Dark Lord, School's Out

by Jamie Thomson

  “Not good, Christopher, you won’t die, but you’ll get turned into … Anyway, best we just take what we’ve got, believe me. Come on, we’d better go while we still can,” said Dirk under his breath so that Foletto couldn’t hear him.

  “But what about the boots?” said Christopher.

  “We have to give them up,” hissed Dirk, grabbing Christopher by the arm.

  “What? How will we get home without the boots? And take your hands off me, you … you betrayer! How could you do that to me? I was nearly killed! It was terrifying!” shouted Chris angrily, as a little Skirrit guard pointed the way down a hall.

  “But you didn’t get killed, did you? And we got what we wanted in the end—safe passage to the Darklands for both of us,” said Dirk, following the little guard.

  “Got what you wanted, you mean! Look at me, I’m wearing pink underpants, and I smell like dung! It’s horrible!”

  “I know, I know,” said Dirk, laughing and wrinkling his nose up in disgust at the same time, “but it was worth it, believe me. Not to mention the fact that I managed to get out of a bad deal I’d made with Foletto back on earth! Clean slate and everything, and it cost me virtually nothing!”

  “Oh, worth it for you, sure! And how did you know about that freaked-out Neph what’s his name and the innocent sacrifice thing?” said Chris angrily.

  “Well, I met him once, a long time ago. He’s actually the ruler of one of the Nine Netherworlds. I wasn’t entirely sure, but the whole sin/purity thing seemed likely,” said Dirk.

  “What? You weren’t even sure I’d survive? How could you, you … You total … You total nitwit!” said Chris, so angry he could hardly speak.

  “What, nitwit as in Lord High Nitwit to the court of Henry VIII?” Dirk snapped.

  Chris just blinked for a moment. “No, not that kind of nitwit. Umm … Anyway, the real nitwit; you know what I mean!”

  “Indeed I do,” said Dirk happily. “Did you really think you could fool me so easily?”

  Behind them, Foletto the Skirrit King stood despondently, listening to their banter, a puzzled look on his face. The last thing he heard was Dirk’s loud “Mwah, ha, ha!” echoing down the hall. Foletto sighed. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but what he did know was that he was glad to see the back of them.

  Home Is Where the Heart Is … On Your Pink UnderPants

  It was dawn. A light breeze murmured through the trees that overlooked the garden of the abandoned farmhouse, abandoned very recently, by the look of it. The wind brought with it a mild odor of spice—a whiff of cinnamon mixed with the briny tang of the sea, the unmistakable scent of a foreign land, a land that was not earth.

  Suddenly, a circle of light appeared in the air, hanging a couple of feet off the ground. It flashed with ruby light for a moment, and then it went black, coal black. An arm emerged from the empty blackness, followed by a leg, and then a head and a body, and a human child fell forward to the ground. Another, dressed only in pink underpants, came after the first, to land on top of him with a wet, slapping sound. Behind them, the black, interdimensional portal (for that is what it was) flicked out in an instant, gone forever.

  “Ugh!” shouted Dirk. “You got Goonut paste on me, you Orc-brained lackwit!”

  “Sorry, sorry,” said Chris, “but it’s your fault I’m covered in it, so there! Eat it!”

  “What? I am not Nephthos! I refuse to eat it! Peanut butter, yes; Goonut butter, never—it smells like dung, and so do you!” said Dirk, pushing Christopher off him.

  “No, no, ‘eat it’—like, take that, you deserve it, you know, like, suck it up!” said Chris, getting to his feet and looking around.

  “Suck it up? What are you saying?” said Dirk.

  “You know, like … Oh, never mind,” said Chris with a smile. But then his face fell and a tear came to his eye. “My mom used to say it to Dad, when, when she beat him at chess. I miss home!”

  “Well, I am home, Christopher. This is my world,” said Dirk. He was running his hands up and down his arms, inspecting his legs and body as he said this.

  “What are you doing?” said Chris.

  “Just checking. I had hoped I would revert to my original, powerful form,” replied Dirk, “but it appears I am still in the form of a human child. Hasdruban’s enchantment was strong indeed.”

  “Your original form? What’s that like? Like a grown man or something?” said Chris innocently.

  Dirk just stared at him for a moment. “On second thought, perhaps it is just as well I have not,” said Dirk.

  “That bad, huh?” said Chris with a grin.

  “You have no idea!” Dirk said. “I suspect the only way that I could regain that form is to drink from the Essence of Evil once more.”

  “You mean that revolting black oily stuff the White Thingy of Whatsit lapped up back in that parking lot?” said Chris.

  “You mean the White Beast of Retribution? Yes, that’s the one,” said Dirk. Then he took a few deep breaths, savoring the exotic smell. He heaved a great sigh. “I have striven for so long to get back, and here I am at last! It is good to be home, it is good indeed!”

  Dirk began to gesture oddly with his hands, making patterns in the air. Then he muttered something odd, staring at Christopher avidly the whole time.

  Chris stared back.

  “What was that all about?” he said.

  “I was trying a spell. But it hasn’t worked,” he said, gazing at the top of Chris’s head.

  “What spell?” said Chris nervously.

  “The Charm of Sudden Baldness,” said a distracted Dirk, deep in thought.

  Chris felt for his hair, his face paling with outrage.

  “You tried it on me! How could you?”

  Dirk shook his head. “Don’t worry, I didn’t think it would work, it doesn’t feel right. I was hoping that all my spells and power would come back to me here in the Darklands, but it hasn’t.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that, but you can’t just practice on me, you know, I’m not some kind of guinea pig!”

  “Actually, you are an excellent guinea pig, Christopher, but that’s not the point. I can only assume that my magic is somehow tied to my form. This body is just not suited to the casting of certain magic spells, I guess.”

  But Chris wasn’t really listening anymore. His jaw had dropped open in amazement—he was staring up into the sky over Dirk’s shoulder. Dirk followed his gaze.

  “What is it, Chris, is something wrong?” said Dirk. “Eagle Riders, is that it?”

  “No, no … It’s … umm. There are two moons, Dirk, two moons!” said Chris.

  “Well, yes, there’ve always been two moons. We call that pale one the Dark Moon of Sorrows and that red sickly-looking one the Blood Moon. Though the Commonwealth of so-called Good Folk call them the Eye of Tranquility and the Sky Rose. Typical lackluster goody-goody names if you ask me.”

  “It’s the weirdness of it all,” he said. “You know, the smells, the colors—the moons! Everywhere so different to earth—it’s kind of scary! I’ve got no idea what to expect next. I’m scared. Scared of the unknown and all that.”

  “I know, I know,” said Dirk, resting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “But don’t worry, I am here. I know this world inside out, it’s mine! I’ll protect you, fear not. And this isn’t like the other places we’ve visited, it’s not so dangerous, it’s a bit more like earth. Well, relatively speaking, that is.”

  Chris started to feel better after hearing that. Until Dirk added without thinking, “I mean, having said that, it is still far more dangerous than earth, of course.”

  Chris raised his eyes. Dirk was so insensitive sometimes.

  “So, how did you cope when you fell to Earth for the first time?” said Chris.

  “Well, I didn’t actually panic or anything, of course, not like you. Although I was pretty confused. Instead, I decided I’d conquer the place.”

  Chris chuckled at that, which made him feel a lot
better. “Conquer the earth? Typical!”

  Dirk lifted his hand from Chris’s shoulder. His hand was covered in Goonut butter. He couldn’t help himself and he sniffed it without thinking.

  “Ugh,” he said, wrinkling up his nose in disgust.

  Christopher burst out laughing. “The Great Conqueror returns, huh!” said Christopher. “I shall destroy you all, just as soon as I’ve cleaned this stinky stuff off my fingers,” he said in a passable imitation of Dirk’s best imperial voice.

  Dirk smiled sarcastically. “All right, now that you’ve recovered,” he said, “let’s see what we can do about getting cleaned up. We’ll start with that old farmhouse.”

  As they walked over to the farmhouse door, Chris asked, “So, where are we exactly? Near your part of the world?”

  “No,” said Dirk. “We are in the Commonwealth of the Good Folk, not far from the White Tower. That’s where they’ve got Sooz.”

  “But isn’t that where Hasdruban lives too?”

  “Yes, it is, but we must take that risk. Though in fact, in many ways, we are in the perfect disguise—two innocent little human children, so actually it is doubly better that I did not revert to my original form.”

  As they walked up to the entrance of the abandoned farmhouse, they saw nailed to the door a piece of paper that read:

  By order of Hasdruban the Pure and

  the Blessed Tribunal of Incriminators:

  The inhabitants of this house have been incriminated

  in heresy and arrested. All their goods and properties have been confiscated.

  “Ha! Heresy indeed. Ridiculous. Why doesn’t he just lock people up, steal their stuff, and be done with it, instead of dressing it up with all this legal pretense,” said Dirk, shaking his head as he pushed the door open.

  The farmhouse had been stripped of almost everything, but they did find a still-functioning water pump, which they used to wash the stinky Goonut butter off. They also found some stale bread and cheese, which was a welcome relief, as they hadn’t eaten for a while, and some clothes for Christopher to wear—a simple brown linen shirt and pants, and a pair of old wooden clogs.

  “Ugh! I look like some kind of mutant Pinocchio!” said Chris.

  “Who is Pinocchio?” said Dirk.

  “A kind of wooden puppet who could talk and … Oh never mind, the point is that I look ridiculous!”

  “Actually, you don’t. You look normal for this part of the world. It’s me that looks out of place, with my jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers.”

  “Humph,” said Chris. “Why am I always the normal one?”

  “I guess because you are, my friend,” said Dirk with a laugh. “Anyway, it is time to go; the White Tower is not far, perhaps an hour’s walk at most.”

  They set off together following a path that led out of the farm. “Interesting idea though, that talking puppet of yours,” said Dirk. “What if we made an army of such creatures? What damage could they wreak?”

  Christopher looked over at Dirk and shook his head in amused despair.

  “What? What’s wrong with an army of puppet monsters? Come on, it’s a great idea!” said Dirk.

  “You haven’t seen the movie, have you?” said Chris.

  “No, no. What’s that got to do with it?” said Dirk.

  And so the conversation went …

  The White Tower

  Dirk and Christopher had left the old farmhouse behind them some time ago. They were making their way down the main road of a bustling market town called Magus Falls. On either side of them were stores, restaurants, houses, and so on. It wasn’t a big town, like the sprawling metropolis that was Gam, the City of Men, but it was sizable enough, its primary purpose being to serve the various needs of the White Tower. Most of the restaurants had names like “The Wizard’s Retreat” or “The Beard and the Staff,” or “Inn of the White Eyebrows.” They served beer like “Purewhite Wheat Beer” or “Hasdruban’s Hoppy Harvest Ale.”

  Dirk was glaring about him in disgust. “Toadying lickspittles,” he hissed. “Look how they suck up to that meddling fanatic! Bah!”

  But Chris was looking around in awed wonder—it was almost as if he’d stepped into one of those computer role-playing games he was so fond of, like Battlecraft or The Dungeons of Death. Except here there were no save games, no reloads, no healing potions or spells, and death was real and permanent. Also, he was like a first-level player, with no powers or special abilities whatsoever and with maybe five hit points, possibly less! Chris gulped nervously.

  Fortunately, nobody took much notice of them—they were just two more kids walking down the street, going about their own business.

  “Ha, if only they knew who I really was! That they had the Dark Lord himself in their very midst, then they’d tremble in their boots, the fawning knee benders!” muttered Dirk.

  After a short while, they left the town on a wide paved road that led up into some low hills. On top of one of the hills rose the White Tower, gleaming so brightly in the sunlight it actually hurt their eyes. Around its base various buildings were scattered—barracks, courthouses, a drill square, and other administrative or military structures. As they drew nearer, they could see that the Tower was thin and tall, and almost featureless. The walls were of smooth polished white stone and there appeared to be no windows at all. On top of the Tower was a multifaceted polygonal structure made entirely of glass, held together with white-painted steel girders. A great sky telescope poked out of the top, pointing upward to the heavens.

  A regular stream of traffic was traveling to and from the Tower. Supply wagons, soldiers, messengers, tourists, merchants, petitioners, litigants, monks, priests, sorcerers, and so on. One group of what looked like pilgrims or monks were whipping themselves with ropes, and wailing “We are not worthy! We are not worthy!” and “All praise the White Wizard! We suffer for him as he suffers for us” and stuff like that.

  “Bah! Fools!” said Dirk. “If they want to be whipped, they should come and see me. I’d put ’em to work in the Slave Pits, where they’d get whipped for free!”

  Christopher frowned. “You have slave pits?” he said. “With actual slaves? And you whip them?”

  Dirk glanced over at him. “Goblins and Orcs need to be whipped,” he said automatically, but then he thought better of it and said, “Umm … Used to, I mean! We used to have slaves. In the old days—umm, you know, like you used to on earth. Before health and safety and workers’ rights. It’s all modernized now, of course.” Dirk rubbed his jaw, thinking to himself. He’d have to hide the Slave Pits of Never-Ending Toil from Chris, obviously, should they ever return to the Iron Tower. In fact, he’d have to hide a lot of things.

  “So, no more slaves, then?” said Chris.

  “No, no, no more slaves!” said Dirk breezily. “Ah, look, we’re nearly there,” he said, changing the subject.

  As they approached the White Tower, they saw that the entrance was flanked by two vast jackal-headed statues.

  “What are they?” said Chris in awed tones.

  “The Watchers at the Gate, ever-vigilant guardians of the Portal of the White Tower.”

  “What do you mean ‘ever vigilant’? Are they like alive or something?” said Chris.

  “Well, sort of. Enchanted certainly,” said Dirk. “They are ever alert, ever on guard against evil.”

  “Won’t they know who you are though, Dirk? I mean, it was probably built because of you, right?”

  “Well, the Watchers at the Gate can sense evil, it’s true, but you have no evil in you to speak of, Chris, and my Essence of Evil was taken by the White Beast. So, to the Watchers, we will be two ordinary human children, nothing special at all. Hopefully.”

  “Wait a minute, you can walk through the Watchers at the Gate but you can’t wear the Voyager Boots? What’s all that about?”

  “Ah well, the Watchers can’t be as sensitive as the Boots, can they? I mean, if they were, half of these people couldn’t enter the Tower, could they?” s
aid Dirk, waving a hand at the long line waiting to get in. “And certainly not those little fascists, the Holy Incriminators! They say they’re holy, but let me tell you, what they do is evil, really evil! You see, Chris, most people just aren’t as nice as you are, it’s as simple as that. Give it time, though, give it time. I’m working on it!”

  “What, you mean like trying to make everyone as nice as me?” said Chris.

  “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, the other way around, of course!” said Dirk.

  Chris smiled weakly at him. Dirk went on. “And also, from the Watchers’ point of view, we’re just kids. After all, what could two boys do to the White Wizard in his White Tower, huh?”

  “Well, he’s about to find out, isn’t he?” muttered Christopher under his breath.

  “Yes, indeed he is, my stalwart friend, indeed he is!” said Dirk, impressed with Chris’s spirit.

  Christopher spotted a group of schoolchildren, much the same as schoolchildren back home (i.e., noisy, troublesome, and vaguely Goblinish), dressed in tunics, little round caps, and woolen pants of blue and white. They were carrying parchments and quills instead of pens and notebooks. The similarities with modern earth schoolkids were striking, though none of them had any dyed hair, earrings, nose rings, cell phones, iPads, laptops, big chunky Goth boots, bags with band names on them or designer labels, or handheld gaming devices. They were led by a big fat stodgy old teacher, with a silly hat and a thin white cane, which he used to hit the kids with when they were naughty. Another big difference, Christopher thought!

  Dirk and Chris waited for them to come by and then sort of attached themselves to the rear of the group. No one really noticed, so they followed the school party into the Tower. As they passed beneath the statues of the Watchers, Dirk’s skin began to crawl. He half expected that the alarm would be given and swarms of paladins, Holy Incriminators, and Tower guards would appear to take him away to the Chambers of Correction underneath the Tower. But nothing happened.

  Lining the entranceway stood guards wearing shiny steel armor with great white shields held in front of them. Dirk eyed them suspiciously. Paladins of the Order of the White Shields. They stood there, legs apart, hands on the tops of their shields, unmoving, except for their heads, which turned back and forth constantly as they scanned the crowds for signs of wrongdoing, heresy, or evil.