Dark Lord, School's Out

by Jamie Thomson

  “You wouldn’t!” said Sooz, aghast.

  “Wouldn’t I?” said the Dark One.

  “No, you wouldn’t, I know you wouldn’t,” said Chris, but his voice shook with doubt.

  “Ha, oh yes I would!” said the Dark Lord. With that, he waved Og forward. “Do your best—or do I mean your worst, Og? Mwah, ha, ha!”

  Chris and Sooz stood there, frozen. They simply couldn’t believe this was happening. Chris was about to give in and say he’d do whatever Dirk wanted when Gargon bellowed at the top of his voice.

  “Noooo!” he screamed. And then Gargon gave Og such a blow with his mighty hand that the burly Orc flew through the air to crash into the corner of the cell, where he lay, unmoving.

  The Dark Lord blinked. His great jaw dropped.

  “Gargon … What have you done?”

  Gargon paused, staring up at the Dark Lord with an expression of confused anger and guilt on his face.

  “Has it come to this, after all these years, Gargon? Betrayal? Mutiny? You too? I can hardly believe it!”

  There was a moment of silence, as the two gigantic creatures stared at each other. Then the Dark Lord shook his great horned head. “You have left me no choice, old friend!” He raised his hands, readying a spell.

  Meanwhile, Sooz reached into her bag and took out a tattered scroll, a scroll that Agrash had smuggled into her cell, wrapped up in a copy of The Daily Massacre. Then she took out one of the Anathema Crystals and began to read the scroll, muttering the words under her breath as fast as she could.

  “No, Lord,” said Gargon, recoiling. “I did it for you—because I love you!”

  The Dark Lord paused, astonished. “Did you just say … Did you just say ‘love’? What are you blabbering about, you crazy demon! I mean, really, Gargon, that’s ridiculous …”

  The crystal in Sooz’s hand began to glow with power. The Dark Lord Dirk noticed it for the first time …

  “Wait, what are you doing, Sooz? That’s not … No, not that! No, it can’t be … Noooooooo!!!”

  Sooz threw the crystal to the floor and shouted a word of magic from the scroll. The crystal shattered. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

  A great white light blossomed up from the pieces of crystal, engulfing all of them in its cloudy glow. The floor began to dissolve beneath them, yawning open to reveal a great black abyss of nothingness.

  They began to fall slowly, like they were falling through molasses. The Dark Lord’s cry of “Nooooo!” deepened and slowed to a rumbling roar of unintelligible sound.

  And then suddenly everything returned to normal speed, and they found themselves plummeting down through a dark gulf of total nothingness, each of them screaming with terror.

  The Dark Lord howled in pain as he began to change.

  Back to School

  Dirk and Christopher stood outside the Purejoies’ house. Christopher was wearing black leather armor covered in red glyphs. Dirk was wearing his Dark Lord’s robe, a big black cloak, marked with his Seal and far too big for a boy his size. On his shoulder sat Dave the Storm Crow. It cawed into the night sky, happy to have its Dark Master back.

  Dirk and Chris looked at each other.

  “Here we go,” said Chris.

  “Okay,” Dirk said, nodding.

  Christopher rang the doorbell. It chimed pleasantly. Dirk made a face. One of these days he was going to change that doorbell chime—maybe to a kind of alarm siren, like they used in World War II movies. Or maybe a “Mwah, ha, ha!” Yeah, that’d be cool.

  The door opened. Mrs. Purejoie stood there looking down at them, her face a mask of astonishment.

  “Christopher! Oh my goodness, Christopher! Thank heavens you’re alive!” she said before gathering him up in her arms so tightly she nearly squashed him.

  Chris hugged her back, tears coming to his eyes. Dirk looked on, an expression of mild distaste on his face. Bah, sappy nonsense, he thought to himself. Then Mrs. Purejoie glanced over at him. Dirk began to panic.

  “And Dirk! We were so worried. Come here, my darling,” she said as she gathered him in for a family hug.

  He fell into her embrace, face screwed up in horror. Dave the Storm Crow flapped up with a caw of annoyance, feathers flying. Not hugs, thought Dirk, anything but hugs! It wasn’t long ago that he’d been a twelve-foot-tall Dark Lord, terrorizing thousands, and now here he was in a group hug with his “mother” and his “brother.”

  Still, it wasn’t so bad.

  Then he noticed someone standing behind Mrs. Purejoie. It was the White Witch, Dumpsy Deary. She was staring at him, her mouth open.

  Dirk just grinned at her. She shook her head in horror, as if coming to her senses and then, without warning, she just ran out of the door and down the street as fast as she could.

  “Miss Deary … What, where are you going … ?” stammered Mrs. Purejoie.

  “She’s off to report what she’s seen to the White Wizard Hasdruban,” said Dirk matter-of-factly.

  Mrs. Purejoie frowned. “Who … Now hold on a moment. Where have you been? What’s happened to you? I mean, we’ve had the police, social workers, neighbors, practically the whole town out looking for you! Are you all right?”

  “We’re fine, Mom, don’t worry,” said Chris.

  “Don’t worry! What do you think we’ve been doing all this time, young man? Nothing but worrying, I can tell you. Now get in the house, you’ve got some explaining to do, both of you! And what are you wearing? Is that … I mean … What is that? And … your face! Goodness me, Christopher, what happened to your face?”

  And so the questions began …

  Dirk and Christopher were eating a big hearty breakfast. They were dressed in their school clothes—they’d gotten back to earth just in time to start a new term at school, much to Dirk’s annoyance. Although from their point of view they had been gone for weeks, time ran differently on earth than it did in the Darklands and only a few days had passed here. Still, as far as the people of Whiteshields were concerned, Sooz had been missing for several weeks, and Dirk and Chris for several days.

  At first, they had been overjoyed to see them, but soon their joy turned to anger and they had been thoroughly grilled, not just by Mr. and Mrs. Purejoie but also by the police and the social services too. Dirk had invented a complex story involving “a live-action role-playing game”—hence their strange clothes—in the local woods and then Sooz got lost and later Dirk and Chris set off to find her, which they did, but then they got lost too, and they had to rough it in the woods for a while. Dirk said that Chris had tripped over and gashed his cheek on a fallen branch. Chris hadn’t been too happy about that, but what else could he do—say that Dirk the boy had turned into an evil Dark Lord and had cut his face with a taloned claw for sabotaging his army of Orcs and Goblins?

  No one really believed their story anyway but there was little more the authorities could do about it. The children seemed safe enough, and unhurt. Indeed, they had a strange new air of confidence about them, and stuck to their stories in a most un-childlike way. Something about them was different … More grown up. Nevertheless, Dirk was deemed the ringleader, and he had been electronically tagged, which he really hated.

  But for now, Mrs. Purejoie, so happy to see her son safe and sound, was spoiling them with a big breakfast of bacon, pancakes, and maple syrup. Or as Dirk called it: “The crispy flesh of his slain enemies with pancakes made from the Dough of Doom, and covered in the sweet succulent syrupy blood of angels.”

  “Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Purejoie. She was so glad to have them back that she didn’t mind Dirk’s weirdness. Though that probably wouldn’t last.

  There was a knock on the door. It was Sooz. She’d come by to join them on the walk to school. Mrs. Purejoie pressed packed lunches into their hands and kissed them all too much and generally made a fuss.

  Eventually they got out, taking the short walk to school. “So, how was it for you, my Child of the Night—or should I say, my Lady of the Dark?” said
Dirk.

  “Not too bad, Dark Lord,” she said. “It was great to see Mom again, it really was, but she got angry pretty quick and gave me a real hard time. Nothing compared to Hasdruban and his armies though, or you for that matter … Umm … Anyway, so … Well, I stuck to my story and that was that.”

  “Just like us, then,” said Chris.

  Sooz nodded.

  “So,” said Dirk, as they ambled down the street toward the school gates. “Rufino and Gargon are camped out in the woods, but they can’t stay there forever. What are we going to do with them?”

  “We’ve got to send them back to the Darklands; it’s the only way,” said Chris, running a thumb along the scar on his cheek.

  “True, but how? We can’t do that ceremony again and we’ve lost the Voyager Boots,” said Dirk.

  “Maybe we don’t need to send them back right away,” said Sooz. “I’ve been thinking of starting a band.”

  “What? What do you mean, a band? Like a warrior band? But there are no Agrashes or Skabbers here, Sooz. Who’s going to fight for you? The seventh grade?” said Dirk.

  “No, no, a music band. You know, like AngelBile.”

  “Oh yeah, of course, a music band, I keep forgetting,” said Dirk. “Well okay, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Well, it’s gotta be a heavy Goth band, right? So Gargon could be in it. You know, like Morti, they’ve got a lead singer who dresses in a monster suit, looks like Gargon.”

  “Gargon in a band. Really?” said Chris, as they turned into the school gates. All around them, children were streaming through the gates jostling, shouting, bickering, laughing, texting, and generally behaving like schoolkids.

  “No, it’d work! Everyone would think he was in a monster suit. Then he could walk around with us, like he was promoting the band or something!” said Sooz.

  Dirk laughed. “Gargon in a band, ha, ha!” he said, as he pushed open the doors to the school assembly hall.

  They walked in to line themselves up in the seventh-grade section, along with everyone else. “He’d probably eat the other band members or chop their heads off and put them on his belt!!!”

  “No, he wouldn’t. He’s really pretty gentle, you know,” said Sooz.

  Dirk looked at her as if she were insane. Then he frowned. “Well … maybe. He does seem different now—with you anyway. Hmm, maybe it’d work.”

  At the far end of the assembly hall, several teachers were standing on a raised stage. One of them reached for a microphone.

  “What about Rufino?” said Chris.

  “Well, that’s a little easier, once we’ve taught him—” Dirk was interrupted by a teacher.

  “Welcome back to school, children,” said the teacher, her voice echoing loudly around the hall. Dirk scowled. He hated to be interrupted by anyone, let alone dogooding, interfering schoolteachers, may the Nether Gods eat their souls!

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” continued Dirk, “we could show him how things work on earth and then maybe we could kind of employ him or something. I was thinking as my bodyguard maybe …”

  “Your bodyguard?” said Sooz. “He swore one of those oath things to me. He’d have to be my bodyguard!”

  “SILENCE IN THE BACK!” said the teacher.

  Dirk frowned. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said in a whisper.

  “Now, children, I am delighted to announce that Whiteshields School has a new principal!” She gestured and a figure stepped up to the microphone. He was tall, with white hair, a long white beard, and improbably bushy white eyebrows. He was dressed in a white suit, and he held a white cane in one hand, and wore a white hat with a blue headband. The pupils of his eyes seemed oddly dark. He grinned a sinister grin, and said:

  “Hello, everyone. I am Dr. Hasdruban, your new principal …”

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  I, the great Dirk, take credit for everything. Mwah, hah, hah!

  Sigh. Chris and Sooz are insisting that I “Do the right thing” and actually acknowledge those who have aided me in the crafting of this magnificent tome. Pah! When will I ever be free from meddling do-gooders?

  So, I must … Well, I was going to say “thank,” but I don’t need to thank my ghostwriter-slave Jamie Thomson, for he is a slave. Same goes for Thomson’s friend, Dave Morris, who helps Thomson out from time to time in the writing of my life story. They do it for the love of me, (or is it fear?) and that should be enough. In fact, they should be thanking me!

  Oh, and I must thank Darren Cheal the Fishlord, once more. He was genuinely useful, though I may still have him assassinated anyway. Though probably not.

  And also Megan Larkin, publishing director at Orchard Books. Not just for her editorial help, but out of respect. You see, I freely admit that I am not good at taking criticism. And, well, that’s really her job—to hand it out. So I keep losing my temper and then hatching evil plots and setting traps to destroy her. But she has survived them all! You have to respect that, you really do. And her perseverance. Most of the witless, spineless humans I know would have given up long ago.

  And finally, I must not forget my agent, Piers Blofeld. Whilst it is obvious he is actually Ernst Blofeld, the head of SPECTRE, hiding undercover as a literary agent, he has been useful. Also, I can see what he was trying to do with SPECTRE (look it up, if you’ve never heard of it), although I think his methods were bordering on the insane. Unlike mine. Which are quite rational.

  No, really, they are.

  The Author

  Originally from a world beyond our own, Dirk Lloyd lives in the town of Whiteshields, in England, where he spends most of his time trying to get out of school and back home to his Iron Tower in the Darklands.

  He has been a Dark Lord for more than a thousand years. Some of his achievements include: building the Iron Tower of Despair; raising vast armies of Orcs and Goblins; the waging of great wars; the destruction of many cities; the casting of mighty spells and enchantments; and excelling in English, science and math classes at school.

  Now he is a writer. Reviewers who adversely criticize his work may end up joining the others who have not been totally effusive with their praise. Join them in death, that is.

  Well, all right, not actual death, but a long time being tortured in the author’s Dungeon of Doom.

  Oh, all right, not actually tortured. By the Nine Nether-worlds, not even incarceration in my Dungeon of Doom either, okay?

  They will be in trouble though. Oh yes, most definitely! They might get cursed, or suffer the Charm of Sudden Baldness or the Catrip of Uncontrollable Flatulence. Possibly.

  So there.

  The Seal of Dirk

  Also by Jamie Thomson

  Dark Lord: The Early Years

  Copyright © 2012 by Jamie Thomson

  All rights reserved

  You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  First published in the United States of America in February 2014

  by Walker Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.

  E-book edition published in February 2014

  www.bloomsbury.com

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Walker BFYR, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Thomson, Jamie

  Dark Lord, school’s out / by Jamie Thomson ; illustrations by Freya Hartas.

  pages cm

  Summary: Now acclimated to life as a thirteen-year-old earthling, Dirk Lloyd has contacted

  his home in the Da
rklands but so has his friend Sooz, who is forming her own alliances.

  ISBN 978-0-8027-3522-5 (hardcover) • ISBN 978-0-8027-3523-2 (e-book)

  [1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Fantasy. 3. Humorous stories.] I. Hartas, Freya, illustrator. II. Title.

  PZ7.T3747Daf 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2013013312

  ISBN 978-0-8027-3523-2 (e-book)

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