Dirk was taken aback. Didn’t she know who he was? He began to run through various punishments he’d put her through to correct her behavior, but he checked himself. This was taking some getting used to, this powerless state he was in. How odd to find himself in the power of others! Things would have to change somehow. Then he had another thought: foster parents. They were obviously putting him under the control of some kind of sentinel Parent known as the Foster. He’d been imprisoned by such Parents before, but he’d always found a way around them, no matter what powers they had. He determined that this time would be no different. For now, it was best he play along, until he could learn more about this Parent. He’d lost his powers but he still had his intellect, his evil genius! He’d find a way out of this.
“As you wish, Miss Cloy,” he said in his best imperious but polite voice.
“Thank you, Dirk,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, once you’ve changed.”
She left the room. Gingerly, Dirk picked up the clothes and began to dress. The jeans seemed sturdy but weren’t anything close to a good set of blackened leather armor, or the chitinous hide of the giant Battle Beetles of Borion, bred over millennia by the wise men of that city. Well, until his Winged Nightgaunts had torched the city and enslaved its population, that is. He’d kept the breeding vats though.
Dirk thrust the memory aside. What use was it to dwell on past glories? He must be strong—and that meant concentrating on the problems at hand. As Dirk dressed, he could hear Miss Cloy talking to someone outside the room. He strained to hear.
She was saying, “Whatever trauma he suffered shows no sign of fading. He’s still completely delusional. Still holding on to the idea that he’s from another world. Makes sense really—if he’s from another world he doesn’t have to face the reality of this one. Whatever happened to him must have been pretty awful, the poor boy. At least he’s responding to the name Dirk, and doesn’t insist it’s Dark anymore, so that’s a sign of progress.”
Then there was a man’s voice—Wings’s by the sound of it: “Yes, it’s a fascinating case. There’ve been cases of dissociative identity disorder similar to this, often brought on by some kind of physical and mental trauma, but nothing where the new personality is drawn from modern mythology quite so completely! The creation of the White Shields as his enemy is inspired. Whatever his trauma was, it’s almost certainly bound up with this town in some way. We should think about treatments—psychotherapy, cognitive therapy perhaps …”
Their voices faded as they walked away. Dirk felt crushed. Nobody believed him. It was obvious they simply thought he was insane. Curse the White Wizard! Hasdruban was cunning, oh so cunning. Dirk’s defeat was absolute. What a cruel punishment, to be given over to his enemies in such a state that they didn’t even recognize him for what he was, and treated him as though he were insane. How utterly, utterly humiliating. He was insignificant, no longer a threat, a mere nothing, a human, a human child even, a mad human child! It would have been better if he’d just been slain outright.
Dirk paused for a moment. Perhaps Hasdruban hadn’t killed him because he actually couldn’t kill him. Perhaps he simply wasn’t powerful enough to do it. That thought gave him something to hope for. Maybe this exile was the best Hasdruban could do. Resolve and determination blossomed like a black rose in his dark heart. He declaimed to himself loudly, “By the Power of the Nine Netherworlds, I shall find a way to overcome this curse and return to my land, with power majestic and potent sorceries mightier than ever before! They shall rue the day they crossed me! For I am the Dark Lord—umm …”
But he couldn’t remember his true name and his terrible vow trailed off into vagueness. “The Dark Lord Dirk” just didn’t have the right kind of ring to it.
The House of Detention
The door opened, and Miss Cloy swept in. “Come along now, Dirk, off we go.”
He bridled at her rude, commanding tone. With some difficulty he was able to swallow his pride, and followed her out of the room and down the brightly lit hospital corridor. He looked up at the back of Miss Cloy’s head as she walked in front of him, and began to make the movements and gestures required for the casting of various spells, like the Charm of Sudden Baldness, the Cantrip of Uncontrollable Flatulence, and the Hex of Hideous Hives.
Miss Cloy gave him a look over her shoulder. “Stop that nonsense, Dirk, you look ridiculous! And hurry up, we haven’t got all day.”
This just made him even more annoyed. So he moved up to the Spell of Utter Annihilation, the Hex of the Red Ague and even the Summoning of the Ravenous Ones of Gulgor who, if the spell had worked, would have eaten every living thing in a hundred-mile radius.
Shortly, he grew bored of such games and began to take notice of the hospital around him. He marveled at the size of it, and at the utter stupidity of these humans. Why waste so much wealth and resources on curing the sick or healing wounds? Much easier to simply consign those that are unable to work into the Rendering Vats, where their bodies can be turned into something useful, like candles, sausage meat, or fertilizer. And if there’s a manpower problem—well, simply create more Goblins in the Warrens or more Orcs in the Breeding Silos. Hmm, but then again, you can’t just breed humans when you like, because of their ludicrously inefficient reproductive processes. Dirk decided that perhaps the humans had a point. Hospitals might be useful after all.
Miss Cloy led him to her mechanical chariot in the hospital parking lot. Her car was blue. She called it a “Beetle.” Though its surface was curved and armored in a way similar to that of an iridescent beetle, the similarities ended there. Where were the horned antlers, the clawed mandibles, the jointed legs, and so on? Dirk supposed that it could be useful in war but it didn’t hold a candle to the giant Battle Beetles he was used to back home. Still, it looked like an interesting machine.
As they approached, the Beetle beeped and flashed a greeting at them. Aha, thought Dirk, perhaps there was an element of magic to these machines after all! Somehow it had recognized its mistress. Was it inhabited by a spirit of some kind, or was there a minor demon bound into it? Fascinating!
Miss Cloy opened a door for him, and he stepped in, acknowledging the correctness and deference she had shown with a curt nod. She got into the car on the other side.
The interior was a source of amazement to Dirk. There were buttons, levers, and lights and things. And it all looked so clean and pure, put together with a standard of craftsmanship he’d never seen before. Though on closer inspection he realized most of the paneling and some of the knobs and levers could be torn off without too much effort.
“Stop that, you little vandal!” said Miss Cloy angrily. “Now sit quietly and put your seat belt on!”
Seat belt? Dirk fiddled around with the belt by his side, but then Miss Cloy gave a tut of irritation, leaned over, and buckled him in. Ah, thought Dirk, it was some kind of restraint device. Ha! So she feared him so much she felt the need to restrain him! Excellent. But as he settled into his seat Dirk realized the belt wasn’t really very restraining, and he could unbuckle it himself at any time. Odd. So he unbuckled it. And then buckled it. Unbuckle. Buckle.
He did this several times until Miss Cloy snapped, “We can’t go anywhere unless you’re safely buckled up, you little monster. Just put the seat belt on and leave it on!”
Dirk glared at her. If only she knew what a monster he really was … If he ever got his old powers back then one day he’d be able to show her. Great would be the slaughter on that day!
With that thought a broad smile spread across his face. Miss Cloy seemed to recoil in horror at the sight of it. Hurriedly she looked away.
Miss Cloy did something with the key in her hand, and the Beetle burst into life with a low roar, shuddering and shaking ominously. Dirk was seized by a moment of fear and grabbed onto whatever he could get ahold of.
Miss Cloy gasped in pain, and Dirk realized he’d grabbed the soft flesh of her upper arm. Even though he hadn’t meant to do
it, his first thought was, “Ha, suffer and die, puny human! Fear the power of the Dirk!” but then Miss Cloy did something strange. Rather than admonish him for hurting her, or blow his head off with a spell or stab him through the heart, as he would have, she held his hand gently, and said, “There, there, Dirk, it’s all right. I didn’t know you’d never been in a car before. It’s all right to be scared, but it’s perfectly safe. I’ve done this a thousand times. There’s nothing to fear.”
Dirk stared at her in surprise. All right to be scared? What did she mean? Was this some kind of trick? To lull him into a false sense of security by seeming to care about him? By the Nine Netherworlds, what was going on?
The car lurched forward and Dirk gave an involuntary gasp.
Miss Cloy seemed to push some kind of pedal with her foot and the car stopped. “Would you rather we walked, Dirk? It’s a little far from here, but we could do that,” she said kindly.
Dirk pulled himself together. He was determined to put a brave face on things, to stop being a wimpy kid and to be the Dark Lord he really was. So he said imperiously, “Not at all, Miss Cloy. Proceed immediately, and crush all those that get in our way!”
Miss Cloy acknowledged his words with a nod and then muttered something under her breath, which he only just caught, “Believe me, Dirk, I’ve often wanted to …”
The car moved off. Dirk managed to get himself under control, even when they got up to the terrifying speed of what Cloy called “thirty.” Of course, he’d traveled faster than that, on the backs of dragons, and such, but never with a thousand other dragons rushing around at the same time. Everywhere there were other cars, and it seemed to Dirk like each one of them really was trying to crush all the other ones that got in its way. It was some kind of monumentally insane free-for-all, like Orcs at a barbecue.
After a while, the Beetle rolled on its rubbery round feet into the driveway of one of the human habitations that lined so many of their streets. It looked much like all the other human dwellings they had passed.
Miss Cloy did something and the car juddered to a halt, its lights faded and all sound ceased. This was what Dirk thought of as the Beetle’s “dormant state,” during which it presumably dreamed its linear insectoid dreams. Miss Cloy got out of the car, and motioned Dirk to stay where he was for now. Dirk flicked an irritated glance at her. More orders.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sickeningly cheerful bell-like sound … Miss Cloy had pushed a button on the side of the house. A few seconds later the door opened, and a tall, thin woman with blond hair stepped out. She wore a black top with a white collar. Her clothes reminded him of the uniform of the assassin monks of Syndalos, who operated from their mountain citadel high in the Great Skyvar Range. Until he’d used the power of a meteorite to level their entire mountain and all the assassins along with it, that is.
He watched as Miss Cloy and the woman talked. After a few moments, Miss Cloy called him over.
“This is Mrs. Purejoie; she’s your guardian now,” she said.
Mrs. Purejoie leaned down and said in a kindly voice, “Hello, Dirk, welcome to our house. You can call me Hilary.”
Her voice made Dirk think of muffins, birdsong, and little country cottages. There was nothing Dirk liked more than to see muffins snatched out of the hands of little children and devoured by greedy Goblins, birds shot out of the sky by Orc war machines, and little cottages torn to the ground by hordes of ravening Vampires.
They took Dirk inside. Cloy and Purejoie were signing various documents and papers. These humans were so obsessed with bureaucracy that Dirk wondered how they got anything done at all. Purejoie told him to look around, but not to touch anything, especially in the kitchen.
The house seemed odd to Dirk. The pictures on the walls weren’t of grand conquests or defeated foes begging for mercy or scenes of apocalyptic destruction to take pride in, but rather images of nature, or a human face, or flowers and the like. What was the point of that? You could see flowers any old time. And in any case, the point of flowers was that they could be ripped up and ruined, and human faces were all over the place, more’s the pity. The seats were certainly comfortable, though. There was one large leather chair that was particularly good. He resolved to note down the design, and have one built for him on his return home, but instead of leather he’d use halfling skin.
The lanterns were interesting too. He couldn’t work out how to light them though. He tried a simple Finger Flame Cantrip, but no fire appeared at the end of his finger. But that was to be expected. None of his magic had worked so far.
Eventually, he found a little button and pressed it. The lamp came on! It gave off a strange bright light from inside a curious glass ball. Artificial sunlight he supposed. Probably powered by the stuff the humans called electricity. He pressed the button again. The light went off! Marvelous! He pushed it again. It came on. And again, then again, again, again! Fascinating. And again, and so on.
“Oh, do stop that, Dirk,” said Miss Cloy suddenly. He turned around, startled.
“Yes, please, Dirk, don’t,” said Mrs. Purejoie. “You might break it, dear, if you keep doing that. They’re very delicate, you know.”
Dirk really hated being told what to do, especially in such a patronizing manner. But there wasn’t much he could do about it. Well, not much right now, that is. So he just smiled at them. Both of them looked surprised, afraid even, and took a step back, almost in unison. Then they looked at each other.
“See?” said Mrs. Cloy.
Mrs. Purejoie looked subdued for a moment. Then she brightened up and said, “Well, we’ll see what some love and kindness can do, eh, Jane?”
Miss Cloy smiled wanly at that, extended her hand, and said in a muted tone, “Good luck, Hilary …”
Mrs. Purejoie shook her hand, and replied, “Thanks, Jane, I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll be in touch to let you know how it goes.”
Miss Cloy turned to Dirk and said, “You’ll be living here from now on, probably. But over the next few weeks and months you’ll also be seeing quite a bit of Dr. Wings and Professor Randle, and I’ll be visiting every now and then, okay?”
Dirk grimaced. “Not those two idiots again,” he said. “If I had my way I’d give ’em both a session on the Racks of Pain in my Dungeons of Doom. Clear their befuddled brains.”
Miss Cloy raised her eyes and sighed. “Good-bye, Dirk, and try to be a good boy,” she said somewhat unconvincingly. Then she left, leaving Dirk alone with the sickeningly nice Purejoie.
Purejoie showed him around the house. It was a technical marvel. Running water, power at the flick of a switch, warmth and comfort at will. But nothing he couldn’t reproduce with a spell or a bound demon. Still, it was impressive given they weren’t using magic.
Then she showed him his room. Or cell, as Dirk preferred to call it. Purejoie seemed kindly, but he couldn’t forget that she was just a Guardian, whose job it was to keep him imprisoned here so he couldn’t conquer the world. Her name was also significant—Purejoie. She must be a servant or follower of Hasdruban the Pure, that much was obvious. The names were too similar. It sounded just like the sort of thing Hasdruban would set up, in fact. The Guardians of Purity, or suchlike, dedicated to keeping the Dark One imprisoned for all time, blah, blah, blah.
This feeling was reinforced by the color of the walls in his room. They were white. It was probably deliberate, as a kind of punishment. And Purejoie called the curtains “coral cream,” a strange way of describing such an insipid, nothing color. After she’d shown him around his pitiful little room (how he longed for his Great Hall of Gloom and his Throne of Skulls!) she left him for a while, to “settle in” as she called it. Immediately he began to play with the light switch—on and off, on and off. But after a while he got bored with that and looked around.
He was pleased to find his Cloak of Endless Night in the wardrobe as well as a selection of other clothes, mostly typical human rubbish. Only one thing—they called it a T-shirt—was the rig
ht color for him. That was black, of course. Perhaps he’d be allowed to redecorate his cell eventually. Yes, black, with bloodred trim. And some bone art, mounted on the walls here and there. Slowly Dirk began to doze off, musing on the color black and how much he loved it.
He was running, running for his life. Around him stretched a white expanse of snow, reaching in all directions under a cloud-cold, all-white sky. Behind him something was closing in on him, something terrible, something relentless, implacable. Something that would not stop until it had eaten his dark heart. He could hear its powerful, rhythmic footfalls in the snow. Desperately he looked behind him—but in the almost total whiteout of this dirty white plain he could see only a vague shape, bulleting toward him. But in that vague outline glowed two bright yellow eyes, fixed on him with terrible purpose. The white furred thing leaped, taloned claws reaching for him, eyes blazing with feral bloodlust …
Dirk sat up with a start, a scream of awful fear on his lips. But he stopped himself in time and no sound came. He was a Dark Lord after all, and he had his self-respect to think of. Can’t be screaming out in terror at the slightest …
There was a creak—his bedroom door was being closed. He snapped his head around to take a look—caught in the light outside his room was a pair of blue eyes framed by blond hair disappearing into the lighted hallway. The door shut with a quiet click, and tiptoed footfalls receded down the corridor.
It seemed some human boy had been spying on him. Probably the Purejoies’ son, no doubt jealous and resentful of Dirk’s coming, and checking out the competition. And who could blame him? His days of independence were numbered, for the Great Dirk had come, and all would be on bended knee before him! Involuntarily, Dirk’s little hand clenched into a victorious fist as he thought this.
And maybe that’s what his dream had been about, he thought to himself. Perhaps he’d sensed the boy spying on him and replaced in his mind the blue with the yellow, and the blond with the white. Hurriedly Dirk checked his room and his bed for signs of interference.
Dark Lord Page 3
