Dark Lord, School's Out

by Jamie Thomson

  He then slumped back, asleep, though at least now his breathing was a little more regular.

  “I guess that’s all we can do for now. We’ll have to let him rest for a while,” said Chris.

  “We should search her desk, see if she has a recipe book for potions. If we find a way of making Chromatic Hydromel ourselves, we can keep Dirk alive forever!” said Sooz.

  They rummaged through the White Witch’s desk but could find nothing. Behind them someone coughed. They turned—it was Dirk, up on his feet at last.

  “So, the Lair of the White Witch,” he said, looking around, squinting against the bright white glare.

  “Dirk, how are you?” said Christopher.

  “My arm stump is sore, but other than that, I am well,” he said. “For now. I’m guessing you found a Chromatic Hydromel potion?”

  “Yes, Dirk,” said Sooz, “but there was only one and now we’re trying to find a recipe so we can make another.”

  “Very admirable of you, but unfortunately I doubt that she would keep a written record, at least not one that she doesn’t keep with her at all times. A witch’s recipes are her most precious secrets; she won’t leave them lying around.”

  “But if we can’t make another … well … you’ll … I mean …” Sooz couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

  “I’ll die. Indeed,” said Dirk. “It could happen at any time, there is no real way of knowing. I have a day at most, if I’m lucky.”

  Tears welled up in Sooz’s eyes. “No,” she said. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, Dirk,” she said, “Not after we just found each other again!”

  “Me neither, I don’t …,” Dirk began to say, but then he paused, frowning in puzzlement. He reached up with his good hand, and brushed a tear from his own eye.

  “What’s this?” he said. “A tear? How …”

  “You’re crying,” said Chris.

  “What? Me?” said Dirk.

  Sooz smiled through her tears. “You’re crying because you’ll miss me and Chris,” she said. “Because you don’t want to say good-bye to your friends.”

  Dirk raised an eyebrow. “Bah, don’t be absurd! I’m just feeling sorry for myself. And I cry for the world, because it will be losing me, my genius, my creativity, oh, how the world will suffer when I die!” he said, his voice rising maniacally at the end.

  Sooz and Chris looked at each other and raised their eyes. “He’s certainly feeling a lot better, isn’t he?” said Christopher.

  “Yup, just like his old self,” said Sooz, shaking her head.

  “Anyway,” said Chris, “we need to save you Dirk, I mean we’ve got to, after all, for the sake of the world, right?”

  Dirk frowned. Was that sarcasm? Again?

  “So, other than the Chromatic potion, how do you stop the Black Rot?” said Chris.

  Dirk rubbed his jaw. “Short of some kind of polymorph or shape-changing spell—of which I am currently unaware—well … hmm … nothing comes to mind,” he said. He shook his head in despair.

  “What about the Tower?” said Sooz. “Could there be a Hydromel recipe in the Dark Library?”

  “Yes, it’s possible, there could be a copy of the recipe in there somewhere. Actually, it’s got thousands of years of accumulated knowledge—we might even find a cure!”

  “How long would it take us to get there?” said Chris.

  “Maybe a week, maybe quicker if we could find a magical shortcut,” said Dirk. “It’ll have to be quicker; I’ll be dead way before a week’s out.”

  “There’s a problem even if we can get there fast enough. The Tower of the Moon—I mean the Iron Tower—is under siege. In fact, they may have surrendered already,” said Sooz. “Besieged by a small army. If we could get there, maybe rescue them, we could …”

  “Rescue who?” said Dirk.

  “My friends, Gargon, Agrash, Skabber, and Rufino, and my people,” said Sooz.

  “Your people? My people, you mean!” said Dirk, irritated.

  “Oh yes, of course, your people, that’s what I meant,” said Sooz diplomatically. But Dirk didn’t seem to be listening anymore. He was coughing too much. After a moment or two the coughing subsided. “What … What was I saying?” he muttered. He stared at the floor, swaying. He still wasn’t well, not well at all.

  “It doesn’t matter. We have to get out of here, try and find a way to the Tower,” said Chris worriedly.

  Dirk shook his head to clear it. “Yes, indeed,” he said, a little more like his old self, “but not before we make a few adjustments first! Sooz, find yourself some shoes and fresh clothes. Chris and I will sabotage the bed!”

  “Sabotage the … What do you mean?” said Chris.

  Dirk winked. “You know, a few pointy hairbrushes, in the bottom of her bed. A little welcoming present for Clumsy Dreary, should she ever return!”

  “Ha,” laughed Chris. “Good idea!” Together they set about remaking her bed, while Sooz ransacked the White Witch’s wardrobe.

  A short while later, the three of them stepped out of the Witch’s Lair into yet another hallway. Sooz was dressed in a lacy white dress, though she’d managed to rip up her old dress to make some half-decent black lace bows and sashes to lessen the total white-out effect. She’d found some nice silver jewelery as well: a necklace, a bracelet, some rings for her fingers, and some earrings. They weren’t really her style but they weren’t too bad. The only problem was footwear—the White Witch had nothing that would fit Sooz, so she was still barefoot. Though she’d added one or two silver toe rings and an ankle bracelet.

  Still, a visit to the magical wardrobe in her room in the Tower would sort all that out … She glanced over at Dirk. In his room in the Tower, she thought to herself with a twinge of jealousy.

  They walked on slowly—Dirk couldn’t keep up much of a pace, as he was rather weak, and getting weaker. They came to an intersection. As usual, the hallways were posted with signs. One read “To the Surface.” The other read, “To the Dark Reliquary.”

  “The Dark Reliquary!” said Sooz. “That’s where Hasdruban told them to put the Ring. I knew it was nearby.”

  Dirk perked up at that. “We must investigate it,” he said.

  “Bound to be guarded or locked though,” said Sooz.

  “Still, we must try. There could be something useful. And in any case, I can use the Ring to get us to the Tower,” said Dirk weakly.

  Sooz nodded. “I agree. Let’s do it!” she said.

  Dirk and Chris looked at her, surprised at her authoritative tone.

  Geez, Chris thought to himself, one bossy Dark Lord is bad enough, but a bossy Dark Lady as well? How am I going to cope?

  The Dark Reliquary

  After a short while, the hallway became shrouded in darkness. Chris took a burning torch off the wall. He returned to reveal a big, craggy stone face set into the side of the hall. Above it, a stone plaque read “Dark Reliquary.” The passage continued beyond, to join up with the maze of hallways that led to and from the Chambers of Correction.

  Suddenly, an eye opened on the stone face, and it glared at them. Chris jumped back with a cry of surprise. Sooz and Dirk glanced at each other and smiled. They were much more used to this sort of thing.

  “Who’s that waking me up with that light?” said the face stonily.

  Dirk cocked his head. “I know that voice … Tin Tallon, is that you?”

  “What? That name! I haven’t been called that in a hundred years! Yes, Tin Tallon—that’s me, isn’t it? I remember now!”

  “Indeed. Tin Tallon, a spirit of the earth, of rock and stone. What are you doing here?” said Dirk.

  “Well, you know, guarding things, as usual,” said Tin Tallon with a pebbly sigh. “Hasdruban bound me here into this rock many years ago, to open only for those who know the password. Now, tell me, who are you, that knows my name of old?”

  “Ah, I am the Dark … er … I am Dirk. Dirk Lloyd, and I know many things, for I am a wise and mighty sorcerer!” said Dir
k.

  “Hmm, that’s just as well,” said Tin Tallon. “I thought for a moment there you were going to say the Dark Lord. That would have been no good, no good at all, for I’ve got a bone or two to pick with him, after what he did to me in the Caverns of—”

  “Yes, yes, well, enough of that! I’m not the Dark Lord, obviously. It was a simple slip of the tongue on my part, that’s all,” said Dirk hurriedly.

  “Oh yes, Dirk does sound a little like Dark, doesn’t it? Though I have to say, you don’t look like a mighty sorcerer. Actually, you look more like a child. As do your friends, in fact.”

  “Indeed,” said Dirk. “Though it is …” Suddenly Dirk froze in pain. He gasped, and fell to his knees, clutching the stump of his arm.

  Sooz and Chris knelt down to hold him, panic in their eyes. Thin tendrils, like swollen veins full of black blood, had appeared on his neck.

  “Goodness me, are you all right, my boy?” said Tin Tallon politely.

  “He’s got the Black Rot,” said Chris.

  “The Black Rot! Some spell that went wrong, huh? Used it too often, no doubt. Tsk-tsk, you sorcerers just don’t know when to stop, do you? Very serious, oh yes, Black Rot is very serious. Well, for mortal folk of flesh and blood, that is—wouldn’t bother me, of course, not in the slightest!” scraped the stone face.

  Dirk spoke through gritted teeth, “We need to get into the Dark Reliquary. Will you let us pass?”

  “Certainly!” said the door.

  The three of them looked up, expectantly. Nothing happened.

  “Well,” said Chris, “are you going to let us in, then?”

  “Of course,” rumbled Tin Tallon. “But first you have to tell me the password and then answer …”

  “Diatonic Fizzbuzz!” spluttered Dirk.

  “Ha! Very good. But no, that’s an ancient password, I’m afraid. It’s been changed since then. Now it’s Monochrome Mustard … Oh dear! Ah! Umm … Oh my!” said Tin Tallon.

  “Monochrome Mustard!” yelled Chris, laughing as he did so.

  Sooz grinned from ear to ear. “Silly old door,” she said, giggling. Even Dirk managed a wan smile.

  “Yes, well,” said the door, “I guess I’m not quite as sharp as I used to be. Ho-hum.”

  Dirk sank down to the floor. “Open up, then,” he said.

  “What? Oh no. Not so easy, I’m afraid. The password just entitles you to hear the riddles. If you can get them right, then I’ll open up for you,” said Tin Tallon.

  “Riddles! Whose ridiculous idea was that?” said Dirk hoarsely.

  “The White Witch. She got the idea from something called ‘fairy tales’ from another dimension she’s been visiting recently. Or so she claimed. They’re really hard, you know. Even Hasdruban himself was stumped! That’s why he thought they were such a good idea,” said Tin Tallon in a voice like grinding rocks.

  Dirk sighed. He looked up at Sooz and Chris. “Well, it’s up to you. I’ve always hated riddles. But if they’re from earth, maybe you two will know them.”

  “Maybe,” said Chris.

  Sooz shrugged. “Possibly. Okay, Mr. Tallon, let’s hear these riddles!” she said.

  “Yes, of course, my dears. The first one goes like this: ‘I have cities, roads, forests, and villages, but no people. What am I?’”

  “Oooh, oooh, I know that one!” said Chris. “That’s easy—it’s a map!”

  “Ho, ho!” said Tin Tallon. “You’re right, it is indeed a map! Well done, little fellow. Now, how about this one: ‘My skin is mail, my legs are tail, sea is my jail; when men I hail, their souls will fail. What am I?’”

  The three of them all frowned at once, puzzled looks on their faces.

  “I read something about mail in a book about riddles for social studies at school. It was an old Anglo-Saxon riddle about fish, I think. You know, mail and scales and stuff. But fish don’t ‘hail’ men, do they? They don’t talk to us. And what’s with the legs … ? Hmm …”

  Dirk coughed and lay back. “Oh, I don’t know … Riddles, bah!” he said in frustration.

  “Lobsters or shrimp maybe?” said Chris, thinking out loud. “They live in the sea and have legs. But they haven’t got scales. More like armor than mail, right?”

  “Mermaids!” said Sooz. “Mermaids! They sing and the souls of men fail. And they’re half fish, half human, with fishy tails for legs!”

  “Correct, young lady,” said Tin Tallon. “You are a bright one, aren’t you!”

  Sooz smiled at the door and bowed graciously.

  “You’re doing well, and with such good manners too! Now, the last one,” continued Tin Tallon. “A poor man has it. A rich man wants it. If I go wrong, it is right. I am what I seem.”

  The three of them stared at the door. And stared. They shifted from foot to foot. They hemmed and they hawed. They scratched their heads and their ears and their noses but nobody could come up with the answer.

  “By the Nine Netherworlds, nothing comes to mind!” said Dirk.

  “That’s it! Well done, young man,” said the door.

  Sooz and Chris looked bemused. Dirk’s face lit up for a moment as the answer dawned on him. “Yes, simple really,” he said, desperately trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten the answer by accident. “You see, a poor man has nothing. A rich man wants for nothing. If nothing goes wrong it is right. And nothing is what it seems!”

  “Exactly. You are a genius, young man!” said Tin Tallon. “All right, stand back, I’m going to open up.” The stone door began to creak and crack. Seams appeared around the edges, and it rolled forward a little with a horrible grinding sound. Then it shifted to the left, revealing a doorway into a brightly lit storeroom.

  Everywhere artifacts and curiosities of a thousand years of the Dark were laid out and labeled. Most were fairly mundane things like examples of Orcish armor, or Goblin weapons, or a stuffed Nightgaunt, but there were also a few special items in display cabinets like the Spear of the Ogre Lord, Gallons Blubberbelly (“I remember him!” said Dirk in between coughs. “He served me well until he died after eating some bad oysters—or was it humans? I forget”), the Sword of Ven—a sword so massive none of them could lift it (“So that’s where it ended up,” gasped Dirk. “I wondered what happened to it!”), a strange metal helmet shaped like a camel’s two humps (“That belonged to the two-headed Troll King, MishnMash,” Dirk croaked. “The White Wizard’s axman got double pay the day they executed him”), and lots of books, mostly histories of battles and wars between the Darklands and the Commonwealth of Good Folk.

  In one corner, near the door, they found some recent additions that hadn’t even been labeled or properly laid out yet. They found Sooz’s big black Goth boots and her Moonsilver tiara crown with the black onyx set in it. She was overjoyed to find them and put them on immediately. She also found a kind of egg carton, with six many-sided blue crystals in it. The box was labeled “Anathema Crystals.” Shrugging, she picked it up and put it in her AngelBile bag, making a face as she caught a whiff of Dirk’s rotting arm.

  There was also a beautiful black wooden box, inside of which was the Great Ring, resting on an elegant bed of black velvet. Next to the wooden ring box was a small bottle, filled with a black, shiny, viscous liquid.

  Dirk, who was so weak he couldn’t stand, was staring at the bottle. He reached for it, but couldn’t get there. He signaled to Chris. “Give me that bottle,” he said. Chris looked at him. And then at the bottle. He had a good idea what it might be, and he really wasn’t sure it was a good idea for Dirk to have it. Especially as it was obviously interesting Dirk more than his Ring—and that was saying something.

  “Now, Christopher, give it to me now!” said Dirk angrily.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dirk,” said Chris.

  Dirk glared at him, but he was too weak to do anything about it.

  “What about the Ring?” said Sooz. “Doesn’t anybody want that?” She leaned forward, took it, and put it on her finger. She looked
at it and smiled. It felt so right on her finger, like it belonged there. It began to glow in welcome, bathing her in its glorious dark light.

  Dirk’s jaw dropped at the sight of that, the bottle of black oily stuff forgotten. Chris was awed. Sooz stood there looking at her finger, a crown on her head, radiating majesty and power and dark, dangerous beauty. Even her white dress seemed to shine with an aura of pale moonlight. Behind her, the shadow of what looked like a mighty Sorcerer-Queen flickered faintly on the wall.

  “Wow,” said Chris.

  Dirk smiled a wry smile. “Indeed, you are a dark and terrible Queen.” He glanced down at the Ring on her finger. “And the Ring knows it. The Ring gives itself to you. Ha! I would never have thought it in a thousand years! All hail Dread Queen Sooz, Dark Mistress of the Darklands!” said Dirk weakly as he lay back, barely able to move.

  Sooz looked at them as if noticing them for the first time, her face full of imperial authority and regal splendor.

  Chris stared at her. Susan Black. Twelve years old. Serious Goth. Swimmer. Always in trouble. Good at English and history, bad at math and geography (but only because she didn’t like them). AngelBile fan …

  And Queen of the Darklands, a fantastical world in another dimension! He could hardly believe it. Without thinking, still staring at Sooz, he reached over and grabbed the bottle of Essence of Evil (for that is what it was) and slipped it into his pocket.

  “You are a fitting heir to my throne, my little Child of the Night, though you are a child no more!” Dirk coughed. “For soon I shall die …” With that Dirk sagged back—he no longer had the strength to even sit, or speak. Thin black tendrils spread across his face.

  “No!” said Sooz, coming out of her dark reverie. “No!” She knelt down beside him. A tear rolled down her cheek. It was filled with a shadowy radiance, that tear. It glowed like liquid moonlight. Chris stared at it, fascinated by its dark beauty. And by her. Dirk closed his eyes.

  “We’ve got to get him out of here,” said Sooz.

  They picked Dirk up between them and dragged him out past the stone door.