does not want peace. He knows he can win. He wants war!’ said Rufino.
‘We just haven’t offered him the right terms yet,’ said Christopher.
‘Short of half of us killing ourselves, the other half offering up their necks to the Lords of Sunless Keep, and handing over the entire Commonwealth to this Headmaster of Doom, I can’t think of any terms he would accept!’ said Rufino.
‘You just need to get me a face-to-face meeting with Grousammer. I’m sure I can persuade him,’ said Chris.
Rufino and Rosapina looked at Chris. Despite their objections, his aura of holy goodness made them want to believe it was possible. Even Sooz looked like she wanted to believe.
To Dirk, though, it sounded absurd. Grousammer had the upper hand, why should he negotiate?
‘We’ve suggested a face-to-face meeting under a flag of truce, but the Dark Lord refused…’ said Rosapina.
‘Hey, don’t call him that! I’m the real Dark Lord, he’s just the Headmaster of Doom, or whatever he wants to call himself,’ said Dirk.
‘Sorry, sorry, as you wish,’ said Rosapina.
‘Are you really sure you could persuade him, though?’ said Sooz to Chris. ‘If you sat down with him? Last time it didn’t work out like that. There was a huge fight!’
‘I know,’ said Chris, ‘but he attacked my friend, set me off. This time it’ll be a flag of truce. I can talk him round. He will see the wisdom of my words and the truth in my heart.’
‘All very well, but what’s the point if you can’t even set up a meeting?’ said Dirk.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe the problem is the person doing the asking. What if you were the intermediary, if you tried to set it up? I mean, you’re both…well, dark, right?’ said Chris.
‘Hah! Don’t be ridiculous, Grousammer hates me more than…’ Dirk paused. He put a hand up to his chin. ‘Wait a minute…’ His eyes began to glaze over. He reached into his pocket with his other hand, and felt for the other Anathema Crystal Hasdruban had left for him. He rolled it round in his hand.
‘Hmmm…’ he muttered.
Rosapina was about to say something but Rufino put a hand on her arm. ‘Hold on. He’s plotting,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s see what he comes up with.’
Dirk’s face lit up with an evil grin and he chuckled. Not a ‘Mwah, hah, hah’ but an actual almost human-sounding chuckle.
‘I know – let’s invite him to tea!’ said Dirk.
Dirk put the finishing touches to the message and strapped it to Dave’s leg. ‘There you go, Dave, fly to the Iron Tower and deliver it to that fraudulent old frog, the Headmaster of Doom!’
Dave the Storm Crow squawked loudly and flew like an arrow out of Dirk’s room.
Well, then, he thought to himself, the hook is cast! This is what he had sent:
My Dear Grousammer,
You Are Cordially Invited To Afternoon Tea
With The White Wizard. Christopher
A couple of hours later, Dave the Storm Crow flew back through the window to land on Dirk’s shoulder with a more tired squawk. Dirk peeled off the message wrapped around his leg, and then gave him some Wormy Wy
rms from his jar, and a saucer of milk to which he’d added a little pepper. Dave loved pepper.
Dirk unfurled the reply from Grousammer.
Dirk Lloyd,
Have you any idea how many school rules you have broken? Absent without leave, stealing livestock from the school stables, playing truant, disobeying your headmaster, not stopping when asked to by a prefect, walking on the quadrangle grass, running in the corridor, trespassing in the Borstal Wing … I could go on! I take a dim view of your antics, my boy, a dim view, I tell you! And now, what is this new flim-flammery? Afternoon tea? It seems far too civilised for a boy of your troubled background. I must confess it is intriguing but what would be the point?
Hercules Grousammer,
The Headmaster of Doom, rightful Dark
Lord and Master of the Darklands.
Dirk grinned his evil grin. Nearly got him. He knew Grousammer, knew his snobby, retro-loving heart. He pulled out the next invitation he had made, just for this occasion.
Vintage Tea and Cakes!
In Our Royal Pavillion, just like the Ritz or
the Savoy back home in the 1950s
He added another note and just to round it off, signed it as Chris.
My Dear Grousammer,
There’s nothing like vintage tea and cakes, 1950s style! We’ll set up a Royal Pavillion in the Borderlands and serve the best vintage high tea ever. It’ll be like you really were at the Ritz or the Savoy back on earth! And then we can discuss the situation and whether we can reach common ground.
Yours honestly,
Christopher Purejoie, the White Wizard
Dirk wrapped the paper around Dave’s leg. The Storm Crow was staring at him. He cocked his head and squawked as if to say, ‘Really? Another one?’
Dirk shrugged. ‘I’m afraid so, Dave, but this is the last one, I promise.’
Dave squawked and hopped from foot to foot, looking for all the world like an angry Sooz. He ruffled his feathers but finally flew out of the window once more, still squawking in outrage.
Dirk waited. He went outside and took a walk in the White Tower with Sooz. The garden was quite beautiful – full of pretty flowers and heavenly scents, little arboreal nooks and blossoming crannies. Sooz and Dirk paused in front of a magnificent white rose bush.
‘Wrong colour,’ said Dirk.
‘Yeah,’ said Sooz. ‘Imagine if they were all black roses.’
‘Right – that’d be cool, maybe some of them with the occasional blood red petal too.’
‘Hah, nice!’ said Sooz and they smiled at each other.
Out of the sky came Dave the Storm Crow, squawking in fatigue, breaking up their nice little moment together. He landed on Dirk’s shoulder and slumped there. Dirk reached up and stroked his feathers.
‘Well done, my Storm Crow, well done. You can have some worms and we’ll get you some of those biscuits from the wizard’s lobby,’ said Dirk.
Dave crowed in appreciation as Sooz unwrapped the message from his leg.
Greetings, White Wizard,
I have to admit your offer of High Tea sounds rather darkly delightful. I’m not sure that we have much to discuss but I do feel at home with the trappings of the upper classes and their superior manners. A little bit of ‘tea at the Ritz’ here in the Darklands sounds very pleasant indeed. It’s where I belong really, in a high-class establishment, having afternoon tea. Don’t you agree? Anyway, my terms – you and me, no more than three retainers each and a full spread of vintage tea and cakes. See you tomorrow in the Borderlands!
Hercules Grousammer,
The Headmaster of Doom, rightful Dark
Lord and Master of the Darklands
‘Hah, hah, he’s gone for it. I knew the deluded snob wouldn’t be able to resist it!’ said Dirk.
‘But for what?’ said Sooz. ‘Isn’t this just peace talks?’
‘You’ll see, Sooz, you’ll see!’ said Dirk with a mischievous wink.
‘Look, Dirk, if this goes wrong it could mean the death of thousands of people – millions, if they get to earth! You do realise that, don’t you?’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, Sooz, I’ve got this covered,’ said Dirk.
‘Riiight…’ said Sooz. ‘Just tell me the plan, and I’ll be the judge of that.’
‘Best not to,’ said Dirk. ‘The less everyone knows the better, or they might give it away.’
‘Give it away? Why would any of us do that?’ said Sooz.
‘Not deliberately! No, by accident, with the wrong expression or just saying something in the wrong way,’ said Dirk.
‘We’re that stupid, are we? Is that what you’re saying?’ said an irritated-sounding Sooz.
‘No, no, honestly, it’s just that sort of plan. Anyone could give it away, even me, so it’s best to keep the knowledge of it down to a minimum,’ said Dirk.
Sooz crossed her arms. ‘You’d better get this right, Dirk. You really had better.’
It was a glorious summer’s day, and the Royal Pavilion had been set up in a pleasant meadow near a small wood in the Borderlands. Birdsong sounded from the trees and the sun blazed down, soothing all who felt its touch into a drowsy torpor.
Inside the pavilion, a magnificent high tea was laid out on a round table covered in an embroidered damask cloth, with pure silver utensils, cake stands and cruets, and white bone china tea pots and plates beautifully engraved in gold. There were platters of sandwiches, several sorts of cake and a selection of teas.
At the table sat the White Wizard, also called the Holy One, Christopher Purejoie. Behind him stood his retainers, the Paladin Rufino, the Moon Queen Susan Black and Dirk Lloyd, the boy with a chequered past.
At the opposite edge of the table sat Hercules Grousammer, the Headmaster of Doom and the Dark Lord of the Iron Tower. Behind him stood his retainers, the Black Hag, Skabber Stormfart and Oksana, the Dread Mistress of the Underworld – or at least Lucina, the shape-changing Lamia, pretending to be her.
Outside, birds sang in the trees, and bees buzzed in the sunlight. Flies gathered around Skabber.
Dirk stood with arms folded. ‘Before we start, do you mind?’ he said, gesturing irritably at his mother.
‘What?’ said Grousammer, turning to look up at her. ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ he said with a sly grin, and he waved his hand. ‘Oksana’ reverted to her normal form as a Lamia, snake-bodied and woman-headed. She smiled at Dirk, chuckling a sibilant chuckle. Grousammer sniggered and the Black Hag cackled.
‘Yes, yes, you fooled me, very funny. Now, can we get on with it, please?’ said Dirk.
‘Of course,’ said Grousammer, ‘let’s have tea!’
Rufino leant forward, pointing to the various pots and plates. ‘This is the best tea set in the Commonwealth,’ said Rufino. ‘It dates back seven hundred years to the rule of Pollus the Polite, a particularly cultured wizard who loved his high teas.’
‘I remember him,’ said Dirk, ‘he… ah… actually…’ His voice tailed off.
The Black Hag leant forward and whispered something into the headmaster’s ear.
‘Aha!’ said Grousammer. ‘The Lady Grieve tells me that you, Dirk Lloyd, when you were the Dark Lord, put something into his tea, and knocked him out!’
‘Did I? Really? Well that was so long ago – I was a different person then, really I was!’ said Dirk.
The headmaster narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘You wouldn’t be so stupid as to try that again now, would you?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ said Dirk, shaking his head.
Rufino tried to change the subject. ‘And this plate, my Lord,’ said Rufino, picking up a beautifully glazed plate engraved with gold, ‘once belonged to Eructator the Engineer, the wizard who built the White Tower, hundreds of years ago.’
‘Shall I smash plate, sir?’ said Skabber Stormfart with a gormless Orcish chuckle.
Grousammer turned to him, annoyed. ‘No you won’t smash it, you mindless cretin! It’s far too valuable.’
Skabb
er flinched visibly at the ticking off and rubbed his buttocks.
Rufino glanced over with a querulous look. ‘Must you do that?’ he muttered.
‘My bum’s sore,’ mumbled Skabber. ‘Six of the best!’ And he nodded at the Headmaster of Doom.
‘What did you do?’ Rufino hissed back.
‘He failed in his duty, is what he did! Failed to stop that wretched boy riding away,’ said the Dark Headmaster, gesturing at Dirk with his cane. ‘On a stolen horse, I might add!’
‘I sent the horse back,’ said Dirk, defiantly. ‘And anyway, it’s not your horse, it’s mine!’
Grousammer surged to his feet. ‘When will it sink in, you odious little anarchist? You are not the Dark Lord here any more, I am, and you are nothing but an insignificant boy of maleficent provenance!’
‘Insignificant! I am the rightful ruler of all that you have taken. I built it myself, with these hands,’ shouted Dirk.
Chris made a face at that, as if to say, ‘Well, technically…’ but Grousammer pre-empted him.
‘Enough of this! What was I thinking? I’m wasting my time here. Come, let us go – soon we will unleash the zomboy apocalypse upon them and all this will seem like an absurd dream!’
‘Zombie!’ said Dirk. ‘Zombie apocalypse.’
As Grousammer was turning to go, Chris rose to his feet. ‘Wait. Wait, Headmaster, you must listen to what I have to say, the fate of all our peoples hangs in the balance!’
‘Hah, there is no balance, you are doomed to fail, and we to triumph, your people will die as slaves and earth will feed the numberless hordes of the dead that the Clans will become! And I will rule over all. There is nothing more to be said,’ boomed the Headmaster of Doom.
Dirk put a hand to his mouth. Had he blown it by losing his temper like that? His plan was beginning to slip out of his control. What an idiot he was, provoking Grousammer like that.
The Headmaster of Doom Page 10
