Dark Lord, School's Out

by Jamie Thomson

  “G’night!” came the reply. Footsteps began to echo out of the far room.

  “Quick,” hissed Dirk, “in here!” They darted into an empty cell and hid. Dirk knelt down and peeked out through a thin sliver of space between door and wall. A large man, dressed in a studded leather jerkin and heavy leather pants, ambled past. Various key rings and a big club hung from his heavy leather belt. Obviously he was one of the jailers.

  After he’d gone, Dirk sat in thought for a moment or two. He turned to Chris. “We must get the keys to Sooz’s cell,” he said.

  “Well, yeah, Sherlock, but how?” said Chris.

  “A Sher Lock?” Dirk said, examining the door closely once more. “No, no, they look like standard enchanted locks to me.”

  “No, Sherlock is … Oh, it doesn’t matter, just forget I said it, okay?” said Chris.

  “All right. In that case, I will have to use the Sinister Hand, send it down to the guardroom. Try and steal the keys,” said Dirk.

  “What, after the last time? You said it’d damaged you or something, that it wasn’t safe to use anymore,” said Chris.

  “Right,” said Dirk. “It is not safe anymore, but we have no choice. What else can we do? But it is a serious risk, it could even …” His voice trailed off as if he didn’t want to consider the possible outcome.

  “But what else can we do?” he continued, as if to himself.

  “I don’t like it, Dirk. I mean, you were in real pain the last time, weren’t you?” said Chris.

  Dirk squared his shoulders, as if he’d made his mind up about something. “Yes, yes, but what’s a little pain between friends, huh?” he said with a reckless grin. With that he mumbled the words of the Sinister Hand spell, making an arcane pattern in the air with his other hand.

  Dirk gasped. His left arm fell away just below the elbow to lie on the cell floor, twitching. His face was a mask of agony. Sweat broke out on his brow. It was all he could do to keep breathing through the pain, let alone control the Sinister Hand.

  Chris stared at the hand in horrified fascination. The Sinister Hand … Yuk!

  Dirk gritted his teeth. Slowly the disembodied hand began to drag itself along the floor by its fingers, inching its way out of the cell and down the hall toward the guardroom. It was obvious that it was much harder for Dirk than it usually was and that the effort was causing him a lot of pain.

  Chris shook his head. He couldn’t bear to see Dirk like this, he had to do something. Quickly he got to his feet and picked up Dirk’s arm.

  “No, don’t do it!” hissed Dirk.

  Chris ignored him. He crept down the hall up to the half-open door of the guard room. He lay down, and gingerly poked his head around the bottom of the door. At the far end of the stone-walled room, three men sat at a big oak table, playing cards. Beside them were a pile of empty plates and a big jug of water or ale. A roaring fire filled the room with heat. There were also some shelves stacked with documents and records, but mostly it was a pretty functional guardroom.

  What interested Chris were the hooks along one wall, upon which were hung various keys, one for each cell. Chris would have been spotted immediately if he’d gone for them, but Dirk’s arm was a different matter. Chris put it down on the floor inside the room. Slowly it began to inch its way to the keys. It creeped him out how Dirk knew where to go—spirit sense or something he’d called it.

  Suddenly, one of the jailers glanced over at the door. Chris whipped his head back out of sight, heart hammering like the loud drumbeat of a hardcore dance track. He crouched outside as quiet as he could, praying that the jailer hadn’t seen him.

  But he hadn’t been spotted, no one came out to haul him off to a cell or to beat him with a heavy jailer’s club. After a few minutes, Chris heard a shallow scraping sound. Out from behind the door came Dirk’s hand, grasping a bronze key with the number “13” inlaid on it in white.

  Chris grinned in triumph, and picked up the Sinister Hand. He hurried back to the cell. Dirk was sitting by the door, slumped forward, his face pale and drenched in sweat.

  “Here,” said Chris, handing his arm back.

  “Thanks,” muttered Dirk as he took it with his other hand. Carefully he placed it back where it belonged, muttering a few more words of the spell. The flesh knitted together, but the joint was livid, raw, and red with dark, purple welts. It didn’t look right at all. In fact, it looked like it was infected.

  Dirk groaned as he got to his feet. “Can you make it?” said Chris, concerned.

  Dirk looked up at him. “Have to,” he said. “No choice.” Dirk hobbled out, holding his arm, his face screwed up in pain. They headed straight to Cell 13. Dirk tried to put the key in the top lock, but he couldn’t do it; his strength failed, and the key fell to the ground with a loud clatter. They both froze in fear … but no one came, no one heard them. Chris picked up the key. He reached up, unlocked the topmost lock. He reached down to do the middle lock, but Dirk shook his head. “Bottom lock next, or you’ll set off an alarm,” he said. Chris nodded, and reached down to open it. Then he unlocked the final lock …

  Chris pushed the door gently—it opened slowly and silently on well-oiled hinges.

  Dirk and Christopher stepped into the cell. And there was Sooz! She was huddled in a corner, trying to get as far from the door as she could, her eyes red from crying, her hair disheveled, her clothes tattered and torn, and her bare feet covered in scratches and scabs.

  Her jaw dropped at the sight of them and then her face lit up with joy. She leaped to her feet, jumping up and down on the spot excitedly. “Dirk, Dirk, I can’t believe it’s you!” she said, and then she ran up and hugged him, so hard that Dirk gasped in pain. He paused for a moment, surprised by this unexpected welcome, but then he hugged her back.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you,” she gushed.

  “Good to see you too, my little Vampire,” said Dirk affectionately. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, basically, yeah. They’ve been feeding me, but I’ve been so lonely!” Then Sooz gave him a little kiss on the cheek.

  “All right, so, Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd, huh?” said Chris crankily, unable to help himself. She hadn’t even noticed him!

  “What!” said Sooz, embarrassed, stepping away from Dirk quickly. Even Dirk straightened up, and coughed. Sooz began to blush.

  “Good to see you too, Sooz,” said Chris, sarcastically.

  Sooz didn’t notice his tone. “And you, Chris,” she said, her eyes welling up with more tears, but this time tears of joy. She gave Chris a big hug but he stood there stiff and unmoving.

  “What’s the matter?” said Sooz, puzzled.

  “What’s all this stuff about getting married to Dirk?” said Chris.

  “Oh, knock it off, Christopher,” said Dirk, holding his arm.

  “No, it’s okay. I should explain,” said Sooz. She stood there for a moment, looking embarrassed, gathering her thoughts and then said, “Well, it was the Ring, you see. When Gargon saw me, he thought you’d given me the Ring, Dirk, because … you know, as … well, you know.”

  “As an engagement ring,” said Chris.

  “Yeah, and then Agrash and the Goblins and the Orcs, they all believed it too, and that’s why they made me their queen, why they followed me, ’cause they thought I was the rightful queen, betrothed to their Dark Master and everything,” she said. “So I thought I’d better go along with it.”

  “So you’re not really engaged then?” said Chris.

  “No, of course not! I mean, why would I marry him, even if I could? I mean, duh! Don’t be a dork all your life, Christopher,” she said, looking at Dirk the whole time to see what his reaction would be. But Dirk was holding his arm in obvious pain. “What’s the matter, Dirk?” said Sooz.

  Chris blinked. They were wasting time. He was wasting time. Here they were in a cell in a dungeon, in a fantastical tower in another dimension and he was getting jealous and angry!

  “He used the Sinister Hand spell to ge
t the key to the door. But something’s gone wrong—he’s used it too many times and now it’s really hurting him, and we’ve got to get out of here,” said Chris in a rush.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” said Sooz, concerned. “How did you get here anyway?” she said.

  “Well, first of all we … Actually, it’s a long story. We’ll tell you later,” said Chris, leading her by the arm toward the exit.

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of catching up to do,” said Sooz. “I can’t believe you came to rescue me. I’m so lucky to have friends like you! I’m so happy! Not to mention thrilled to be getting out of this horrible cell!”

  “That’s nice,” said Dirk hoarsely, shuffling his way to the door, “but what happened to the Ring?”

  “I’m sorry, Dirk. Hasdruban took it from me after he ambushed my army and captured me. Ripped it from my fingers in fact, the big bully. He did say he was unable to use it, as its power was ‘infected by the Dark’ or something, so he hid it here in these very halls. If it’s any help, I heard him say ‘Put it in the Dark Reliquary’ which isn’t far actually! Oh, it’s just so good to see you both!” Sooz said.

  “Didn’t we see a sign to the Dark Reliquary?” said Chris to Dirk.

  Dirk nodded. He was hunched over, holding his arm. He looked up at Sooz and smiled. “You have changed,” he said. “You’re not just a little girl anymore, are you?”

  Sooz smiled back and shook her head. No, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She’d fought battles, governed a kingdom, been imprisoned. She had changed.

  Dirk grimaced. The pain seemed to be getting worse. Chris and Sooz frowned.

  “Come on,” said Sooz. “We can’t stay here, we’ve got to get moving.” Dirk could barely walk; they had to hold him up between them.

  “Oh, by the way,” said Dirk, shrugging off the bag on his back. “Here’s your AngelBile backpack, with your makeup and phone and everything.”

  “Wow, that’s great. Thanks, Dirk. How’d you get it?” said Sooz.

  “The nanny,” said Dirk.

  “The … the what?” said Sooz.

  “Yeah, the nanny. It’s a long story,” said Chris.

  The Lair of the White Witch

  Chris and Sooz staggered down the hall, carrying an almost unconscious Dirk between them. His arm was swelling up and the discolored purple welts were darkening and spreading toward his shoulder. It was also beginning to smell bad.

  Up ahead was a kind of crossroads, where four hallways met. Each hall was posted with signs. Straight ahead the sign read “Display Rooms and Exit.” To the right it said “To the Dormitories.” To the left it said “The Lair of the White Witch.”

  They were about to head toward the exit when suddenly, up ahead, they could hear many voices and the tramp of booted feet coming toward them.

  “Guards,” hissed Chris. “Right in front of us, by the sound of things!”

  “Well, we’d better head to the dormitories then!” said Sooz.

  “No,” groaned Dirk. “No, go left …”

  “What?” said Sooz. “To the Lair of the White Witch? That sounds a lot more dangerous than some dormitories!”

  Dirk and Chris exchanged looks. “She won’t be there,” said Chris.

  “Really? How do you know?” said Sooz.

  “We know,” said Chris, “trust me. She’s the nanny.”

  “The nanny—what in the Nine Netherworlds are you talking about?” said Sooz.

  Dirk looked up at her and smiled weakly. Nine Netherworlds, huh? It was like she was becoming part of the Darklands, taking over from him, almost as if she belonged here.

  “I’ll tell you later—but the White Witch won’t be there, honest,” said Chris.

  The marching feet were getting closer. They dragged Dirk down the hall to the left as fast as they could. The soldiers or guards or whoever they were tramped on past, heading to the Chambers of Correction.

  As they slowly made their way down the hall, Dirk suddenly gasped, “Oh!” At his feet lay his arm, unmoving and rotten looking.

  Sooz put her hand to her mouth.

  Chris stared at the arm in horrified fascination. How could it just drop off like that? And it had gone almost completely black. Chris bent down, picked it up, and handed it to Dirk. Weakly, Dirk tried to reattach it, mumbling the words of the spell, but it just fell to the floor again. Dirk stared at it in consternation.

  “Black Rot,” he said. “Bad. Very bad. Just as I feared.” His elbow and upper arm were veined with a livid dark purple color. The Black Rot was spreading. “If only I had been restored to my original form on my return, gotten all my powers back, none of this would be happening!”

  Chris picked up the arm again and handed it to Dirk. “No good,” said Dirk, shaking his head. Chris frowned. He moved to put the stinking rotten arm in Sooz’s bag but she made a face. Chris shrugged. “Well, what do you suggest? We can’t just leave it here, can we?”

  Sooz blinked and then nodded resignedly. Chris put the rotting arm into her AngelBile bag.

  “What should we do, Dirk?” he said. “What happens? I mean, will the Black Rot fade now that the arm is gone?”

  Dirk shook his head.

  “Well,” said Sooz, “what will happen?”

  “Death,” said Dirk. “Soon.”

  Chris and Sooz said together, “No!”

  Dirk smiled at that. It was nice to know someone cared. But there was nothing that could be done. He felt light-headed, and so weak. Little figures appeared to be leaping and dancing at the edge of his vision. He was getting delirious. Or were they tiny devils, waiting for him to die so they could drag him off to one of the Nine Netherworlds? But which one? Ha, they’ll have to create a special one, just for him! The Tenth Netherworld. He laughed at that, a crazy, delirious laugh.

  Chris and Sooz exchanged panicked looks. “He’s losing it,” said Chris.

  “We can’t let him die!” said Sooz. “We can’t.” Her eyes filled with tears and her lower lip began to tremble. “It would be just awful to lose him again so soon!”

  “Maybe there’s something in the White Witch’s lair that can help,” said Chris.

  “Yeah!” said Sooz, hopefully. “You never know! A witch’s brew or something.”

  Quickly they dragged the dying Dirk down the hallway until they came to a bead curtain composed entirely of little white gems. They swept it aside, revealing a white oak door, with a black plaque with the words “The White Witch of Holy Vengeance” outlined in white ink.

  “Yeah, this is it,” said Chris.

  “Really?” said Sooz, sarcastically. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, okay, very funny,” said Chris, as he pushed at the door. It wasn’t even locked and it swung open easily. Dirk was slumped between them, barely able to stand. They took him into the chamber beyond.

  It was a large circular room with a domed roof, painted in white, with pale blue or pink baseboards and trim here and there. At the top of the dome burned another miniature sun.

  Everything in the room was white and lacy. One area of the room, partitioned by a white wooden screen painted with a corny mural of a woodland scene, had a sunken bath of white marble, fed by water from an underground spring that constantly bubbled up with cold, clear water. At the far end was another door.

  They looked around in amazement.

  “Wow,” said Sooz. “This is weird! It’s all so white and … well, lame and girly! I hate it!”

  “Actually, it explains a lot,” said Chris.

  Dirk groaned. They led him over to the bed, and laid him on it. “Ugh,” Dirk mumbled, “so white. Hurts eyes …” Then he passed out, breathing shallowly and irregularly.

  Dirk and Sooz rushed over to the Witch’s workbench. There they found a cabinet of little drawers with various labels on them, like “Dried Tan-tan Berries,” “Pickled Lipweed,” “Trollbile,” “Nuclear Beans,” “Pus-wort Mushrooms,” “Ghost Spit,” “Beetle Juice,” “Powdered Fairy Farts,” and so on.
>
  “‘Nuclear Beans’! What the … ?” said Chris.

  Sooz shrugged. “I wouldn’t touch ’em if I were you.” Then she found one that said “Goblin Snot.” “Ha,” she said. “I wonder how much she’d pay for Goblin snot? I know where I can get a lot of that!”

  “Forget the ingredients,” said Chris. “We need the finished thing.”

  They searched around some more, until they found a cabinet. Inside were stacked many vials and potion bottles, full of all sorts of different-colored liquids, each one carefully labeled in white ink on black card stock.

  The potions were labeled with things like “Skimskam: For the Relief of Skim and Skam,” “Nephritising Slimeguzzler: For the Removal of Zombie Warts,” “Wish Wash: For the Righting of Wayward Wishes,” “Pink Shandygaff: Just Nice in the Morning. Warning: Do not confuse with Blue Shandygaff!” Next to it was a bottle of “Blue Shandygaff: The Laxative of Doom.” There must have been a hundred different potions and brews in that cabinet.

  “We might find what we need in here, I guess,” said Sooz.

  “Yeah,” said Chris. “Maybe Dumpsy will turn out to have been useful in the end!”

  “Dumpsy?” said Sooz. “Who is this White Witch, dude?”

  As they opened the cabinet and began to examine the potions inside, Christopher told her the whole story about Dumpsy Deary and how she’d come to earth to kill Dirk. Sooz listened avidly as they searched. She’d begun to tell Chris about her own adventures, when suddenly she gave a cry of joy. “Here, Chris, look, we’re in luck!” she said, holding up a small vial of green, glowing liquid, “Chromatic Hydromel: For the Relief of Black Rot.”

  “Fantastic!” said Chris.

  “Wait,” said Sooz, “there’s some small print.” She read it out loud. “‘Note: will not cure Black Rot, but will relieve symptoms for a short time.’ Oh dear. Quick, see if there’s any more.”

  They searched, but that seemed to be the only bottle.

  “Oh, well,” said Chris. “It’s better than nothing!” They rushed over to where Dirk was lying and put the vial to his lips. He began to cough and gag as they poured the contents down his throat.